It wasn’t supposed to work.

You were just messing around in that old spellbook, the one you found wedged behind a stack of dusty cookbooks in the back of your grandmother’s pantry. You thought it was a joke—half the pages were stained with what looked like marinara sauce, and the rest were written in a language that shifted every time you blinked.

But the instructions for “Familiar Binding: Emergency Edition™” were suspiciously clear. No candles. No pentagrams. Just a circle of salt, a drop of blood, and the right words pronounced with confidence. Which you absolutely faked.

And then the room dropped ten degrees.

The lights flickered.

And a voice—low, amused, British—said:

“Well, bugger me. Someone actually pulled it off.”

You turned to find him lounging upside-down on your ceiling, in full glam: black suit, sunglasses, smug grin. He tipped an imaginary hat.

“Name’s Crowley. Demon. Unholy familiar, apparently. And, darling… you’ve made a very interesting mistake.”

★★★

The novelty hasn’t worn off.

You’re curled up on the couch with a blanket, your laptop, and a mug of something that wishes it were tea. Crowley has made himself very much at home in your life—and your furniture. Right now, he’s lying half across your legs, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes like a Victorian widow in mourning.

“You’re ignoring me,” he drawls.

You scroll. “I’m working.”

“Darling, I am a work of art. I should be studied, not brushed off like some common house pet.”

“You are my familiar.”

“And yet, I’m the one cuddling you while you scroll through memes.”

You glance down. Sure enough, he’s snaked his arm more firmly around your waist, his head now resting against your hip.

He sighs. Loudly. With emphasis.

“You know, most humans would kill for this arrangement. A powerful, devastatingly handsome demon devoted entirely to their well-being. And I make excellent tea.”