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seljepw · 7 years

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Sleeping With the Enemy, Part Two

A/N: Ok, y’all have been SO patient, and I appreciate it so much. You know i’m not a natural writer, so these things take a lot longer to happen than I’d like. Hopefully, you’ll think your patience has been rewarded. Special shout-out to tumblr’s newest denizen, and my lovely beta, Ms. @singingphoenix. She helped a lot with ideas and basically just reminded me that I don’t suck.

The Road So Far: Ok, so the reader and Crowley had a crazy encounter last Halloween, and the reader limped walked away with a new talisman that protects the wearer from witches’ spells. (Catch up on part one Here)

Caveats: THIS IS SMUT! If you keep reading, you will find adult language, Dom!Crowley, Scruffing, Injured!Reader, rough sex, dirty talk, slight humiliation but only if you kinda squint at it, and getting caught.

Word Count: 4,800ish (and y’all wonder why it takes me a year to write a new chapter...)

“Ouch ouch ouch ouch…” You tried to keep your whimpering to a minimum, even though there was no one else in the bunker. Being loud wasn’t going to fix your shoulder and neck, so you stuck to the whispered litany as you dangled head-first off the end of your bed, in your own low-rent version of traction.

Just gotta stretch it out. It’s gonna be fine. It’s just a muscle spasm. You’ve had worse, Y/N. You can handle- OUCH! You hissed an inhale through clenched teeth. Stupid! Turning your head so fast. There’s no one walking in the hall. The boys are hunting- without you- because you’ve got to get this neck thing under control before you’re fighting shape again. Empty bunker makes weird sounds, you know that.

A few deep breaths helped you relax your muscles again. Trying to think happy thoughts, you closed your eyes and remembered the look on the witch’s face when her first spell rebounded off of you and sent her sprawling. Your tiny smile didn’t seem to aggravate your injury too badly, so you kept on remembering. Crowley’s trinket had protected you like a charm (which, technically, was exactly what it was). All the bitch’s spells had rebounded or ricocheted off of you, with no other effect but the Luisgeàrd getting slightly warm against your chest. Feeling invincible, you had taken off after her when she ran through the warehouse. How were you to know she’d go all analog and knock a chest full of spell ingredients onto you? Your smile disappeared into an annoyed sneer. For a 300-year-old lady, she had been strong as hell.

Hell. There it was again. The uncomfortable twist of your gut. In the six months since you had seen the King of that place, any mention of Hell made you blush and/or writhe.

Without opening your eyes, you tugged at the thin leather cord at your throat. It had been your constant companion for half a year, along with the memories of the night you’d acquired it. Since the night of Crowley’s Halloween ball, you’d used the Luisgeàrd several times. Four witches were no longer cackling thanks to you and your new accessory. Running a hooked finger back and forth across the necklace, you relived Crowley’s words. Again. “I expect that trinket to be returned to me. In pristine condition. Or there will be consequences.” A deep shiver set off a pang in your injury, and you took a few more deep breaths. You relaxed, again. Well, most of you. You shifted your thighs together and blew out a breath through pursed lips. Six. Months.

Oh, there had been guys. Young bucks picked up in bars, that sheriff's deputy down in Des Moine, one very memorable instance of gotta-have-it in a gas station bathroom. All perfectly serviceable, but nothing… well. Nothing like Crowley.

You chewed at your lip, eyes still closed, and weighed your options. The bunker was empty. No boys to interrupt you. Why not indulge a little? You had put concerted effort into not remembering Crowley in your- shall we say- more vulnerable moments. Best not to open that door. Too many confusing feelings. But it had been so long, and maybe the feelings weren’t as strong as you thought. Just a little trip down memory lane. You deserved a treat, alone and in pain as you were. Something to lift your spirits.

You finally dove into the memory. Played it like a movie against your closed eyelids. Start at the beginning, you thought. Savor it.

Dancing. Well, more accurately, being buoyed in Crowley’s arms, floating in dizzying whorls around the ballroom. His hands had been chastely positioned at the time- no one looking on could know that his demonic power had manifested other hands. Under your skirt...

You hummed low in your throat, thinking of that hot grip on your ass, and slid one of your hands under the waistband of your pajama pants. The fingers of your other hand drew lazy circles across the rowan wood disk on your necklace. You still lay with your head dangling over the side of your bed. You’d have to move slow and carefully so you wouldn’t jostle your injury…

After the dance, there was a drink in the library. And your first glimpse of the Luisgeàrd. And then… You released a shaky breath as you recalled the kiss that started everything. Crowley had hit you like a wave, bowling you over and backwards to the large table… Images came fast, and you had to deliberately slow them down. Drink them in. You cupped your hand around yourself, feeling the heat.

The candlelight making his demon mask glow as he crowded himself between your legs…

You drew your fingers slowly through your slick, whimpering slightly. That tense moment when he found the demon knife at your thigh… One side of your mouth lifted and you barely brushed across your clit, thinking of the point of the knife against your breast and Crowley’s voice in your ear. “I want you to trust me, Y/N. Can you do that?” You slowly slid a finger in, and had gotten two knuckles deep when you heard a rumbling chuckle at your open door.

A great many things seemed to happen at once. Your startled squawk, your hunter-instinct leap off of the bed, and the pain lancing through your neck and shoulder, turning that leap into a graceless spasm/tumble onto the floor. The impact jarred your injury further, and you screamed first in pain, then in rage when you caught sight of the black coated figure in your doorway.

“FUCK! CROWLEY?! WHAT THE FUCK?! FUCKING SHIT! OW!” This was all a rapid-fire barrage at full volume, as you clutched your neck and writhed on the floor. You managed to heave yourself into a crouch at the foot of your bed, and turned the full force of your glare onto Crowley. He was apparently taken aback at the reception. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the only sound in the room was your breathing, bull-like through your nostrils.

“Well, that’s not exactly the welcome I was expecting.” Crowley’s eyebrows lowered from their perch near his hairline, settling into a crumple of concern. “Y/N, love, are you hurt?” He took a hesitant step towards you.

“The fuck does it look like, asshole?” you shot back. Pain made you less than charitable at the best of times, let alone when the King of Hell dropped in unannounced, scaring the shit out of you, right when you were… you were…. Oh, shit. You felt the flush surge up your torso to your scalp and dropped your gaze. There was a small beer stain on the industrial carpet in front of Crowley’s left shoe. You couldn’t seem to look anywhere else.

“What happened?” He said after a moment. His voice was oddly tight, controlled. Contemptuous. That brought up your own combative response. How dare he judge you for getting injured!

“I got a Chippendale china cabinet dropped on me,” you snarled, finally meeting his eyes again, “There, you happy? Let the gloating begin!”

Crowley inhaled, rolled his head toward the ceiling, and dragged a palm across his mouth and jaw. He was angry. What the fuck gave him the right to be angry at you?! Just as you opened your mouth to defend yourself, he dropped his gaze back to you and said, “Those stupid, cowboy-brained, flannel factories you live with let you get HURT?! Where are they?!” He spun towards the hallway, as if he meant to personally drag the Winchesters to your room to explain themselves.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

Stress response, shock, sleep-deprivation, psychotic break- whatever you want to call it, you dissolved into a fit of witch-level cackling, right there on your floor, the ruler of another dimension looking on, incredulous. Every laugh sent a hot wire of pain through your neck and shoulder, but it seemed that your body couldn’t be bothered with that, right now. Laughing was more important. So you clutched at your injury and guffawed until you cried.

When you finally got yourself under semi-control, you blinked around watering eyes and focused on Crowley. He was crouched in front of you, now. One of his hands rested over yours, where you held your neck, his other hand on your temple, as though he could check for psychosis like fever.

“Sorry,” you gasped, “it’s just…” a giggle escaped, “you were so mad…” Another bubble of laughter threatened, but you fortified and fought it down. “What do you care, if I get hurt? You know what I do for a living, right?”

“Wasn’t aware you got paid,” he murmured, searching your eyes for any signs of another impending crackup. Without warning, a quiet, charged energy settled into the space between you, and suspended the moment a little too long.

“You know what I mean,” you said softly, leaning your forehead against his hand without meaning to. “It’s a dangerous gig. You’ve seen the boys ripped up and bloody- hell, you’ve been the one to bloody them, sometimes- and you’re upset that I tweaked my neck?”

“I’ll have you know, I’m rather fond of that neck,” he chided. His thumb was absently petting your hairline. It felt good, and you sighed a little, finally relaxing the tensed muscles through your stomach and arms. As your body released itself from hunter defcon, the agony in your neck resurfaced.

“Fuck, that hurts,” you whispered, closing your eyes against the pain.

“Where are the not-so-wonder twins, anyway?” he asked.

“Hunting, duh.” You rode the wave of anguish until it subsided a little, and opened your eyes. “There’s a haunting over in Junction City. Milk run-level shit, but they didn’t want me tagging along, with this.” Your eyes cut disgustedly toward your injury.

“What happened?” he asked again, softly this time, and gently helped you to your feet.

You shrugged with your good shoulder and avoided looking directly at him. You hadn't admitted that you were ashamed of getting hurt, but Crowley saw it. You saw him see it. Observant bastard. You soldiered on.

“There was this witch.” Your fingers tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord and you stared at Crowley’s lapel. “I got cocky. This thing’s awesome, by the way.” You hoisted the talisman in Crowley’s general direction and kept talking to his boutonniere hole. “I ran after her- and the guys couldn’t catch up fast enough, so it’s not their fault- and she just got the jump on me. Should have seen it coming. It was stupid.” Tears of shame pricked your eyes and you blinked hard as you tried to shake yourself back into self-possession. You would absolutely not cry in front of Crowley. That was unacceptable.

Crowley closed the distance between you and then you were tucked into his arms, snuffling against his shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like the last- and only other- time you’d been this close hadn’t been a semi-anonymous, masked fuck on a ceiling beam. Last time, you hadn’t had the brainpower to notice how good he smelled. Sulfurous, yeah, but more like incense than rotten egg. Ironically, it reminded you of church Sundays with your grandmother, as a kid. You inhaled deep, enjoying the moment, and opened your mouth to remark on his smell, when you remembered his similar observation of you.

“There’s that delicious smell…”

The moment shattered, and you pushed away from him with shaking hands. Clearing your throat, you turned and carefully began straightening things on your desk. Heating pad, ice pack, pain killers, lore research, all got picked up and dropped again as you forced a businesslike tone into your voice. “What are you doing here, Crowley?”

If your instant gear shift unsettled him, he didn’t show it. In his usual Kinglier-than-thou resonance, he answered, “What? A chap can’t pop in to check on his property?”

For one infuriating heartbeat, you thought he meant you were his property, but then the logical side of your brain realized that he meant the Luisgeàrd. “Oh.” You turned to him, and began carefully lifting the talisman over your head, trying not to anger your muscle spasm. “If you want it back, that’s fine. We never discussed how long I could use it, so, if you need it back-”

“Y/N.” He was studying you with that self-assured tilt of the head, his hands in his pockets. Everything about him screamed Smartest Person In The Room. It galled you.

“What?” you snapped.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?”

The way he said it, you weren’t sure if he meant “care” like, “here, have a glass of wine and put your feet up”, or “here, have a mind-blowing orgasm”. Somehow, it sounded like both. You had no idea how to respond to that double question (the answer being, simultaneously, “not in living memory”, and “the last time I saw you”), so you decided to deflect.

“The fuck are you talking about, Crowley? Do you want this thing or not?” You waved the Luisgeàrd at him.

“You’ve been putting it to much better use than I ever did.” He stepped toward you. Only one step. Hands still in pockets, head still cocked back and to the side, still all King. Something about that one step made you shiver. “I’ve been keeping tabs. But you didn’t answer my question, Y/N.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs? Have you been spying on me?!”

“Keeping an eye out, let’s say. A bloke has to protect his interests.” That time, he might have been talking about the Luisgeàrd, or about you. Another step forward. “Quite a big time you and your boys have been having, galavanting all over, not suffering a witch to live, and all that.” Another step, and he was close enough you had to tilt your head back a bit to meet his eyes. His voice dropped an octave when he said, “You and your boys.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty badass hunters. Didn’t you get that memo?” you snarked and took a half step back. You were finding higher brain function a little tricky, with him so close.

“Not what I meant. What was his name? The wanker who had you in that roadside loo?” He tutted. “Not exactly sanitary, love. But who would dither about locale when your delicious self is right there, ready to go?”

That flared your temper. Your higher brain managed to stop you just before you punched the smirk off his face. He’s trying to rile you up. Don’t let him. You let your face slide into an evil grin as you spat back, “What, Crowley? Are you jealous? Big bad King of Hell is jealous?”

He took another step. You tried to move back, but came up short against your desk. He was too close. Close enough to smell him. Close enough to see one of your hairs clinging to his suit coat. Close enough to send your heart racing. Traitor. The heat between your legs was back and you couldn’t seem to think straight.

Six months. Fuck.

Crowley smiled down at you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His voice was a soft, dark rumble as he said, “Never. I’m not naive or stupid, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook. Just… I missed you. I like watching over you.” His hand slid behind your head, tilted you back for a kiss.

And the pain hit, again.

“Fuck!” you hissed, teeth gritted. The most annoying thing about bodily damage was it asserted itself at the worst possible time. So, not only were you in pain, you were also embarrassed and awkward about it. “Sorry,” you managed, “This fucking spasm isn’t going away. Pisses me off.”

Crowley stepped back, pointed to the bed, and said, “Lay down.”

You huffed, sardonically. “Tempting offer, your highness, but I’m in no shape for-”

“Y/N. Will you just- for once- relax? I just want to check your spine.”

You squinted at him. Who was this new Crowley? Granted, you had only had a couple (very memorable) encounters, but you’d never seen him this… solicitous. Then, with a raised eyebrow, he crossed his arms. “Now, young lady.”

Well, that sent a flutter through you that you’d rather not take the time to contemplate. Swallowing and a little shaky, you kept your eyes on his as you crossed to your bed. He offered you a chivalrous hand and helped you settle yourself face down, tucking pillows under you and trying not to jostle you too much. You took deep breaths and tried to calm your thrashing heartbeat, every muscle painfully aware of the dip in the mattress as he settled himself behind you. You only jumped a little when you felt the warm pressure of his fingertips at the nape of your neck, moving slowly, carefully down your spine, massaging the angry muscles, taking stock of your injury. As he worked, he kept murmuring to you as if you were a spooked horse. Not even words, really, just comforting humms and tutts and shushings. You were vaguely aware of your own whimpers, half from pain, half from the emotional tumult of being in such a vulnerable position under someone who could kill you without blinking.

“I need you to trust me, Y/N,” he had said. “Can you do that?” Could you? Could you really trust Crowley? At least one part of your anatomy was all for it. The feeling of his hands on your skin was sending a wave of pulsing heat through you, and you were hyper aware of your now damp panties. Lost in the war between pussy and brain, you almost didn’t hear him when he said, “Looks like you’ve got a vertebrae out of place, Love.”

“Huh?” That sounded serious. Scary serious. You swam back to full cognizance, and tried to turn over to look at him. His hand landed on your shoulder blade, keeping you face down.

“Oh, no you don’t. Stay still. I can fix it, but you’ll be a bit sore for a few days.”

“You can fix it?” You scoffed. “You can just magically put my spine back in order? I didn’t know demons had healing powers.”

“Of course.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you forget what I do for a living, pet? How d’you think we keep people from dying during… enhanced interrogation? Now, stay. Still.”

You froze, barely breathing. If it weren’t for the rushing sound in your ears, you’d have sworn your heart stopped. His hands draped around the sides of your neck, thumbs on your spine. Heat (a drop of hellfire?) shot down the nerves between your skull and tailbone. There was a POP and a flash of pain, then release. It felt like having a dislocated joint put back in its socket.

“There. Six months of chiropractic visits you don’t have to pay for.” Crowley sounded very pleased with himself.

You carefully lifted yourself onto your elbows. No pain. You gingerly turned your head to look at him over your shoulder. Only a slight tightness in the muscles. He was grinning at you. “Now, how can you ever repay me?” His hand was dragging circles up and down your back, eyes a mix of predatory and proud, and your brain was going all fuzzy, again. You swallowed.

This is Crowley. Dangerous. King-of-Hell dangerous. Evil-demon dangerous.

“You think just because you fixed my neck, you’re gonna get in my pants?”

You shifted a little, to relieve the tension coiling under those pants, and tried to play it cool. You did pretty well until Crowley leaned forward, slid his hand onto your ass, and whispered in your ear, “No, love. I think that I can get in your pants because I can smell how wet you are.” His grip tightened, and your eyes involuntarily rolled up in your head. “Don’t think I forgot what you were doing when I walked in, here. No games, pet. You need this, don’t you?”

“Fuck, Crowley,” you breathed. And that was it. You made your decision. Better or worse, evil or not, you wanted the King of Hell. Wanted him badly. And here he was, willing to oblige.

“Is that a ‘yes’, Y/N?” Crowley dragged his mouth up your neck, dropping hot kisses as he spoke. His thumb hooked into the waistband of your pajamas, started to tug downward. “I need you to say it, pet.”

Your head curled backward and you caught his mouth with yours. “Yes, Crowley,” you breathed against his lips, “Yes.” No going back, now.

He kissed you like he could inhale you, rolling your body this way and that, dragging your clothes off. Somewhere in the tumble, he lost his clothes as well, although you couldn’t remember helping him with it. He managed to keep you on your stomach the whole time, and the heat of his body at your back was dizzying. The feel of his skin on yours had you writhing under him, to get more friction. Mewling in pleasure and frustration, you spread your legs so he could settle behind you, and gripped the sheets for stability. Higher brain function was out of the question. You had become a being of instinct, and it felt great.

Crowley trailed the length of his cock down the crack of your ass as he growled in your ear, “Do you know how often I thought of you, Y/N? How many times I remembered the feeling of you tight around me? Imagined those gasps and pants of yours?” Those gasps and pants seemed to be your whole vocabulary at the moment, so you just rolled your hips and let him do whatever he liked. “I seem to remember you saying something about not being a quiet fuck... no reason to stifle it, now. Can’t wait to hear you, Y/N…” He kept slowly rutting against your ass, talking to you, and snaked a hand around to reach for your dripping slit. When he found it, he groaned against your neck, “Oooh, there’s my good girl. Fuck, you’re wet, aren’t you? Did you miss me, too?” He pushed two fingers into your hole, teasing and stretching and stroking. That was when you cried out.

“Fuck! Oh, goddamn fucking hell, yes!” You rocked back and forth, trying to push against his dick behind you and his fingers inside you at the same time.

“That’s it, love. Let me take care of you. I know what you need. Let your King give you what you need.” He had three fingers in, now, drumming gainst that spot that sent you reeling, thumb circling your clit. You were wailing already, short “Aah!Aah!Aah!”s echoing down the bunker’s halls, but when you felt his teeth against the back of your neck, you let go and screamed. Crowley bit down, hard enough to bruise, and kept pumping his fingers in and out of you as you came. When the wave passed and left you gasping and hoarse, before you could recover completely, he hoisted your hips into the air and shoved himself inside you.

There are memories that you carry through your life, certain foods or movies or experiences that inflate in your recollection, and when you find them again, they aren’t quite as good as you remember. Crowley’s cock was not one of these things. As wet and ready as you were, he still stretched you wide, your walls burning. You were screaming, again. He kept his grip on your hips, buried as deep as he could go, and held you in place as you bucked against the intrusion.

“Oooh, yes, Y/N! That’s it, pet. That’s it. You take it! Oh, bloody hell, love, you can take it all, can’t you? Fuck, I’ve missed this cunt!” He landed a stinging smack on your ass and started fucking you in earnest. It was so fast- he was so big- you wallowed against the mattress and lost yourself in the experience. Your shrieks mingled with tears and soaked into your pillow. “Does that hurt, love?” He spanked you again and punctuated his words with deep thrusts. “Answer me, Y/N! Does! That! Hurt?”

“Yes!” you cried.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“NO! Fuck no, Crowley, never stop!” You didn’t even know who you were, anymore. The badass, take-no-shit hunter had dissolved into a screaming, rutting animal. You could get used to this…

Crowley kept slamming into you as he reached down, got a handfull of your hair in his fist, and yanked your head back. “Then you listen to me, pet,” he snarled, “I’m the only one who gets to hurt you. Do you hear me? Not those monsters you hunt. Not the boys you play with. Me.”

“Fuck! Yes!” You were going to come again, you could feel yourself tightening around that punishing dick.

“Yes.” SLAM “What?” SLAM

“Yes sir! Yes, my King! You get to hurt me, no one else! Fuck, Crowley- Fuck- I’m gonna- AAAHH!” You shook apart, quaking and rolling, and the world went white. Crowley just picked up the pace and fucked you through it, until he couldn’t hold on anymore. With a hoarse bellow, he stuffed himself to the hilt and held you still against him as he unloaded deep inside you.

As you both came down, you didn’t bother uncoupling. You just slumped sideways onto the bed. Crowley gathered you up against his chest and laid panting kisses across your shoulder. You reached back to run your fingers through his hair and tried to catch your breath.

“Holy shit…” you sighed. His breathless chuckle rumbled at your back.

“Indeed.”

He slid his hand over your side and hip and thigh, then trailed back up your stomach and cupped your breast. He nuzzled into your neck and sighed happily.

“Are you alright, love?”

“Are you kidding? I’m fucking fantastic. I’m gonna be sore for a bit, but… I think I’ll like that.”

His softening cock gave a little twitch inside you. “Mmmm. Want me to kiss it better?”

You laughed and tangled your fingers with his. “Jesus, lemme catch my breath, first.” You both lay quietly for a moment before you whispered, “Crowley?”

“Mmm?”

“Why did you come here, tonight? Really?”

“I told you. I’ve been keeping tabs.”

“And that requires an in-person apparition to my bedroom?”

“No…”

“Then why-”

“I stayed away as long as I could. Stuck to the scrying bowl and second-hand reports. Then, two weeks ago, I… couldn’t stand it. I popped in. Stood outside your door, trying to decide if I should knock. Didn’t have the stones, as it turned out. Moose rounded the corner and I barely made it out without him seeing me. But it was nice being near you, so, I came back, tonight. Bloody glad I did, too.” He nudged his hips against you, jokingly.

“The big, bad King of Hell is sentimental?” You smirked at him, over your shoulder. He smirked back, shifting a little. You both groaned as he slid free. You missed him, immediately.

“Yeah, well. Don’t go spreading it ‘round, yeah? I’ve a reputation to think of, after all.”

You wiggled around to face him, stared into those guarded hazel eyes, and asked the question you’d been wrestling with for six months. “What the fuck are we doing, Crowley? What is this? I mean, I barely know you. Half the time, I don’t trust you... What are we doing?”

He lifted his palm to your cheek and pressed his forehead to yours. “Y/N, I-”

The bunker’s front door squealed open, and two pairs of booted feet came galloping down the metal staircase.

“Yo! Y/N!” Dean’s voice bellowed from the library. “We’re back! Where you at?” You heard the Winchesters thundering down the hallway to your room.

“Crowley, you’ve gotta-” you hissed urgently, but he was already gone.

Which is when Dean and Sam rounded your doorway, and found you rumpled, sweaty, and buck naked on your bed, alone.

“WOAH!” Dean recoiled like he'd been shot, and slapped a hand over his face. Sam squeaked in embarrassment and spun back out into the hall.

“Fuck, guys! Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?!” You scrambled to wrap the sheets around yourself and jumped to your feet.

“Haven’t you ever heard of a closed door?!” Dean shot back, eyes still covered. Then he grinned. “But, Hey, you know, I get it. Place to yourself, decided to throw a little party of one. We’ve all been there, right, Sammy?”

Sam grabbed his brother by the collar and dragged him down the hall. “Sorry, Y/N. Um... Sleep well. We’ll... Uh... See you in the morning.”

With all the thoughts scrambling around in your mind, you doubted sleep was on the menu, but you sighed, closed your door, and went back to bed.

It still smelled like Crowley.

My Queens of Hell: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @roxy-davenport, @fuschiarulerinthebluebox, @cowbelle8, @gettinjoyful, @faeryprincess666, @lillymorningstar, @mintplantfuckery, @mylittlewingedangel, @daughterofthebrowncoats, @docharleythegeekqueen, @earinafae, @lucifer-in-leather

#Crowley fic #Crowley smut #Crowley x Reader #spn fanfic #crowlty fic #sleeping with the enemy #spn smut #dom!crowley #caregiver!dom

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seljepw · 7 years

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Over the Hills and Far Away- Pt. 6

The Road So Far: The reader, Bobby's adopted daughter, has magical powers, but nobody knows why. One day, She and Dean wake up in a suburban house just outside of Lawrence, with no memory of how they got there. As they investigate, they discover that Bobby is alive, Sam is living with Sarah (we met her back in season one, remember? she died, too.), and the world has been cleansed of all supernatural things. Looking for answers, they travel to Cas's new home, but instead of the angel-turned-human, they find a woman named Celine. Who turned out to not be a friend.

A/N: You guys are amazing. Thank you for the renewed interest in this series. I think you've earned some answers. Just, you know, not all of them. Not just yet.

Word Count: 1,136

From Last Time:

She was still beautiful, but now it wasn’t in a human way at all; it was more in a force-of-nature way. The way a hunting lion is beautiful. Or the shape of lightning. Deadly and unstoppable. Her eyes were more tilted, huge, and glowing orange. Her skin had gone pure white, and her cheekbones jutted out underneath, as though her bones were made of shards of glass. Her hair and dress seemed to drift on a breeze that touched only her. Her ears were long and pointed, and tipped in black. The same black stained the tips of her fingers, which now resembled claws and were tapping contentedly on the table in front of her.

“Got you,” she purred, in a low, soft voice, and smiled, revealing a row of very sharp looking teeth.

Now:

A table full of startled hunters is an interesting thing. Especially if it’s a group that’s been working together for the better part of two decades. It’s less like a traditional family, and more like a pack of deadly animals. You all moved in unison, leaping out of your chairs and drawing weapons from their hiding places; waistbands, boots, back pockets, and sleeves. As one, you pivoted to face the threat that was sitting calmly in a battered cane back chair, smiling up at you like an indulgent mother.

“Bless,” Celine chuckled. Then she moved one clawed hand, as though she was snatching a butterfly out of the air. Or yanking the leash of an unruly dog. “Sit.” she snarled.

You were all shoved back into your chairs by an unseen force. Your hands- still grasping their respective weapons- were lashed to the table by invisible bonds. Bobby glowered at your captor with murder in his eyes. Sam was breathing heavily through his nose. Sarah’s Face was pulled into a grimace, as though she was struggling, but she couldn’t seem to move at all.

“What the hell did you do to us, lady? What was in that pie?” Snarled Dean.

Celine whipped her head around to face him, as though she couldn’t have been more surprised if one of the chairs had spoken. Then her eyes flitted between you and Dean, and grew thoughtful.

“Interesting…” she mused, leaning forward and examining Dean like an entomologist inspecting a new variety of insect. Then- before you could really register any movement- she was beside him, swinging one of her clawed hands at his face.

“DEAN!” You screamed, struggling against the magic that held you. But there was nothing to worry about. Celine’s hand stopped inches from Dean’s left eye, repelled by a flash of gold light. Dean hissed and jerked forward as though he had been burned by the back of his chair. You shot a glance to Bobby, Sam, and Sarah. They were completely Immobile. Whatever Celine had done to your family, it affected you and Dean less than the others. Celine seemed to have realized this, too, and it amused her.

“Oh, but this is too delicious!” She chuckled, turning her fanged smile to you. “You Claimed him? You silly thing. Who knew you had that much power?” Her smile disappeared. “Not that it will save you or your pet, in the end,” She spat the word ‘pet’ as though it were some kind of disgusting bodily function. “You’ve eaten our food. You are Bound.”

That stopped you cold. Faeries could trap people in their realm by feeding them Fae food. It all made sense, now.

“You’re a faerie,” you choked out the words past a lump of terror in your throat. “We’re in the land of Faerie?!”

Celine’s lip curled up in a derisive smile. “Took you long enough to work that out. That’ll be your mother’s side of things, I should think. Slow human brains.”

“My mother?” Your head was spinning- it was like your mind was unlocking, but so many tumblers falling into place at once disoriented you.

Celine smiled again and leaned forward, bracing one hand on the table between you and Dean, and bringing her face level with yours.

“Why, my dear child. I should think you’d have figured it out by now. You’re really beginning to bore me.”

That was the last straw. You had had enough of her smug half-answers. You were done being jerked around. You strained even harder against your magical bonds and met Celine’s glare head-on.

“Ok, lady,” you snarled, “Enough foreplay. Who the fuck are you? And how do you know anything about me, my mother, or my power?”

Celine giggled, using one clawed finger to brush a lock of hair off of your forehead and tuck it behind your ear.

“Silly girl. I’m your faerie godmother.”

You stared- thunderstruck- at Celine for a long moment.

“Come again?” Dean’s voice floated up from behind her, where he was still pinned in his chair. Celine straightened up and swung around to face him.

“Her faerie godmother, I said,” She swept regally back to the head of the table, settled herself once more into the cane back chair, and with an imperious wave of her hand, released the bonds on you all.

“Not so fast, old man,” Celine pointed one claw at Bobby, who had braced his hands on the table, preparing to rise to his feet. “Our business here needn’t include violence. I am simply discharging my obligations to the girl,” this last statement included a nod at you. Bobby settled back into his seat, glowering. No one, you saw, had let go of their weapons.

“I don’t know if you've noticed, lady,” you scoffed, “but I’m not really in the market for glass slippers and a poofy dress, so cut the crap. What’s your deal?”

“To ensure your safe delivery to your proper place. Which you would have known, if you hadn’t been stolen by this troglodyte,” her orange eyes flashed at Bobby, “and hidden from us for so many years.”

“Her proper place is with us,” Sam said darkly. “She’s our family, not yours.” Strangely, that one statement from your ‘brother’ meant more than you could express. Dean’s knee pressed against yours, grounding you further. You began to draw measured breaths again, your hammering heart rate slowing a little.

“I assure you, little boy, she is my family. She is the offspring of my brother,” said Celine.

That knocked the wind out of you all over again. You had never known your biological father. After Bobby had saved you, he had become your dad. He had become everything. Until you met the Winchesters, that is.

“So...” you croaked, unable to resist asking, “who is my father?”

“His Name is his own, and not yours to know. All you do need to know is that he is a prince of the Sidhe,” stated Celine proudly.

“The ‘she’?” Asked Dean, his lip curling in confusion.

“The Sidhe, you stupid ape,” snarled Celine, somehow managing to make the word sound different, even though it was in fact pronounced ‘she’. “The ruling class of the Fae. Your owner is a noblewoman, however loosely that term applies.” She flicked her eyes over you in a disgusted glance.

You and Dean began talking at the same time.

“My owner? Look here, bitch-”

“I’m sorry- are you telling me I’m a freakin’ faerie princess?”

“Of course not, girl,” snapped Celine (she ignored Dean completely). “You are only half Fae. Your birth was a necessary abomination. Your cow mother never even knew what you are. Or what you were born to be.”

You felt your cheeks flush, despite yourself. “What was I born to be, then?”

“The Tithe to Hell, of course.”

~~~~~~

Tune in next week to figure out what the fuck is going on!

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @raelady1184, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @icecream-and-gadreel, @singingphoenix, @deevoon, @aprofoundbondwithdean, @mrsgabrieltrickster, @emilyymichelle

#Fae!reader #dean x reader #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfic series #fic series #Over the Hills and Far Away #hunter!reader x dean #hunter!reader

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