A/N: So, this is a collection of drabbles, villains based, that I did for a challenge over this past weekend at spn_bigpretzel. livejournal. com (remove spaces). Just meant to funny little pieces. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or any related character. No money being made here.
Every Sunday Night
It was common knowledge throughout Crowley's minions that he disappeared every Sunday night, at seven. But no one knew why. Of course, there were many theories, mostly involving kinky sex, or torturing the Winchesters. But to be honest, no one could've ever have guessed the truth.
Settled in his study, Craig in hand, Crowley grinned at the show's opening sequence. This time, it featured zombies in its Enchanted Forest trees. Once Upon a time never disappointed. Well, he knew of one improvement necessary. Taking a sip of his scotch, he sighed, "I hope this episode has some Rumbelle in it."
Crowley's a Horny SOB
Crowley quickly snuffed the candle, shoving away the items as he saw her—obviously distressed—returning to their table.
"My dear," he said, concern dripping from honeyed tones, "whatever's the matter?"
Jody took a shaky seat across from him, quick to dismiss what had just happened.
"Are you quite sure? Perhaps we should call it a night?"
"No!" she smiled, adding, "No. I'm fine. I swear."
Crowley arched a brow, a suggestive twinkle in his eye. "Then, perhaps we should move this date… elsewhere?"
Returning his look full-force, Jody nodded. A bird in the hand, or so they say.
Finally! Some alone time with Sam's lovely, lovely body. Really, these boys were too close. Now alone in some sleazy motel, Meg knew what she wanted to do. It might have been lame, borderline immature, but it was what she wanted.
Stripped of all clothes, bathroom door left open, the radio playing some stupid dance song, Meg was taking full advantage of Sam's long limbs. Arms up in the air—and gaze leveled downward—she (he) danced, swinging everything that God—snort—had given Sam. She was finally singing along when a disgusted groan interrupted her.
"Dude!" Dean cried.
I Feel Pretty
Lilith may enjoy the form of a little girl, but she was still a girl, damn it. Standing up on a small footstool so that she could better see herself in the store's mirror, she pouted and tugged at the dress she wore.
"I want more frills! I want to feel like a princess!" she demanded.
Her "caretaker" demon frowned, turning to the store associate.
"More frills," the grown-up demon said in a monotone voice.
Lilith harrumphed, crossing her arms. The next dress was pink. Lilith sighed.
"I hate pink."
"No pink," the other demon said.
Little girls were picky.
Our Time in Hell
Bobby Singer was looking as ragged as ever when Crowley entered his cage in the pit.
"Another day of Sams and Deans, is it, your majesty?" the old redneck spat.
"Your Sam just murdered my hellhound topside."
"And you're going to take it out on me?"
"Nope. Today, I thought we'd do something a bit different."
Crowley snapped his fingers and a chess board, set, appeared along with two chairs.
"Sit," the demon said.
"You want me to play chess? With the devil, basically?"
"Yes," Crowley grinned. "And, by the way, you'll want to win."
Bobby sighed. "Fine. Let's play."
If I'm Going Down
Hand-cuffed to Dean friggin' Winchester in the backseat of his Impala. If Crowley was caught, then he was going to make his captors suffer for it.
"So, I learned the most interesting things, stumbling across that little book series," he said casually.
No reply. He continued.
"But, honestly, I learned many more interesting things researching the books online."
The atmosphere in the car tensed. Crowley grinned over at Dean.
"In fandom, this situation, right now? Totally would lead to a threesome."
"Dude, I will punch you again," Dean growled.
"And that's called 'torture porn.'"
"I hate those books," Sam sighed.
There were many things Alastair really hated about being topside. He missed his rack. He missed that strange, auto-reset that Hell did at the end of the day. It was so much easier to torture when healing was a part of it. False hope, and all that.
He was mostly left alone down below, too. Left to do whatever he wanted. Honestly, it was his perfect working environment. He loved running the rack.
But topside he had to deal with every demon that crossed his path. And they all said the same thing.
"Hey, do your best Marlon Brando impression!"
"So, how far ahead did you and Squirrel actually plan this, Moose?" Crowley asked from his placed chained to the chair in the Devil's Trap.
Sam arched a brow. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you've got to kill an hour between each injection. Big Bro just skedaddled. What are you doing to do in between shots?"
"Uh… I don't know."
"We could play a game. How about 'I Never'? I'll go first. I've never… had rocky road ice cream."
Sam turned. "What? Really?"
Crowley shrugged. "Point for you."
"All right. I've never… slept with Jody Mills."