It's been about a month since my urges have hit for the first time. And, this whole thing about controlling said urges has been a lot easier than I was anticipating. Over the past four weeks, Crowley has been slowly easing me into being around people again. And, the more I do it, the easier it is to control my urges. At this point, I've been in large crowds about five times, and nothing has happened. Sure, I'll still feel the itch, but I can refrain from scratching it.
Meanwhile, when I'm around Sam, Dean, Cas, and Crowley, I'm just as itch-free as ever. I feel so free when I'm around them. I don't feel like something evil, and I can tell that they don't see me as such either.
Right now, I'm sitting on my bed in the bunker, reading a book. I know that the possibilities of e-books are endless these days, but, call me old-school, I prefer physical copies of books. Something about the way the paper feels in my hands and the way I turn the pages is very comforting.
I'm ripped from my own little world when someone knocks on my door, even though it's open.
I look up, and Crowley is leaned up against the wall, smiling. "Enjoying your book?"
It's then that I hear Dean whining loudly from the research room. It seems to have something to do with Crowley, since his eyes narrow slightly before going back to normal.
"I was," I say in a faux mad tone.
He looks a bit sad at my response, so I smile to let him know I'm joking. "What's up, babe?"
My now chipper tone and bright expression makes Crowley's pouty expression turn into one similar to mine. He glances at my alarm clock that's on my nightstand. "It's about dinnertime. So, would you wanna go out to a nice restaurant tonight? Maybe give yourself a break from the constant burgers and fries?"
"YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MANY BURGERS!" Dean shouts from the hallway.
I roll my eyes. "DEAN! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT EAVESDROPPING?"
"LOTS OF THINGS, PROBABLY. I JUST TUNE YOU OUT."
Crowley scoffs at Dean's immaturity, waving his hand.
The door shuts in response, and Dean lets out a pissed off whine after.
"So, what do you say, kitten?" Crowley asks me, looking excited.
That's odd. We go out to eat quite often, and sure, he looks happy about it, but, he's never looked excited. I wonder what's different about today.
I nod, standing up. "Sure, why not? I could use some (your favorite classy food)."
My boyfriend's grin nearly makes me melt. "Excellent." He snaps his fingers, and I'm in a (f/c) dress that hugs my figure nicely. (F/c) heels accompany the dress, and I begin to get slightly nervous that I'll trip while walking in them. A quick look in the mirror tells me that my hair is also less unruly than it was before.
I smile, looking back at Crowley. "Still not letting me dress myself, huh?"
He shrugs. "What can I say? I like that color on you."
He snaps his fingers again, and my surroundings go from my room in the bunker to the outside of a fancy restaurant I've never seen before in the blink of an eye.
I'm about to walk in when Crowley taps me on the shoulder.
I look up at him. "What?"
He points to an unknown object, so I follow his point and gasp at what I see.
In the distance stands the Eiffel Tower. Tall and grand.
"We're in Paris?" I ask, gripping Crowley's arm in excitement.
"We are. And you're sure to leave a mark on my arm," he laughs in response, gently grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand off of him.
"Sorry," I apologize, gently patting his arm. I kiss his cheek. "You're just so great that it's hard to control myself."
He rolls his eyes, smiling nonetheless. "Yeah, yeah." He then puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me inside the restaurant.
"Whoa," I mumble to no one in particular. This restaurant is fancier than all of the other ones we've been in combined.
Crowley's hand slides from my back to around my waist as we walk up to the table that the host of the restaurant is standing behind, looking quite sophisticated.
"Avez-vous une réservation?" the man behind the desk asks us. (Translation: Do you two have a reservation?)
I blink. Somehow, I had completely forgotten that people in Paris would, most likely, speak French. My face flushes in embarrassment as I look at Crowley hopelessly. I barely know any French.
He sends me a reassuring look back as he answers, in perfect French, "Oui. Sous Crowley." (Translation: Yes. Under Crowley.)
My blush only increases at Crowley's French. Something about how classy it sounds mixed with his voice is enough to send a shiver down one's spine.
The host scans the piece of paper that's in front of him, nodding once he sees Crowley's name. "Oui, vous y êtes. Suivez-moi, vous deux." (Translation: Yes, there you are. Follow me, you two.)
I look at Crowley blankly as the host begins to walk off, and the one and only King of Hell returns his hand to the small of my back, guiding me forward so that we're following the host. "He wants us to follow him," he whispers.
I nod, not knowing how I'm going to keep this up for an entire dinner.
The host stops at a table with a classy, white tablecloth draped over it. They all have that tablecloth, but this one has a vase of roses on it, while the others don't.
I smile slightly at Crowley's thoughtfulness.
We both sit down, and the host looks at us with a sincere smile that touches his eyes. "Votre serveur, Arthur, sera avec vous." (Your server, Arthur, will be right with you.)
The only thing I'm able to pick up from that sentence is "Arthur."
Crowley nods, understanding everything perfectly. "Merci." (Thank you.)
The host nods in response and walk off, and I stare at Crowley, intrigued by his perfect French. "You never told me you were bilingual."
He shrugs, smiling. "I guess it just never came up. But, I'm actually trilingual. I know Enochian too."
"That's cool. Can you say '(Y/N) is the best' in French?"
He rolls his eyes, but complies anyway. "(Y/N) est le meilleur." ((Y/N) is the best.)
"I know I am, thanks," I tease, grabbing his hand from over the table.
He laces his fingers with mine, smiling at me. "I enjoy when we go out like this, love."
I grin. "I do, too. It's nice to get out of the bunker. You have no idea how annoying Sam and Dean can be."
He shudders. "Actually, I think I do."
"You don't live with them," I point out.
He nods. "Fair. And thank God I don't." He smirks. "How do you do it?"
I shrug. "No clue. Guess I'm just that awesome."
Crowley rolls his eyes again. "I can't argue with that."
Someone walks up to our table, and I can only assume that he's the Arthur our host mentioned. I go to release Crowley's hand, still a bit hesitant with PDA, but he keeps a firm grasp that I wouldn't dream of letting go of.
Arthur sees how infatuated we are with each other and smiles as he sets menus in front of us. "Bonsoir à vous deux. Je m'appelle Arthur et je m'occuperai de vous ce soir." (Good evening, you two. My name is Arthur, and I'll be taking care of you tonight.)
Crowley sees the terrified look in my eyes and waves his hand subtly.
I glance at him, wondering why his spontaneous hand movement was necessary.
Arthur pauses to grab his pen and pad from his pocket. "Puis-je commencer avec quelque chose à boire?" (Can I start you off with something to drink?)
I blink, shocked. I can understand him now! I look at Crowley thankfully, since I know he gave me the ability to understand French. I could've easily done it myself, but a girl forgets she has powers sometimes.
He gives me a small smile of acknowledgment, turning back to Arthur after. "La boisson la plus chic que vous ayez." (The fanciest drink you've got.)
I roll my eyes slightly at Crowley's expensive taste, but since I don't feel like navigating the menu full of drinks I've probably never heard of, I'll probably settle for the same.
The French translation of what I want to say slams into my brain, and I try to conceal my smile. He gave me the ability to speak the language as well.
"Faites-en deux," I say, holding up two fingers for emphasis. (Make that two.)
Arthur nods. "À venir." (Coming right up.) He then walks away, leaving me to ponder what the hell I just ordered.
Crowley can tell I have no clue what I got myself into and snickers. "You realize the fanciest drink may not be of your taste, correct?"
I roll my eyes, pouting. "Yes. But, I didn't feel like looking at the menu of drinks I've probably never heard of either."
He shrugs. "Valid."
We eventually get our drinks, and I'm surprised at both the complexity of its appearance and the elegance of its taste. I can't help but feel slightly classy as I sip from the drink that's sure to have costed the equivalent to at least one hundred dollars.
We then order our food (me piggybacking off of Crowley again), and I'm stunned at how good that is too.
By the end of the dinner, I'm in a food coma, the classy food settling down in my stomach with force.
I groan and pat my stomach. I flush as everyone looks at me, the noise surely unexpected in such a prestigious environment.
Crowley glances around the room at all the judgmental faces and laughs. "No room for dessert, I presume?"
"God, no," I answer immediately. "If I eat one more thing I'm gonna explode."
He laughs again. "All right. But, if I may, I would like to do something with you before we leave."
"Okay. What is it?" I ask.
"Stand up, and you'll find out."
I question his weird request, but obey. I feel everyone's eyes on me again, and I'm contemplating just sitting back down.
Right as I'm about to do just that, Crowley stands up, too. He makes his way towards me and gets down on one knee, pulling a velvet box out of his pocket.
Realization punches me in the gut, and tears immediately fill my eyes. Everyone else has seemed to catch on, too, since their expressions have gone from weirded out to excited.
"(Y/N) (L/N), I love you more than words could ever describe," he tells me, not even bothering to keep up the French charade for the curious eyes watching. "I think about you every moment of the day. I think about your smile, I think about your laugh, your humor, everything. You're the kindest and most beautiful woman I've ever met in my life. I want you to be mine forever. I want the honor of calling you my wife."
And the Queen of Hell, he adds telepathically before going on.
"Will you marry me, darling?" he finishes.