Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Crowley Imagine

Crowley Imagine: The holy frying pan indeed.

Song for this chapter: Strange Love by Halsey

Note: Fuck you all for not liking my last part. Just kidding. Happy labor day.

Warnings: Rated 'R', for risque, sexual content and profanities.

Crowley Imagine

"Can I get you anything, Ms. L/n?"

You glanced up at the clearly bored demon, only half-sure you'd heard him correctly.

"Uh...no. I'm good."

He nodded his head deeply, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.

You'd woken up in a stately bedroom, in cleaner versions of the clothes you'd just...died...in.

Hunting beside the Winchesters was always dangerous. You knew the risks associated with hunting, and you knew that those risks were multiplied by four whenever Dean or Sam was involved. Even still, after five years of solid companionship and two years of literally living with them in the men of letter's bunker--you were prepared to go down to save either of them.

Turns out, you had a chance to prove that on a hunt that no-one had considered particularly dangerous. See, both of the brother's had had their day in Hell, and they'd learned from it. No-more contracts with any sort of holy/unholy being. Unfortunately, a year before you even met them, you fucked the biscuit by paging a crossroads demon and curing your 'at-the-time' lover of a terminal disease.

They didn't know this, which is probably better in the long run. If they knew that the second you got stabbed with your own blade that your soul would go straight down, down, down--they probably would've done something stupid. Instead, they buried you in the middle of a forest in the middle of nowhere, cried their manly tears, and soldiered on. You figured that they'd do this, so without receiving confirmation, you assumed that this was the case.

You remembered hell unfortunately clearly, but that was the least of your worries. The demon that had asked you if you needed anything had been the first to respond when you started pounding on the only door in the room. You had assumed that this was some new, fucked-up torture, but the demon had simply shrugged and informed you that there was a very powerful person very pleased to have you back. That, and he told you if you didn't stop bothering him with all that noise, he'd knock you out. So, you sat on the bed and stared at your hands.

Dean had to claw his way out of a pine coffin and six feet of dirt. You were clean, your clothes were clean, and your fingernails looked like they usually did. You really were itching for answers, and confirmation that you really were where you thought you were.

It was, from your count, twenty minutes before the door opened again. When it did, you jumped up, entirely ready to attack. Your intruder simply smirked when he saw you standing at the foot of the bed, legs shoulder width apart, fists raised. You were right--wherever you really were, it was Crowley's doing, as the king of hell himself was grinning at you like an idiot.

You kind of knew why he would be interested in keeping you around. Not only were you part of 'The Winchester' circle, in his opinion, but you...possibly...maybe slept with him a month or so before you died.

"Hello, Y/n. Lovely day, isn't it?"

Sighing harshly, you lowered your fists. "What's going on here? Was I not just in hell?"

"No, you were very much in hell. For three months." He said this casually, fully entering the room as the door closed behind him. "Sorry about that."

"You're--okay." You swallowed your anger and thought about your next words.

"Who pulled me out?"

"Nobody pulled you out. I've been working on this since those bloody idiots got you killed. Bureaucracy is painful, darling, you know that. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll explain everything."

You didn't feel the need to argue with him, so you just sat on the edge of the bed, eying him as he began to pace in front of you.

"You sold your soul to a crossroads demon. I recently took over the contract."

"So--okay. My soul is in me, right?"

"Right were it belongs. Of course. Now, save your questions for the end."

You firmly closed your lips, agitation swelling.

"Because I am the king of hell, I simply...broke the rules. Promptly had your body exhumed and frozen. Life went on, no pun intended, until I managed nothing short of a miracle, and here you are." He came to a stop right in front of you, hands clasped behind his back.

"You didn't do this just because you like me, certainly. What do you want?"

"What I want, I want entirely because I like you. I'm so glad for that brain of yours, of course, but I certainly missed the rest of you just as terribly."

"Are you hitting on me? Right now?"
"I've been waiting months."

"I just--I just went through literal hell! I can still feel every little bit of it, I'm seriously traumatized!"

"Ah," he sighed, walking closer to you and grabbing your face in a firm grip. "I just rescued you from Hell, and somehow I feel like I should be apologizing to you."

You swallowed thickly, glaring up at him.

"You should. If you're looking for a thank-you, you'll have to wait until I'm in a better mood to get it. Can I go see my boys?"

Something like a growl bubbled up from his throat, and he let go of your face only to force his knee between your closed legs.

"Are you so unhappy to see me, Y/n? You didn't at all miss your king?"

You grit your teeth. "I didn't miss anyone, Crowley. I was too busy screaming in pain."

"You know," he sneered, placing a hand on either of your shoulders and pushing you back until you hit the bed, "I suppose you're right. I've been insensitive to your situation. What do you think about a little mutual mood improvement?"

"Don't. Not right now."

"Funny, last time, you insisted that we do it again. Now's as good a time as any."

"You're pissed. I don't feel like letting you take your frustrations out of me."

"I'm not angry, Y/n, I'm aggravated. You aggravate me." He sunk down so that he was crouching in between your legs, and you sat forwards a bit on your elbows, just so that your eyes and his could meet.

"I aggravate you, do I? Do I stress you out?"

"No. You are the very definition of stress relief. Now, the sooner I give you your apology, the quicker I get my thank you. Or, would you rather go see 'your boys'?"

You assessed him for a moment, taking in the intense look he was giving you.

I'm gonna say no, I'm gonna go see Sam and Dean, I'm gonna say no, I'm gonna say no, I'm gonna--Goddamn it.

"Of course not...my king." You added the last bit hesitantly, receiving gratification immediately when he groaned. You sat back, helping him take off your jeans by raising your hips while he tugged them down. He felt his hand at the top of your panties--but instead of fulfilling your desire, he brought his body up so that his face hovered over yours.

"Are you glad to be back?" He asked you, teasingly. You narrowed your eyes in response, grabbing him by the back of his neck and bringing his head down. Once you were centimeters apart, you tauntingly let your lips rub against his, refusing to satisfy him with a kiss. No, instead you let your hot breath ghost over him, as you bit out;

"That remains to be seen."

You felt his smirk as he kissed you, starting with your lips before making his way down your body. Feeling his touch over the spots where you swear you'd been hooked through, cut up, or otherwise abused was oddly comforting.

It's absolutely fantastic to be back.