Dirty Supernatural Imagines
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Fighting Dirty

Original Imagine: Imagine having angry sex with Crowley in his office in hell after a fight. 

Author: goldfyshie927

Reader gender: female

Word count: 1217

Warnings: light choking, some hitting (sounds worse than it is…) 

We’d been fighting so long, I couldn’t even remember what we were fighting about. It’d gotten bad - throwing-glasses-smashing-lamps-screaming-until-you’re-hoarse bad. I stalked around the room, trying to calm down. Crowley was no where to be found. He’d disappeared sometime between me smashing his last bottle of Craig and kicking a hole in his office door. I couldn’t help it; sometimes he seriously pissed me off. I mean, I get it. He’s the king of hell, he rules the roost, blah blah blah. But come on. Give it a rest once in a while.

Slumping down onto his desk chair, I shove my hands into my hair and stifle the urge to scream. My voice was already scratchy and there would be plenty of time for that when he showed back up. Breathing deeply, I stand and start to straighten the room back up - putting books back on their shelves, cleaning up the broken glass and puddle of scotch, setting the chairs back upright. After a while, it looks back to normal.

“Well now. You didn’t have to go through that trouble for little old me,” Crowley croons from the doorway. He looks frustratingly calm and collected whereas I still feel like a mess, my neck sweaty and my cheeks and chest still flushed with anger.

I glare at him while I continue straightening up his desk. “It’s incredibly unfair of you to disappear like that while we’re in the middle of a discussion.”

Sauntering towards me, he stops just in front of me and places a hand flat against my chest. “Still heated up I see.”

My lungs can’t pull in enough air at the feel of his heavy palm against my skin and I feel myself grow wet at the touch. Frustrated with myself and frustrated with him, I say, “No. You don’t get to touch me, you dick. You just go back to your little corner and leave me be.” I push his hand away and turn back around, putting his pens back in order. “Or better yet, take me back. I’m sick of being down here with you.” Shrugging Crowley turns back to the door, waving his finger to shut it, and I hear the lock catch. I shake my head at him. “Oh no. No way. You’d better unlock that door or else.”

“Or else what?” he asks, chuckling lowly. “What could you possibly threaten me with? I’m the king of hell.”

Clenching my fist, I pull back and swing, hoping for blood, “This.” I’m not disappointed - Crowley isn’t expecting my little move and moves just at the last moment, so I end up clipping his lower jaw, near his mouth. “Fuck!” I cry, clutching my hand. “Why’d you move?”

Rubbing his jaw, he swipes at the small smear of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. “Damn it. That hurt.” He grabs my arm when he sees me pulling back for round two. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, pet.

I wrestle my wrist free, squeezing my fist to try and ease the throbbing in my knuckles. “Oh please. You love it,” I bite out, all my caged anger lashing free now that he’s back.

“I’ll show you what else I love,” he snarls back, grabbing my wrist again and pulling me to the desk. Swinging me around, he picks me up and sets me, hard, on the edge. I shriek in anger and push his hands off my hips, trying to get back down. Crowley grabs my hands tight and whispers angrily in my ear, “You listen and you listen good little girl. You leave when I say you leave. And if you hit me again, I’ll hit back.” He grips my t-shirt hem, forcing it up and over my head before sweeping the various items from his desk and shoving me back lightly.

“I just cleaned up your stupid desk, you asshole,” I complain as he kisses his way down my throat and chest, pulling my bra from my arms. I try - half heartedly - to fight him off, and he just laughs gruffly.

“Who loves what now?” he asks. He nips my collarbone and laughs again when I gasp.

Still trying a little to push him away I moan, “Seriously. I’m still pissed at you.”

He hums against my stomach while he wrestles with my jeans, trying to tug them off me. “What for love?”

Rolling my eyes, I finally give in. “Fine. I don’t remember. You happy?” I sit up, shoving my jeans off my legs and kicking them to the back of the room. Too eager to move on, I leave his shirt on, only untucking it and then unbuckle his pants, pulling them down slightly.

“Already so wet. Fighting looks good on you darling,” he says, rubbing a finger against me before placing his hand gently across my throat and stepping closer. Then, leaning forward, he thrusts into me.

Gasping, I ask, “What? No foreplay?” He gently tightens his hand around my throat - not enough to hurt or choke me, but enough to show he’s in control.

“Hush now. What do you think the last hour was?” he murmurs, before removing his hand and pulling my hips so I slide closer to the edge of the desk. Pens and notepads dig into my shoulder blades and I hiss when I get a couple of papercuts. Crowley pulls me into a sitting position, swiping his finger along the cut on my back. He holds his pointer in front of my eyes, never losing rhythm, and shows me the tiny bit of blood on his finger. “I wonder if it tastes as good as the rest of you.”

I shrug, leaning back on my elbows. “Taste it and see,” I dare him.

He sticks his finger in his mouth and sucks the blood off, grinning at me. “Delicious. Now enough small talk.” He covers my mouth with his hand and starts moving faster, deeper than before. I swear I can see stars and I’ve never been so turned on. The whole thing is fast and fueled by a mutual anger towards each other.

After a few minutes of silence, Crowley pulls out, pulling me off the desk, and turns me around to lean forward. Then placing his hand on the small of my back, he pushes me towards the desk. Clutching my hips, he presses into me again before curling against me and placing a trail of kisses and little bites along my spine and shoulder blades. While he rocks against me, I grip the edge of the desk, trying to get some leverage because my knees feel weak and my legs are like jelly. Suddenly, when I stand on my tiptoes, he hits it and I curl into myself in ecstasy, crying out softly, “God… fuck…” I fade off. Crowley is right behind, coming to release and he leans his forearms against the desk, muffling his own groans in my hair.

I collapse, hardly able to hold myself up. Crowley pulls away, sweeping my hair to the side and placing an open mouth kiss to the back of my neck. “You don’t fight far,” I gasp, still trying to catch my breath.

“Whoever said a fight should be fair, kitten?”

posted 6 months ago with 127 notes

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