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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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Cassidy

Bad baby Sand scribble part FOUR. whaaaaaaa? I did a werewolf thing???? ew. yall i dont like werewolves why did I do this XD

(tw: this is like 6,200 words long. ew. supernatural whumpee, knife, blood, shitty parental figures, manhandling, minor whump - i was a smol baby kiddo at the time i wrote this, dont come for me)

Cassidy stood in front of a large, oaken door. She had seen it many times before, but she had never mustered up enough courage to go in or even knock. She sat down on the floor as she had done so many times before, daydreaming what was inside.

Cassidy was small for her age. At twelve years old, she had an intrinsic sense of curiosity and wonder. She was allowed to go anywhere.

Anywhere but through that door.

Ever since she was two years old, longer than she could remember, she had lived with her uncle. When Cassidy was born, her mother had died in labor, leaving her father to care for her in the midst of a devastating war. Not too long after, her father had been drafted. Cassidy was sent away to live with her grandmother’s brother in a large estate hidden safely within the borders of a neutral country.

She had quickly adapted to life with her uncle. She was cared for by the maids, and only saw him during meals. Well...those he came to. Often times he would have his food delivered straight to his office. Behind the oaken door Cassidy had spent her lifetime staring at, wondering.

Her uncle was a mysterious man. He rarely ever talked to her, but she thought her liked her. He would always have a special smile, just for her, even if her never really took the time to know her. He would always lock himself in his study and work tirelessly on some mysterious task. Cassidy liked to think that he was creating something beautiful. Like a dollhouse, or a music box. But these were the dreams of a young child, and Cassidy was bright enough to know that.

Either way, she still enjoyed dreaming.

Cassidy sat there, in the flickering light of the candles. She was wearing her favorite dress, which she wore nearly every day until Martha, her personal maid, would take it away to be washed. She always loved the dress. It was a soft yellow with little greed beading across the hems. It also had a green ribbon around the middle, and puff sleeves that made her feel like a princess. Martha said it had been her daughter’s dress, before she grew up. Cassidy had noticed that Martha always talked about her daughter, Beth, in past tense. Still, she didn’t question. She never questioned. She had been taught not to. Even so, she noticed Martha’s eyes go misty whenever she twirled in the dress. And how Martha would hug her, a bit too tightly whenever her eyes got the mistly quality.

The oak doors never moved. She knew that they had to, or else Uncle could never get in or out, but she had never seen them opened. That was about to change. As Cassidy sat there, staring, the knob never turned, but the door opened a crack for the first time. She stood up. At first, she looked away, thinking that t was wrong to try and see what was inside.

After a moment, she looked back. Curiosity overtook her. She walked slowly towards the door. Still afraid of the unknown secrets of the room, she stood back as far as she could and plastered herself against the wall before nudging the door open with one hand. She peered inside.

It was completely dark. Had it always been like that? Was it always dark inside? Had the door always been unlocked for her to wander in at any time?

She took a few glances behind her, looking for uncle or Martha who would come to fetch her away. She thought for a moment on how much trouble she would get if if she were caught. It only took her a moment to realise that she didn’t care. The promise of answers to the questions she had been asking for years was easily worth any punishment they could give her. She took a shaky step inside. It was almost completely dark so she pushed the door open all the way in order to get as much light as possible.

The candles out in the hallway flickered and illuminated the feet, but they did little to penetrate the darkness looking all around here. There was something eerie about the room. No matter how hard she tried, she could not see into it, even with the light of the candles.

The sound of shoes clicking down the hallway made Cassidy spin around. Her heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t be found. She wanted to run back out the door, to escape before anyone saw her, but it was too late. If she ran out now, she was sure to be seen. Instead, she covered her tracks and closed the door quickly and silently.

She put her ear to the thick wood, listening out into the hallway. She could hear the shoes come up to the door, then move, blessedly, past it. She could hear Martha’s voice humming a sweet melody as she made her way down the hall, completely unawares the Cassidy was just behind the forbidden door.

When Cassidy could no longer hear Martha, she sighed and let herself slide down to the foor. That was close. Too close. That was a bad idea. She immediately decided to leave. Quickly. Cassidy stood up and fumbled around for the knob. When she found it, she turned and pushed to open the door. Only, the door didn’t open.

Cassidy tried again, throwing herself against the door this time. It was locked. She tried to see through the darkness to get to the latch on the door but there wasn’t one. Why would Uncle have his study lock from the outside? Either way, she had to get out. If they found her in there she was going to be in a lot of trouble.

Cassidy turned around, looking for another way out. She reached her arms in front of her, trying to see through the darkness. Even now, her eyes were starting to adjust and whatever traces of light touched the room, she could see. She looked around. She couldn’t see the floor, but she make out the top of a table or desk. She had to find a candle, a lamp something. She moved slowly towards the table. Cassidy plastered her eyes open, trying to see as much as possible. There was a lamp sitting on the edge of the table. A real, electric lamp like she had only ever seen in the fancy shops in town. But... Uncle didn’t like electricity. He never bought the new fangled gadgets. Maybe he had finally given in.

Cassidy felt around the lamp trying to find a way to turn it on. You didn’t need a match or anything. The lady at the store had shown her how to turn it on by pulling on a chord.

Her fingers fumbled around the metal base.

There. A small chain was dangling from the base of the lamp. She pulled it quickly and light blinded her. She covered her eyes to block out the sudden light. It was much brighter than a lamp or candle. It seemed to illuminate the entire room.

Something behind her shifted in the darkness, and Cassidy whipped around, backing into the wall. She scanned the room, trying to see what she had heard. The room was much brighter now. It was all still in shadows, but she could make it out. She was next to the table pushed up against the wall. On the table was an assortment of items such as knives, notepads, gloves, bowls, a few boxes and several pieces of silver. In the corner of the room, there was a large desk with books and papers stacked and piled onto it. She could see in the corner there was a bookshelf that was stuffed with volumes. The room was fairly large, but it seemed smaller with so many things in it. She focused on the largest item last. In the center of the room there was a large looming figure. It was like a giant box, but it had a black fabric thrown over it. Like the birdcages at the zoo.

Had this been where the noise came from?

Cassidy was instantly curious. What was behind the fabric. What was in the box? She took a few small, silent steps forward, staring at it all the time. It was difficult to see in the shadows. After a moment, she turned back to the lamp and tipped it upward, splashing light around the rest of the room.

Something shifted again. She had been right. It was from in the box. She looked quizzically at it. Had her uncle been keeping an animal in here?

Cassidy reached around and gripped the corner of the black fabric. She took a deep breath and slowly pulled the material away. It was heavy, but she managed.

She peered in. It wasn’t a box. It was a cage. The walls were made of iron bars with a nonexistent door. The cage hadn’t been what she was expecting, but what wasn’t what made her stop. It what was inside the cage, staring back at her. Cassidy gasped and dropped the material.

The shape of a boy, only a few years older than her, was curled up into a ball, only his red tinged eyes staring back at her. Cassidy wanted to scream, to run, but something stopped her. The boy was crying. He looked unblinkingly up at her, tears slowly, silently, streaming down his cheeks. He stared at her, obviously more frightened of her than she was of him. Cassidy spun around, looking around the room. She was suddenly afraid of being caught again. This was definitely not what she had expected.

The boy lifted his head a bit more and looked at her. She looked back. Who was he? Where did he come from? More importantly, why did her uncle have a young teenaged boy locked up in his study?

Cassidy tried to clear her face of expression, as she had seen Martha do. She cleared her throat and looked back at the boy.

“Who are you?” She had tried to make her voice clear and polite, but it came out shaky and foreign to her. The boy finched at her words and shifted away from her. He stared at her. He still looked frightened, but now it was mixed with confusion and curiosity.

He didn’t reply. She tried something different. “My name is Cassidy.” She said. Her voice was calmer than before. She wanted to try to speak in a way that would calm him down, but it seemed to be working for her too. He stared back up at her. Cassidy slowly sat on the floor. She looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do next.

“Conor.” He whispered. She looked back at him.

“Conor? That’s your name.” She clarified. Slowly, he nodded.

He seemed to be gaining confidence quickly. “How did you get here?” He asked. “Who are you?”

Cassidy was glad that he was speaking, but she wasn’t sure how to answer his questions. “Um...I guess I live here. This is my uncle’s house. I’ve never been in this room before.”

He stared back at her. “When is he coming back?” He asked.

“My uncle? I don’t know. He comes and goes all the time. I never know exactly where he is. I’ve never been too close to him...”

Conor tensed and looked rapidly around the room. He seemed to be afraid of Uncle. But why?

“Did my uncle put you here?” Cassidy asked hesitantly.

“I think so. At least I think it’s the same man.”

“Why?” She asked. “Why would he put anyone in a cage?”

“To experiment…” The boy replied, his eyes threatened tears again.

“What do you mean?” Cassidy inquired. “Experiment what?”

Conor looked back up to meet her eyes. He looked like he was in pain. Slowly, he unwrapped his arms from around his torso. He held them out for her to see. Dark hair made its way down his arms and over much of his hands. She noticed it poked out from under the color of his shirt as well. He was practically covered in hair.

Cassidy gasped. “Did he do this to you?” She she whispered.

He pulled his arms back and looked away. “No. He didn’t. You don’t understand…” He stammered. “I’m not…”

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m not exactly human. Well, I am. Most of the time…”

Cassidy stared at him, trying to understand. How can someone be ‘not exactly human’?

“What?” She repeated.

Conor sighed. “I’m a werewolf.” He clarified. “Well...not yet. I’m going to be though. When I’m 18...”

Cassidy stared at him, dumbfounded. A werewolf?

“I...I don’t understand.” Cassidy stammered.

Conor paused. “I don’t know why he wants me. I think he is trying to figure out how to kill my kind. I just don’t know what to do.” His voice cracked and he looked away.

Cassidy was furious at her uncle. How could he do something like this? Did he realize how much he had been hurting this boy?

She could see that the outer sides of his arms were covered in cuts and welts. Fresh. She stared at them.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” She said definately. Conor looked up.

“How?” He whispered hopelessly. There isn’t even a door to this cage. The bars are all lined with silver. If I even touch it it burns me!” he showed her the backs of his arms.

Silver. Werewolves can’t touch silver. Right...

“It gets worse as I get older, too. Once I’m a full werewolf, silver will be able to kill me…”

Cassidy stood up. there had to be a way to get him out. She wrapped her hands around the bars, giving them a good tug. She pried and pulled at them, unable to change a thing. “Ugh! She grunted “I can’t move them.”

Conor stared that the dirt and muttered “Of course you can’t, you’re human. I’m strong enough that I could, but I can’t hold onto them that long.”

“Okay…” Cassidy mused. “So I just have to find a way that you can hold onto the bars without getting hurt.”

Conor scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

Cassidy looked around the room. She cast her gaze on the table she had first seen when she had entered. She searched them for anything she could use to help her. She looked from the silver to the knives.

Conor was right. He was experimenting. Some sick form of torture to figure out every way he could hurt Conor. Anger and hatred bubbled up in her chest. She had trusted her uncle. He had always been kind to her and she loved him in return.

All of the feelings she once had for him were now ebbing away as she looked around the room. This room made to hold and torture a young boy.

Cassidy saw a pair of woolen gloves on the edge of the table. She grabbed them and jumped back over to Conor.

She thrust them through the bars so that he could reach them without touching the cursed silver.

“Will these work?” She asked him. He looked at the gloves carefully, afraid to touch them.

“What are they made of?” He asks, eyeing they skeptically.

“I don’t know...wool I think.” She pulled them back out and turned them inside out. “Nothing inside. Just the liner. I don’t see any silver...”

“Okay, let me see them.” Cassidy held them back out for him. He didn’t take them, but touched them lightly with the tips of his fingers. Cassidy had no idea when the last time was he touched something without being hurt.

He held the tips of his fingers on them for a few moments before moving his hands under and telling her to let go. She did and he looked at them carefully before putting them on.

Once the gloves were on he stood up as much as he could in the small cage. Cassidy hadn’t realized how big he was. She had seen that he was thin, but he was also very long. He was much taller, and perhaps older, than she had thought. Conor moved up close to the bars. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to let the gloves touch the metal. He winced, expecting a shock or burn, but he held still. After a moment her wrapped his large hands firmly around the silver bars. He looked at Cassidy and nodded.

“Stand back a little.” He advised. “I don’t know how these are going to bend or break.” Cassidy complied, moving back beside the table.

“Here goes nothing….” Conor muttered.

She saw his muscles tense up and his eyes focus as he pulled at the bars. After a moment they creaked and started to give. Conor grunted and pulled harder. The first bar snapped from the frame and it’s momentum brought it slamming back against his body.

His let go of the bar and ground his teeth. She could see a new welt on his face where the bar had hit him, but he seemed to be fine. He threw the bar to the other side of the cage and continued pulling on the second. After a few seconds, it pulled out too, and Conor was careful not to let it touch him. Now the gap was wide enough for Conor to slip through without touching the bars, still, he pushed out on them to bend the opening a bit wider, just in case.

Conor slid through the opening and stood up fully for the first time in a while. A grin split across his face. That was the first time Cassidy saw him smile and she couldn’t help but join him.

“Thank you!” Conor said, scooping her into a hug, making her giggle. Cassidy hadn’t known him for long, but she sure liked him so far. She hugged him back.

“You’re welcome.” She was still grinning as he put her back down and started to stretch. His back and neck popped and cracked as he moved freely for the first time in...how long? Cassidy decided to ask.

“How long were you in there?” She said, dropping her smile.

“I’m not sure...a few months I think...” He answered. “Either way, too long.”

Cassidy stared at him. “How old are you?”

“15” He replied.

“You’re pretty tall for 15” She stated.

This made Conor laugh. She liked his laugh. “Werewolf, remember?”

Cassidy smiled. This was all so strange. He was so strange. But he made her happy. She was definitely glad she decided to go into the room.

Then she remembered.

“Oh, no…” Cassidy stuttered, looking around the room. “What are we going to do? I have to get you out of here, but there are people in the house. Uncle could walk through that door any minute and the door’s locked from the outside!” Cassidy circled around, trying to think. Uncle was going to come in. He should see what she had done. She would be punished and she didn’t even want to think about what would happen to Conor.

“What are we going to do!?” She repeated.

“Calm down, We’ll think of something…” Conor said, grabbing her shoulders to still her. He looked around the room. “I can get us out of here, but you are going to have to get us through the house. I don’t know the way. Can you do that?” He asked. He looked directly into her eyes, his eyebrows raised. Cassidy nodded fervently.

“Okay…” Conor sighed. “Here we go...”

He walked up to the door. He tried the doorknob, but it did no more for him than it had for Cassidy.

He sighed. “Okay, here’s how this is going to work. If we want out, I’m going to have to either break down the door or bust the lock. It will be loud. If anyone’s near, they are going to hear it. Once we’re out we will have to get out of the house quickly and quietly without being seen. You sure you want to do this?” He looked at her.

Cassidy met his gaze. She understood. Her uncle would know she had helped him. There was no way he could have gotten out on his own. He would be furious. Cassidy had no idea what kind of man her uncle really was, or what he would to to her if he found out. “Okay, but I’m coming with you when we’re out.” She stated firmly.

“No. No way. You can’t be caught with me. You will stay here. This is your home. I’m not going to take you away.”

“You don’t understand. He will kill me when he finds out.”

“He doesn’t have to know it was you.”

“Of course he’ll know. Who else would? The only people in this house are my uncle, Martha, and me. He will know it was me. I don’t want to know what he will do to me after that. I never knew him well and after seeing all this,” She gestured around the room, “I don’t want to.”

Conor sighed. “Okay. You’re right. I can’t leave you here. We will figure out something out.” He turned away from her and looked at the door. “You ready?” He asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He wrapped his still-gloved hand around the doorknob and thrust his shoulder into the wood. Cassidy heard the crackling as it broke away from the farme. Conor tried to be quiet about it, but the door fell with a crash with him on top of it. He stood up quickly before grabbing Cassidy’s arm and pulling her out.

“Come on!” He said. Not bothering to whisper. If anyone could hear their voices, they would have heard the door.

“This way!” Cassidy ordered and she started running down the hallway. Conor followed, thumping loudly. He wasn’t exactly graceful. She headed for the backdoor, the one that lead into the kitchen. Uncle never went over there. If they were lucky, they could get out before anyone could find them. She rounded the corner and started sliding down the stairs with Conor on her heels.

“Cassidy!” Uncle screamed. She spun around to meet his wild gaze.

He was in the parlor, now moving quickly towards the stairs. His eyes latched onto Conor and he drew a silver knife from his belt.

Cassidy stared at the knife and screamed. Conor picked her up, pulling her back up the stairs. Cassidy looked back down at her uncle. He wore and expression mixed between confusion, horror, fear, and anger. He darted up after them. She had never realized how agile her uncle was, but it was all too obvious now as he quickly caught up to them. Conor probably could have outrun him, but Cassidy couldn’t and Conor didn’t leave her behind.

Cassidy screamed again as she tripped and went hurtling to the floor.

“Cassidy!” Conor yelled, skidding to a stop and turning towards her. Uncle was very close now, sprinting at them with a knife in hand. Conor picked her up by her elbow and carried her down the hall at a full sprint.

Conor must have realized that he was not going to win. He had no idea where he was going and carrying Cassidy slowed him down. He raced down the hallway. Dead end. He stopped suddenly and spun around. Uncle slowed down too, only stopping when they were ten feet apart. Cassidy could hear Conor’s rapid breathing and she clutched his neck.

Conor set Cassidy down quickly and she struggled to figure out what he was doing. Quickly, though it became obvious as his massive hands wrapped around her throat.

Cassidy instinctively tried to pull them off, but it was useless. Conor was far stronger than she was. She started to panic, unsure what to do. She looked wildly up at her uncle. He was staring at her in horror.

“Let go of my niece you filthy half breed.” Uncle said with more venom than she had ever known he had possessed.

Conor didn’t waver. “Oh, fond of her are you? I see. Too bad.” Conor tightened his grip around her, and she sputtered, clawing at his hands for release.

His voice was precise, deadly. She hadn’t ever heard him talk like that. She didn’t know what to think. A few moments ago she trusted him with her life. Now...not so sure.

Her uncle slowly put his hands up. “Calm down, let’s just talk this out.” He said slowly.

Conor laughed coldly. “Oh, we’ve had plenty of time for talking. You never bothered. That’s your own fault. Besides there’s nothing to talk about. I’m making you a deal. Either you take it or you don’t. Not much talking involved in that.”

“Okay, what do you want?” Uncle asked.

“First, put down the knife. I don’t like it much.” He ordered.

Uncle pause, eyeing his blade. “I don’t like being at a disadvantage. How can I trust you?”

Conor sighed. “Look I’m trying to be polite here but if you move that knife one centimeter closer to me I will tear you apart.” He paused. “And the girl as well.”

Uncle turned white and hesitantly complied, letting the knife drop to the floor with a thud. “Now, here’s the deal. Option A: You let me go. No one gets hurt. Everyone’s happy. Option B: You refuse. I kill the girl. Then I kill you. Understand?”

Uncle nodded.

“Your choice?” Conor asked.

Uncle stared from Conor to me, then back to Conor. He squinted at him.

“I think you’re bluffing. I don’t think you’d hurt her. It seems you’re rather attached to her. I don’t think you will do it.” He challenged.

Conor chuckled coldly. “Watch me.” He whispered slowly.

His hands tightened around Cassidy’s neck, cutting off most of her air supply. Cassidy thrashed around, wide eyes, trying to get away from him. Her uncle watched the scene for a moment before taking a step back and raising his hands higher. “Okay! Okay. I’ll do whatever you want just let her go.” He said frantically.

“That’s better.” Conor said coldly. His hands relaxed, allowing Cassidy to gulp down air, coughing and sputtering all the time.

“Now back up.” Conor instructed.

Uncle compiled and started moving away from them. Conor moved forward, still holding onto Cassidy’s neck. He bent over slowly to pick up the knife the Uncle had dropped, careful not to touch the silver blade. He moved his hands away from her throat and replaced them with the knife. Cassidy could feel the cool metal pushing into the flesh on her throat, not quite hard enough to break the skin. She lifted her chin to get away from it.

“Now, you stay there. You move and I start carving.” Conor threatened. He started backing up, tugging Cassidy with him. She moved slowly, careful not to press against the knife. He backed up into the hallway. Dead end. Right.

He reached to his left and opened a door. It was Cassidy’s bedroom. He moved inside, pulling Cassidy with him.

“Wait! Let her go! You said you wouldn’t hurt her!” Uncle called down the hall. She could hear him moving towards them. Conor stepped back into the hall, still holding her against his body.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay there?” He mused.

Suddenly, the blade pushed harder against Cassidy’s throat. She wined and she felt it cut the skin. A trickle of blood emerged.

“No!” Her uncle cried.

“Just keep quiet and stay there. I will kill her if you don’t listen. She is coming with me. I won’t hurt her and will release her once I am a good ways away. I need to make sure you won’t follow me. Now. Back. Up. I won’t tell you again.” Uncle looked frantically at him before backing up slowly once again.

Conor had moved the blade away from her cut, but it still throbbed and she could feel the blood running down her neck. It wasn’t a deep cut. Just the skin. She would be okay. As long as Conor didn’t try it again.

They moved back into the room and Conor slammed the door. He released her and bolted the doorjam. He moved her dresser in front of the frame for good measure before moving to the window and breaking it open.

Cassidy way sitting on the ground massaging her throat gently. She didn’t know what to think. She looked up at Conor, frightened. In a moment he picked her up and literally jumped out the window. They were on the second floor at least 40 feet in the air, but apparently Conor didn’t care.

She screamed as they fell. Cold air whipped her hair into her face, catching in her mouth. It seemed like forever before they reached the ground.

Conor landed on his back, using his body as a cushion for her fall. Cassidy was aching, but Conor stood up quickly and picked her up. He began sprinting towards the dark forest the engulfed the estate. He didn’t stop running when the got to the trees. He carried her for miles. All Cassidy could do was hang onto his for dear life. His path twisted and turned so that he would be impossible to track down.

After what seemed like an hour of running, Conor finally stopped. He set her down and kneeled to look her in the eye. She flinched away from him.

“I am so sorry Cass. I had to. He wasn’t going to let us go if he didn’t think I was serious. I didn’t want to hurt you but it was the only way.”

Cassidy looked away.

He gave her a halfhearted smile. “You didn’t really think I’d kill you did you?” He asked quietly.

Cassidy met his eyes. She couldn’t lie to him. She nodded slowly.

“Oh, Cassidy” He said quietly, engulfing her in a hug. “But, I suppose it’s probably a good thing. If you believed it, he believed it.” He pulled back and looked her in the eye. “I am so sorry that had to happen. I suppose I was pretty scary, huh?” Cassidy finally let the tears slip down her cheek. She closed her eyes and nodded before burying her face in his shoulder.

“I’m so, so sorry…” He whispered. “I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again. I will never hurt you.” He began to pet her hair, soothing her. “Are you going to be okay?” He whispered in her ear.

Cassidy noded. “I’m okay.” She mumbled into his chest. She pulled away and wiped the tears from her eyes. She sat down on the ground behind her. Conor followed suit.

“So...what now?” Cassidy whispered. Her throat was still tight from crying, but she had to move on. She had never been one to cry. She didn’t like it.

“I’m not sure.” Conor replied. “Here, let me see that.” He said, gently pulling her chin up so he could see the cut on the neck. He looked at it with regret. “So sorry…” He whispered again. He inspected the cut to make sure it wasn’t bleeding any longer. It had stopped a while ago, but the dried blood was still there and there was nothing to wash it off with.

Cassidy pulled his hand away. She changed the subject. “Where did you come from. Before my uncle..”

“I lived in a village miles and miles away from here. My parents had been werewolves I guess. They sent me away when someone caught onto their secret. The people I lived with never figured it out. One night I woke up to the cottage on fire. Next thing I knew I woke up in that cage….”

“That’s...terrible.” Cassidy whispered.

“It’s okay. I never really fit in anyway.” He smirked. “No one really liked me.”

Cassidy stared at him. “Me neither. Well...I’m not so sure. I never really get to leave the house. I get all my training and learning at home. I only get to go out when Martha has to shop and uncle isn’t home to watch me. They never trusted me…”

Conor smiled. “Probably because of me. They didn’t want you to find me.”

“Nah, you’ve only been here a few months. This has been happening my whole life.”

He paused, searching her eyes. “But there was someone there before me.” Conor said carefully. “I wasn’t the first.”

Cassidy stared at him. “What do you mean?” She asked.

“When I got there, I knew I wasn’t the first. He had been doing this a long time. Besides, I didn’t need that. I could smell it.”

“You what?” Cassidy asked.

“Smell. I have an acute sense of smell. Like a dog.” He laughed for a moment then grew somber again. “I could still pick up the scent of the one who was there before me. I assumed that whoever the last one was had just gotten too old. There isn’t really any way to experiment on a fully grown werewolf. They are extremely strong, but fragile at the same time. They would break out of that cage, no problem. There’s no way to control them. But also, the silver has a greater effect. I assumed your uncle killed the one before me.” Conor started picking at a leaf, tearing the edges off a little bit at a time.

Cassidy looked away, sorry she asked. She picked up a leaf too, prying the veins from the green. “Well...where did you come from?” She asked him. “Maybe we could still go back…”

“No. There’s nothing left for me there. Besides, that’s the first place your uncle will look.” He stared out into the trees. “We have to get away. Far away.” He sat up straighter. “Wait. You say this man is your uncle?”

“Yes?”

“So what about your parents?” He asked.

Cassidy sighed. “My mother’s dead and my father was drafted in the war. That’s why I was sent here. To get away from the war.”

“Hmm…” Conor grunted. “Well, I guess we can figure it out later. We’re not going anywhere fast.” He laid down. Cassidy did the same. They looked up together, watching the leaves of the trees sway and rustle under the gentle breeze. It was getting kinda cold out. It was mid summer, but the nights were still a bit chilly. It was getting close to sundown.

“Should we get a shelter or something?” Cassidy asked. She had never slept anywhere but in the house, in a bed. She didn’t know how to live outside of walls.

Conor smirked at her. “Nah. It doesn’t get too cold. There’s nothing to shelter us from. Except animals, maybe, and I can take care of them.”

Cassidy shuddered. “What kinds of animals?” She asked quietly. She had heard about the lions and bears. Bobcats and tigers. She didn’t like the idea of them prowling around while she slept.

Conor chuckled again, apparently amused by her fear. “Wolves.” He mused. “Big issue for a lot of people, but not while you’re with me. If anything else comes, I can make it go away.” He rolled on his side and propped up on his elbow to face her. “I promise I won’t let anything hurt you.” He said honestly.

Cassidy smiled. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

Conor layed back down and they went back to watching the sun set through the canopy of leaves.

“Conor?” She asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“I think if I knew you before all this, I still would have been your friend.”

She could hear his smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know something, Cassie?” He asked. She turned her head to face him.

“What?”

“Your uncle’s right. I am growing rather fond of you.”

Cassidy smiled. “So does this mean we’re friends?”

“I think so.” Conor replied.

There were were a few moments of silence before Cassidy answered. “I’ve never had a friend before.” She said quietly.

“Me neither”

“I think I like it.”

“Me too.” Conor replied.

Together, they watched the treetops. The night was setting in, darkening the atmosphere of the forest. When the sun had fully set, Cassidy snuggled up to him for warmth. Just before they drifted to sleep Cassidy whispered.

“Conor?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Never.” He replied.

______________________________________________________________

Not necessarily part of the story:

The next morning, Cassidy woke up to rays of sunlight splashed across her face. She shifted, feeling Conor’s body beside her. For a moment, she panicked, not remembering the day before. When she realized it was Conor beside her, she smiled. He was her friend. Her first friend. She felt almost giddy. She stood up slowly so that she didn’t wake him and looked around.

Birds bobbed and weaved everywhere around her, singing songs to one another. It was beautiful. Cassidy smiled and wandered around to watch the birds from a better angle. They were in all different colors and sizes singing different songs to one another as they busily flew about.

#this is like 6 #200 words long. ew. supernatural whumpee #knife #blood #shitty parental figures #manhandling #minor whump - i was a smol baby kiddo at the time i wrote this #dont come for me #werewolf whumpee #baby sand scribbles #bad writing #no im still not proofreading or anything im just spamming your pages

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thestruidora · 1 year

Note

How about this prompt with Dean Winchester x reader?

In my defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.

Thanks!

Cry Wolf

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Werewolf Dean, Possessive Behavior, Some Angst, Fluff and Smut, Non-con Elements if you squint, Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Blood Kink, Knotting, Alpha/Beta/Omega Undertones

Category: F/M

Pairings: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary: Dean gets bit by a werewolf during a hunt, forcing Sam on a quest to find the sire lycanthrope and cure his brother. Suffering the effects of the transformation, Dean is quarantined in the bunker all by himself. It really is bad timing when you come a-knocking, utterly oblivious, and with a bleeding gash on your upper thigh. Did I mention it was a full moon?

This is a one-shot. Here's the masterlist of my other fics: Masterlist

Chapter One

Bad Moon Rising

"Don't come around tonight, well it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise."

You were limping, the cut on your leg sending a shooting pang through you every time you took a wobbly step forward. Getting in your car had been difficult, driving had been terrible, but leaving the vehicle and trudging down the asphalt road to the uneven terrain along the entrance of the bunker was the real bitch.

You banged on the side of the door, the metal continuing to vibrate long after your knock.

“Guys, it’s me.” You announced. A dark, heavy cloud loomed over your head, covering the big full moon that shone in the sky. Soon little beads of water were beginning to fall on top of you. “Come on, it’s starting to rain!” Still, there was no response.

You cursed under your breath and took your phone from your pocket, calling Sam one more time. As it had happened in your previous attempts, his voicemail was all you reached.

“Shit.” Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name, about to press the call button yet again, but a gearing sound stopped you in your tracks.

The bunker’s door was cracked open by an inch, wide hazel eyes meeting yours through the gap.

“Dean?” You could only see a sliver of his face, but his pupils were incredibly dilated, almost obscuring his irises entirely. His mouth was agape, and he panted for air as if he had just run for miles.

“Hey, kiddo.” You cringed, not only at the condescending nickname that he had forced on you years ago, but also at the rasp in his voice. It was gruffer than usual, deep, and full-bodied. “Whatcha doing here? Is Sam with you?” He looked over your shoulder, eyes darting around to inspect your surroundings.

“Uh, no. I’ve been trying to call you guys, is this a bad time?” You placed one of your hands on the side of your wound, wincing at the ache. With the other hand, you held onto the wall in front of you, uncomfortably shifting your weight.

Dean noticed the rip in your pants, a dark red spot tingeing the fabric of your jeans, and instantly his expression changed. The furrow in his brow disappeared and his face lit up, a glint you had never seen before flashed in his eyes, making them appear greener for a second.

The door of the bunker swung open, revealing the disheveled image of the older Winchester.

His hair was messy, as if he had tossed and turned in bed. His lips were split and swollen, as if he had bitten on them till the skin broke. And the navy blue shirt he wore was drenched in sweat, the light material stretching under his biceps and his heaving pectoral muscles. You didn’t remember him being that ripped.

“What happened?” He asked, focus unwavering from the gash on your thigh, tongue poking out to wet his parched lips.

“I had a run-in with some demons. Those sons of bitches did a number on my leg.” You explained, not liking the way he didn’t look up at you, appearing to be entranced by the seeping blood coming from your damaged skin.

Dean refused to say anything in return, or maybe he simply wasn’t capable of doing so. He just stared at your injury with a kind of sinister awe.

“I don’t wanna impose or anything, I was just kinda hoping Sam could patch me up.” You added at last, those words seeming to snap him out of his stupor.

“I can do it.” He blurted out, not giving you any time to think before he wrapped his hand around your wrist and tugged you inside.

You cried in pain when you stumbled into the bunker, not prepared to move your thigh so abruptly, his grip too tight where he held you without letting go.

“Sorry.” He murmured, noticing your discomfort but not loosening his clasp.

The wet sole of your boots squelched on the vinyl floor and you felt a rush of relief to be sheltered from the increasing rain, if only that feeling could’ve lasted for longer.

Dean slammed the door behind the two of you, the click that reverberated in your ears signaling that it locked as it closed.

“It’s fine.” You said, in regards to his apology, and offered him a weak smile while you pried his closed fist from your wrist with some difficulty. For some reason, he didn’t seem to want to let go.

You took a few shaky steps towards the foyer’s balcony, resting your arms on the railing of the staircase and looking down at the antechamber of the bunker, all the blinking lights from the old control panels catching your attention.

“Where is Sam, anyway? He’s not answering his phone.” You question, with your back to Dean, but no reply comes your way.

You shrug it off, assuming that he merely didn’t want to disclose his brother’s whereabouts. It was none of your business, after all. Like most things the Winchesters get involved in, it’s probably highly dangerous and way above your pay grade.

You can’t even begin to remember how many times you tried to participate in their world-saving crusades, be useful somehow, only to be flat-out prohibited by Dean. He’d say you weren’t ready, that it wasn’t safe, that you were too young, and so on until you stopped showing interest altogether.

Now, you hunt on your own, only seeing them from time to time. But you like it that way, you like having no one to bark orders at you, you like proving that you’re good at your job without anyone’s help. Unless, of course, you screw up and get hurt, in which case you do need someone’s help.

“Do you even know how to do it? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna need stitches.” You inquire about your wound, the abused tissue throbbing even as you stand still.

You sense movement behind you and Dean’s hand appears at your side on the railing, his torso touching your back and his nose tickling your nape. You hear him inhale deeply and then let out a sigh of pure satisfaction, the hot air landing on your neck and sending a tingle of goosebumps up your arms.

“What the hell was that?” You turn to face him, forcing some distance between the both of you, absolutely shocked at the quick turn of events. “Did you just sniff me?”

“No, of course not.” He shakes his head, almost as confused as you are. He scans you up and down, licking his lips again, and his eyes glaze over before he puffs out a breath and fights to recompose himself. “I mean, yeah, a little bit.”

“Why?” You elongate the syllable, thinking that maybe, if you really enunciate your words you might be able to get some sensible answers from him.

“It’s just that-” He advances on you and you back away from him, your ribs hitting the railing when you have nowhere else to go. He stops in front of you, invading your personal space and caging you with his big arms. “You smell so fucking good.”

He hunches over you, bending his spine till the tip of his nose touches your temple and his lips graze the high point of your cheek.

“Dean.” You call to him, but he fails to acknowledge you in any way. “What are you doing?” You try again, more forcefully this time, and he ignores you just the same. There’s a continuous vibration coming from his chest that sounds awfully similar to a purring animal, almost like he wants to soothe you into submission.

His left hand grabs the fat of your hip, bunching up the hem of your shirt and squeezing under the fabric, abnormally long nails nipping at your skin. His right hand, however, entangles itself on the hair at the base of your scalp, pulling unceremoniously so as to expose your neck to his exploration.

He mouthes on your pulse point, huffing as he pants and nuzzles against you. He doesn’t exactly kiss the sensitive skin as much as he runs the plump pillows of his lips up and down the span of your bared throat, drawing invisible shapes of his choosing.

He then finds a particular spot he likes best, right behind your ear, and fixates on it. Completely lost to the world when he lolls out his tongue, longer than what is humanly possible, and licks where the taste of your natural scent is the strongest.

The moment you feel the wetness of his saliva laving at your flesh, you jolt jarringly, pushing at his chest with all your will, and it’s like trying to move a mountain with the way he doesn’t even budge.

“Stop!” You yell, mustering as much assertiveness as you can into your tone before you give him a final shove, sending him three to four steps backwards.

Dean seems to awake from a daydream, eyes flashing to a fluorescent green and back to his normal hazel. He stares at you with a frown, unable to catch his breath, attempting to take a step in your direction but you raise a finger at him and he halts.

“Stop it.” You order and his frown deepens, looking wounded and unhappy, but he obliges.

You spear a glance at the stairs to the side of you, your only escape route since he was currently blocking the door from where you came in. You could race down the steps and lock yourself inside of the many rooms in the bunker, but with your leg the way it is, you wouldn’t make it past a single step before he caught up to you.

With your index finger still raised at him, you support your weight on the railing and move to make your descent down the stairs, planning on taking it one slow step at a time.

“You’re hurt.” He states after you swallow a lament while on the second step, visibly itching to come closer. “Let me help you, I can carry you.”

“No. You’re gonna stay right there.” You command, doing your best to not let the pain show in your features as you drag yourself to the floor below.

His feet inch towards you while he eyes you like a disobedient puppy, knowing full well that there’s nothing you can really do to stop him.

“You’re gonna stay right where you are, and we’re gonna wait till your brother comes home, and then we’re gonna sort this out.” He’s at you before you finish your sentence.

You yelp when he snatches you suddenly, pulling you below your shoulder blades and lifting you up, your only option being to wrap your calves around his hips and brace yourself onto the back of his neck to keep from falling.

He carries you down the rest of the stairs, short-winded and with droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead. He burns you, not only with the heat of his unblinking gaze, but also with his unnaturally high body temperature. You had never felt someone’s skin this hot in your life. You didn’t understand how he could be standing, let alone holding you like you weigh nothing.

“Ok, you can put me down now.” You say when you get to the antechamber, but Dean’s grip tightens on you and he continues to walk into the war room.

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” He’s mumbling, and you’re not even sure he’s talking to you or to himself. “I just need to-” He drops you on top of the light-up map table in the middle of the room, with surprising care and delicateness. “I just need to scent you.”

“What?!” You exclaim in disbelief, trying to move away but he restrains you, sinking his claw-like fingernails into your nape as a clear display of dominance. You whimper at the sting and he leans over you, purring louder than before.

“Dean, listen to me.” You can’t shake the feeling that you’re attempting to reason with a crazy person, but you have to try. He’s much stronger than you, bigger and faster, even more so with one of your limbs impaired. Talking him out of this is your only chance of preventing whatever he has in store for you. “You’re sick, you must be delirious from a very high fever.”

“Love your taste.” He’s clinging to you, head tucked into the crook of your neck as he laps at you with his tongue. The moist, flexible muscle undulates across your collarbone when he goes further down, pouty lips closing in to suck at the juncture of your shoulder, right above your artery. “Wanna bite you so bad.”

“You’re not making any sense.” He’s completely disregarding your words, though he smiles at your breathy tone.

You press your mouth shut and close your eyes when he rakes the pointy edges of his teeth over your veins, not wanting him to hear or see how his ministrations are beginning to affect you. You hadn’t realized until that moment just how sharp his canines were, closer to fangs than anything else.

He tugs at the collar of your shirt, ripping the cloth with outstanding ease and exposing your bra. By that point, your own breathing was labored, the mounds of your breasts bouncing up and down in their tight confinement as you heaved.

Dean’s irises are radioactive green when he feasts his eyes at you and proceeds to stick his face in your cleavage. He groans like a madman and pulls at one of the cups of your brassiere, your right tit spilling out and being clutched by him almost immediately.

He traps your nipple between his index and middle fingers, teasing it to a stiff peak and you shake at the burst of pleasure. You grab at his forearms to steady yourself, swallowing down a moan that threatens to escape you.

“Let me hear you.” He yanks your head back from where he holds you by your scruff, as a dog would do to another, and you let out a whine at the bestial way he handles you. “That’s right, don’t hold back on me, give me everything.” He takes your puffy nipple into his mouth, suckling and biting, and a fire spreads through your lower abdomen at the sinful sensation.

Once he ceases his assault on your boob, the tumid bud is covered in his spit, the chilling air from the ventilation system making it that much more sensitive.

His hands fly to unbutton your pants, and you’re so dazed from his heady presence all around that you allow it for a minute, only moving to intercept him when he has both of his hands hooked at the waistband of your jeans and is already tugging them down.

“Dean, we gotta stop this.” You beg him, a considerable amount of your restraint lost as you fail to convince him, his hands too strong for you to swat away while he peels off your jeans. The material sticks to the dry blood around your cut, making you flinch, but he continues till the garment hits the ground, cooing an apology for your discomfort. “There’s something wrong with you, you’re not yourself.”

He pays you no mind, transfixed by the image of you laid in front of him only in your underwear. He looks even bigger than when you first arrived, thick neck bulging with raised veins and rippling muscles straining under his shirt.

“You smell ripe.” His voice is hoarse and booming, a feral edge emanating from him when he kneels before you. He brings his head close to the gash on your upper thigh, hypnotized by the blood that oozed from it, filling his lungs with the scent of your arousal mixed with your blood. “You’re good enough to eat.”

The ends of his white teeth sparkle in the artificial light coming from the lamp in the ceiling, appearing to be razor-sharp. It gives him an ominous aura that causes you to shiver under his unrelenting glare, and he smirks at you, wrapping his hand around your legs to prevent you from moving.

His lips graze the inflamed skin around your wound and you squirm at the contact, fearful of what he might do next. The talons at the ends of his fingers scratch at you as a warning to stay still, and you do, gasping when you feel the scrape of his tongue on your tore flesh.

“This can’t be happening.” You say to yourself as you watch him hunched over you, smacking his lips at the taste of your blood, as if you were a rare delicacy and he was hungry.

His first couple of licks stung, causing the muscles of your thigh to contract involuntarily, a torrent of purrs coming your way in an effort to alleviate your distress. But as his saliva coated your broken skin, the soreness subsided and the pain was numbed. All you could feel then was the strange but far from unpleasant sensation of his continuous lapping, a spark of neediness shooting up from where he was laving his tongue at you, making your middle throb and pulsate.

He grunted, looking up at you as if he could sense your craving, as if he could smell it. His left hand travels up your leg, stopping by the fabric of your panties, pushing it to the side, and uncovering your glistening cunny.

You feel his licking on your cut becoming sloppy as he salivates and his fingers move to caress the top of your pussy. He presses gently on the hood of your clit, revealing the swollen bundle of nerves to his eyes that shine with a desperate desire.

“Look at how wet you are.” He mutters, mouth colored with a slick shade of crimson. The pads of his fingers rub up and down your slit, gathering the moisture seeping from your clenching hole to massage your flushed bead of pleasure. “You’re so precious.”

The praise goes straight to your pulsing center, molten lava settling in the pit of your stomach, and you mewl shamefully when the back and forth of his fingers makes your pussy gush.

You never thought Dean would do something like this to you. He had always treated you like a baby sister, while he was the overbearing, overly protective older brother.

He’d comment on the length of your skirts and on the tightness of your blouses, going so far as to deny you rides to places if you didn’t change into something he thought of as appropriate.

He’d hang around you at bars, hovering too close, keeping any and all interested guys from interacting with you.

He had always seen you as a kid, and now there he is, sucking on the lacerated flesh of your thigh like it was his last meal and fingering the sopping place between your legs.

“Please!” You cry out, no longer sure if you’re pleading for him to stop or to keep going.

“You want more?” You answer your own internal question by nodding enthusiastically to his, and Dean groans and drools on your open cut as he inserts two of his long, thick fingers into your scorching hot cunt. “You need more to cum, princess?”

Your lips form a perfect o when he breaches your tight, gummy walls, stirring your insides until he finds the spongy, tender spot he was searching for and fucks it with come-hither motions, over and over, again and again.

“Oh, my God, Dean!” You wail, high-pitched and wanton, losing all your inhibitions and bucking your hips in time with the flicks of his wrist as he drills his callused digits inside you, roughly and repeatedly, without giving you time to adjust to his incursion.

“That’s right, squeeze my fingers.” His voice was low and heavy, laced with untamed ferociousness, akin to the rumbling of a snarling wolf. But even with his lips gleaming with the ruby substance from your wound that he insisted on licking, speaking between the obscene slurps, Dean managed to rein in his most primal instincts to encourage your free-fall into bliss. “You can let go whenever you want, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

You revel under his coaxing, under his reassuring words. You didn’t know how much his approval would affect you, embarrassingly loud wet noises coming from your soaking folds while he hits that place inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out.

All your life you dreamed of having Dean’s validation, and now he was showering you in it, your cunny fluttering at his constant moans and grunts of elation, even though you haven't touched him once. His satisfaction came from giving you pleasure.

That burning euphoria mounts up and up till it snaps and you fall down the precipice. A rush of pure, untainted ecstasy overtakes you and you scream, the drive of his fingers scissoring your spasming walls prolonging your orgasm.

As you lay there, atop the light-up table, a panting and heaving mess, Dean slowly withdraws his fingers from you, making you squirm and whine at the absence.

There's some movement happening around you, the rustling sound of clothes hitting the floor along with the metallic clank of a buckle. You barely register the lack of his mouth on your injured leg, any ounce of pain that you once felt coming from it having been entirely erased.

You sense him grabbing the sides of your panties and ripping the fine cloth with quick, firm hands, and you still can't find it in yourself to react while the flimsy pieces of fabric are rendered into useless scraps that fall off of your body.

But the blunt end of his dick searing into you is what brings you back to reality, the feel of his girth stretching you in ways you didn't even know were possible being too much to ignore.

The whole thing was too much. The position that you were in, with your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips yet again just so they don't dangle off the table. The noises coming from both of you, broken sobs that begged for more of that violent jolt of adrenaline. And, of course, the incomparable sensation of being split open by the biggest cock you've ever taken.

“You're doing so good, kiddo.” You make grabby hands at him when you hear him call you that, whimpering pathetically, and he leans over you to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips.

Some sick part of your brain brings forth all the times he hugged you when you were still a teen. The way his huge hands would squeeze the small of your back and your tits would rub up on him as you stood on your tippy-toes to receive his embrace. The way he would linger a little too long and bend his neck to steal a whiff of your hair.

He pinches the side of your belly and you gasp, his tongue seizing the opportunity to force its entrance into the warm cavern of your mouth. You scratch the skin of his nape and pull on the short hairs on the back of his head, moaning at the slick, pornographic kiss.

His lips close around your tongue and he sucks on it, slurping noises filling the room as he pounds into you, his heavy balls hitting your dripping pussy and squelching over and over.

“Keep taking all of it.” He breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear, filthy words in that baritone voice littering you with goosebumps. “Be a big girl and take all of this dick.”

You let out a puff of hot air and nod at him, promising to do your best as he spears the fat head of his shaft in and out of you with abandon.

His sweat begins to blend in with yours and you tug at the hem of his shirt, wholeheartedly annoyed at the fact that he was still wearing it at all. Dean chuckles, all sharp and pointy teeth that could rip into you and take out a chunk of your flesh, but instead, he spoils you and removes the offending garment, putting his hands over his head and pulling the shirt from behind till it is off, tossing it aside without a second thought.

You grope the span of his torso, from his broad shoulders to his barrel chest, and then his defined abdomen. There was definitely something unusual going on below the surface, an unlimited potential he kept trying to contain. As if he could grow bigger, become somehow larger, change right before your eyes.

You feel your way through the taut muscles under his skin, running your palms down his powerful arms and back up to his wide neck. He gulps under your scrutiny, your hands catching the way his throat bobs and his pupils shrink then dilate again, seemingly as mesmerized by you as you are by him.

He takes your right hand and brings it to his face, mouthing the pulse point, scenting you as he fucks you, the hammering of his length into your cunny growing erratic. He licks and sucks and scrapes his fangs on your wrist, almost to the point of breaking the fragile skin, groaning as you whine desperately.

The more he rams into you, molding you to the shape of his absurdly hard member, the more you come to terms with the fact that he has ruined you to any other man. Because why would you seek someone else's touch when you know only Dean Winchester and his monster dick have the power to obliterate your pussy?

With his free hand, he applies pressure to your clit, swiping the rigid pearl up and down and side to side, ignoring your pleas for mercy as you find yourself on the verge of overstimulation.

“Come on, kiddo, give me another one.” He commands, tone silky and honeyed, but still imposing and domineering in a way that if he were to tell you to jump, all you could do would be to ask how high. “I know you can give me another one.” He keeps going, thumb relentlessly playing with your pleasure point. “Cum again for me.”

You yell, honest to God yell, unsure if you can survive the wave of heat that burns in your loins when your cunt compresses around him, all the nerve endings in your body vibrating simultaneously while you cum.

Because he fucked you so good, because he rubbed you just right, because he said so.

As the dam breaks, a sudden spurt of hot, slippery fluids pours forth from your slit. A copious outflow of liquid cascades from you and lands on Dean's pelvis and his lower stomach.

“Fuck!” You elongate the word, sobbing due to the unmatched delight you experience like you never experienced before. The feeling boarding on too much and not enough at the same time, Dean's fingers continuing to grind against your center even as you squirt all over him.

“What a messy girl.” He grins, iridescently green eyes sparkling atypically, fingers finally quitting their assault on your raw clit, your cunt contracting around his veiny cock from the aftershocks of your mind-blowing release. “Spraying your juices everywhere.” He tuts and pulls out from you, inch by inch, agonizingly slow.

You give out a pitiful lament at the loss and at his taunting words, the noise that comes from your throat utterly unbecoming of a grown woman, but you can't seem to care at this point.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know I-” Dean interrupts your expression of regret with the full weight of his dominant hand landing between your legs, slapping your puffy folds, and making you writhe on top of the table.

“Don't fucking apologize.” He snarls, leaning over to bury his nose in the crook of your neck and swipe his tongue on your feverish skin. “You did so good, I'm covered in your scent and everyone's gonna know.”

You mewl like a bitch in heat when he starts to jerk the span of his shaft on top of you, the mushroom head catching on your entrance from time to time while he strokes himself from base to glans. Precum weeps from the bulbous end and mixes with your own wetness.

“Gotta mark you now.” He tells you like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's obvious. His hot breath tickles your neck, the tips of his sharp teeth almost piercing your soft flesh and you shiver at the idea that he still might just lose control and do it.

You crane your head down and do your best to steal a glance at the steady rhythm he's building, managing to stare in awe as he pumps the meat of his member.

The tender tissue is flushed and throbbing in his firm grasp, his balls tensing up, full of pent-up energy. You can't believe how big it is, beautifully cut and well groomed. Painfully hard and thick, so thick you don’t even understand how it had entered you.

He grunts and squeezes the round edge before picking up his pace, not knowing where to look as his eyes roam from your swollen lips to your pert nipples, and then your quivering pussy.

“Gonna make you smell like me.” He mumbles, muscles straining and veins bulging, steaming ropes of white bursting from his urethra and landing on your face, on your boobs, and on your belly.

Dean roars as he covers you in his spent, dense and sticky and endless shots of cum painting you. You whine in surprise, licking off some of the substance that got on your lips. He tastes rich and tangy, full of a power unknown to you but still palpable, making your tongue tingle and your throat burn when you swallow.

He's out of breath and so are you, but he doesn't allow you time to recompose yourself since he's already rubbing his release over your belly, taking a glob of it and smearing it on your slit. You thrash about because the feeling is too overwhelming, but he holds you in place and pushes his seed into your welcoming hole.

“You look gorgeous like this.” He says, reverence in his tone while he bites your earlobe and stuffs you with his essence. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

You don't know what to say, you don't know how to act. You hadn't expected to be categorically ravished by the man you had always seen as an older brother today.

In the back of your mind, you knew he wasn't that Dean, the Dean you knew your whole life, at least not fully.

Something inhuman drummed beneath his emerald eyes, the familiar hazel long gone by now. And any shadow of doubt that you might have had about his feral state is pulverized when you feel his length harden again against your inner thigh.

There’s no refractory period and you scream as he bullies that fat dick inside you once more, feeding it into you more carefully this time.

“Holy shit!” You're hoarse, sinking your nails into his shoulders and drawing blood.

How can he be hard? How is that even possible?

He hisses when he bottoms out, filling you to the brim. His rough hands find leverage on the meat of your hips, clasping each side firmly before he begins to pound into you. He uses you as a cock sleeve, lusciously scraping the ridges of his hard-on against your clammy walls.

You can't find your voice, the room spins around you, and your head bangs on the hard surface of the table in time with his thrusts.

You can feel everything. Every nook and cranny that he reaches in you. The twitch of his shaft every time he hits your cervix. The furniture that supports you creaking below.

“Mine.” He proclaims, the smacking of his sweaty skin on yours upping in tempo, the dirty noises the two of you make bordering on offensive. “Say it, say you're mine.” It's an order and you want to comply, but your brain has turned into a scrambled, useless thing so all that comes out of you is a prolonged whimper.

Dean isn't able to handle your unresponsiveness, growling loudly and inflicting another slap where you are most sensitive, a broken sob erupting from you at the contact.

“Tell me who the fuck you belong to, kiddo.” His voice is so velvety it makes your eyes roll.

He’s everywhere all at once, you can’t see or hear or smell anything else but him. Somehow he’s still growing inside you and your lungs burn because you keep forgetting to breathe. You forget your own name in favor of being the center of his world in this moment.

“I- I'm yours.” You croak out, tears getting caught by your lashes, convinced that the speed in which he pumps in and out of you should be criminal. “I'm yours, Dean."

He pulls violently on your hair and howls, guttural and wild, the base of his member expanding impossibly larger still and stretching your opening when he begins to cum inside you. You try to pull away, but you physically can’t, not with the way he pins you down and plugs your cunt with his knot.

How did that happen? How did you end up here?

“This isn’t real.” You think you say it out loud, but maybe you didn’t and there’s no way of knowing for sure.

You can still feel him pulsating and ejecting spurt after spurt of his milk into you, purring so loudly you can’t even hear your own thoughts.

He rests his head on your chest, the both of you stuck to each other until you don’t know when, but he seems content with that. His fingertips draw irregular shapes up and down the expanse of your arm as he regains his wind much quicker than you do.

You stay like this with him, and at some point, he senses something you don’t and tenses up, straightening his back to look to the right of him, careful not to tug where he’s joined to you.

“Dean!” You faintly catch Sam’s voice when he shouts, but it’s muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The younger Winchester is standing by the end of the staircase, features overtaken by shock, a syringe filled with blood in his hand as he stares bug-eyed at the scene before him.

His brother on top of you while you lay naked on the table in the middle of the bunker, covered in cum and trapped on his dick, eyes dazed and blissed out, panting through parted lips.

Dean looks at Sam, then at you, then back at Sam. The supernatural glow in his irises dies down and he seems like his true self for the first time since you got there, brows furrowing while he clicks his tongue and considers the situation.

“Listen.” He raises his index finger at the furious brunet, a sheepish grin on the corners of his mouth. “In my defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #Supernatural smut #dean winchester #dean x reader #spn fandom #request #story prompt #sexy times in the bunker #werewolf dean #eat my heart out #bite the fuck out of me #paint me like one of your dallas girls

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