#i can just imagine crowley moping as it plays

[percyjacksonfan3]

Well the only thing I can really say is that Neil has set up the use of the song "Love of My Life" perfectly for season 3 and if it's not in the soundtrack then I will be writing both him and Queen a strongly worded letter through my tears

[holylulusworld]

Christmas with a demon

Summary: Dean won’t let you go. Never.

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of kidnapping, a hint of fluff, kidnapping

“Dean, can we not go home? I bet Sammy is missing us,” you tug at Dean’s wrist. “Christmas is soon, and I don’t want to spend it on the road.”

“Why not?” He cocks his head to watch you walk toward him. You’re wearing only his red shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks. Dean smirks as you limp a little – the aftermath of his insatiable desire for you. “We got us.”

You sigh deeply. “Dean, you are a demon and I’m still your hostage or something.” You wrinkle your nose when he tells you that this is a relationship, not a hostage situation. “This is not how I imagined our relationship would turn out. I wanted love, not being a demon’s toy.”

“You’re not a toy to me,” he argues. Dean rubs his scruffy chin, wondering how he can convince you to not leave him. He won’t keep you around using force. “Fine, I’ll get you a tree and all. Wait here.”

“Wait, what are you—" you sigh as he’s halfway toward his car before you can stop him. He’s still the man you love, but so different at the same time. “I don’t want a tree, only my Dean back, and for Sam to not be alone on Christmas.”

“Don’t open your eyes,” Dean whispers as he guides you away from the Impala. “I mean it, baby. No cheating.”

“Where are we going?” You can’t see because Dean put a bandana over your eyes. “Dean, I don’t like this. I hope you didn’t find another spot you want to christen.”

“No, sweetheart,” he chuckles and presses a kiss to your neck. “It’s a surprise, a Christmas surprise. You’ll love it, Y/N.”

You let Dean guide you toward a house. He tells you to wait as he unlocks the door and opens it for you. “Dean, where are we? I don’t like this.”

“Just relax, sweetheart. I swear you’ll love it,” he tuts and shoves you inside the house. He slams the door shut with his boot, chuckling as something sounding like a picture frame drops to the ground. “Alright, here it is.”

He takes the bandana off, allowing you to see. You gasp as you are standing in a living room decorated for Christmas. A huge Christmas tree stands in the corner, and there are at least twenty beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree.

“Dean, how did you?” You frown as your eyes land on the picture frames on a shelf above the fireplace. “Where are we? What did you do?”

“Uh-Crowley sent me to collect a few souls,” he shrugs. “Guy was due in three days. I sent him to hell a little faster.”

“What?” You turn around to look at Dean. “You killed the man on Christmas Eve? How could you? How?”

“Relax,” he cups your cheek. “I was joking. I only hijacked their Christmas. They are at a motel, believing there is a gas leak at their home. We have all night, Y/N:”

“No,” you sniffle and sidestep Dean. “We will leave their home and you will call them and tell them everything is alright. You can’t just steal their Christmas. This is not what I wanted.”

He groans. “What did you want? A tree? Gifts?”

“I wanted the man I love back, and for my family to not worry about me and you. I wanted to drive home for Christmas and make sure Sammy was not alone. You will never understand what I want because you’re not my Dean.”

Dean chases after you when you storm off. You shake his hand off and glare at him. “Leave me alone. If you want to play happy couple, do it. But I’m out of this!”

“Wake, wake,” Dean purrs in your ear. He pecks your cheek, trying to wake you. “Sweetheart, I know you are awake.”

“I don’t want to,” you grumble. “Just leave me alone. You’re worse than the Grinch. How could you steal their Christmas and house.”

“I gave it back,” he grumbles, looking offended at your reaction. “Stop moping and get up. I don’t want you to spend Christmas in bed. I mean, we could spend it in bed, but I got a surprise for you.”

“I pass,” you grunt. “If it’s as awful as the last one, please keep it to yourself.”

“Nah, you will love that one. Promised.”

“Fine. If it’s a ribbon around your dick I must disappoint you. Dean pulled that prank three years ago.”

“I remember,” he purrs. “You loved to unwrap your gift.”

“Dean,” you sigh as he hopefully looks at you. His eyes barely turn black these days and you hope, if you play along he will agree to let Sam heal him. “Okay. What’s the surprise?”

“Just wait for it…”

“What did you do?” You look around the poorly decorated motel room.

The tree looks like he stole it from another home.

There are half-wrapped gifts and annoying Christmas songs are blaring from his phone. But the worst is that Sam is sitting on a chair, wrapped in a red ribbon.

“I got you a tree, gifts, and Sammy!” Dean proudly states. He points at his brother, restrained to a chair. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart!”

Tags in reblog.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Do you have any headcannons for how Rook would react to MC!S/O joining the free Science Club but Crowley uses his administrative power to kick them out and use their free time for various tasks?

(I have a vendetta against the Crow)

Hello and thank you for the request! Fair warning ahead of time: I have my own personal headcannon that Crowley actually slotted the Prefect into the photography club (Ghost Camera and all that jazz) and sometimes has them help with the school newspaper (The birthday interviews). I don’t usually write headcannons, so this was a bit different for me, but do hope you enjoy!

So Crowley kicked you out of the science club for varying reasons and it’s been a bit of a downer for everyone involved. 

Rook, in particular, is sad. 

He had really been looking forward to discovering new forms of beauty via science with you at his side. He could just imagine all of the new and more explosive ways the two of you would have had fun together while also bonding!

But, but, but! Rook has never been one to mope around and you need not worry. He’s already figured out a solution.

Just because you aren’t part of the science club doesn’t mean you can’t take part in the experiments when you have time. After all, there are people who play spelldrive but aren’t part of the spelldrive club (Case in point: Malleus).

Rook’s solution is really quite simple.

You’ll carefully get all your work done ahead of time (possibly with some help but hey, who’s asking? Not Trey, any of the Pomefiore dorm, or Science club. They’re all looking the other way) and then, boom, you can join the club for their activities and Crowley really can’t kick up a fuss.

And that’s even if he knows. Nobody will even tell what’s happening so he’ll have to find out on his own.

Even Crewel is keeping this one a secret.

It essentially becomes one of the most widely known secrets on campus. The only one who MIGHT not know is Crowley.

And, honestly, as long as you're getting everything he wants done, I don’t actually see Crowley even kicking up a fuss.

So yeah, all's well that ends well, and the Science club becomes even more fun because now your participation without a membership is a pseudo-secret, and secrets from the headmage are always fun.

Cue the students having way too much fun ‘hiding’ you when they think Crowley might even be walking by and Rook finding even more amusement in his nickname of ‘Trickster’ for you.

After all, you are living up to it and ‘tricking’ the headmage.

[madaims]

Shower thoughts for Good Omens 3:

Imagine if there’s a part where Crowley needs to get to heaven ASAP, to desperately rescue Aziraphale. He jumps in the Bentley, adds a miracle to it (like Aziraphale did to Madame Tracy’s moped that one time) and shoots off like (a twisted metal lemon from hell) Top Gun’s Maverick, only in a Classic Bentley. (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang only wayyyyy cooler)

Then suddenly! He needs to go faster and the Bentley won’t make it!

He opens the car door, wind blowing his hair and clothes around and then leaps out, large majestic, black wings unfurling suddenly and he soars! Blazing through the sky like a shooting star. Just in time to catch Aziraphale who has been thrown out of heaven and is falling fast. Bonus points if at this point it’s playing Spread Your Wings.

Then Crowley is all like “It’s alright Angel, I’m here now and I’m never leaving you again.”

Aziraphale is all like “Oh Crowley!” 😍

Also the Bentley is fine. She’s just flying around in the sky in circles happily like a dog chasing its tail.

Another part what would be cool to see is, maybe there’s like a big fight with Heaven and Hell on Earth, let’s say the Metatron is all villain era and all the humans Crowley and Aziraphale have met and had interactions with in the two series are there to help, and they’re down to dire straits. Aziraphale is all like “Right that’s it! I’m going to do something, but I need you all to close your eyes. This is beyond human comprehension and might get very, very bad. Close your eyes now and I’ll tell you when you can open them again. Be not afraid. Please trust me, I’ll protect you.”

They close their eyes and then he walks in front of them all, goes all final form bitch! Turns into his full on biblical horror angelic form (all the eyes) and a huge bright light shines from him.

Behind him you hear “Angel!”

Then Crowley steps up, he also turns all final form also glowing a very bright light. (Maybe in a different colour? Black light? I dunno)

And they kind of hold hands, (Do Eldritch horrors have hands?)

Well the lights merge together and they form an even brighter, white light that enshrouds everything.

Bonus points if so far in the series Crowley hasn’t called Aziraphale angel at all yet. Also more bonus points if there’s a distinct sound of nightingales singing in the background.

Then they both proceed to kick Metatron’s and whoever else’s ass.

[capri-ramblings]

I don’t know if you’re still doing requests but if so, I reallly liked the not wanting a child one with Vil Leona and Malleus. Could you do it with Lilia, Rook, Azul, Floyd, and riddle? If you have time? If that’s too many people than just Azul, Rook and lilia. Only if you’re able to. Thank you. Have a nice day. 💖💖💖

Oh boi this was challenge but I love how it turned out! Sometimes when writing dialogues for the boys,I hear their Japanese voices and the struggle of needing to find the English equivalent to that hurts my braincells 😂😂 I'm looking at you, Floyd (눈‸눈) Lmao but really,I enjoyed writing this, so thank you for requesting this! Hope you all like it as much as I do ♥️ imsorryriddlegotangstyandimblackbutlertrash

Warning; Toxic relationships and mentions of physical abuse

Lilia Vanrouge

- He's planned this the moment he realized he wanted to be with you! Children are a hassle, true, but the thought of being the father to your child made Lilia want to run in circles.

- He was aware of how you often avoided the question though,and unlike Malleus, he was more patient as he slipped in small hints and tested the waters. Seeing which part of the topic took you off.

- Lilia, ancient and wise, believed that if he pushed you the wrong way, nothing good would come out of it. You'd be unhappy and an unhappy mother would lead to an unhappy child, and that's the last thing he'd want.

- Lilia sees the image of him standing beside you with your three children almost every single time he looks at you, and he knows happiness is key!

- So,he pampers you and he studies you. Every single reaction you give him, he digests it then analyses it and finally forms an approach.

- The two of you were in his manor's library when he went into the conversation, and as he expected you were trying to divert the whole topic.

- "I'm practically a child myself, I don't think I can handle such a responsibility...I'm sorry,Lilia" You hung your head low,averting his gaze when he came up beside you.

- Lilia was always hard to read. He wore the exact same expression most of the time and even when he's in a whole other mood, it doesn't show.

- When he intertwined your fingers with his though, a slight sense of relief washed over you and a small smile curved on your lips when Lilia pecked your cheek.

- "But little lantern, having small candles beaming through the manor would be pleasant in a way wouldn't it? I'd especially spend more time here with them" His voice was so soothing then, you could never have sensed the sourness in it at all. The way he simply and casually carried his aloof air around you, and had you feeling a sensational warmth from the way his hand held yours.

- You were clueless to the fact he was spinning you into a web. One you'd never be able to escape from.

- "And think of the things you could teach them about your world! Or how anyone can do anything despite having no magic"

- "Doesn't that bother you though? Our children not having magic?"

- The word 'Our' perked his ears. Lilia smiled, feigning an innocence you were too naive to see was rehearsed.

- "It doesn't. Any child from you is magic already."

- "You say that, but you could have children as strong as Malleus if I wasn't a simple human"

- Ah, that's when Lilia's plans ticked perfectly.

- "It's because you're human I want to have children with you,little lantern"

- "I'm here with you now because despite being considered someone defenceless against mages, you've proved yourself to be just as capable as the next student, even more so actually! You're a mystery,my love bird. Don't you see that?"

- You didn't. Of course not. You came from a place where magic was a fairytale, nothing but fiction. Twisted Wonderland was a place you had to struggle even more to be able to have your own footing and none of your trials were easy.

- He saw you as someone so special despite that? Your heart clenched at his words.

- And that's how he gets to you. He doesn't try it once and forces you into it when you refuse. No, Lilia simply keeps pushing.

- He'll make you feel as if you were no different to him or the other Twisted Wonderland residents who wielded powers you can't.

- His words would coo in your head whenever you doubted that a child of yours would do well in this version of the world.

- "They'll have you as a mother after all. Strong and reliable,they won't have any problems you couldn't fix!"

- "Bullied? You wouldn't allow such a thing in the first place"

- "Imagine them having eyes just like yours. Maybe then you'd be able to see how fiery your spirit is!"

- Lilia knows you all too well. Your lack of joy when talking about children came from the fact you were afraid you couldn't be good at it. Poor thing, being constantly dogged at by Crowley to run errands that drained you with exhaustion and confronting people who thought magic made them powerful. It's no wonder you feel numb from it.

- Oh,but no worries. His plan is perfect, and plays well for both of you.

- You don't want a child because you feared it being neglected? He'll just change that image of yours.

- On the day, you wake up to the sound of a baby crying and realized it was simply from a dream, you swear you've never felt so empty before. So, incomplete.

- Lilia doesn't bring up the subject of children for a while and it makes you anxious. Did he not want them anymore? Did your constant refusal made him give up on that? Give up on you?

- Your thoughts would run wild until you find yourself wrapping your arms around Lilia, teary eyed and apologizing as if the words had been burned into your throat and you desperately wanted it out before you lost your voice.

- And Lilia being the ever so gentle,ever so understanding lover, would hold you. Cooing to you as he plays with your hair softly.

- He'll ask you what was wrong, the hue in his gaze shifting when you stare deeply into them and you'll shed tears.

- "It's okay,my sweet" He coos, smiling, despite your sorrow weighing down the room. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

- Lilia takes the long route to having children but it's all worth the wait when he sees you smiling lovingly at the newborn child in your arms as you gesture to the five year old next to you to come see their younger sibling.

- "Mommy,look, same eyes as you!" Cheered the child, and you perk up at the sight. Lilia was right, children were perfect remedies to a tired soul.

Azul Ashengrotto

- The thought of children,at first, terrified him. It'd be like trying to leash two more Floyds, wouldn't it? But then Jade mentioned that having children was similar to having a contract and something just clicked in his head.

- If he impregnated you, it'd be harder to run from him, right? And when he was truly a father then you'd have to look up to him to care for both you and the child, right?

- Of course! How didn't he see this sooner? What a fool.

- Azul would be hellbent on wanting a child and he'd try his hands at it multiple times, and was equally disappointed each time since all you ever did was refuse.

- "Kids are too hard to handle. We'd both be busy, and I don't think even Jade would have time to juggle them around when we can't." You sounded so bitter, so disapproving. It made Azul feel all dejected, as if you were just disgusted at the thought of having his seed inside of you.

- From then on,Azul starts to mope. His cool composure slips from time to time and it gets too often that Jade has to handle most of the clients. He'll pull a face when you ask him what's wrong and harshly tells you to leave him alone

- He's hurt,but he doesn't want to say it and he frustratingly tries to wrap his head around a plan to make his desire come true, playing out multiple routes in his mind to find a weak spot he could probe you with.

- "Why don't you want a child?" Azul asked you this right after closing Mostro Lounge. There's a hint of sorrow in his blue gaze when you come to meet it, and you wonder if you were too blunt with your answer.

- You shifted on your feet, something you did out of habit, and Azul took note of how out of place you seemed.

- "Cause I don't think either of us are ready?" You answer and in a split second, Azul's sorrow sharpened into irritation and you could just feel how badly that answer set him off.

- "Was that supposed to be an answer or a question?"

- "Azul, I don't want to fight over this." You reach out a hand to place on his shoulder, but he slapped it away with surprising speed and the hit leaves you slightly stunned. He'd never hit you before.

- "It's someone else isn't it?" He asked, almost a murmur. The way his gaze seemed to latch onto you then gave off an unsettling feeling.

- "You're seeing someone else,aren't you? That's why you don't want to have kids with me."

- "Azul,what are you—"

- He moved swiftly, but when his hands came to grip you by your shoulders, his nails sunk into your skin and his lips snarled at you.

- "Who is it? Tell me or I can't promise I won't hurt you right now." His rage practically frothed and you found no words to compensate for your lack of comprehension of the situation.

- "I don't care if it's Jade or Floyd. I'll take out anyone who wants to take you away from me!"

- Your lips parted,to speak perhaps, but Azul silenced you with his spiteful stare.

- "You're mine, aren't you? Why won't you just admit it? Why won't you just accept me already?"

- You thought the pain was from the words he threw at you; Sharp it resembled a hit from a whip,but then your vision had blurred and you were coughing up dry air it made your lungs hurt to take in anymore. Then you felt something run down the side of your lips, and only then did you realized Azul had thrown you right across the room and the wall collided against your body.

- There was a scream, so filled with frustration it wrecked your entire being you had to curl up in a ball before a strangled whimper came from your lips.

- "You're taking everything from me" Azul said, his still gaze watching your crumpled form. He sounded distant as if he wasn't really there, yet when he came over to cup your face with his hands, he had felt so real it hurt to look.

- You were so broken in his grasp then, he was sure you didn't even know where such anger came from, then again Azul was always aware of how reluctant you were in your relationship. You were with him only because he stirred you up in a contract. You never really did loved him as much as he loves you.

- The rising pleasure of being able to make you go through at least a portion of the pain he had to go through was surprisingly pleasant to have.

- He laughed before pulling your face close to his,nose almost touching. "Look how beautiful you are when you don't run your mouth or fight back", the words came in a coo yet you shivered from it.

- "I could make us the happiest couple in the world,you know. Our children would be the best among the best." Azul placed a lingering kiss on your lips, the scent of your blood edging him on. When you weakly tried to pull away, he gripped harder and bit your cheek until it bled and you were letting out small whimpers.

- "Don't cry,my sweet small seashell. If it hurts, I'm here for you. I'll make everything okay again. So, stop crying,I don't want our night of conceiving to be filled with tears."

Rook Hunt

- "Little Lamb, aren't you well enough to give me children?"

- You were merrily drinking tea when this question came out of the blue.

- Rook stood behind the chaise you were sitting on, his arms gracefully enveloping you in an embrace as his breath grazed your skin. He smelled of the forest right after rain, and his words left you rather stunned.

- "In the letter I received from Vil, he and his small hare were planning on having children of their own", he bent down slightly, enough to place a kiss on your cheek before he went around the chaise and faced you. The smile he wore rivalled the morning sun itself.

- You tried to collect your thoughts, tried to piece up the right words to tell him that you simply did not want children. In the end though,you decided it was better to just come out and say it.

- "Rook—"

- "Yes,my love?" His eyes seemed to beam, and Rook's eyes always beamed but this time, it was as if he had been playing the scene of your children running around the halls of his manor the entire day. Mesmerized was the word you'd use to describe it. Your chest tightened at the thought of breaking that dream of his. But you had to tell him...This was something you truly didn't want.

- "I don't want children,Rook." Blunt and precise, the words came from you without hesitation, and in that piercing second that held the room in silence, Rook felt his heart sank into the metallic jaws of disappointment. A mighty bear caught in the savage claws of man's horrid trap.

- He blinked. Once, then twice. By the third blink, you were already regretting your refusal and desperately searched for a way to amend for it.

- Unfortunately for you,Rook had already taken great damage, and as a result, he completely shrugged off your comment.

- "It would be splendid, wouldn't it? I would teach our sons to hunt and our little princess would have an entire garden built for her!"

- "Rook, didn't you hear—"

- "Yes! I can see it already! Our family would be such a joy to have!"

- You stood up then, exasperated by how delusional he sounded. You knew he didn't like the answer you gave him but to just pretend as if he hadn't listen! Just when you were about to turn on your heels to speak your mind,Rook stood as well, swiftly without a sound, and with the strength of a seasoned hunter he gripped you firmly by the waist and hoisted you up into the air.

- Your scream lodged in your throat and blood rushed to your head. Instinctively you held onto his hands, but when your eyes finally locked onto his, the deep-set emerald of his gaze turned luscious and vicious all at the same time and your words lost their volume.

- His lips curled, deliberately coy. When he lowered you and pressed your lips against his, your body flinched.

- "You'll give me good children,won't you?", he murmured before another kiss stole your breath again.

- "My precious dove, you'll make a fine mother."

Floyd Leech

- "Nee,nee, little shrimp,let's have kids,okay?" Floyd threw his arms around you as casually as always but the words he had said with the same amount of casualness was what staggered you on your feet.

- His sharp teeth bared,lips pulled into a grin, Floyd eyed you with great interest.

- You returned it with a terrified look.

- "No." You blurted out before even thinking, and Floyd frowned faster than he had grinned.

- "Why?" Flat and practically monotonous, his question sent a chill down your spine and you bit your lip out of habit.

- Floyd had always been unpredictable, mostly because he acted on how he felt rather than thinking it through first, and that's how you saw this whole situation. Maybe someone had said something, or maybe he met up with Cheka and somehow thought it would be nice to have kids, but he didn't really meant it. Right?

- "Nee,why don't you want kids?" He repeated his question, inching closer to you as you tried to avoid any physical trigger that would set him off. The mer-male had a tendency to bully you whenever you showed him any hint of feeling inferior to him, and that often ended with Jade having to tend to the 'love marks' he left behind on your body.

- "Why do you want kids anyway?" You shot back, minding how your tone sounded while still seeming firm. "They take up a lot of time you know? I'd have to pay more attention to them than to you"

- At the statement, Floyd arched his brows. The distant look in his eyes told you he was having a thought before his expression turned lax.

- "That's okay, I'll be there anyways so it's no big deal"

- "What?"

- "Hm? I'm telling you it's okay,little shrimp. Even Jade said he'd help around if it gets too much"

- He snaked his arms around your waist,pulling you real close to his chest until he could squeeze you tight.

- "It'll be fun,won't it?"

- Your body reacted before you could even comprehend anything, and it was only after you heard the dull thud of Floyd's back hitting the wall did you realized you had pushed him away.

- "You pushed me" He said this so softly, you thought you only heard it in your head but then he lifted his gaze and the mismatched orbs held such malice, your stomach lurched.

- "Floyd,I'm sorry...I didn't mean it, I just—"

- "Shut up. You're really pissing me off. " He elicited the words,each enunciation cut into sharp edges of glass scraping against your skin you wanted to close your eyes and run away from the whole thing.

- But with Floyd,if you ran, it meant you'd already lost.

- "What's with you? I ask all nicely and hug you and stuff, and you're pushing me? Jade said you didn't like kids but I told him that if it was with me you'd definitely say yes, cause after all, you're my little shrimp right?"

- You opened your mouth to speak, to say anything to avoid him having a tantrum, but Floyd let out a low growl and cut you off before you could.

- "Ah,I'm annoyed now. You should've just said yes but now...Now,I want you to come here"

- He opened his arms, the look in his eyes a spiral of aggression that shredded through your nerves.

- "I said come here,___, or you're gonna make me even more angry"

- You hated the way your body reacted to him. How it felt like you were a ghost in your own body as you watched yourself obey him.

- The coldness of his embrace had tears brimming your eyes and you pressed your face into his chest as if it was an instinct. An instinct to protect yourself.

- Floyd eased into your desperation, arms closing around you as he held you in his grasp. He was smiling but it was bland and it was meant to scare you.

- "Aha, you're crying! Aw,did you think I was gonna hurt you,little shrimp?"

- You shook your head,hands gripping onto his shirt as Floyd patted your head playfully.

- "Ah,it's cause you went and made me mad, right? Hahaha! You're a funny one,little shrimp. Always getting yourself into things you can't handle"

- Floyd then cupped your face with both hands, a feverishly possessive look in his eyes.

- "But,If you're really sorry you'll have to show me,okay?"

Riddle Roseheart

- Funnily enough,the suggestion of having children was brought up by Cater, and it had taken both you and Riddle off guard.

- Though, unlike you, Riddle saw it as an enlightenment. He adores you and acknowledges you to a great degree and so when the thought of being a father to your child crossed his mind, everything changed for him.

- "Children would be nice" He said,voice a soft lull as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. The two of you had been laying on his bed all day, Riddle claiming his fellow dormmates had made his day stressful as always.

- You were running your fingers through his hair when his question struck a cord in you,yet you opted to keep your thoughts to yourself.

- Riddle was a rather conflicting partner to have. Unlike the other yanderes, he wasn't at all aggressive or wholly dominant when he began his recession of obsessive love for you, at least not all the time. When Riddle admitted his feelings for you, he had laid himself bare.

- Gentle but clingy, he latched himself onto you as if you were stitched together, and due to the lack of childhood his mother deprived him of, Riddle found great comfort in the way you handled him with such an understanding and loving attitude. Sure,you had your days when you let loose your tongue of sarcasm but that was also an aspect about you he adored.

- "Don't you think so,____?"

- Riddle called you by your first name now rather than your title as supervisor, he didn't have a nickname, said it was all just too stuffy for him. Plus, the way your name rolled so lusciously on his tongue, satisfied him.

- "I guess" was your answer, and somehow despite how casual you sounded Riddle couldn't help but to hear a slight hint of disapproval in it.

- Still, he smiled when he looked up to you and let out a gentle laugh.

- "Our children would surely be an outstanding batch, won't they? I'd teach them how to use their magic and if one of them can't, they'll have you" He sounded so genuine, so soft. It hurt you to inwardly disagree with him.

- You weren't really fond of kids but you were also not the type to admit it out loud, afraid that people would look at you badly if you did.

- "Hmm, you don't seem like you're excited..." ,His voice a gentle coo,Riddle pressed his body against yours,his lips lightly caressing your skin. You arched your back and a small laugh escaped him.

- "Doesn't the thought of having children makes you want to try it?"

- If your silence didn't set him off, the way fear swirled in the hues of your eyes did, and like a switch, Riddle clasped your throat with his hand, a snarl scrunching up his expression.

- "Answer me when I talk to you,____."

- You let out a strangled gasp,your hand coming up to grip his wrist only to feel it burn instead

- Riddle's gaze shifted,clear blue eyes resembling a flickering flame.

- "Don't touch me. If you even move from this position, I'll rip that head off of you faster than the March Hare himself."

- You flinched at his words,eyes shutting close as your chest throbbed in panic. This was what you were avoiding, yet ultimately failed to notice. His moods shifted so profoundly after all, it was like treading on Alice Liddle's stubbornness.

- "I... I'm sorry!" You managed,half a sob and half a plea. Despite his hands looking so fragile, Riddle's grip was like an iron clamp, and somehow his skin seemed to burn into yours.

- "If you're sorry, then why am I still angry,___?" Riddle laughed, "Why do I still want to punish you?"

- You broke into tears easily after that, hopelessness coursing through your veins and warping your features.

- This broke his heart as well, Riddle now knew the answer he was waiting for. You didn't want children with him.

- Near tears himself,Riddle released his grip on you, letting you fall onto his mattress and curl into a ball as he sat there, kneeling before you. He watched as you let out an agonizing sob and called his name,for what reason he wasn't sure. He didn't know if you really loved him or not. You probably stayed because you feared him as well like most people did. But he loved you,he really did. If the world he lived in was a twisted Wonderland, you were his salvation, his home.

- "I'm sorry,___",he said after tears had stained his own cheeks and his heart weighed him down and his chest felt like exploding. He inched closer to you before gathering your trembling form into his arms and burying your face into his chest.

- "I'm sorry I hurt you. I won't do it again,I promise" He held you so tight, you couldn't even grasp enough air into your lungs,but you held onto him nonetheless.

- "I don't like hearing you cry" Riddle murmured in-between sobs, "I love you,___. I just wanted to show you that I do"

- He repeated those words like a mantra, and you fell deeper into your sorrows, as if you shared a single heart with him and the pain the two of you felt somehow had mixed together until you were unable to tell them apart.

- Love with Riddle was maddening,it really was. It was like diving into a rabbit hole. Endless.

- "I love you too, Riddle. I'm sorry for making you mad"

- "I don't care about that anymore" Riddle held your face in his hands,cheeks flushed when you leaned close to kiss his lips first. "I don't care about children or anything. I just want to be with you"

- You smiled. "Maybe having a few wouldn't hurt,if it's yours,I'll be okay,won't I?"

- He pressed his forehead against yours, chuckling, "Yes,my Lady"

[mittensmorgul]

You posted something about Crowley and it made me think: was having Dean really what he wanted? I think he was definitely attracted to both Dean and Cas and probably seduced Cas just to get Dean’s attention. Was Dean Crowley’s Lisa in the sense that he liked the idea of Dean and moped after their summer of love ended, but would the real Dean not Demon Dean have satisfied him in the long run? Especially since we saw Demon Dean became a frustration. Was Crowley really looking for love?

Hi there!

I've posted a lot of things about Crowley, and I think the most recent thing I reblogged may have been a fanfic with the premise that Crowley helped Cas get back out of the Empty, with an endgame relationship tag of Crowley/AU!Dean (fiat mcgee, aka the altchester huntercorp dean), so I don't know if that's the post you're referring to or not.

But I kind of like that comparison, of Dean being Crowley's Lisa, because Lisa was what Dean needed during that year. She legitimately cared about him, but also recognized that their relationship was not meant to be. They could've been friendly exes if Dean hadn't been driven to protect her by literally extracting himself from her life in every way imaginable.

And I don't mean comparing only Dean's time as a demon to his time at Lisa's...

I do think Crowley had multiple motives for his relationship with Dean. Remember the whole MoC arc started when Crowley was at a dangerously low point and desperately feeling his lost humanity, trying to recapture it however he could. And Dean happened to be conveniently adjacent.

We know Crowley's M.O. He seeks power, but in a practical way. He seeks his own security, and never wants to find himself at the whim of someone more powerful than him. I mean, this is why he chose to help TFW from the start way back in s5. He gave them what at the time was the most powerful supernatural weapon they knew of to stop Lucifer. It didn't work, but he proved he could be a valuable ally when it suited his needs.

Crowley has always, therefore, been drawn to Powerful Things That Could Be Useful To Him. He's alluded to his "warehouses" multiple times in canon, and we know he was the one who bartered for his own security with Ramiel by giving him the Colt (in addition to the lance of Michael that was the gift presented to him by all of Hell in an official capacity, the Colt was Crowley's personal gift). That's how he ended up in charge of Hell in the first place. He didn't want the job, per se, but he didn't want some other demon getting it and destroying the stability and security he'd built for himself, either.

And Dean? If Dean was fully on Team Crowley? Well, that would've been the sort of power play that could've made his power base into an unshakable throne. The fact Crowley seemed to develop legitimate feelings for Dean, even as a demon who was powerful enough in his own right that he could refuse to submit to Crowley's rule. I think it broke Crowley's heart a little bit that as a demon Dean didn't really seem to care about ~anything~ really... that the thing that had made Dean so personally captivating to Crowley (as opposed to his prowess as a potential warrior/defender of his throne) was effectively gone.

I don't know that it was a "my one true love has forsaken me" so much as-- as you said re: Dean and Lisa, too-- lamenting the loss of what could have been while acknowledging what it actually was. Maybe not a grand romance of the ages, but genuine care at a moment when Crowley had been at his own "most human" in the narrative.

I mean, I can see that without Dean's influence in his life at that relatively vulnerable moment, Crowley could very well have slipped all the way back into being the demon he'd always been. To an extent, the narrative kept trying to force him into that role, too. He was still trying to hold on to his power base, not because he particularly wanted it, but because anything else would've likely led to his own death. It seems like there's only one way to lose the throne of Hell, you know? And I hate that for him.

Do I think he was actually ~in love with Dean~? I think he had genuine feelings for Dean, yes. I believe he genuinely mourned the fact that Dean didn't and couldn't reciprocate those feelings. While he was a demon Dean didn't really ~have~ those sorts of feelings. Everything was just about having a good time and satisfying needs and desires. And then his humanity was restored (because of Crowley's direct intervention to make that happen) and he sort of knew that Dean would be lost to him after that, and did it anyway. I think there was at least some element of genuine care for Dean mixed in there with his purely practical acknowledgement that Demon!Dean was not the asset to his own power base that Crowley had hoped he might become in time.

So while I think he was at least partly motivated by his own personal security in gaining Dean as an ally and even friend, I do believe he genuinely had warm feelings in a very human way for Dean, too. Was it love? Was Crowley "looking" for love specifically? I don't think he would've been averse to that if Dean had reciprocated his feelings, but I don't think he was specifically looking for it. I don't think it was a primary motive for everything he did with and for Dean.

I mean, after that, Crowley's whole arc with Rowena, about his abandonment by her having become a central point to his character arc, and both his and her respective thoughts and feelings about Love as a concept really add nuance over the next few seasons. It goes back to 8.23 and Crowley's "I deserve to be loved!" So it's impossible not to credit his relationship with Dean as an exploration of that concept, as well.

So much of Supernatural is centered around themes of love-- what we do for love, what is worth sacrificing to save what you love, and every variation of love under the sun. When a character's arc is framed around his having been denied love and what he was willing to do to seek revenge for that, it's impossible to say he wasn't seeking to be loved, you know?

I just think his entire relationship with Dean came about at a time he was exceptionally vulnerable, and that he actually grew as a character as a result of his relationship with Dean. And we'll see that growth between both him and Dean right through to the end of s12, when it was all tragically cut short.

(though I do love and support Mark Sheppard for deciding he was done playing a character stuck in narrative limbo and playing second fiddle to Lucifer because of Eugenie's weird obsession... so yeah, I'm righteously irked on his behalf and on behalf of all the rest of us who should never have had to deal with Lucifer instead of Crowley at all... his entire character was just squandered and it's a crime, okay?)

If Crowley had lived, or returned, I feel like he would've been starting again from a much healthier standpoint in his relationship with Dean, too. I appreciate the tag for them "mostly civil exes" because that's really what their relationship became by s12. Not even getting into the point that I personally was hoping that Lucifer was just dead after Amara ripped him out of Cas in s11, and it felt so far beneath Crowley to attempt to use Luci for his own ends in s12 that I found that entire arc to be contrived and ridiculous, too, after the fact when the reasons for it came to light. It's just... not the point of this post. :'D

[mostweakhamlets]

SummerOmens: Ice Cream

Written for @thetunewillcome‘s summer omens prompt list! Again, I’m doing fileflies, but the husbands make an appearance in this one. 

All of the prompts I’m filling are also on my AO3 in one work! 

--

Dagon knew that it wouldn’t be the smoothest outing of their time on Earth, but she had gotten along fairly well with Aziraphale and Crowley once they had all made peace. As much peace as they all could after thousands of years of torment on Hell’s end and one traumatizing farewell to Crowley. The traitors had promised they had no intention of harming the demons (a relief as Beelzebub now had no power over Crowley who was both physically and supernaturally intimidating to them) and were only interested in a quiet life alone--with exceptions to help Beelzebub and Dagon adjust so long as the pair played fair. There were awkward, tense dinners and afternoons in one another’s gardens before they were all comfortable enough to bury the proverbial hatchet. 

Beelzebub looked at themselves one last time in the mirror. Dagon had convinced them to wear a pair of jeans out rather than their typical full suit. It was far too hot for such an outfit, and even Dagon had toned down her usual look in favor a grey t-shirt and light trousers. 

“It’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a little bit, and the traitors promised that we’ll enjoy where they’re taking us.” 

“I don’t trust them,” Beelzebub said, looking at their floral, short-sleeved button-up. “And it’s called sloth. We’re demons. We’re supposed to embrace and enjoy doing nothing.”  

“It’s called depression, and I know you’re not enjoying laying in your own sweat and filth for hours every day. Probably. Maybe you do.” Beelzebub did like their filth, but Dagon doubted that their recent habits were motivated by enjoyment. “And I don’t trust them, either.” 

“Then why are we going?” 

“Because it’s something to do up here, and the angel wouldn’t let me say no.” 

“You’re a Lord of Hell and you couldn’t say no to a principality?” 

“I’m as much of a Lord as you are a Prince right now.” Dagon regretted snapping as soon as Beelzebub clenched their jaw and looked back to the mirror. “And he’s not just any principality. He’s immune to Hell fire and stopped Armageddon. He must have done something to not let me say no. A mind trick or something.” 

In reality, Aziraphale had just used his pushy charm and insisted again and again that she couldn’t say no, that he and Crowley would plan the trip, and how does Wednesday at noon sound to you, dear? Before Dagon knew it, she had solidified a date and time and Crowley looked amused. 

“Where are we going?” Beelzebub said. 

“Not far from here. If you’re uncomfortable, we can turn around.” 

Beelzebub nodded. “I’m uncomfortable.” 

“I meant if you’re uncomfortable once we get there.” 

“Fine.” 

                                                           ~*~

Aziraphale had rambled for a good 10 minutes about how beautiful the old quarter of the town was, how nostalgic for the 19th century he was in the middle of it, and where all the divine places to dine were. Crowley listened with a sappy expression. Beelzebub tuned him out. Dagon actually took mental notes for future reference, though she didn’t acknowledge him. 

“I hope you don’t mind walking,” Aziraphale said after finishing his one-sided discussion on the cafes. “It’s a lovely day, and I insisted on enjoying the weather.” 

“It’s fine,” Dagon said. “Beelzebub needs the exercise.” 

Beelzebub only responded with a huff. Crowley snorted and smirked until Aziraphale said, “Crowley did as well.” 

By the time they arrived to the Old Town, they had drifted back into silence. Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look and a smile and lead them into the narrow streets of shops, pubs, and cafes. 

                                                         ~*~

Beelzebub would never admit that they enjoyed looking into the windows of shops and seeing the various things on display--odd dolls, old books, and various knick-knacks selling at high-prices. 

“A lot of it is to get tourists to waste their money,” Crowley whispered to them as Aziraphale stood by street musicians, listening with a wide smile and hands clasped together. “Humans are gullible when it comes to this type of stuff.” 

Beelzebub smirked. “So, humans are taking advantage of other humans with useless shopping?”

“Sort of. But it makes the other humans happy. They sort of know they’re being taken advantage of, and they don’t mind it if they can be happy in the moment.” 

The smirk disappeared. “Oh.” 

“But it is still... pretty evil. It’s capitalism at its worst if you ask me.” 

“Did you have anything to do with it?” 

“Yup.” 

                                                          ~*~

Dagon entered a shop with Aziraphale to look at secondhand books. She hadn’t taken to leisurely reading books yet (only gossipy tabloids), but was secretly interested in looking into them. She was used to pouring over paperwork in Hell, and with her new free time, she longed for something to hold in her hands and consume for hours on end while Beelzebub slept or moped. 

“What are looking for?” Aziraphale asked. 

“A book.” 

“Well, we’ve walked into the right shop.” He laughed at his own joke, perhaps one he would have told to his own customers if he had actually enjoyed their presence. “What do you want to read about is what I’m asking.” 

“What are books about?” 

Aziraphale lifted a hand to his chest and sighed. “Anything you can imagine.”

“Then find me something about death.” 

Aziraphale’s smile became tight, but then relaxed into something a little ornery. “Luckily, humans can be just as morbid as demons. I think something historical would suit you. How do you feel about tyrannical rulers?” 

“I know most of them.” 

“Let’s see what they have, then.” 

                                                          ~*~

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand as they strolled down the street. “What do you say to a treat?” 

Crowley followed his gaze to an ice cream parlor a few shops down from where they currently stood. He turned around. 

“Do you two know what ice cream is?” 

Dagon and Beelzebub shook their heads. Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. 

It sounded appalling to Beelzebub. Cream that had been turned to ice? They didn't like the sound of that. And what was its purpose? 

“We have to now, dear. The poor things have never had it. Think of the disservice we’d be doing to them if we didn’t--”

“We can get ice cream, angel! No one said ‘no.’“ 

Crowley turned back to the confused demons. “Do you want to try it?” 

Dagon and Beelzebub looked at each other. Beelzebub shrugged. They hadn’t been asked about they wanted to do in a long time. They were both used to following and giving orders.  

“What’s it like?” Dagon said. 

“Uh... it’s creamy and, uh, ice-y. It’s like soft, frozen, sugary milk. You can get it in different flavors.” 

“Is there a pasta flavor?” Beelzebub asked. They were only familiar with pasta. 

“No. You can usually get chocolate or vanilla. Sometimes there’s little things in it like sweets.” 

“We’ll help you decide,” Aziraphale said. 

And no one had offered to help them with anything before, so Beelzebub and Dagon stared at the angel. It was more autonomy and assistance that they had had in their entire existence because, despite willingly revolting against Heaven and their strict regiment, they had lived by rules and high expectations sculpted by fear and Her writings. 

They finally nodded together, unfamiliar with the feeling they both had in their chests and stomachs. 

Aziraphale ended up suggesting they start with vanilla, and they were handed two shallow cups with two scoops in each. They sat together at a patio table outside the shop where the sun could irritatingly beam in their eyes and the wind could whip their hair around. But as soon as they were settled and after Beelzebub fixed their hair for the third time, the wind died and clouds slid over the glaring sun. 

Dagon scooped a small bite on her spoon. Beelzebub followed suit and put it in their mouth. 

It was as Crowley had described it--soft, frozen, sugary milk. But it was lovely. It was creamy and rich and the perfect balance of sweet and bland. Beelzebub wondered what the other flavors tasted like, if they were equally sweet and had the same texture. They wondered what the cone that Aziraphale had tasted like. 

They wanted to experiment with the sweets in the little jars inside the parlor tasted like when combined with the vanilla and the other flavors. The imagined a crunch to it if they added chocolate chips or a stickiness to it if they had chocolate sauce. 

Their tongue was cold and the sugar rested on the very back of it, encouraging them to eat more to remind of the fresh flavor. Their lips were sticky, and they licked the corners of their mouth to swipe what they had missed. 

“Ow.” 

Dagon sat her spoon down and pressed her hand to her forehead. Her eyes were squeezed together in pain. Beelzebub touched her shoulder, forgetting about the frozen treat they had wanted a love affair with. 

“It’ll pass,” Crowley said, smiling as he took another spoonful. 

Beelzebub glared. They knew the whole trip was a ploy. If they could, they would have set the entire table ablaze with Hell fire. They would sent a swarm of flies out. They would have called on other demons to pull Crowley and Aziraphale down to the deepest pit they had in Hell. 

But then Dagon sat up seconds later, fine. “What was that?” 

“It’s called a brain freeze,” Aziraphale said. “It happens if you eat something too cold too fast. It’s nothing harmful. Just annoying.” 

Dagon pushed her ice cream away. “I think I’ll pass on this in the future.” 

Aziraphale’s bottom lip stuck out. “I’m so sorry, dear. We should have warned you. It took us by surprise the first time it happened to us.” 

Beelzebub made sure to take small, slow bites of their ice cream until it was gone and when they reached for Dagon’s half-melted, abandoned cup, no one said anything. 

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

AO3 Link

It started at a library.

The library, if we’re going to get specific about it, which we are.

“So, this is where you’ve holed yourself up for the past decade?” Crowley said, letting the tips of his fingers absently play with the edges of a scroll laying rolled up on a shelf while he lounged on a wooden chair. “Of all the dull places.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Aziraphale murmured, nose deep in a scroll of his own, his eyes alight with excitement like he’d only just discovered the written word for the first time.

“It’s no gladiatorial combat, that’s for sure.” Crowley said, swinging one leg back and forth where it dangled over the armrest. “Now there’s a good time.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“It’s the perfect cesspool for sin, you know. Not the violence - too obvious - but can you imagine the amount of small talk between neighbors that each game brings? Eurg. Small talk. The ultimate sin.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“And then the Dark Lord Satan Himself decided to pop in for a visit yesterday, brought me a bouquet of roses, and decided to serenade me. Lovely singing voice he has, the Dark Lord Satan.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Crowley frowned when he realized he wasn’t being listened to, materialized a small pebble and tossed it at the back of Aziraphale’s head.

“Ouch!” Aziraphale rubbed at his head as he turned around towards Crowley. “What was that for?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be spreading Good or something?” Crowley asked, ignoring the question. “I can’t imagine that reading books from boring old nobodies can be fulfilling your duties.”

“Boring old -“ Aziraphale look affronted. “- these are the works of Aristotle.”

“Whom you’ve bothered in person before. He was a bit of a prick wasn’t he?” Crowley glanced around him at the high ceiling and painted columns that surrounded shelves upon shelves of scrolls. “What is this place anyway?”

“The library of Alexandria.” Aziraphale answered fondly, stroking a hand along the scroll he’s been reading with a tender smile. “The largest collection of knowledge the world has ever seen. It’s astounding, really. Generations can exist in a single room.”

“They can do that in a crypt, too.” Crowley muttered, picking at a loose string on his robe.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Crowley picked himself up from the chair and sauntered over to the desk Aziraphale was currently inhabiting. “Well, nevermind me, angel. I was just growing concerned that your do-good attitude hadn’t been seen or heard from in a while.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Concerned… for my well-being?”

Crowley scoffed.

“Of course not. Concerned that you were plotting something big, not wasting away in a library.” He sniffed and adjusted the dark rimmed spectacles he’d taken to sporting recently. “Seeing as you’re just being dull, I’ll be off then. Spreading the seeds of dissension, causing riots, inventing gossip columns - doing my job, you know.”

Then he was gone.

Aziraphale went back to his scroll.

***

Everything was burning.

“No, no, no! Leave that alone!”

Aziraphale ran to the shelves of his favorite scrolls, dodging walls of flames and soldiers to reach it, but it was far, far too late.

“Please no, not the books!” He miracled one book back to its original condition only to have it burst back into flame. “Heaven help me!”

“I hope that’s negotiable.”

A hand grasped Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Crowley was there, glancing - if possible - nervously around them at the flames and destruction.

“Was this you?” Aziraphale demanded, reaching for another burning scroll and pulling back with a hiss when it burned his corporeal form. “Did you tempt people into -“

“No!” Crowley yelled, sounded affronted. “Believe it or not, the worst deeds you’ll ever see are pure humanity. Now come on!”

He tugged at Aziraphale’s shoulder insistently urging him towards the exit, but Aziraphale’s eyes were on every burning book, every engulfed scroll, every consumed scrap of knowledge that was now lost to the universe.

“I need to - I need to save -“

“Yourself, angel. The paperwork if you die will be abhorrent. Now let’s go!”

Aziraphale wasn’t listening.

The books were burning.

“But I need to -“

“Oh, for the love of -“

Crowley’s grip switched to Aziraphale’s hand as he dragged the angel out of the burning library as near-deadweight and didn’t stop until the smoke cleared from his lungs and the heat from the flames no longer threatened to blister.

They sat at the top of a hill, out of breath, watching the library smoulder.

“You’re welcome.” Crowley muttered, patting ash from off of his robes.

Aziraphale said nothing, and only stared at the licking flames with a blank expression, a single tear cutting through the soot on his cheeks.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley spoke up finally, worried that somehow he’d managed to break an angel. “They’re just books. Humans will write new ones.”

“They’re never just books, Crowley.” Aziraphale said softly, and that was all he could say, really. It was all he could do to attempt to portray how much loss had been suffered. “They’re never just books.”

Crowley nodded once, and quietly left Aziraphale alone in his mourning.

***

A bomb went off, and then came the panic in Aziraphale’s voice.

“I forgot all the books!” Said Aziraphale frantically. “They’ll all be blown to…”

He stopped, staring in shock when Crowley handed him his bag.

“Little demonic miracle of my own.” Crowley said and began navigating his way through the rubble as if he hadn’t just saved part of Aziraphale’s heart. “Lift home?”

There was silence behind Crowley for much longer than he’d expected, and he turned to see Aziraphale staring at him with a look he’d never seen directed towards him. Towards his books, yes. Towards crepes on a very good day.

But never towards him.

“What?”

“You saved my books?”

Crowley fished out the keys to his car from his pocket distractedly.

“Well… you know… the last time some books you liked got destroyed… you moped around for an entire century and were no fun at all.”

Aziraphale’s look didn’t falter.

“But they - they’re just books.”

Crowley shrugged, opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it once more.

“They’re never just books, angel.” Crowley said with the most sincerity Aziraphale had ever heard. “Now, do you want a lift or not? This is a one time thing - I’m not running a cab service.”

Aziraphale smiled and hugged the books right to his chest as he nodded.

“Thank you.” He said.

And the words had little to do with the lift.

[itsyaboiwritersblock]

Beauty and the Beast

Pairing(s): Crowley x Female Human Reader

Rating: G

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn Fluff

Words: 2,541

Genre: Fluff, so much fluff, Angst

Part two of: “Won’t Say I’m in Love”

@antmnwasp @pantaxbal

I do not own the GIFs, characters, or song

The song is “Beauty and the Beast” from the movie “Beauty and the Beast”

The sound of an amused chuckle broke the silence that seemed to blanket the small bookshop, though one of the occupants didn’t seem amused in the slightest, while the other couldn’t wipe the smirk off of his face. The demon had just start talking about the experience he had the night before at {Y/N}’s house, and the angel obviously wasn’t going to hide how he felt, even though smug didn’t really fit him at all. Crowley cursed himself, an unusual flush of embarrassment dusted his cheeks as he glared at a book, debating on chucking it at the angel while he thought back to how this had happened.

“How is our {Y/N} doing? I’ve been meaning to meet up with her as she’s been asking to borrow a book from my personal collection and I still need to give it to her. And now I simply must thank her for those delightful cookies she baked!”

“I can give her the book tonight if you would like, she suggested we have a movie night, so I. . . I invited her over to my flat.”

Crowley muttered the last part of that sentence, eyes, currently not hidden behind his usual sunglasses, stared at the floor. It was clear that he didn’t want to admit that fact because he could already guess Aziraphale’s reaction, and he didn’t want to meet it head on. At all.

On the angel’s face was the smuggest grin he could muster, which was actually impressive, well, Crowley thought it was impressive considering the angel’s too pure history. 

“You two are getting awfully close. One might think that you fancy her, perhaps, more than a friend?’

“I’m a demon! Demons don’t do more than friends! I don't know what you’re talking about, besides she’s a human. . . Like a human could be worthy of loving a demon!”

“Oh please, Crowley! You have a lot of strengths but hiding what you want isn't one of them. Demons really don't do subtle, do they? Personally, I think your little crush on her is quite adorable.”

Aziraphale grinned, raising his mug of hot chocolate to his lips as he listened to Crowley sputter and struggle for the right words.

“I’m not. . . ! Demons are. . . ! Adorable? Really, Angel?”

“This is really unlike you Crowley, getting all flustered over a human? How scandalous! What will He- er. . . Your side think?”

The angel seemed concerned for just a second before he went back to his smug expression, proud that he, an angel, he could crack a demon such as Crowley.

“First of all, I’m not flustered. I’m fine, I don't know what you’re talking about. Second, Hell doesn't care about me anymore, so I doubt they'll really try to track me down if I did something like fall in love with a human. If. Anyway, Angel, I really must be going. {Y/N} would have a fit if I’m late to a get together at my flat.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley abruptly stood from his seat across from the angel and marched right of the bookshop. Unknown to the angel though, Crowley was lying through his teeth when he said that Hell wouldn't come after him for loving a human. He was sure Hastur or Beelzebub were already aware of what he really felt for his Dove. That was one of the main reasons why he didn’t want to admit he caught feelings for the human, he didn’t want to put her in any sort of danger. Another thing was that he knew what happened when two people had mutual feelings for each other. They got together and spent the rest of their lives with each other. The thing was, she would be spending the rest of her life with him. He would be forced to watch her grow old, sick, and deteriorate, and part of him pleaded to avoid her so he can spare himself of that pain.

As Crowley was moping around in his thoughts, he had realized that he had arrived his flat, as he wasn't really paying attention to his driving, rather paying attention to his intrusive thoughts. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, they were beginning to win. Did deserve to go through the pain that was loving a demon? She was such a blessing to him that he didn't want to imagine her going through any sort of pain, especially inflicted by him. 

That was his worst nightmare, well, it would be if demons had nightmares, let alone had dreams at all.

With a worried glance, he glanced up at his clock that seemed to betray him when it read that it was only half an hour until four. Half an hour until {Y/N} would be arriving. He didn't know why he was panicking, if he couldn't get everything ready, he could just miracle it into place last minute. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, even though a certain angel warned him that it wasn't a good practice, using miracles for small everyday things that could be done by hand.

Time seemed to fly because in no time, he heard a very faint knocking at his flat door. Once he heard that noise, he took a deep breath, hoping to all that was holy, well, unholy, that this would go without any bumps. That he wouldn't screw it up, because he’d hate to lose {Y/N}, even if being around her brings back the pain of not being able to have her. He’d rather have her with someone else and safe than with him and in danger.

“Crowley! Thank you for inviting me over, again, I was really surprised when you agreed to watch a movie with me. Especially a princess movie!”

{Y/N} greeted with a bright smile, stepping into his flat when Crowley moved out of the doorway, watching her surprised expression. The real thing clearly didn't match what she was envisioning a couple minutes prior.

“It’s no big deal, besides, all I already told you that I was a sucker for sweet things.”

He replied effortlessly with a wink, and he couldn't really catch himself before he replied. Of course, going along with his cheeky nature when he replied was normal for him, so he knew that trying to block that might be a little difficult. Demons were known for having little self control, and this little interaction showed it.

“Oh, and are those sweet things just movies or. . .”

{Y/N} giggled in a flirty whisper, standing on her tiptoes to stare at Crowley behind his sunglasses the best he could. Immediately, the demon pulled back, not used to his Dove acting so forward. And instead of going along with his instincts, he pulled back and turned away from her.

“Yep. Mainly just movies I’m afraid.”

{Y/N} watched with a heartbroken yet confused expression as her friend walked over to his large couch and practically fell on it, glancing at her like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn't rejected her quicker than he rejected new cars.

“Oh, well, uhm. . . Let me just put the movie in and we can start right away! I brought one of my favorites!”

She plastered on a fake smile and popped the disk into the player before sitting down next to Crowley on the couch. Well, next to was an overstatement, Crowley was practically hugging the right arm and {Y/N} was debating on sitting on the left arm, both determined to put as much space as they could between each other.

The movie started as the two remained silent, the only noise being the live action version of the classic playing on the rather large television. It remained this way for awhile, but it was actually Crowley that broke the silence.

“This character, uh, Belle is it? She’s an absolute idiot! The town’s most eligible bachelor is throwing himself at her and she’s shrugging him off like she won’t be forced to marry someone like him anyway!”

Crowley groaned, but he seemed to be grinning as he complained about the first few minutes of the film.

“It’s supposed to be about her being independent! Don't ruin it with accuracies!”

{Y/N} giggled from her side of the couch, rolling her eyes at the antics of her friend as he just continued to spout off about how much of a catch Gaston really was. As much as she wanted to scoff and laugh at him, he had a point. Gaston’s actor was pretty good looking.

It was at that point that Crowley had scooted a little closer to the middle of the couch.

“So. . . Her mother is dead, her father is the town crazy, and she’s the only woman in the village that can read?”

“Yes! I don't understand why that's so hard to see!”

Crowley couldn't help but give a soft laugh at {Y/N}’s small rant, now noticing that she herself was closer to the middle compared to where she was at the start of the movie.

“You never fail to make me smile, Dove.”

“You never fail to make me absolutely crazy, Crowley!”

She managed to get out between her fits of laughter, and although she couldn't see, Crowley’s eyes were brightening at the sound of it. Maybe this movie night was a good idea after all.

The rest of the movie passed the same way, Crowley making a comment about something he didn't like or didn't understand and immediately {Y/N} would defend the film, though not without having a chuckle or two. And as the movie continued to play and the two continued to watch, either they didn't notice or didn't comment on it, but by the halfway point, the two were sitting side by side, {Y/N}’s head resting gently on his shoulder.

“Oh my Go- gosh. . . Don't tell me they’re going to sing again! This is like, what, the hundredth song?”

“Hush your whining, Crowley this is the best part!”

{Y/N} lectured him from her spot beside him as she watched with wide eyes, already anticipating the most known song of the film. The two did share a name, so it was only that more memorable.

“Tale as old as time. True as it can be.”

The woman felt her breath hitch as she watched the two main characters slowly dance in each other’s arms, wishing she could, too, feel a warm embrace from someone she loved. Meanwhile, Crowley was fake gagging, but on the inside, he was panicking. Why in the hell did she have to pick such a sappy romance movie! It just made everything for him worse!

“Barely even friends. Then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

Of course that lyric had to apply to them. It just had to! Crowley cursed himself for agreeing to this, as he really didn't know what he was getting into when he said yes. But his nervous rambling was broken by an awkward chuckle from the woman with her head on his shoulder.

“Ah, too bad love in real life isn't that easy. . . Right, Crowley?”

“Nothing is ever easy in this dammed world, Dove. Especially love.”

{Y/N} couldn't help but smile at his answer, her eyes darting back to the screen, and she had assumed that Crowley had done the same. But instead, his focus was still on his Dove.

“All little scared, neither one prepared. Beauty and the Beast.”

He couldn't help but hate those lyrics too, as he felt like he just kept getting called out during this dammed song. Beauty and the Beast? It wasn't hard to make the connection there. {Y/N} was fiery but delicate, a beauty he couldn't ever obtain. While Crowley was a beast that was meant to remain hidden.

“Crowley. . .”

The soft call of his name caught his attention as he looked down and saw those wide {e/c} eyes he had fallen in love with, melting his cold exterior even further.

“Yes, Dove?”

“Finding you can change. Learning you were wrong.“

“Stop fighting yourself.”

Crowley stared at her for a moment, mouth agape, completely taken aback by what she had just said. What did she mean, though? She couldn't mean. . .

“Tale as old as time. Song as old as rhyme.”

“Dove I-”

“Stop fighting, Crowley.”

“Beauty and the Beast.”

Crowley blinked for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around what his human was saying. But his thoughts scattered as soon as he felt a much softer pair of lips press against his own. His eyes immediately blew wide, but his instincts and wants took over, his lanky arms wrapping around her waist to gently hoist her into his lap.

“Oh, Dove. . .”

He mumbled, disappointed in himself at the thought he could fight something so tempting. It was funny, him a demon, the king at tempting, trying to fight against the most tempting prize of all. Love. {Y/N} smiled softly against his lips, pushing herself upward, eyes fluttering close. Her hands ran into his perfect hair, the want she had to mess it up and play with it was finally fulfilled as she just rested her hands there. After a small moment, a hand strayed from his red hair and fell on his chin, while Crowley’s hands remained on her hips, tracing small circles with his thumbs.

Crowley was convinced this was what pure bliss was like. That nothing could ruin the moment.

And then he felt her take off his sunglasses.

Instantly, Crowley had shoved her away, trying to scramble and get them back, but the damage was already done when she opened her eyes in surprise and stared into the eye’s of a snake.

“Crowley. . . Crowley what the hell-”

“Get out.”

He forced himself to say, turning his gaze away from her as he couldn't deal with seeing the pain he had just caused her from that phrase alone.

“What?”

“I said. . . Get out!”

He snapped, standing up from the couch in an instant, but gaze still avoiding {Y/N} because just hearing her cry was tearing at his heart. He knew he couldn't stand seeing it. He knew he would break and ask her to stay, but he couldn't do that. Instead, he waited for that telltale sound of his flat door slamming shut before he stared at the spot his Dove sat in moments before.

“I’m such a monster. . . A selfish monster.”

He growled to himself, picking up the remote before chucking it across the room in a fit of anger, listening to the distant sound of it shattering and the batteries rolling everywhere.

“My my my, wasn't that dramatic. Always knew you had a flare for making a scene, Crowley.”

Crowley didn't get scared. Demons didn't get scared. But hearing that voice, that annoyingly buzzy voice, struck fear into the heart of even the most daring and brave demons. 

“Beelzebub. . .”

That was the only thing he said, turning around, yellow eyes wide and full of fear as he stared at his superior who was just a couple of feet in front of him.

“Crowley, I think you and I are due for a little chat.”

NOTE: Y’all I’m so sorry this took so long! I really hope it lived up to your expectations and I’ll see you next time! Thanks for reading!

[mslanna]

Oh

Have another. Editing this into shape was WORK. Also might get sequel. The reason Aziraphale mostly ignores Crowley's confession in the pub after the bookshop burnt down. 

Also on AO3

When Aziraphale finally found Crowley he is baffled. The demon is as drunk as a skunk, sitting in a pub doing nothing. When the world is about to end and he had been inconveniently discorporated. How could the demon be here – moping!

"Aziraphale." Crowley said it so softly, as if he didn't believe it but was scared to burst the bubble anyway. Then he lifted his glasses, squinting. "Are you there?" That sounded more like the demon Aziraphale knew.

"Good question. Not certain," he replied. "Never done this before. Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you." The offended tone did not match the still unbelieving face of Crowley. Not even the dark glasses returned to cover his eyes could mask it. He was holding on to a full bottle of Whisky.

"I'm afraid I've rather made a mess of things," Aziraphale admitted. A much bigger mess then necessary apparently. Crowley was very definitely in a state. "Did you go to Alpha Centauri?"

Maybe that was it. Crowley had left and the stars were a better place than he had ever imagined and now Aziraphale came barrelling in, intruding, invading, upsetting the peace. In that case there was not much hope Crowley'd help out.

Aziraphale didn't finish the thought. Instead he tried to smile. Crowley had really wanted to go, deserved to go. Maybe at least one of them had gotten lucky and a little bit happy.

"Nah, I changed my mind." The words sounded as if they had to squeeze themselves past a barrier. Crowley but the bottle down. "Stuff happened."

That was definitely an understatement. Yet the way Crowley said it, made clear he wasn't going on about the impeding end of the world, though.

This was personal and it was destroying him in a way not even holy water could achieve. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley give up before. Oh, he bragged about how little he cared, evil fiend that he was. But it was easy to see through that bluster. Crowley hadn't cared either. They had their arrangement and ways to enjoy the world. None of which mattered. Crowley looked devastated. He sounded like it, too.

Crowley was not crying. He was definitely doing his best not to.

But Aziraphale knew him. They had spent the last six thousand years more or less in each other's company. More as time dragged on and it was so comfortable to have somebody who knew. Somebody who remembered and related. Somebody who understood and cared. Pretended to care. The difference mattered only in the moments of doubt and those had become less even if they never really vanished.

"I lost my best friend." The words broke apart as soon as they left Crowley's lips.

Aziraphale felt ready to follow. Oh.

Oh indeed.

It took Aziraphale's breath away. It didn't matter how Crowley came to think he had left for good when he had just been discorporated. But his reaction to it hurt ineffably.

He loves you.

If Aziraphale had had a body, he would have had to remind himself to breathe now. Crowley actually did love him. No demon-y wiles, no obligatory tempting the enemy. Crowley actually – Aziraphale pressed his lips together.

Crowley was a demon for heaven's sake. And what great feather in a demon's cap than to have seduced an angel of the Lord to wicked ways? Wasn’t that worth the longest game? Yes, it had been very nice, the company, the conversations, the witty exchanges and drunken debates. But the only way to ensure there was no end to them, was to not give in.

What good was a successfully tempted angel to a demon? None. So Aziraphale had played the game. Not because it was a good game or he liked it but because it was the only way to make sure Crowley did not leave. Plausible deniability was a lot easier to bear than accepting the truth.

The fucking truth.

It was impossible to see his friend so distraught. Impossible. There was so much, so many things – Aziraphale blinked. He had a lot to make up to. Maybe not exactly six thousand years. But the world was ending and if the world ended there would be no time for any of it. Ever.

"I'm so sorry to hear it," he got out. It wasn't much. It was nothing at all really. But if he let go now, nothing would stop the end of the world. And then it would be all over. Forever. He could not risk that. Another item on the pile of things he'd have to atone for.

He would push through this, now, painfully, because a wrong word, a wrong glance would send him spiralling into orbit around Crowley and that would get nothing done. No second chance to get it right. And Aziraphale wanted that second chance. That second attempt to get it right and not hold back because maybe, just maybe, it was all just a game, despite all proof to the contrary.

It'd be alright. There'd be time. He'd make it so. He'd have to. Aziraphale let his eyes wander, dragging him from the maelstrom that was the need to comfort his friend. My friend. My demon. How dare anybody hurt him? How dare I? It would all have to wait. Aziraphale forced his lips to move.

"Listen," he heard himself say on autopilot. He had to knuckle through this. If not, what good would anything be? If there was to be an eternity and he was to spend it apart from Crowley, or worse with the demon dead – what good was anything at all then?

Nothing. Not a single flying fuck.

[hekate1308]

King Of The Jungle

Another Crowley survival story. Enjoy!

Dean hasn’t told Sam and Cas yet, because he’s pretty sure they’d laugh if he explained he feels like he’s transforming into a Disney princess.

Not the falling asleep for a hundred years or the biting into poisoned apple part, but he’s rather sure that animals have started to try and communicate with him.

Another reason he hasn’t mentioned it is because... well, if this is a spell or an attack, it’s a pretty lame one.

First time it happened, he barely paid attention to the rat hovering near where the body was found. After all, they were in a pretty grim part of town, so why shouldn’t there have been rats?

But then – Sam and Cas had just stepped away to talk to the witness – it darted out of the shadows and dragged something out of the victim’s flesh, laying it at Dean’s feet before vanishing as quickly as it had come.

It turned out to be the claw of a lamia. He pretended he’d spotted it and focused on dealing with the thing quickly. After all, it could have just been a fluke. Rat felt hungry, rat realized what it had taken wasn’t edible, rat threw it away. And it accidentally landed in front of him.

It was easier to believe than that there was some secret society of rats – and that they had suddenly decided to help him out.

So yeah, he decided that it was in his best interest not to think about it too much.

But from that moment on...

The rat wasn’t the last helpful animal they came across. And yet, they only ever seemed to focus on Dean and Dean alone.

A cemetery late at night, a werewolf on the prowl, Sam, Dean and Cas doing their best to encircle and dispatch it.

It attacks Dean from behind – he must be getting old – and he only has time to think that it seems like he’s finally reached the end of the line when out of the blue a wolf – a real one – appears and drags the werewolf away from him.

Then, it jumps between the two of them, glancing at Dena as if to say Catch your breath, I’ve got this, and isn’t that an idiotic thing to assume an animal is telling him.

“Thanks” he breathes regardless. The wolf keeps the werewolf at bay until Dean can gank him and then disappears.

They are having some free time for once, and Dean insisted on going to the beach. They really deserve a holiday. Not even Sam put up much of a resistance.

Of course they’d end up in a town with shtriga activity.

That, at least, is unsurprising, because of course they can never catch a freaking break.

What is – well, Dean will be the first to admit that he didn’t assume he was going to be alerted to the fact that something was after the children by a cat walking up to him and dropping a newspaper in front of his feet.

Freaking wraiths, man.

That’s all Dean can think as he’s dragged underwater. With a few practiced moves, he’s soon free of the creature’s hold and ready to –

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to do anything else since the next thing he sees is a seal – a freaking seal in a lake – tearing it apart.

He blinks and it’s gone.

Currently they’re working a case somewhere in Missouri – witches. God, Dean still hates their guts, Rowena helping them out occasionally notwithstanding (and sometimes in his darkest nights he will even admit to himself why he has no problem with her popping in now and then).

Point is, they’re looking for the witch’s den, having split up to be faster; once upon a time, Cas would have been able to find them instantly, but since he came back from the dead with diminished powers (but at least he came back, unlike – not that Dean thinks about that a lot, because it’s complicated and he doesn’t need to make things even worse by brooding on them), and Dean is walking down a street when he hears –

The cry of an eagle.

Now, he’s pretty sure eagles stay out of towns, but then, with his new-found status as a beacon for all animal life within five miles of wherever they are currently staying, he is less surprised than he should be. He looks up. Yep, that’s an eagle right there – it cries out one more time, seems to look down at him, then sweeps east.

Dean really should know better than to follow it, so naturally he does.

And wouldn’t you know it? It leads him right to the witch’s place.

So what if he lies when Sam asks how he found it later? He simply got lucky, that’s all.

But the eagle was the last straw nonetheless, and so he starts doing research. There has to be an explanation for him suddenly turning into the king of the jungle.

Nothing he finds fits the bill, though. Most spells that send animals after people are pretty nasty and tend to make the animals attack, but that’s not what has been happening. On the contrary.

And Dean thinks of the wolf, jumping in front of him with a backward glance that seemed entirely too intelligent –

No. Scratch that. Yeah, the wolf seemed sentient, but more than that –

Something about it was familiar. As if Dean had known it before it came to his rescue –

It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s all he has.

Something he knows.

It’s when he suddenly thinks that it doesn’t have to be something but could very well be someone that he comes across the solution.

A solution.

But one he desperately wants to be true because – well, because –

Just because. Does everything have to have a reason, now? God knows enough has happened to them already.

And if it were true –

But it can’t be, surely.

No; he’ll just wait and see. Maybe he’ll find out the truth.

When he does, it’s in a rather unspectacular fashion. He has come to study every animal they come across, since whoever or whatever is following him can hardly just stumble across their hunts by accident – they have to keep close by, to make sure they can react at the right moment; and one day, he spots a Dalmatian patiently sitting on the kerb on the other side of the street, doing its best not to look at their motel, but Dean knows.

And so he decides to leave through the backdoor and sneak up on it, telling Sam and Cas he’s going to get burgers.

It’s pure luck that he manages not to alert the dog, really – the wind’s blowing into his face, so it doesn’t pick up his scent, and it’s still there after he gets around the block.

Once he comes close though, it jumps in the air, turning around –

Showing Dean its eyes.

Red eyes.

And granted, he never really saw them like that, but he knows that look. “Crowley. Long time no see.”

The dog tilts its head to the side in a pretty good imitation of Cas’ signature move, but Dean won’t be fooled so easily. “Come on. I know it’s you. Or are you going to tell me just any random wolf came to my rescue at that cemetery?”

He’s fervently hoping that no one’s paying attention to the apparently crazy guy berating a dog on the sidewalk.

If that’s in any way possible, the dog looks contrite. “I assume you can’t talk.”

It’s wearing  a collar, and Dalmatians aren’t exactly cheap, so Dean presumes any time now an annoyed pet owner is going to show up. “Look, we need to talk. Any chance you can get a meat suit, just for a few minutes?”

It might not be exactly ethical to allow Crowley to possess a random person, but he really needs to know what Crowley’s deal is, and what he’s been thinking, just running after them and helping out when he could have just knocked on the bunker’s door. Yeah, Dean did punch him in the face the last time he showed up, but he was understandably upset at the time, and that has to count for something.

He watches the Dalmatian run off and goes to a nearby park, confident that Crowley will find him. When a man approaches the bench he’s sitting on, Dean almost has to laugh – leave it to the demon to find a meat suit that looks remarkably like the one that got left behind in the Apocalypse world, maybe with a few years shaved off. Guy’s even got a beard.

“There you are. Now can we talk about this like adults?”

Crowley sits down next to him, clearly moping. Dean rolls his eyes but can’t suppress a smile.

Man, it feels good to have him back.

When Crowley looks up, he seems taken aback, then clears his throat. “What is it, Squirrel?”

Alright, the new voice will take a bit to get used to. “What do I – you are the one who decided to go all magical fairytale companion on me!”

Crowley shrugs and does his best to look unaffected by all of this, which would probably work if Dean didn’t know him better than most. “I needed to lie low. Every demon in Hell is after me, and I’m not as strong as I used to be.”

“Strong enough to take on a werewolf, at any rate” Dean says. “Wait, since when is hanging around us considered “lying low”?”

“It’s the last place anyone would think of looking for me” Crowley replies smoothly.

Dean has to admit there’s some logic behind that. Begrudgingly, of course. “So what are your plans for the immediate future? I imagine suitable empty meat suits who aren’t rotting aren’t easy to come by.”

“There are always more animals” Crowley says with a sigh. “I assume you won’t let me keep the accountant from Kansas?”

“Nope, but you just gave me an idea.” Dean stands up. “Let’s go to a shelter.”

“No.”

“Crowley” Dean hisses. “This is not some Disney movie where we walk in, grab Pongo and drive off into our happily ever after. You can’t expect to find some pretty dog in a shelter.”

“But –“

“Look I know it’s not ideal. But you want something sturdy, like this bull dog.”

“To help you out during hunts. Got it.” Now Crowley sounds downright disgusted, and Dean can’t blame him. If Cas hates being called their attack dog, how much worse must it be for someone who was treated like an actual dog by the devil?

“No” he says casually because the subject hasn’t come up yet, “But Juliet needs someone strong to play with.”

“Juliet?”

Dean shrugs, looking anywhere but at Crowley. “She just showed up. Didn’t have the heart to gank her. Mind, Sam complained at the beginning, but then I caught him petting her, the softie.”

Crowley obviously doesn’t quite know to do with the observation, so he concentrates on the flee-ridden bull dog that’s supposed to be put down next week again. “In that case...”

Dean grins.

“Dean” Sam says opening the door of their motel room, “Where have you –“ he stops talking when he sees the dog next to Dean.

“Hey Sammy, looks like you get a pet after all.” The dog growls. “Don’t be like that. Oh, and we should start vetting reports about brain-dead John Does in hospitals. We’re gonna need one.”

[carry-on-kissing-snowbaz]

Spooky Vampire Boyfriend (Spooky Week Day 1)

Never under any circumstances scare a vampire. Unless you’re Simon Snow. @snowbazspookyweek

Word Count: 2k

Simon

I never cared much about Halloween. When I was younger, the homes I lived in always tried to get us into the season by playing children’s Halloween movies and taking us to the local shopping center to trick-or-treat. But it wasn’t like it was for the kids in the movies and we all knew it. 

At Watford though, Halloween is huge. Lots of useful spells (and not so useful spells) come out of the season. Every year students try to make spells out of lines from A Nightmare Before Christmas and Hocus Pocus. The food is always especially good the week before the 31st, which has always been my favorite part. And there are always parties, Agatha likes those best. 

Baz has always spent Halloween at his house. I guess sending kids home with posh homemade treats and king sized candy bars is better than anything Watford has to offer. Or maybe he performs some creepy vampire ritual in his basement every year. 

This year though, he announced that I better not think of throwing any parties in the room because he’s staying. I don’t know why he’s staying and I don’t care why (well I care a little, what if he’s plotting something?).  I wasn’t planning on throwing a party but I can’t help but resent the fact that he’ll be here. Halloween has always been so nice because Baz was gone.

If I have to be miserable on Halloween then I may as well make it worth it. I’ve decided he’s earned a trick this year.

Baz

Snow has been giving me weird looks all week. I suspect he’s up to something but I don’t want to appear as if I care, so I don’t ask. But I do watch him when he thinks I’m not paying attention. I don’t know what I think I’m achieving when I do this, it’s not like staring at Snow has ever answered any of my questions. It just creates problems.

Still, I watch him. Bunce seems uninterested in whatever little game Snow’s devised. She frequently gives him that stern mothering look she’s so good at when he starts looking over at me. Wellbelove seems totally unconcerned. It’s old news that they broke up (heard about it about five minutes after I came back). But she’s still using her status as member of the trio of unholy ass-kissing to rep her party on the pitch on Halloween. 

I’m sitting in my room, ruminating over all of Snow’s strange behavior, when he makes things even weirder. 

“Why didn’t you go home?” Snow asks.

I turn around to look at him. He’s got this look on his face, half frustrated and half expectant. He doesn’t want to talk to me, but he like the idea of being out of the loop even less.

“I figured I’d enjoy the holiday season with you this year. You know, drink cheap liquor together while we both stare at your ex.”

Snow scowls.

“Don’t talk about Agatha like that.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Like what? Like she’s your ex? Because that’s the truth as I understand it, unless I’m mistaken?”

Snow’s face heats at my remark but he doesn’t start sputtering like he usually does.

“I know what game you’re playing and I won’t bite,” Snow says.

“That would be a first,” I say.

He glares at me.

“I know you’re up to something,” He says, finally. 

“I think you’re the one who’s up to something this time Snow,” I say.

The look of guilt that flashes across Snow’s face tells me everything I need to know.

“Looks like I’m not the only one plotting this time,” I say, smirking meanly.

Snow growls.

“Piss off.”

When he storms out of the room I wonder if I’m ever going to find what I’m looking for when I bait him like this. Am I hoping he’ll kill me? Kiss me? Or maybe I’m just hoping he won’t ever be able to ignore me. Simon

I’ve made a big deal about going to Agatha’s party all week. I want Baz to think that I won’t be anywhere near the room on Halloween. But he’s catching on to me; giving me smirks when he catches me staring at him and criticizing my ‘plotting’ techniques. 

“I don’t understand,” Penny says.

I pause, in the middle of stuffing my mouth with a pumpkin scone.

“What?” 

She purses her lips.

“If your not going to Agatha’s party, then why do you keep telling people you are?”

I look down at my empty plate. Telling Penny my plan means risking her disapproval. When Penny makes her mind up about something being a bad idea, she doesn’t let it go (or let you forget about it). 

“I just don’t want to deal with people this year. Me and Agatha being broken up has been…awkward. I need to get away from it all.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. I have been feeling uncomfortable going to the social events I normally go to with Agatha

Penny nods.

“That makes sense. But I’m more than willing to ditch the party. We can have our own thing in my room,” She says.

Normally I’d be all over that idea. Just not this time.

“I feel like I should study. It’s a weekday you know?”

Penny gives me a weird look, like she knows exactly what I’m up to. I try to make myself look sad about my decision. Finally a huge grin breaks across her face.

“I’ve finally rubbed off on you!” She squeals, reaching for me.

I hug her back, trying to ignore the guilt.

“Wish me luck,” I say.

Baz

Snow insists this party at the pitch tonight is going to be the best thing in the world, but I don’t see why he thinks I care so much (I mean I do, but how does he know that?). All it does is remind me of the party my parents are throwing to make plans with the Old Families and that makes my stomach turn. I really don’t want to think about home.

I spent a good amount of time moping on the ramparts and watching as everyone set up for Wellbelove’s big bash. I couldn’t see Snow but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. He probably went rekindling his romance with her off in the Wavering Wood. Maybe they got eaten by something, half of me hopes that happened.

Now I’m trudging up the stairs to our room, mad at myself for letting my misery win. 

I open the door and plop down on my bed, sighing heavily. It shouldn’t bother me that Snow’s having the time of his life, partying it up on the Pitch with his golden girl. But it does. I can’t help but think of the two of them, drinking weak liquor and looking like the dream team while all the social climbers watch. It makes my stomach turn.

I hear a rustle in the room. 

Before I can react or run, whatever has been hiding in the dark corner of our room springs out and jumps me on the bed.

I feel my fangs pop out.

Simon

I pounce on Baz, not making any sound. I’m proud of myself, he didn’t notice me at all when he came in! He just moped on his bed for a good minute or so. And then I couldn’t wait any longer.

I land on him, meaning to get his arms pinned so I can laugh in his scared face. But then he growls in a way I have never heard before. Suddenly I’m the one on my back, pinned to his bed. And he’s on top of me. 

Fangs. All I can see are his fangs. 

I feel my heart rate go up and my vision goes a little funny. Breathe I tell myself, panicking. It’s not like he’ll actually break the Roommates Anathema. 

“Trick-or-treat?” I gasp out.

Baz’s eyes light up with understanding, then rage, and then tired acceptance. 

“You are an absolute fucking git,” Baz says.

“I-I just wanted to scare you,” I say.

“I’m a vampire, which you know, and you decided to scare me?”

I stare at his fangs in amazement.

“You really are a vampire,” I whisper.

“Haven’t you been saying that for years Snow?”

“Yeah but now I know it’s true. Baz…can you read my mind?”

For a minute he just stares at me, then he rolls his eyes.

“Thank Merlin no, I can only imagine the torture,” He says.

I squirm a little in his grip, feeling strange.

“Can uh, I get up now?” I ask.

He studies my face.

“That depends…are you going to run off like the little Mageling you are and tell on me?”

I should tell the Mage. Crowley, I’ve been hoping for this kind of evidence for years. But the look on his face has me thinking other things, odd things. Like I’ve never seen someone more beautiful than him.

“I…no I’m not,” I mutter.

He scowls.

“I don’t believe you.”

“So what are you going to do to me then?” I ask.

I watch as Baz freezes. Then I freeze.

The question itself was normal enough but the way I asked it wasn’t. It came out flirty and a little breathless. I feel like I’ve left my body and am floating over it, screaming what are you doing?! But I can’t stop and I’m not sure I want to stop.

“Don’t,” Baz says.

“Don’t what?”

“The time for tricks is over, you got me already,” He says.

“I’m not playing a trick anymore,” I say.

“Prove it.”

I think about all the times I’ve watched Baz and all the fights I’ve started with him. It’s never worked, never relieved the feelings burning inside me. His face, inches above mine gives me an idea. 

I lean up.

Baz

Snow’s eyes are strange, lidded and warm in a way I’ve never seen them. I need to get control somehow, to try to fix this. He already knows I’m a vampire, I can’t let him figure out I’m in love with him too.

He leans up all of a sudden, making me flinch.

Then he kisses me.

I make a surprised noise, not understanding where this impulse of his is coming from. But then I realize I’m kissing Simon fucking Snow and I decide I don’t care why he’s doing this. 

I kiss him back, settling my weight on him in relief. 

It feels good to loop my fingers in his curls like I’ve always wanted to. He murmurs happily when I do it and pushes his own fingers into my hair. If Snow was looking for a way to distract me so he could run off to find the Mage or kill me while I’m off guard, then he’s found it. I can’t even think.

He breaks the kiss to look at me.

“I think the trick is on me,” He says, a little breathless.

“Huh?” All I know is I want to kiss him, again.

“I like you,” He whispers.

“I can see that,” I say, stupidly.

“Do you…like me?” He asks.

I give him a funny look.

“You scared me half to death and found out my secret. I have good reason to kill you. But instead I’m snogging you. Yes I think I like you,” I say.

He laughs.

“Would it be weird for me to ask you out on Halloween?” 

I feel my cheeks warm.

“I mean, a little. But it’s sort of fitting for us, isn’t it?”

“My spooky vampire boyfriend,” He says.

The word boyfriend makes me kiss him. How could I not kiss him?

Then the door to our room swings open. 

Bunce strolls in with a stack of books covering her face. She places them on the desk with an oomph and turns.

“Simon I thought we could study together-“

She breaks off when she sees us, her mouth open wide. Then she glares at Snow.

“This is not studying.”

[seenashwrite]

SNIPED (Part Four)

Status: Complete (Part 4 of 5) Word Count: 7.4K Rating: 18+/Mature/Explicit for Adult Themes including - Graphic sexual situations; Mild-to-moderate violence; Coarse language Categories: Drama; Action; Romance; Porn-with-Plot; Smut; On-the-hunt Character(s): Dean; Sam; Reader/O.C. Female; Jody; Crowley [briefly]; Alex & Claire [mentioned]; Castiel [mentioned] Pairings: Dean x Reader/OC Female [Pts. 2 & 5]; Sam x Reader/OC Female [Pt. 3] Warning(s): See “Rating” section above Author’s Note(s): See Part One  Overall Summary: The Winchesters receive assistance on their case from a sniper. Part Four & Five Summary: The sniper gets the answers she's been waiting - and almost dying - for, regarding both her past and, potentially, her future.

                     || SNIPED Master Post ||

I kept testing the strength of the chair I was in, but all in vain. The wood was too thick for me to boost up, slam it down to the floor, splinter it. The cuffs keeping my arms wrapped around the chair's back weren't terribly tight on my wrists; I was debating which thumb to attempt a dislocation on so I could have a free hand.

I sighed. How the fuck did I get here?

No. Denial wouldn't help anything at this point. I knew exactly how.

I started replaying the recent past in my mind. Starting with that morning. The morning after we'd rescued Dean. The morning after Sam and I had fucked each other nearly raw.

I'd been awakened early when I heard the Impala roar to life.

I had to get out of there, get back to the comfort of my own home, scrub myself even cleaner than I'd done in the long shower the night before. I'd stood in it til the water ran cold, though I still burnt inside when I'd laid down, falling asleep only via exhaustion. I could still feel Sam all over me, and not much of it made me feel badly. Enough of it did.

The knock on the door as I'd just finished getting dressed surprised me.

I opened it, and to my shock, there stood Dean. I assumed he and Sam had left together, headed back to Kansas. I felt that heat shoot back over me, but this time it was anger, that Sam had left Dean to wake up alone in that gross motel room.

"Hi," he said quietly. "I guess I didn't wake you up, did I?"

I shook my head.

"If it's not asking too much, could you take me over to Jody's?"

You could've knocked me over with a feather.

"I called her for a ride..."

He still hadn't made a move to come in. I still hadn't made a move to let him. Or look him in the eyes.

"...but she got called in early. Some sort of leftover drama from a bar brawl," he continued with a small chuckle. Then he winced, briefly grabbed his torso, coughed.

"Um, yeah. Let me just get my keys," I mumbled, turning, walking over and picking them up off the dresser.

Dean stepped in then, just inside the doorway. As I turned back, I noticed he was looking at the nightstand, to the empty tequila bottle, the stacked cups. I grabbed the trashcan from beside the dresser with my free hand, hustled over. Holding the keys by the fob in between my teeth, I tossed the cups and the bottle into the trashcan with a clang, then dropped it all unceremoniously to the floor. Moving away from it - and the bed, and the brief flash of a memory - quickly, I snatched the keys from my mouth, brushed by him and out the door, headed towards the stairs down to the parking lot.

"C'mon," I said over my shoulder as I passed.

I heard the door close, then his footsteps behind me.

I'd already gotten the engine cranked and my seat belt on by the time he'd slowly made it down the steps and over to me. Another little grimace as he climbed up into the passenger seat. A slow exhalation as he pulled the seat belt across his obviously sore chest and settled back.

Both sides of his unshaven jaw were bruised, one further along in healing than the other. His bottom lip was split and crusted with a touch of dried blood. One eye was still almost completely closed with swelling, a small gash where the skin had pulled apart over the browbone. He looked like hammered shit.

I wish I'd had my heels on when I found the last kidnapper. I'd have driven one into his skull. Maybe before I took him out, maybe after.

We drove to Jody's without a word.

I parked in her driveway, then cut the engine, pulled my keys out, unbuckled. Choosing Jody's key from the ring, I held it between my fingers as I opened my door, began to get out. Dean put his hand on my forearm.

"She told me where the spare's hidden," he said quietly.

I nodded, pulling my foot back inside and shutting the door, and Dean unbuckled his seat belt with his free hand - his other hadn't left my arm. I cleared my throat, kept my head straight, still not looking at him, though he'd shifted in his seat, turning toward me.

"Thank you," he said, still speaking in a quiet voice.

I nodded again. "I told you - anytime you guys needed me."

"I need you."

I stiffened; he noticed, took his hand away.

"Not what I meant," I replied, my gaze drifting down from the window to the steering wheel.

"I know." He paused, and several moments of complete silence passed before he spoke again. "You wouldn't reply to my texts. I'd heard you were out chasing demons--"

"You heard right," I cut him off harshly. No point in pretending.

"I don't want you to think I was texting just to... just because of... just because."

"Okay."

"I can help. If you're trying to go after--"

"I'm not. That one's long gone."

A sigh from those perfect, battered lips. "I know. And I'm pretty sure I also know who you are going after. He's bad news, Snipes."

Here we go with that fucking nickname again, I thought. Despite the usage of his chosen endearment for me, Dean's tone was now growing firmer, tougher. At least that was a positive sign. He was getting back to his old self.

I looked skyward for a moment, let loose my own sigh, brought my eyes around to his as my head came down. "I'm not going to apologize to you for... for this," I told him with an equally firm tone, gesturing up and down at his nearly-broken body. "You got yourself into my mess. I didn't ask you to. I'm not asking you to now."

Dean's eyes bore through me. "And I don't need you to ask."

I jerked my head away then, resuming my blank stare straight ahead.

More silence.

"That's a hell of a dress," Dean commented, switching tone again.

"Do you have a way back to Kansas?" I asked, ignoring his attempt at lightening the mood.

"Why? You offering to take me?"

"I'm asking because I don't want you this close to my home. To my life."

"To you?"

I looked back at him. "What is it you want from me, Dean?" I asked, completely exasperated. "To date me? Take me out to dinners and movies? Hold hands and walk through parks? Look at kids playing and imagine they were ours? Or maybe be a super-hero team, driving around in your Batmobile, fighting evil?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I just think we should find out what this is, what---"

"There is no 'this'," I practically shouted. "You have no concept of what a horrid person I am. The only reason you want me is because you think I don't want you, that I'm putting on some hard-to-get bullshit act. It's not an act. Take a hint."

That battered jaw twitched as it clamped, his good eye narrowing, and he responded through grit teeth. "You're lying. I'm not stupid."

"Then stop acting stupid," I hissed, adopting a glare of my own. Then I opted not to pull any punches. He needed to know. Dean needed to know I wasn't good enough. Not for him. That maybe I never was... and definitely not now. "Whenever that son of a bitch decides to show up, you ask him. You ask Sam what kind of person you're wasting your time on. Maybe then you'll stop this fucking dead-end mission you've got such a hard-on for."

I looked away again, jammed the key into the ignition, started the jeep up, hoping against all hope Dean would get out, walk away from me, and for good this time.

"You think I don't know?" Dean shot back, that strong, deep voice carrying above the engine.

I didn't acknowledge him, though a chill went down my aching spine, the prior night's thrashing having done it no favors.

"You think I could sleep at all last night, after I heard him leave, knew he was going to you?" Dean reached across me, shut off the car, took the keys before I could react. "Think that I couldn't smell you all over him when he came back?"

I just sat there, stiff, mute, shocked. My eyes closed. I felt tears build up behind my lids.

"That you can push me away by fucking around?"

"It wasn't just fucking around!" I said, astonishment painting my face as I turned wide, glassy eyes to his. "It was your br---"

Dean's jaw stiffened again, a flash of anger in his expression, eyes glinting with fire as he cut me off, not wanting brother to cross my lips. "I got sad, I'll admit it, I got real sad and moped around for weeks when you disappeared after that night. Then I got pissed, started bar-hopping, drinking everything I saw, fucking my way through every waitress or co-ed that would have me, for months---"

"That would have you," I repeated, making a scoffing sound and rolling my eyes. "Don't play humble, Dean, it doesn't suit you."

"---and every one of them, I pretended it was you."

I froze.

"And it didn't work. Just like I bet fucking Sam didn't work for you, and you best believe I'll have it out with him," Dean went on, absolutely fuming now. "But stop lying. You know what you felt when you were with me was different."

I turned from him, reached up and gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline, trying desperately to keep looking straight ahead. A tear ran down my cheek. Motherfucking... I hated that this was my tell when it came to him. It had been the same with my husband. It was how he was sure he had me, that he'd won, anytime we fought and I fully aware the cause of the argument was my fault. I could keep a great poker face, could outright lie to anyone. Just not to him. And not to Dean.

Dean moved his hand, but not to my cheek to wipe away the tear, instead placing it atop my thigh, softly stroking it. I glanced down. The knuckles were battered to hell. He had fought back hard. I watched his fingers tracing a path to my knee, back to the hem of the dress, not making a move to go any higher. And oh, god help me, his touch - it was the best comfort I'd ever known. I couldn't help briefly thinking of my husband's touch. Of Sam's touch.

And there was just no comparison. Not even the same ballpark. Same country. Same universe.

"You should forget about me, you should go back to your life," I whispered, my voice trembling, not meaning it at all. My eyes drifted closed again as I felt him lean in, his other hand sneaking to the back of my neck, fingers running up into my hair, thumb gently stroking behind my ear. Then his face next to mine. Then his breath on my neck.

"You know it. Just like you know you don't want me to go," he whispered softly, reading my mind. "I know, because it's what I'm feeling, too. In my gut. In my soul."

The poetic nature of that last part would've normally made me nauseated. Especially coming from a hard-living, hard-drinking, try-hard womanizer like Dean. Only this time, it made me shiver to my core.

A barely-there brush of his lips near my ear. A deep inhalation, lower, near my jaw. A shuddering exhalation against my neck. Back up to my ear.

"Come inside with me," Dean said in a resonating, thick voice of desire.

I was instantly wet.

"How can you want to touch me?" I practically whimpered, turning my now tear-soaked face to his.

The hand on my neck had slid over to rest against the side of my face. Dean brought his other hand from my leg to the opposite side. And with clear disbelief in his voice, in his creased brow, in his eyes, he answered.

"How can I not?"

And I kissed him.

He gasped, and I thought out of pain, due to the split lip. But when I pulled back, looked at him, I saw it hadn't been. It was surprise. Dean immediately brought his lips back to mine. I blissfully let myself get lost.

His lips were so soft and firm, all at the same time, and it was slow. Slow and meandering, no tongue at first, just focus on one lip, then the other, then both. Then delicate meetings of the tips of our tongues, no invading my mouth, my own not invading his, just touching, tasting, tiny bits of twirling, pulling back, starting again.

"Your lip," I whispered during one of the pull-aways.

Another kiss to my upper lip. Then a small head shake. “I don't care," he replied, his eyes remaining closed, and then as if to prove it, went in again, pressed harder against my mouth.

This was the second first kiss that jeep had been setting to. I'd let myself remember the first kiss I'd had with my husband, leaning against the very car I sat in now so many years later, and the memory briefly flew across my mind again. But it had flown out almost as immediately as it had entered.

Because this one, this first kiss with Dean, had blown it completely away.

It had just barely begun to deepen when a car pulled into the driveway beside us. We stopped, and I glanced over Dean's shoulder. A squad car.

Jody.

"Mom's home," I whispered, and he grinned.

Jody gave me a raised eyebrow behind Dean's back before she walked around to my side. Then she invited me in for breakfast, saying she planned on stuffing Dean to the gills with bacon and eggs, prompting him to immediately get out of the jeep with the most energy he'd had since his rescue. But I declined.

Dean stood behind Jody, looked at me sadly. I leaned down and undid the tiny zippers on my pumps. Handing them to Jody, I told her she deserved a reward for the prior night's work.

Her eyes widened and she took them immediately, saying, "I'm not going to tell you I couldn't possibly..."

I laughed. "Just make sure you hide 'em from the girls," I advised. Jody grinned, then looked to the pumps, zipping them back up, and I looked at Dean when I added, "And, ah... ragamuffin over there... you can dump him at my place if his piece of shit brother takes too long to come and get him."

A slow smile began to creep across Dean's face.

Jody stared at me. "You sure?" she asked.

I kept looking at Dean. "Positive."

And I meant it.

Then I looked back at Jody. "I... I need to do some... uh... re-strategizing. A few days off will do me good. Even if I have to haul his sorry ass back to Kansas."

A little grin came to Jody's face. "Uh-huh."

I narrowed my eyes. "Wasn't there a trick to getting back to Kansas, clicking heels three times or something? I may need those back," I said, reaching for my - well, Jody's - shoes.

"Hell, no," she announced, clutching the pumps to her chest before completely turning away and beginning to walk to her door. "Get off my property or I'm arresting you," she called over her shoulder.

"Copy that, sheriff," I called back, then looked to Dean, held out my palm. "Keys?"

Dean turned his head, glancing behind him and making sure Jody had gone - she had, leaving the front door ajar for him. When he got to me, passed me my keys, I grabbed his hand, stared at him with all the intensity I could muster.

"I don't expect your forgiveness---"

"Snipes---"

"---but I'll never stop trying to earn it."

Dean sighed, glanced away, thought for a few moments before looking to me again. "Or can we just never talk about it?"

I nodded, leaned in, kissed him chastely on the lips, let it linger for a moment before I leaned back. "Next time you call? I'll pick up."

One of those patented shit-eating Dean grins appeared. "You'd better," he stated, giving the jeep a pat before backing up, then turning and walking to the door.

I waited til he'd gotten safely inside, door closed, before I cranked up the jeep and headed home. Partly out of habit. Mostly to look at his ass.

And when I got home, there, on the garage door, an odd-looking, long-bladed silver knife pierced a piece of paper. There weren't many words on it. But they were all penned in a dark, reddish-brown hue that I knew wasn't really ink.

.

I believe we have arrived at the moment for meeting face to face. Please note the address and time below. And know your lover will have more than cuts and bruises visited upon him should you decline the invitation.

Looking forward to seeing you this evening.

Killer dress, by the way.

Yours - His Majesty, the King of Hell

.

I snatched the letter from the blade, then yanked the blade from the door.

And then I went blind.

I was seething, blind with rage. Blinded by arrogance. Blinded by what I felt for Dean. All I wanted was to have him naked in my bed, for hours, for days, so I could kiss every inch of him, kiss every bruise and cut, then start all over and do it again and again and again, til each one healed. Peel off my clothes, let him kiss me top to bottom, til my own wounds, the ones eating me from the inside, the ones causing me so much pain, began to ease. Maybe even disappear. I was beginning to think Dean had the power to do it.

I knew it was a trap. I knew. Just like I knew I might not have enough skill, enough weaponry to get out of it. Just like I knew the threat against Dean was not idle.

However.

Much as I had grown to dislike the pissant, Sam had turned me onto an idea. He'd never given explanation for the special rounds I'd been provided with on that initial hunt, and I hadn't cared enough to ask. Their target was not the one I'd been seeking.

Between Jody and my former investigators, I'd learned quite a lot about the world beneath the one I'd been ignorantly parading around in all my years on this earth. Jody in particular had educated me, drawn an entire notebook full of incantations, devil's traps, jotted down tricks of the trade, ever since I'd told her of my husband's possession. I'd pried up doorstops and window sills, coated the gaps in strong adhesive, caked them with salt, nailed the wood back in place. Gotten blood from the butcher's - in small amounts over time, of course - pulled up carpet and painted craziness on the subfloor, tacking the carpet smoothly atop it once more.

My home was a fortress, one perhaps comparable to the bunker, though I couldn’t know for sure. For all this King of Hell wanted me to believe he knew about me, I had no knowledge of his people - his constituents? his subjects? - ever being at my home. Til now. But the threat was left outside, not in. So maybe my little additions had worked, after all.

I was aware that what I held in my hand was what Jody and the others called an angel blade, apparently capable of taking out said angels, or their demon distant cousins. Looked plenty capable of taking out their human step-siblings, too. I suppose this King expected me to use it, a taunt of sorts, a bring it on implication.

Too bad. Though my hand-to-hand skills were decent, my knife work left much to be desired. When we trained, my husband's reach was always an obstacle, he was always able to dodge my thrust, snatch my arm, bend my wrist til it nearly snapped, make me drop the fake practice knife to the floor. 

Then I'd pout like a child, which never failed to make him laugh. Then we'd make out, and I'd get distracted and never learn. As if I needed a reminder that distractions are deadly. But my knife skill didn't matter. It wasn't arrogance, it was fact.

Nothing on hell or earth could trump me if I could get a shot off.

So I wouldn't be bringing along His Majesty's gift. Not so he or one of his cadre of irredeemable fucks could turn it on me. No, I would be bringing along gifts for them, crafted by my own two hands, down in my basement, designed to perfection over months and countless test fires through every single handgun and rifle I owned. They represented unending hours of studying ferrous metallurgy, learning how iron and lead and steel were related, how they could be manipulated, transformed, earning more than a few welts and tiny burns to my hands and arms.

All that remained of my husband's belongings were weaponry and worn-out cargos, but I confess to a bit of concern over having kept his ring, wearing it outside of my little fortress. Jody had mentioned a spirit's love of attachment to certain objects if they felt their earthly business was incomplete. I'd say a bullet through the head might've given my husband motivation to hang around. 

So when I was etching the bullets, I etched the inside of his ring, too. Better safe than sorry and all that bullshit. Still, for this mission, I left my trusty necklace at home. Didn't need the reminder; I was fully aware what was at stake.

I donned the cargos again. This time, nothing lived in the pockets, I wasn't going to have anything on me that I couldn't reach in less than a second. They were a little loose now, though - I'd lost weight since the hunting trip with the Winchesters, the stress from the uptick in my mission since then resulting in a lack of eating. And a lack of sleep. And a lack of a restful mind.

I almost put on kevlar under the black long-sleeved shirt I chose to wear, then thought better of it. Demons weren’t really firearm fans, and even so, they’d had plenty of opportunity to snipe me. That, and the fact that demons could hurt me in a million other ways than guns.

From what Jody said, there was supposedly only one gun that had ever existed that proved capable of killing them. Good. If they thought all others to be useless, it was an ignorance for me to exploit.

And I didn't see why they'd possess me. Another thing they certainly could've done by now. If I'd been spied upon, as the note basically told me, then logically I'd missed demons all around me. His Royal Fucktard probably wanted that to be intimidating. Maybe it should've been. Wasn't.

I was on the road, then parked about a half mile from my destination in a matter of hours. I wanted to take my time staking out the area. It was about an hour til the meet time when I felt my phone vibrate. I glanced, then ignored it. I'd selected a perch about a block from the appointed spot, high, with a good line of sight. It was the building where that fateful op had gone down - nice touch on my host's part. May as well pop a few if I could, I figured.

I waited til I'd settled in my perch before I listened to the voice mail Jody had left.

Jody said that Sam had finally shown up not too long before she'd called. Told me she wanted a full report later on what had gone down. Sam had barely gotten inside before Dean laid him out with one punch, then followed him down to the floor, kept beating the shit out of him.

When Jody saw Sam's nose had broken, she tried yelling at Dean. And by the time she realized that Sam wasn't fighting back, he was losing consciousness before she was able to pull Dean off. She'd put Sam in her guest room with a ton of ice, then given Dean my address. Said he'd taken off in the Impala, was on his way to me.

I immediately shoved it out of my mind. I was still running through my ammo situation in my mind, regretting not trying more experiments with iron instead of just going with steel. Thinking I should've tried harder on some theories I had for a supernatural-C4 combo.

I wish I could say the entirety of my encounters inside went as smoothly as if I were the female John Wick. Not to sell myself short - the first fifteen minutes or so, I was efficient and deadly.

Tap-tap chest.

Tap head.

Tap-tap chest.

Tap head.

I was even slightly edging out of Wick territory and dipping a toe into The Matrix. Bless you, patron saint Keanu, I thought with a grin as I took cover behind a square concrete pole. One big bastard surprised me - turned out he had been packing, the back of the pole I stood against getting peppered as he kept pumping and firing near my legs and feet.

In another bit of surprise, I had wound up at the scene of the crime. Not forty feet from me, at the other entrance to the warehouse-type area, was the door my husband and I had entered through. Not twelve feet in front of that was where he'd died. Maybe his highness had wanted it so. Rub it in, throw me off my game.

Fuck that.

I was out of smoke grenades. But I'd been counting. And big bubba was out of rounds. Pistol drawn, planning to use its next-to-last round on his head, I turned. He grinned, pumped his shotgun. His face fell.

"Aw," I said, sticking my bottom lip out in fake sympathy, and ----

I felt myself lose consciousness before I ever hit the floor.

And now here I was, in some random room, apparently an old office as I noted a desk off to the side. They'd removed my weapons and my shoulder harness. One of the handguns, as well as the shotgun I'd yet to use, laid next to each other on the desktop along with the harness. Near them were a few of the spent smoke grenade canisters.

I was curious as to where my other handgun was, when voices rose outside the closed door - they weren't arguing, just seemed to be in a heated discussion.

I'd hurt the crap out of myself yanking on my left thumb and only succeeding in dislocating it in the middle instead of at the base, when the door opened and two of the mealier-looking demons I'd seen came in.

"Hey, listen, we've gotta know," the first one said.

"Yeah, we need you to settle a bet," said the second.

I raised my eyebrows. I can only imagine the expression on my face. "What?" I asked sharply.

"Don't be a bitch," the first said, narrowing his already beady eyes. They flashed to all black.

"Just tell us," said the second, his eyes also flashing to black.

Just kill me.

We looked at each other in silence for a few moments.

"Tell you what?!" I finally shouted impatiently, and they actually startled.

"Oh. Yeah. These," one said, pointing to the wasted canisters.

Then they went quiet again; I raised my eyebrows again.

"What was in them?" the other clarified. "See, I think it was holy water."

"You think there was water in a powder-based incendiary-" I began, but was interrupted by the other.

"And I think it was some sort of, like, ground up nun's bone."

"Ground. Up. Nun. Bone," I repeated slowly.

"Could be priest bone, I guess."

"Or virgin, maybe?"

"It was Palo Santo."

That last bit came from a smooth, crisp British accent floating through the open door.

"Sir."

"Your Highness."

Both bowed slightly at the waist, stepped to the side.

The immaculately dressed demon entering the room was apparently my host for the evening. He brought along with him a chair identical to the one I was in. One of the demons made a move to take it from him, but he shook his head.

"Off you go," he told them.

I could see the big brute just outside the door, glaring in at me. There was a huge, almost tunneled gash running from below his cheekbone at an upward angle, still oozing blood. Most of his ear was gone.

I'd apparently pulled the trigger as I went down. Nice. I grinned. "How ya feeling, motherfucker?" I called out to him.

He shot me the bird as he closed the door.

The Brit - rather, His Majesty - chuckled.

"Charming minions you have here," I told him, and he smiled.

The chair positioned across from me now, the King taking to his makeshift throne, I got a good look at him.

"Not what you pictured?" he asked.

I opted to answer honestly. "I think you're quite handsome."

He blinked, the smile widening. "Well. Long time since anyone's said that, my, my, my."

"I mean, the whole demon thing's not my jam, so there's that."

Another chuckle. "Seems to follow you, though."

I accepted this. "Fair enough."

"I find you quite impressive, my dear." He gestured to the desk and the hardware atop it. "All of this is... remarkable, really. Nicely done."

"You couldn't have thought I'd have come into a trap without something."

"No, of course not! I'd have been disappointed if you didn't. Thought you'd go with your blow-out-the-brains shtick, though. Worked so well on hubby."

I glared.

"Which is why we had a pile of potential meatsuits waiting upstairs, just a hop-skip away. My guys and gals would've just come right back at you in a shiny new package."

"Had?"

He shrugged. "Have, had. Might not be useful once you hear what I have to say."

I didn't respond. He sighed, stood up, removed a small key from his pocket, and walked behind me. I felt him grab the wrist with the partially dislocated thumb.

"Oh, this doesn't look good," he commented, then wrenched it, doing for me what I couldn't manage before and completely dislocating the thumb from my hand, breaking it for good measure.

"Mmmmpphh," I grunted through tightly pressed lips as the pain shot up my arm.

He lingered a moment, leaning in close, breathing in, smelling me from the collar of my shirt up to the top of my head. Then he unlocked the handcuffs, let them drop to the floor. He came around to stand in front of me, hands in pockets, perhaps so he could make sure I noticed the bulge beginning to form.

I brought my hands to the front. I winced as I touched around my thumb. It was already plenty swollen and beginning to grow discolored.

"I'm Crowley, by the way," he said, removing a hand from his pocket and extending it. When I didn't take it, he shrugged once again, then went back to sitting in his chair. He started to cross his legs, then adjusted almost immediately. I snickered.

"Are we gearing up for something?" I asked, aware of how contemptuous my voice sounded. "That why you uncuffed me? Gotta warn you, I won't be at the top of my game with only one good hand."

Now he snickered, and his eyes flashed... red. That was new. Must go with his shtick. The eyes had returned to normal by the time he replied.

"My dear, if I wanted to have you, no part of you would be unbound. I'd have you trussed up like a spring chicken and waiting for me on a pile of silk bunting. Perhaps allow your new buddy out there to get you good and broken-in ahead of time."

I stared at him, expressionless. He blinked first. Good to know my poker face could still work with somebody.

"But, no. Not why you're here," he went on.

"I doubt you plan on telling me why I'm here."

"Oh, on the contrary!" Crowley exclaimed. "Don't you hate it when the big bad spills his plans, then walks away so the good guy - or, in this case, only mildly decent woman - can escape, live to fight another day?"

I stayed silent. I genuinely had no idea where this was going. Just wanted it to get there fast.

"See, I do love a good trope. I did intend on letting that scenario play out, thought it'd be a hoot to watch you try and get out of here alive, but, again - I'm impressed. Wanted to make you an offer."

He stood, clasped his hands behind his back, winding his way around the room like a serpent as he continued.

"I thought since your worth to me is rapidly nearing an end, I'd do something a little out of the ordinary for our kind. The option of running the gauntlet is still there, of course. Though you should give serious thought to my offer. You see, we don't have to ask permission to possess. But I find if the human is agreeable - as my current outerwear was - the longevity is extended to a remarkable degree. And I have just the demon in mind for you. Identifies as female, loves killing, loves fucking. Why - the two of you are practically a match made in heaven!" A pause. "Hell. Anyway, you get the drift."

"You want me to be a demon..." I said, trailing off.

A curt nod. "My own personal assassin. You'd report directly to me. You'd have more autonomy than anyone else in my kingdom. I've wanted a professional killer on the payroll for quite awhile. Focused and efficient, won't leave a messy trail. Serial killers are sloppy, and either too insane or too controlling; either way, they fight being possessed to the point we just toss them into the pits. It's just too much trouble to try and raise them right when they're already so tainted. But you're already just the right amount of bad. Already a lot of moral and ethical malleability. Won't take too long to break your will, I don't expect. So much self-loathing."

Crowley's eyes were sparkling and his grin was absolutely wicked. But he was in full word-vomit mode, clearly loved the sound of his own voice; so I thought on my response for a brief moment, then I went for it.

"I'll consider it. If you answer - honestly answer - a question I've had for five years."

"I take it to be about darling husband?"

I nodded. "It's clear I was the target. Why didn't the demon possessing him kill me?"

"He wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to make you do exactly what you did: force your hand into protecting either your team or yourself by killing your husband."

I felt my brow knit up. "I don't under--"

A sigh, and Crowley took his seat once more. "My sweet, sweet little murderous kitten. You are one of Jody Mills' best friends, are you not?"

I nodded again. He knew that. Get to the point.

"And she is tight with the Winchesters. And I have grown utterly tired of the Winchesters. We have a history, to say the least. Particularly Dean and I. It's possible I know him better than he knows himself."

"Holy shit," I muttered, making a realization. I leaned forward a bit. "Did you have something to do with Dean being a demon?"

"Dean didn't have far to go. Not that you do, either. But his soul's conversion was the proverbial piece of cake."

"His soul," I repeated.

"Lovie! You didn't think he was merely possessed?!"

I don't know what expression crossed my face, but now a hearty series of laughs erupted from Crowley, so much so he shook.

"He didn't tell you?! Oh! Oh, that's just... Oh, I just adore this, it's too good!"

I leaned back, processing.

"But to finish answering your question - we knew enough about you to know you'd be hell on wheels after 86'ing your man. We also knew that delectable sheriff would likely spill the beans about a hunter's life, and we knew if we were patient enough, you'd end up somehow entangled with the Winchesters." Crowley looked me up and down, slowly, lasciviously. Ran a tongue over his lips. Then he met my eye. "The creator himself could not have designed a more perfectly appealing creature to capture Dean from tips to toes. Given your nature along with his, though, I'd have only expected the two of you to be fuck buddies. But now..." Crowley took a moment to run his eyes over my breasts one last time before looking back up and completing his thought. "Well, now I know he's a sure thing."

"Sure thing? That right? What are you so sure about?"

"That he’ll come for you," Crowley replied simply, rising from his chair and scooting it aside. "See, darling, I'm done. I've joined in on their little gang's shenanigans more times than I can count, risked - and lost - my standing in the demon world on one too many occasions. Been one of the browncoats, stormed castles, fought Satan himself, all that goddamned bullshit, and for nothing. The entire lot of them are a boil on my ass, and your Adonis in particular."

His voice had risen, becoming increasingly strained with every word. The eyes flashed red again. I didn't think he'd even realized it.

"You love him," I said softly, the statement sneaking out before I could stop it.

A steely glare was leveled at me, and the eyes went and stayed red now.

"I don't mean... I mean to say... No one gets this angry over someone they don't care about."

Crowley was suddenly in front of me, delivered a punch so hard I saw stars, came clean out of the chair and hit the floor. I tasted blood in my mouth from my teeth nipping the side of my tongue when they slammed together. Concussion number two of the day.

Sam, wherever you are, you're in good company.

"Let me tell you something, little girl," Crowley hissed in my ear, having taken a knee next to me and slipped his fingers under the bun I'd wound my hair into, gripping against my skull and pulling out more than a few hairs as he yanked my head back. "The next time you presume to know anything about me, it will be the last thought through this pretty head of yours." A bit closer now, whispering in my ear. "You look delicious on your knees."

He ran his tongue up the side of my face. I shuddered in disgust. He released me then, walked to the door, but before he left, he turned, waited til I looked up and over. His eyes were normal. His demeanor was perfectly calm. He stood as polished and together as he'd been upon first sight.

"The offer I made will be on the table until you step out of this room. My people have been instructed to do you no harm until we've spoken again, and you tell me your answer. And if that answer is a decline, well, then they've been instructed to do whatever they'd like with you, for however long they'd like." A slimy smile, and he moved to leave, then turned again. "Oh, one last thing - someone, possibly me, has made certain that Dean knows exactly where we are." A glance at his wristwatch. "Should be arriving any time now. So don't take too long to decide, kitten. Hell, I'll throw in a bonus: let my demon take you for a test drive, and you can kill Dean yourself."

“And why would I want him dead?”

The smile widened. “Rotten soul’s a pretty big lie by omission.”

At that, Crowley left for good this time.

I went to the table, hoping the handgun they'd left me with wasn't the one with only one round left. I checked - good. It was the one with a third of the mag left to go, and then there was the one on my shoulder.

The shotgun held plenty - I'd only meant for it to be a method of stunning anyway, in the event I'd gotten surrounded, but it would have to do. Especially if I got close enough - the breaching rounds with the steel bearings would shred 'em. If Crowley had a backup plan of a pile of potential hosts - and I had no reason to doubt him at this point - well... I'd have to jump off that bridge when I got to it.

"Report directly to you, my fat ass," I muttered to myself. I got my shoulder harness back on. Time to start counting them down.

I remember emptying the gun into whatever was near me.

I remember hearing Dean's voice calling my name from somewhere behind me.

I remember letting the empty magazine case fall to the floor when I released it, not dropping my pace as I pulled the new mag and jammed it in, bellowing at a group of demons cowering in front of me.

"Where is he?!"

"I don't---"

BANG

Next demon - "Where IS he?!"

"You---"

BANG

"WHERE IS HE?!"

I remember going down the line like that until suddenly I was slammed against the wall. Not too far, not too high, not hard enough to hurt me. But hard enough to jar me, whip my hand back to the brick, my gun flying away.

As I slid down the wall, I saw him. He spoke, saying something like he was right there, come and get me, called me killer, or kitten, I can't be sure. I'm sure he was holding my missing pistol, the one that had just a single round left to go.

I remember that distinct feeling of slow motion again. That I'd had before, in this very room. The feeling that preceded the death of my love.

And I remember for sure that as I came down, I made certain only one boot hit the floor so I could come off of it already moving, walking, pressing forward. Pulled the shotgun around from where it was in a custom break-away holster on the back of the harness, saw that Crowley had disappeared. Hedged my bets on where he was headed, pumped and fired directly in front of me.

Good guess.

A uniform gasp rose up from the room as Crowley had reappeared with a surprised look on his face. A lot of the shot sailed away, but enough of it caught him so that one side of his upper body got pelted, shredding through his clothes, drops of blood beginning to prick through the fabric.

His face began to draw into a little smirk.

I was going to blow it off.

I remember pumping and walking him backwards with shot after shot. He seemed to twitch a bit - maybe a failed-escape glitch? - but no red smoke appeared, he wasn’t trying to make a run for it, maybe he couldn’t. I was counting rounds off aloud now, because I could still hear Dean and Sam - and was that Jody? - yelling at me over the blasts. I wanted to push their voices from my mind.

I remember thinking - I might not be able to kill this dick, but I'm sure as shit going to wreck his body, make sure he stays down. Make sure Dean gets out of here safe.

I remember emptying the gun, letting it fall from my shoulder to hanging from my hand at my side, my shoulders dropping in exhaustion, glancing around and thinking it looked like a massacre, wondering how much of it was my doing.

I felt a firm grasp at my throat, something solid behind me, something sharp, pointed just under and behind my chin.

Hearing the clomps of boots rapidly pounding towards me.

"Just do it, shitbird." I'd heard my own voice practically growl out the order, waiting to feel my throat get sliced, instead feeling the burn as the sharpness shot forward and away, slicing open my chin.

Now I felt hot breath, a raspy, accented voice hissing into my ear.

"Nice knowing you."

The hand around my neck had disappeared. It didn't need to be there. Because the barrel of my own gun was crushed against my ribcage.

"Fuck you."

BANG

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[hekate1308]

Growth

More Season 12 AU - I have grown quite fond of Mick since I started writing him. Oh well. 

Mick’s been with them for a week when Sam decides to properly talk to him.

He’s well aware that he’s been cowardly hiding in the library most of the time since he came to join them, but the memory of him letting Dean walk away and following orders for a year still stings.

Some days, he can’t believe how ungrateful he’s been.

On others, he can only too well.

Dean’s long forgiven him, of course. As he always does.

Same with Cas.

And Crowley... It’s Crowley. God knows what he’s thinking half of the time.

But he did show up to help them just because he was worried, and he’s given them a new home.

And he’s been nothing but helpful and accommodating – as they’ve learned, many humans wouldn’t do all that Crowley has done for them.

He’s procrastinating, and he knows it.

The point is he knows only too well what it means to march away from the drums and try to relearn another beat.

Plus, Dean told them about Mick’s upbringing.

Their childhood was far from ideal, but his formative years...

He’s not in the room they gave him.

Huh, the Jane Austen set from their library is lying on his bedside table. Sam should really ask what all the laughter he and Dean have shared is all about.

He finds him in the room with the pool table – “the play room” as Crowley dubbed it with his usual constraint and modesty – just sitting down and reading Charles Dickens.

It was one of the things that confused him most.

“What’s this room for?”

“I do wonder” Crowley answers, exaggerating his own accent. “There seems to be a certain device that enables one to play a game, which one would be unable to find anywhere else in the house.”

“What his Highness wants to say” Dean chimes in “is that we play pool here”. He winked at Cas.

“Absolutely perfect for lessons how to do it the right way.”

Sam is rather glad he hasn’t witnessed one of those lessons yet.

“So you have a room just for a game” Mick states, still staring at the table. “It seems a little... frivolous.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Doctor Trevelyan, we like frivolous here.”

“The Adventure of the Resident Patient?” Cas asks while Dean just shakes his head at Crowley.

“What? Still young, somewhat smart, should have noticed his employer was a criminal. Fits the bill.”

He seems to have gotten over his surprise at their being a room just to relax in.

Apart from the swimming pool. And the rooftop with the great view of the lake. And several other rooms Crowley built in case they ever need of something they need space for.

“Hey. How are you?”

Mick looks up.

“I’m doing well. I just needed a little time to myself... Kelly called Dean to gush over Luci – I mean Aidan”.

Sam can imagine that it might take him some time to get used to the devil’s son being a normal child.

“And your... room?”

Sam’s come to recognize that Dean’s always been better at human interaction than he gave him credit for. Dean just gets people instinctively.

Mick smiles.

“It was very kind of you to take me in.”

“You helped us.”

Mick nods.

“I doubt I would have before...” he trails off.

Before Dean walking away. Before Sam joining him. Before Mick meeting Mel.

The possibilities are quite endless, but Sam doesn’t press him.

“I am sorry about your mother”. He shifts in his chair. “I already told Dean, but he said not to worry.”

“Dean was... sceptical from the moment he saw how different she was from the woman he remembered.”

“And you weren’t.”

It’s a statement. And it’s true.

How can it not be, with Mick and Sam having been paired off in countless killing missions? And yet he barely knows the guy. They never talked about private stuff.

“I get it” Mick says softly. “I don’t remember my parents, but if I could meet them...”

Dean was right about yet another thing yesterday, Sam realizes.

“You think they have a weird British cult thing going on? The Men of Letters?” Dean asks once Mick’s retired for the night.

“What do you mean?” Sam answers.

“Guy’s accent is much less noticeable now that he’s not constantly surrounded by Harry Potter wannabes”.

Dean shudders at his own reference.

Mick definitely sounds more like an actual person instead of a caricature. In time, they might even be able to pass him off as a fed.

Sam nods.

“It was overwhelming.”

So overwhelming he almost forgot about the part of his family who’d always been there for him, right from the start.

They fall silent.

Eventually, to break the slight tension, Sam says, “I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s that about the Men of Letters and Jane Austen?”

His very first night here, he heard Sam and Mick talking about it as he entered the kitchen.

Mick grins.

“Elton and Willoughby are both antagonists in her works.”

“Seriously?”

“They don’t like it being mentioned for a reason.”

Sam laughs.

“Did Dean tell you he actually quotes her books to Cas when he wants to be romantic?”

“I can imagine.”

Sam bets he can. Dean and Cas see no point in hiding their relationship even a little bit. Not that they make out in front of other people, but holding hands? Small kisses? Bright, happy grins? Check, check and check.

Another example is just around the corner, since a few moments later a happily smiling Dean pulls Cas into the room.

“Hey guys, I was looking for you. Mel’s here.”

“Where?” Mick asks.

“The swimming pool. Think she wants to make sure you’re alright, since she was the first monster to make contact with you.”

She also wrote emails to Mick and met up with him at least once, they know. He hasn’t mentioned it yet but is aware they know.

It’s part of the new honesty Sam has really come to cherish in this new chapter of their lives.

“The water wraith... wants to see me... and has come to temporarily reside... in the swimming pool” Mick says slowly. “Alright”.

He’s trying his best to get used to their usual madness as quickly as possible.

Dean winks at him.

“Trust me, that’s nothing. Come on.”

They pass Crowley in the corridor.

“I would have thought you’d inform me we had a guest. I’m still living here, you know”.

“No one said you weren’t. Stop moping” Dean replies as he strolls past him, still holding Cas’ hand.

“Still feeling alright?” Sam asks.

“It’s... different. At Kendricks, things were... strange too. But it never felt like this”.

They’re walking slower than the others.

“We were always confronted with the supernatural too, if just in theory. And we were always taught to fear it. We certainly weren’t supposed to... eat dinner with the King of Hell.”

“Or have a drink with him” Sam recalls, grinning.

They found out on Mick’s third night here that despite his apparent iron live he’s no match for Crowley’s Craig.

They had to bring him to bed that night.

“Yes, now that you mention it.”

“Come on. Mel can be... tempestuous.”

And they quickly walk the rest of the way.