Where The Devil Don't Go

Crowley - One

Imagine: telling Crowley to go to hell after he pissed you off.

You stroll into the breakfast hall at the hotel Dean wants to meet. Everywhere you look there are stacks of food. One section is continental, another traditional English, and an array of drinks. A tall waiter walks up to you, a smile plastered on his face.
"May I help you, madam?" He asks.
You glance at his neatly ironed black uniform and white tie.
"Um, yeah, I have a reservation under the name Winchester."
"Ah, yes, table four. Right, this way."
He leads you to a table for three at the edge of the room and passes you a drinks menu. He leaves without saying another word and you sneak a sip from your hip flask. Why do they want to meet you in a fancy restaurant? The Winchesters natural habitat is usually a shabby motel room, so them wanting to meet you in a five-star hotel is rather strange. You slump back into the wooden chair and sigh, what is taking them so long?

"Sorry we're late, (Y/N). Dean needed to get some pie cause they don't sell it here." Sam explains as he sits down.
"What sort of place doesn't sell pie?" Dean grumbles as he slumps into his chair.
You roll your eyes. "It's nice to see you too, Dean." You take a bite of your toast and strawberry jam. "So, why do the famous Winchester brothers want to meet little old me?"
Sam and Dean pass a look between them, and you drop the confident act.
"What?"
Sam leans forward and takes your hands in his.
"Do you know who your boyfriend really is?" He asks sadness in his eyes.
"Crowley? This is about Crowley?" You pull your hands away and run them through your (H/C) hair. "He's a salesman. Sure, it's nothing fancy but I love him."
Dean runs a hand through his short hair and grumbles.
"Try the fricking King of Hell." Dean nearly yells.
Sam punches him in the arm while you glance around the room.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Dean." You lean forward, glaring dangerously at the brothers. "Ok, I get it. You two don't like Crowley and that's fine. But do not make up stupid lies about him. He is a salesman and we are happily engaged. So, quit the bullshit and tell me the truth."
The boys seem taken back by your sudden outburst.
"(Y/N), I think it's time we tell you the whole truth." Sam starts. "We don't work for pest control, we hunt monsters. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, demons, they are all real and we hunt them."
You scoff, pushing back from the table and storming out of the restaurant. Sam and Dean quickly follow you out and Dean rushes to the Impala, popping open the trunk.
"Come here, (Y/N)."
Mumbling under your breath, you move to the Impala and glance into the trunk. What you see nearly makes you faint.
"You guys are crazy!" You exclaim, stepping back. "Why does this happen to me? All I want is a normal life! Get married, buy a dog, have some kids. I don't want this kind of shit."
Sam gives you a sympathetic hug and passes you a journal.
"This was our fathers, it has information about every supernatural being we have encountered."
You flick through the journal and pass it back to Sam.
"So, Crowley really is the King of Hell?"
They nod.
"But he's so nice." You mutter.
"That's because he truly loves you." Sam reassures you.
Your heart flutters but then anger takes over you.
"I swear to god, when I get home he is going to be in deep shit!"
You say quick anger fuelled goodbyes, before striding to your car and stomping on the gas.

Throwing the door open you storm into your house, which you apparently share with the King of Hell. Crowley is sat on the couch in his usual black suit with a glass of whisky.
"Good day, love?" He questions, looking up at you.
"Are you really the King of Hell?"
The question falls out of your mouth before you can stop it. His honey-brown eyes go wide, and he gently places the tumbler of whiskey on the coffee table.
"(Y/N), darling, what are you talking about?" His husky voice treads carefully.
"I had an interesting day. Went to a nice restaurant, had some toast, met two friends. You know Sam and Dean Winchester, don't you, Crowley?"
"What did they tell you?"
"They told me everything." You reply bluntly.
"Everything?"
"As in the whole freaking enchilada."
"Whatever they have told you is a lie!" He growls.
"So, you're not the King of Hell? They don't hunt monsters?" You raise an eyebrow.
He sighs, picking up his drink.
"You want the truth?"
You nod, folding your arms and biting your bottom lip.
"Honestly, you turn me on when you get mad."
You want to punch his stupid handsome face, but you settle for more yelling.
"I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you!"
"And I'm trying to subtly avoid it!" He yells back.

Clenching your fists, you stomp into the kitchen and pour yourself a large glass of whiskey. Downing it in one, you fail to look at your boyfriend.
"(Y/N)." Your name rolls off his tongue and all you want to do is kiss him and hold him tight.
His large hands coil around your waist and he peppers delicate kisses on your neck.
"Listen to me, darling. It's true. I am the King of Hell."
You step away from him as if you've been burnt. Hurst flashes through his eyes and his usual confident posture slumps.
"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper, looking up at him.
He brushes the stray (H/C) hair from your face.
"Because I love you." He whispers.
"We're supposed to tell each other everything."
He smiles, taking your hands in his.
"You want to know everything?" He questions with sincerity.
You nod, beaming as he kisses your cheek.
"Ok." He takes a deep breath. "I sold my soul for three extra inches."
That is not what you expected him to say and you step back from him in anger.
"Go to Hell!" You growl slapping his cheek.
It takes a moment for the both of you to process what you just said, and you burst out laughing; surprising a red-faced Crowley.
"How about we go test if selling my soul was worth it." Crowley growls in your ear.
Flashing red, you nod and follow him up the stairs. Who cares if he's the King of Hell?