devils handbook

( A fun fact for you all since I still haven’t finished the about page wh oops- )

( King’s actual first name is Kingsley. Kingsley Dice. King’s been a long-time nickname for him, and honestly he prefers to be called such unless you’re really close with him. )

( Not a whole lot know about his full name, at least he thinks so. He really tries not to make it well-known. )

Prince Of Hell

Crowley imagine requested by take-me-to-the-stars! Y’all are just baby-crazy this week! I’ve edited this imagine for reposting, just to add on to the scarce details I thought would suffice back in the beginning days of this blog. Hope you like it!

You stared down at the little pink-capped stick laying in the faux porcelain basin of the motel sink, body rigid with anxiety, your pulse loud enough for the residents behind the thin drywall to hear every stammering beat of your heart, for sure. This was the great reveal. This was the moment that would alter your life, no matter the outcome, no matter the… consequences. Either result, you’d have to tell Crowley. You’d have to look him in the eyes and tell him you were either harbouring a half-demon embryo or that you had almost thought… and you didn’t know which expression would be worse as it played over his features. You only prayed he would take his time in returning to your humble abode, subconsciously crossing your fingers that whatever business he was attending to would drag on and grant you time to chew over the best route of damage control. Alas, your hopes were shattered like a fallen light bulb against concrete, thin glass cascading outwards, a treacherous covering of paper-like shards strewn about, leaving you to tiptoe around the shrapnel. The door to the motel room clicked to a close loudly beyond the bathroom door, the only substance separating you from the King of Hell the cheap wooden planks. Though he could appear beside you at any second, you had come to an agreement that the bathroom was a no-fly zone. Privacy was a must, even in this relationship. The last thing you wanted was for him to walk in on you while you were, so to say, at your most unattractive. Well, it was now or never, your eyes locking on the plastic tube laying oh so innocently before you, the results facing downward. Steeling your breath with a shaky gulp, your fingers extended towards the pregnancy test, hands quivering like the last leaf of summer before it falls to the soil below. You flipped the stick over, pulse stuttering in your chest, your breath trapped in your throat. You forced your eyes to register the two pink lines, the cogs in your brain rusting over, your mind slipping away as you attempted to wrap yourself around the results staring back at you, plain as day.

Holy Hell, you were pregnant. You froze, shock stealing your mobility, your joints crystallizing, your eyes on the thin contraption as if a certain level of scrutiny would seal the two lines together as one.

Perhaps it was wrong… maybe you just had the flu? Maybe you ate something off-kilter, or your hormones were unbalanced because of… of… you had no idea. the outcome seemed impossible. Your mind started wandering, speeding through possibilities, scenarios flickering by like flashcards, your breathing shallowly scraping along the interior of your lungs as your thoughts ran amok. Crowley… if he was angry, there was no chance in Hell of your survival. He could kill you as easily as pressing a fingertip to an insect, murdering his competition, and heir, inside of you in the process, this relying on the accuracy of your drugstore etch-a-sketch. He could kill the baby, leaving you an empty shell, in a heartbeat. He could storm out, leaving you with an anti-Christ on your hands, completely alone and absolutely clueless. You doubted there was a “What To Expect When You’re Expecting The Spawn Of The Devil” handbook out there. The odds of him being happy about your delicate predicament were slim to none in your mind. Crowley was a demon. Demons weren’t created to be the happy, joyous fathers when they received the news. They weren’t the type to walk their children home from school or teach them how to ride a bicycle or cradle their infants as tears ran over their cheeks. Demons were… well, they were demons. If he was happy… he was capable of love, that much you were sure of, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open the door, couldn’t bring yourself to watch that same love dissolve in his ruby irises. His voice seduced the air on the opposite side of the insufficient barrier.

“Darling? I’m back!” he called, his briefcase clomping to the floor with a muted thud, his footsteps waltzing into the bedroom. Crowley had taken the liberty of booking the honeymoon suite for the two of you, just for the sheer luxury; the King of Hell couldn’t be expected to reside in one of those one-room joints. No matter the stale quality, your residence was admittedly superior to the likes of which you were accustomed to prior to involving yourself with the demon. The bedroom connected to the bathroom by a stunted excuse of a hallway, the thin door your only separation from his very likely rage. You gulped down the bile rising from your stomach, the acid scorching along your taste buds, your hands dropping the incriminating test into the wastebasket, trashing the evidence before you set to washing your hands.

You sloshed the frigid tap water over your face, generic citrus soap stinging against your eyes, your frightened features gazing back at you through the looking glass. Your eyes were shining with fear-induced tears. Like it or not, you’d have to face him. Hell, if you could muster up the bravery to willingly commit to dating the King of the Crossroads, a man you knew to be a vicious, merciless murderer, you could let slip one detail. Clearly, you weren’t one to flee from conflict. Also, your flight plans were limited; there was nowhere to run off to, you couldn’t hide from him… you’d be clinging to the shadows forever, a baby in your arms wailing like a verbal flare. They’d never leave you be, they’d never let you live a regular life. Your kid would be hunted from the moment you told your lover, assuming he didn’t take the news lightly.

“Y/n? Is everything alright?” Crowley rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door, startling you out of your escape plans, your body jolting at the abrupt sound. The paranoia was eating you alive, and you had only known of your fate for all of three minutes. Whether you were jumping to violent conclusions, you couldn’t be sure, but Crowley’s unpredictability only furthered your fears. You began to speak, but your response emerged a crackling squeak, vocal chords still solid from surprise and therefore unable to produce an adequate sound. You cleared your throat, shaking hands pressing wetly to your stomach, leaving a dampened imprint on the clothing covering your… baby, the word flickering awkwardly across the expanse of your eyelids. How long did you have before you started to look, you know, pregnant? In short, how long could you avoid the inevitable conversation? Or would it be easier to just… be honest with the man on the other side of the door? Eventually, you found your voice.

“I-I’m fine, babe. Just give me a se-econd.” you stammered, drying your hands on the plush, if starch-stiff, towel, embroidered hearts mocking your current predicament.

“Oh, come out, love, let me see you.” he flirted, his voice thick with adoration, admiration, and something close to idolization. This love, the love that watered his usually harsh tone, would wash away so quickly when he found out. Demons were not programmed to love. Yet, the way he spoke to you twisted the stereotype to the point where a painful, dulling ache of hope fluttered about in the pit of your stomach, a dangerous little thing. Gathering every scrap of courage you could collect, you turned to face the exit, your hand closing around the doorknob, icy metal chilling your skin. You opened the door slowly, gingerly, aware of every aspect of his fury that you had witnessed, the violence he had inflicted upon others, most of the time for your sake, burning into the tissue of your brain. Your eyes shot to the suite’s front entrance before connecting with Crowley’s warm irises, his seductive smile sending warmth and chills down your spine, affection and terror fighting for supremacy within you. His hands snaked around your waist, pulling you over the threshold and into his arms, his wet lips pulling at yours with a patient kind of urgency, so hungry for your affection, yet too caught up in the passion of the moment to move too quickly through the embrace. Your eyes flickered closed, your brain going fuzzy, a high-pitched buzzing filling out your ears, erasing the terrified pulse for an erratic, excitable thrumming. His tongue darted into your mouth, his hands angling your face to his, his chest pressing against yours deliciously. When he dragged the tip of his tongue over your lips, you shivered, the cold extinguishing the flames his presence ignited. Your head began to clear as his actions slowed, your thoughts tugging back towards the situation at hand. Crowley bit at your lip, and you found your hands pressing against his chest, easing him away from you, your body seizing up. His expression of shock was almost humorous, if you hadn’t known his temper. God, you had to say it before you convinced yourself to wait, before his kiss tempted you into denial, before your love thieved your logic away.

“Wha-” he began, voice rising an octave in confusion. You braced your body against the wall, the beeline to the door a clear path. Maybe, just maybe, you could run past him, if things went downhill. He parted his lips to continue his thoughts, but you cut his speech short.

“Crowley, I’m pregnant.” You spat, your stern voice battling off tremors, the result a surprisingly stoic exclamation. His face went blank, all emotion sapping from his features within a second. Your breath polluted the silence, Crowley’s hands frozen in his shocked shrug, his body stuck ten seconds behind his mind. Then, a miracle, if you’d ever seen one. His face broke into a smile, his feet crossing the room to meet you, hands grasping the sides of your face as his fervent lips colliding with yours, his unabashed grin present through his kiss. When he pulled away, he was beaming, his grin illuminating the room, his eyes glimmering red before fading back to the human-esque chocolate he knew you preferred.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked, his voice tainted with joy. You sighed in relief, nodding, every ounce of fear draining from the soles of your feet through the motel’s scuffed wooden floorboards. Crowley laughed aloud, his hands clenching around your waist, hoisting you up into the air and spinning you around, placing you down in the center of the room after a whirlwind journey, his lips finding yours once more. “A prince of Hell! Can you believe it? And you’re certain?” he chuckled, his grin threatening to overpower his face, cheeks stretched almost painfully to accomodate for his glee. You laughed with him, brain backtracking to every moment he’d exhibited his love for you, every second he’d spent smashing your assumption that demons were incapable of affection. After all he’d done for you, you’d still allowed yourself to ignore his actions for the standard his species held with pride. Of course, he would be happy. If he cared for you half as much as you did him, you could expect no less. You threw your arms around Crowley’s neck, allowing him to swing you into the air once more, embracing you again, Hell’s royalty celebrating in an unlikely motel room, his lips pressing into your cheeks, laughter filtering through the air.