Disclaimer: Blah blah blah this is fanfiction. I don't own anything, except what is mine.
Note: I've only recently begun engaging in Supernatural, but I'm pretty well-versed in SVU. This takes place pre-Castiel and all of the Apocalypse business, and is along the lines of a normal hunt for the Winchesters - my goal is just to keep them in character based upon my watching of the reruns on TNT in the mornings. As far as SVU, I suppose it can be more recent and Casey-era. I have taken a random mythical being (whose identity will not be revealed yet), and butchered and twisted the story for my own purposes, just like Supernatural does! So don't criticize my facts, I know they're wrong. Also, this is very different from the Disney fanfiction I wrote in the distant past (some of which I never finished, and I apologize for that). I had to write this. I was overwhelmed by guilty pleasure and a random idea.
Rated M for disturbing things, sexual themes, strong language, and probably some homo action - all of which are vital to my deep and complex plot. Don't read this if you're a sensitive pussy.
Pigs, Garlic, and Shotguns
A Law and Order:SVU/Supernatural Crossover of Epic Proportions
How it started…
An abnormally brisk breeze crept in through the open window. It was otherwise an average summer night in the Big Apple – no stars in the sky and the sounds of car horns below with some yelling. A young man with closely cut, dark hair, guided a rather wobbly young woman toward his bed, and began to loosen his belt as she collapsed into the blankets limply.
He figured the little pills he dropped into her drink when she got up to use the restroom would kick in soon, and she'd be out cold. She totally set herself up for this. He didn't really need to waste his pills on this one, he thought, she seemed like one of those slutty drunk girls, the really easy sort. He let her finish up her drink, waved to his buddies, and then took her home, while they laughed and cheered. It wasn't the first time he has done this, since he acquired the handful of roofies from a man on the street. He had it all worked out, and was perfecting his art.
She seemed pretty incoherent and could barely keep her eyes open. She still writhed a bit and made some noises as he fiddled with her panties under her short skirt. He slipped them down to her ankles, and they tangled with the tall heels she still wore.
She has been alone at the bar. No one would notice she was missing until it was too late. He will have completed his task and left her on a secluded bench in the park. He'd tell his friends he scored with another drunk whore. He'd brag, and she wouldn't even know his real name. He'd wear and condom and he'd clean her up real good. He wasn't even a suspect in any of his other crimes. He'd done such a good job.
He looked at her. She was still moving around a bit too much for his liking. The booze had her sufficiently weak and uncoordinated though. He examined her, and she didn't quite fight him, she only squirmed, as if trying to get comfortable.
A pigeon cooed loudly outside of the open window.
The man looked toward it.
Before he could turn back to his prize, she purred, "Aren't you just so manly?"
"Huh?" He muttered.
She had sat up. She reached and rubbed her hand along his jaw, "You have such strong features…"
He studied her and tilted his head, unsure of what to make of the situation. She stared at him, her bright blue eyes wide, alert. She spoke clearly. Her words were not at all slurred. She sat on the edge of his bed, kicking off her shoes and underwear onto the floor at his feet. She began to help him with his pants, slowly and deliberately.
He didn't stop her, although he was confused. He asked, "Do you feel alright?"
"Hungry…" She smiled and yanked his khakis down onto the floor. He stepped out of them and left them next to her belongings. She looked at his groin region and said, "Boxers? You struck me as a tighty-whitey sort of fellow…to better show off your huge cock."
He smirked, as she moved her hands around his piece, tracing it carefully. Before he could react, she latched onto the hem of his shirt, and with surprising strength, flung him down onto his bed. She perched on top of him, straddling his mid-section. She looked down at him with her long dark hair cascading around her face.
"What're you doing?" He asked her, but he didn't try to fight her off, although he was uncomfortable. He never liked the girl to be on top.
She blinked, "What were you doing?"
He stammered, feeling a bit intoxicated himself, "I…I…"
"You weren't this shy at the bar…" She massaged his chest muscles beneath his shirt, and moved herself back further on his body. She toyed with the elastic of his boxers, and with one fluid motion reached into the flap in the front. She pulled on his cock and felt the muscles tighten immediately.
"Ow…" He winced, but didn't stop her. He grinned slightly and looked into her enchanting eyes.
She handled him and made contemplative noises, "How many times have you done this?"
"Done what?" He gasped out, trying to control himself.
"You know…" She said softly and vaguely.
He swallowed and gripped at the tousled comforter on his bed, "Fuck…"
"Yes, fucked." She stroked his painfully average cock.
"Lots…" He choked out. He normally couldn't get off like this, but this woman…there was something about her touch and her voice. She was tall, thin, with curves in appropriate locations…a perfect body, and she was already drunk when he arrived at the bar with his friends. She was a perfect target, and now his perfect and easy target was on top of him and in control. He felt conflicted and torn, aroused and disgusted all at the same time.
"More specifically," she began, "I want to know how many times you've fucked…" her voice trailed off. She moved her hands back up to his chest, and then his neck. She rested her body on top of his, and rubbed herself on him. She laughed a cold laugh that sent a chill up his spine…or maybe her touch caused it.
"What?"
Her eyes narrowed and seemed a more icy blue than they had been. "How many times have you fucked bitches that you roofied?!" She screamed and dug her nails into his shoulders, ripping his polo shirt. "How many times have you picked up girls at bars and raped them, you stupid fuck?!"
He struggled and thrashed, but she somehow held him down and he couldn't overpower her. He started to panic. He felt his chest tighten and he couldn't breathe. She suddenly felt so heavy, suffocating. He looked at her, and her face seemed all distorted, blurred. He felt dizzy and terrified. What did she do to him? Did she somehow drug him when he wasn't looking? Did this cunt switch their drinks?
"Oh, I didn't mean for you to lose your hard on." She frowned, and reached down into his boxers again. This time her touch was not gentle.
She slipped her other hand around his throat, and he tried to pull at it, but he just couldn't fight her off. She tugged his dick, stretched it, tore his skin, ripped off his entire shaft with her bare hand. He bled. She held it up into the moonlight and forced his face to look at it before she dropped it next to him on his bed. She clawed at his neck and his face, severing that important artery and vein. She ripped open his chest and his belly with her claws, laughing all the while. His blood poured out, but he couldn't scream, he felt his own warm blood bubbling in his throat, and she made him watch…she made him watch as she ate the flesh of his stomach.
He tried to speak, but his words came out as only gurgles, spattering blood all around. She looked up and she grinned with blood dripping from her chin and all down her shirt. Her eyes sparked red, and she cackled before saying, "Stop making so much noise, you fucking pig, I'm trying to enjoy my meal. You weren't much of a gentleman…didn't even offer to buy me bar food. I suppose you were afraid it would sober me up, yeah? Absorb some of the booze? Mess up your whole douche-y plan?"
He choked and sputtered.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and only smeared the crimson, rather than cleaning it up. She sat up on him and watched him squirm, "You know…I've done this before too. Lots. For hundreds of years. You were an easy target. You look like a douche, who needs to control women."
With what strength he had left, he reached with one arm and tried to grab her leg. Instead he left a bloody handprint on her knee.
"This'll sober you up." She plunged his own disembodied member into his mouth and she laughed, "Eat a dick. I don't like dick, personally."