Dizzojay's Dean Dreams (dizzojay) wrote,
Dizzojay's Dean Dreams

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The Darkest Realm - Chapter 3

This chapter contains details of a non-consensual sexual act.

The woman crouching beside the cot stood up slowly.

"Good day, Dean," she greeted him quietly.

Dean gaped, pebble-eyed, at her.

She stood ramrod straight and taller than Dean; a hazy ray of sunlight bathing her alabaster skin in an ethereal green glow. Long, silken hair of ivory white tumbled down around her slender shoulders, curling around prominent, apple-round breasts; faint streaks of green in her hair strengthened toward her hairline, blending into darker green skin across her heavily ridged forehead.

His mouth dropped open even further as he looked up to see the two sharp ridges which ran up her forehead above each narrow, highly-arched brow emerging through her hair as a pair of short, two-branched antlers.

She stared back at him impassively through emerald green eyes, slanted and appraising like a cat's.

Dean became blank. Every rational thought in his mind chased away by this vision before him which was at once hauntingly beautiful and utterly terrifying.

It seemed like half a lifetime before he found his tongue.

"W-what the hell?"

She sat down again and offered Dean a cup of water; "drink this, it will refresh you."

Taking the cup, Dean was still unable to tear his eyes from his companion. He noticed her robe, shimmering silver and gossamer thin. As it skimmed her delicate, slender body he could clearly see that whoever – or whatever – she was, she was built like any other woman; antlers notwithstanding.

His mouth worked silently for a few moments; "Who a-are you?" he stammered, "where the hell am I?"

She canted her head, considering the bemused man for a moment; "so many questions," She stated simply, before continuing.

"We are the Tua'tha," she eventually revealed.

Dean blinked; "the what?" It was a new one on him.

"We are the Tua'tha;" she repeated with a brief sigh of exasperation; "although your simple people would know us as one of the many races of faerie folk."

Dean froze as he lifted the cup to his lips.


She nodded slowly; "It is a term we find - unappealing."

Dean recoiled, dropping the cup as if it were red hot; spilling the water over himself and this strange woman.

"I'm not drinking that," he gasped, a hint of anger creeping into his voice as he wiped his wet hands on his sweatpants, "I know the deal; I might be human but I'm not a freakin' moron," he spluttered; "I know if I eat or drink any of this crap, then I'm screwed, I can't go home because I'll fade away with longing for this place." He scrambled off the cot, "you took me again, you grabby green douchebags, you had no freakin' right."

He found his feet and shakily backed away from the cot and the mesmerising elemental standing beside it.

"Take me back, or I swear I will fight my way out, even if I have to take all you sonsofbitches with me."

Staring levelly at him, she seemed unmoved by his threat. "You are here for a reason and will not be returned."

Dean's face twisted in anger; "and what freakn' reason is that then?"

"You are here because I desire it so."

Dean spluttered, flushing in fury; "my brother will tear heaven and earth apart to find me, and when he does …"

She allowed a cold smile to creep across her full lips.

"Your brother is not looking for you. He is … distracted."

Dean felt his heart lurch, his eyes narrowing dangerously; "what did you do to him, bitch?"

She raised a hand; "no more questions; you are a servant of the Tua'tha, and will remain so. That is all that is important to you."

Dean choked over his outrage; "the hell I am," he growled through gritted teeth, his eyes darting all over the glade as he searched for an escape route.

She took a step toward him; "when you acquiesce to our will, your life here will be pleasant," she eyed his body keenly and he shuddered at the cold hunger in her eyes. For the first time that he could remember, he felt conscious about being in a state of undress in front of a woman and coyly wrapped his arms across his bare chest in an awkward attempt to cover himself.

As she continued, moving toward him, a dangerous tone settled in her voice; "you would do well to appreciate that a royal princess of the Tua'tha has chosen one from your bestial race as her favourite."

Dean continued to back away, his anger warring with suffocating, bone cold fear.

"Sorry lady," he growled, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice; "I'm not interested in needy broads who have to resort to kidnapping their dates." He grunted as his back bumped hard into one of the oak trees around him; "and I sure as hell don't date chicks with horns."

She let out a furious hiss and extended a raised palm toward him. The pain hit Dean like a lightning bolt and he doubled over, dropping to his knees in breathless agony as fire erupted in his chest.


"BOBBY, TOM …" Sam felt his shout rising into a cry of panic as he watched Dean suddenly curl up on the bed clutching his chest and giving out an incoherent cry of agony.

Sam leaned in close, trying to comfort his brother, but his soothing touch had not the slightest effect.

Tom and Bobby both charged into the room, panting from their exertion and from the shock of hearing Sam's shout.

"What's happening to him?" Sam gasped desperately, his long arms embracing the writhing, squealing figure.

Tom walked round the bed; "let me look." Sam reluctantly stepped back to allow Tom access to his distressed brother and watched as Tom laid a flat hand across Dean's chest, trying to rub some comfort through the pain.

Bobby absently removed his cap, crushing it between both shaking hands as he helplessly watched Tom gradually soothing the suffering figure on the bed.

"What the hell's goin' on?" he whispered plaintively to no-one in particular, "what's happenin' to my boy?"


"You will learn respect, and you will accept our hospitality;" The princess' elegant features tightened with petulant anger.

Choking and gasping, Dean crawled weakly away on his elbows as she strode toward him, white hair floating around her head like an ivory halo. When she reached him, she stood over her prize, watching impassively as he tried to scramble to his feet.

She was alive with desire for this powerful man, intoxicated by the sight of strong slabs of muscle laced with tendons and sinews which bulged and trembled as he struggled to move away from her … so raw and so base compared to the willowy, ethereal males of her own race.

Moving to crouch over him, she basked in the evocative, overpowering musk of his sweat and terrified anger; the cold desire rolling off her as she bore down on him, straddling his waist on her knees.

Suddenly he found he could barely breathe. His arms and legs grew heavier and heavier until he found himself unable to move them. She had paralysed him with her faerie magic, leaving him a prisoner to her will. Arching and bucking wildly, he tried to dislodge her, but she was a solid, unfaltering presence which might have been stone.

Unable to make a sound, he yawned a silent cry, head rocking frantically from side to side as her fingertips began to toy with their prey, scratching circles of burning ice across his skin.

His body was ablaze as her cruel teasing intensified and he felt a burning warmth spreading through his groin: "no, no, no," he bit back tears of frustration as he felt his own body hardening and reacting naturally to her tormenting touch, and the sight of her firm slender outline moving above him; his own body was betraying him.

Dean's world was pain. His hands fisted and clawed at thin air as he writhed and flexed beneath her relentless attentions; sobbing gasps burning in his chest. She briefly rose and aggressively tugged down his sweatpants, and boxers, discarding them on the ground beside him. She paused, licking moist full lips as her emerald green eyes, glistening with malice and desire, swept the entirety of his helpless body.

Kneeling back down, she brushed an appreciative fingertip along his rapidly hardening length smiling coldly as he moaned at her touch, writhing and flexing in throes of agonising need as he lay, still pinned helplessly to the ground. He squeezed his eyes closed as he tried to blot out the horror of what was happening to him, feeling warm tears escape beneath his lashes.

Dean's skin was drenched, sweat coursing down his body as she straddled him once again, those ice-cold hands exploring and tormenting the landscape beneath her.

Throwing his head back, he gasped for air as she leaned over him and brought her tongue to bear, firstly against the plush flesh of his gaping lips, then against his jawline, tracing a trail of fire along his extended throat, down the smooth plane of his sternum, and finally toying with his nipples until they were hardened to pain.

He couldn't think he could only feel. His body had become a separate thing, as he cowered in the recess of his mind, feeling his physical self writhing and contorting, heels drumming helplessly on the soft clover, eyes closed in ecstatic agony beneath this cruel beauty who was playing his body like a fine instrument, composing a symphony of terrible passion which tipped to and fro across the line into exquisite torture.

Frantic to seek release, Dean weakly arched his hips, trying to prompt some sympathy from his tormentor, and receiving none. Completely helpless, he stifled a sob as she regarded his abused body with a lustful coldness, deliberately bending her back to deny him the relief he desperately craved.

His world darkened further into pain as she attacked him with an animal frenzy, each nip and scratch like burning ice against his skin; the agony of the passionate fury rising to levels of intensity far beyond his endurance.

He shrank in revulsion on hearing himself yelp and moan beneath her malicious touch. He knew she was consumed by pure, wild lust; driven by furious hunger and a desire to dominate. There was not and would never be any love. Love was a giving, sharing experience; this was nothing more than a brutal act of possession.

Eventually she relented, leaning back to allow his rock hard, throbbing length to enter her body and as the passion and torment increased towards climax, a searing heat burned through his groin, bursting and crackling through his exhausted, sweat-slicked body.

Digging into his very last shreds of strength, he arched and thrusted beneath her, his body snapping rigid as the climax swept over him, both parties voicing their feral release at the same time.

She knelt over him and watched as he sunk limply back onto the ground, boneless and spent. He trembled and gasped breathlessly as his traumatised mind tried to rationalise what had just happened to him, blinking to clear the bursting spots of light which flickered and crackled across his drifting vision.

"You will do well to embrace our ways," the princess warned as she stood, casually smoothing her gown back over her delicate hips, and glanced down at her plaything.

She walked away to leave him laying discarded and bleeding among the primroses on the forest floor.



Chapter 2
Tags: angst, bobby singer, dean winchester, faerie magic, fan fiction, sam winchester, supernatural

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