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Crowley, The King of Sexy
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I don't like him. I can't like him. I won't like him. Him and his stupid voice and his stupid eyes.....uhg.
How can you like someone who's locked you up, god knows where, strapped you to a table, so that he can torture and get information, you don't even know out of you? He fortunately hasn't really done anything yet, he's been busy doing you don't wanna know what. But every time the bastard comes in your heart flutters betraying you.
Oh shit he's coming. This time it won't matter what he does. It won't matter if he talks with that accent, or if he looks at you with those deep dark eyes. It won't matter.
"Hello darling." Dammit.
"How is my favorite "patient"?". He says with a smirk. "Oh you know the bed is fine, the service is terrible." you reply sarcastically. He chuckles softly. "There you go, keep that humor. It'll get you through this."
The words he was saying were so horrible, but said so silkily. The song "I Hate Everythin