#bloodjunkie!sam

[kickingitwithkirk]

Regina Coeli, Regina Infernum-Punishment

Pairing: Boyking!Sam x Reader x KnightofHell!Dean

Word Count: 2025

Warnings: **not a dark fic but has elements.: dub/con-non/con p/v sex, restraints, verbal/fighting, hentai elements

Squares filled: @spnkinkbb RubySam @anyfandomdarkbingo Amputation

A/N: references from Regina Coeli, Regina Infernum

This story set years after stand-alone: Always with the Scissors

The hallway briefly reverberated to the sounds of Zeppelin when a set of heavy, ornate doors opened, admitting the Queen Consort of Hell. 

The sound system cuts off as she crosses the anterior area to the bedchamber, where she flung herself face down onto the oversized bed in frustration.

“Something vexes thee?” The whiskey-roughened voice of the Queen’s fraternal polyandry consort inquired, and she lifted her head, seeing black instead of green eyes.

“I didn’t tell you to stop!” He soundly smacks the naked female demon riding his cock bare thigh, leaving a vivid red handprint, and orders her to turn around.

The Queen Consort shifts to observe the demon, hands bound in a pair of binding cuffs behind her back, awkwardly maneuvering around on the mattress and into reverse cowgirl whimpers. 

“What did I say about no noise!” 

The Knight of Hell’s voice vibrates in staccato and abruptly sits up, grabs his current sex toys braided hair in one hand, yanks the demon into a painful arch while gripping his engorged member, glistening with their combined fluids, and notch his cockhead between her swollen pussylips forcibly slides her back down onto his shaft then shoves her head down to touch the mattress between his bowed legs again reclines in repose against the bed’s pillows.

The demon quietly straightens up and resumes bouncing. 

The Queen watched her consort close his black eyes, breath puffing out from between his slightly parted, succulent lips as his toned muscles flex periodically under the slight softness of his stomach in response to the hot, slick, velvety channel intermittently clenching around him.

The Queen Consort briefly flicked her eyes back to the demon who was striving to hold off orgasming until permitted, closed hers, listening to the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh and occasional squelch, felt herself becoming aroused, rubbing her thighs together, desiring friction felt his hand sliding in between, his thick fingers stroking over her mound.

 “I can smell how wet you are,” that made her reopen her eyes, watching his shift to their sultry chartreuse. “I wanna taste your sweetness,” Dean runs his tongue slowly over his plump lips, wetting them to emphasize how much he wants her riding his face. 

The Queen Consort removes the Knights hand, slides off the bed, and exits without a backward glance.

“All right, meetings over..everybody out!” 

Several members of Boykings council jumped in their seats, spinning to see the Knights Of Hell standing in the doorway with black eyes and red flannel-clad arms crossed, conveying he was not joking. 

They nervously turn back to his elegantly dressed brother seated at the head of the table, reading the document in his hands.

 “We are in the middle of something. Whatever it is can wait.”

“No.”

The Boyking’s kaleidoscope eyes focused on his older sibling. 

Dean could be a pain in the ass on a good day, but today wasn’t a good day, and Sam was not in the mood to deal with him.

“What was that you said?”

“You heard me..”

“..come back later.”

“No.”

Except for the set of his shoulders conveying his annoyance, the Boyking sat expressionless, allowing his vantage point to notice the visible outline of his brother's substantial cock straining against the jeans material. He was now curious as to why.

“Fine, state your business.” 

“That’s the problem.”

“What problem?”

“Family Business.”

The Boyking blinked, not following his knight's train of thought. What did Family Business have to do with this?

 “Dean, I don’t have time to decipher your nonsense.”

The Knight walked to the table, placing his hands on the edge and leaning forward, “Fallen can into my room.”

“Dean.”

 “Where I was breaking in my latest toy..”

“..Dean.”

 “Turned down fun time, and we both know how much Fallen loves..”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DEAN!!!” 

Sam’s eyes transformed into glistening onyx as his chair flew backward, shattering upon the stone wall in a fury created by his brothers' flagrant disregard of his mandate that what happened in private stayed private, mimics Dean's stance.

The council members didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash, knowing that drawing either Winchester's attention would result in their demise. They were finally ordered to leave and, as silently as possible, gathered their items and escaped the oncoming storm.

“Crowley,” the former King of Hell stops, “finish going over those details we discussed, and any discrepancies you find, notify me immediately.” 

“Of course, Sam,” the contract-savvy demon replied, smirking, “Squirrel,” and departs.

“Now that you have my undivided attention, we’ll finish this discussion privately.” Pushing off the table, Sam walked passed his brother, knowing he’d follow.

The word spread fast among the Citadels residents when there was trouble between the Winchesters, not a damned soul was to be found in its vast hallways. 

Dean threw himself on the oversized leather couch as Sam crossed to a tall cabinet pressing on an ornately carved panel, opened a hidden compartment, pulled out a crystal decanter, and, after pouring two fingers of a liquid into a matching tumbler, moved to stand before the lit fireplace still fuming. 

“You interrupted a congress that has been in progress since I acquired my Consort.”

Dean gets up, “I don’t think our Consort, the Queen Of Heaven, Hell, and Earth, would appreciate being referred to as acquired like one of those goddamn dusty tomes you still collect.” Snatching the glass from his brother swallows half its contents in one go.

 “And for the record, you got to give her a name, not me. So as I see it, since she favors both of us in sexual congress, I’m entitled to call her whatever I want.” 

“You named her after a fucking Jessica Drake porno!”

“You know Jessica Drake’s stuff?” 

“You damn well know I watch porn too!” Sam huffed, “figured you’d pick something more like what was her name? The one you nailed from those Casa Erotica videos.”

Dean bites on his full bottom lip remembering the Good Faith Church’s APU chastity counselor Suzy Lee and ex-porn star Carmelita.

“Even if Y/N permits it, it still doesn’t give you the right to call her that publicly.”

Dean smirked, “So what’s it to be, Sammy? Cutting out my tongue or,” running a finger across his throat, making a wet noise.

“One day, I might have to.”

That stopped the smartass retort forming on the Knights lips watched Sam's broad shoulders sag before softly inquiring, “Remember how I was before her?”

Dean threw back the rest of the drink, recollecting his brothers' suffering.

Their existence in the Underlands progressed from months to years to decades; they found the Knight couldn’t replenish his superior blood fast enough, forcing Sam too, once again, resort to feeding from inferior demons during the in-between times. 

Dean even briefly flirted with bringing Ruby back from the Empty for his brothers' exclusive use in whatever manner of choosing but scrapped the idea after observing Sam’s increased feeding leading to his excessive overindulgence in pussy and, much to his displeasure, others' cocks. 

It began a cycle of spiraling the Boyking into physical pain and melancholy and knowing Ruby, the demon, would manipulate him for gains like before.

 “Yeah, Sammy, I remember,” he replies in such a quiet tone his brother pauses before switching back to the initial reason his anger kindled.

 “I guess I can’t keep this a secret from you anymore. That meeting you interrupted was the latest counsel referendum about options to fortify our defenses.”

“Fortifi..what the fucks going on, Sam?”

“Cas received a message from Joshua warning Heaven's incursion is imminent.”

“We have an ironclad deal with those dicks to stay outta each other's realms!”

“When we were in that prison realm, Y/N indicated there was a chance that the Angels would interpret removing her as a sign.”

“A sign of what?”

 “God wants her restored upon all the thrones.” 

 “You brought her here knowing that and said nothing?!”  Dean twists his free hand into his short hair, a leftover trait from his human days, indicating he’s freaking the fuck out. 

“That wasn’t a referendum, Sam, it was a Greek Referendum…and you’re taking the rest of us down with you!!” He barked in a tone that once would have brought his kid brother to a heel then Dean's expression shifted to trepidation.

 “Did Joshua say how much time we have before those dicks attack?” The Boyking started to divulge when, “Holdup, did he say anything about Chuck coming back?”

“Chuck never left, and some time ago, someone resumed publishing his new writing...” 

“All this goddamn time, you knew and said nothing!” Dean's eyes flared black and threw the empty tumbler into the fireplace hearth, followed by a swing toward Sam's jaw, but it ended up quashed when a sensation flairs deep within, doubling the Knight over, and falls to his knees.��

“You never learn.” 

Dean peered up as Sam loomed over him with his imposing stature, and his eyes changed, not into the common onyx or the occasional yellow, denoting his actual status.

Instead, they transitioned into an ethereal luminosity. 

“You’ve gotten away with things not because you’re a Knight of Hell but my brother,” Sam sighed, “but today you undermined my authority in front of the entire counsel because you never could shut the fuck up!”

The Boykings' attention transferred as the Queen Consort entered the chambers and glanced at the kneeling Knight moves to stand beside Sam, tipped her head back eyes fixated on him. 

Sam cups his Consorts jaw, and leaned over, gently kissing her before responding to her inquiry, “Yes, it’s time.”  

Y/N walked backward, motioning for Sam to follow began removing her clothes, and smiled as he stripped off his jacket and began unbuttoning the shirt. 

“Dean, do you remember the last time we punished you for insubordination?" Sam glanced back and saw his brother's cock once again straining against the material of his jeans. "How we bound you, used you as nothing but a toy for our pleasure? Then Y/N inserted something that kept you orgasming.” 

Dean closed his eyes at the memories and felt the sensation that’d dropped him morph into that long-ago pleasure. Groaning, he groped for the zipper and, in frustration, ripped his jeans open, freeing his turgid cock starts stripping wire.

“Guess you’ve figured out she didn’t remove it,” Dean's eyes snapped open and saw Sam, lying naked on an oversized chaise chair with Y/N leaning back on his chest, legs splayed over his playing with her dripping pussy, stripped his cock faster, “Or what it's intended for.” 

Pausing his self-pleasure watched his brothers vast hands wrap around his consorts' hips and her face contorts into painful pleasure as he roughly fucks his substantial cock into her cunt repeatedly, using her as nothing more than a fleshlight rasped...

“If you’d have just done as asked Dean, freely consume her grace, wouldn’t have had to resort to this.”

The Knight's hand froze as his brother's words penetrated his pleasure-clouded mind, “What’d you do?”

“It’s the only way to get you to join us.” 

The Knight, hearing the Consorts ethereal voice after years of silence, watched her double-tap Sam’s hand, and he slowed his thrusting into a gentle rolling motion. 

“That drink was..wasn’t only alcohol,” she stumbled over her words as the Boykings' long fingers teased her clit, keeping her on edge, “infused with my grace to act..activate the Ovi in you...”

“THE WHAT IN ME?!”

”You inspired the idea, your erotic anime thing, which led her into hentai,” Sam says, “and Plan B.”

“Plan B?”

“That Ovi she implanted contains an undiluted dose of her grace,” Sam sighed, ”If you’d only supped from each other, it would’ve been...”

“Would’ve been what, Sammy?”

“When the casing finish’s deteriorating, your body will absorb her Grace which won’t be pleasant, be far worse than the Demon Curing Ritual.” His brothers' countenance pitched darker than the Empty, “But I’ll do anything to keep those feathery dicks outta here.” 

The Boyking snapped his fingers, and a clear, squishy orb encapsulated the Knight felt his consorts' confusion answers..

“You’re the one who inquired about vores.”

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @b3autyfuldisast3r @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl @siospins2

[hoziernaturalevents]

Creator: quickreaver (brothersinablackcar)Characters/Ships: Sam Winchester, implied Sam/RubyRating: PG-13Content Warnings: touch of bloodTags: Sam Winchester, Sam/Ruby (implied), inspired by Hozier, blood, bloodjunkie!Sam, boyking!Sam, spn fanart, Sam Winchester art, supernaturalSummary: “Remember me, love, when I’m rebornAs the shrike to your sharpAnd glorious thorn…" ~Hozier, ‘Shrike’

[brotherscain]

tell me more about them stress-smoking. are they brand loyal or is it whatever they can steal/find, filtered or no, will they smoke menthols in a pinch

i think dean should’ve been casually bordering on addictively into smoking—so he’s pretty brand loyal. sam who developed the habit away at college starts bumming some off dean after hard-hitters (max, croatoan, madison, etc.). even for this he’ll make sure it’s when they’re out so he can go hide away for it.

dean dies and sam buys that same brand just to have.

right around that time when dean comes back for the first time, he’d be so shaken by his resurrected body he’d probably stay away for some years..

during their BreakUp Eras, sam deviates. he will take random offered cigs and buy off brand packs just so he can smoke one or two and chuck it.

also i think bloodjunkie sam is a special case because he suffers from “cravings” and tries to stave them off with the nicotine. it never works because well... bloodjunkie. but now he’s smoking more than he ever has. everyone always references that one photo of him slurping blood by the vending machine and u bet ur ass i’m doing it here too.

this is how sketchy he’d be with smoking too. always in grimey spots and always after dark. you would think the man is doing hard drugs.

[runawaydr3amerao3]

Not me out here reccing the Demonic Junkies series by @sam-is-my-safe-word again?

HAHA OBVIOUSLY A LIE YES IT'S ME

That artwork is gorgeous and immediately made me think of Kasey's series (because it's never far from my thoughts), especially the torment and misery on Sam's face even as he can't help himself, ripping in with his teeth to get what he needs. And Dean looking so fucking pleased with himself, and the hand in Sam's hair andguhhhh

uhhh? Sorry, did it just get really hot in here?

Right, the link. Just... just going to leave the link and... I dunno, sit in the dark for a while...

“Good boy…”

Things like that will certainly not happen but i like to think about it. If you know any good fanfic about this particular subject, let me know ! ♥

It’s a simple coloring but it was nice to play with ink again.

[quickreaver]

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to

Fix you.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Junkie - Kinktober 2022 | Day 23 & 24

Summary: Sam accidentally nicks Dean’s throat with his knife, and finally, life as they’ve always known it is all over.

Pairing: Demon!Dean x BloodJunkie!Sam / Sam x Wife (Unnamed) Rating: 18+ Warnings: Incest, Infidelity, Blood Consumption Tags: AU, Bartender!AU, Mechanic!AU, Mechanic!Dean, Bartender!Sam, Internal Monologuing, Knife Play, Gore, Blood Drinking, Dirty Talk, Cheating, Incest Kink, Infidelity Kink, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Cockbulge, Degradation Word Count: 3.3k Kinktober Prompt - (23) Cockbulge/Deepthroating | (24) Gore

Bingo Squares: @anyfandomdarkbingo - Demonic Possession | @anyfandomkinkbingo - Blood In The Cut, K. Flay | @spndeanbingo - Bartender!AU | @j3bingo - Control, Halsey | @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo - Quote J “This cock isn’t going to suck itself.” | @spnkinkbingo - 24/7

Ever since the Yellow Eyes Demon fried their mother extra crispy on baby Sammy’s ceiling, the lives of the Winchester boys have been unusual, to say the least. John, convinced that Mary’s killer had targeted Mary for a specific reason, moves the family to a small, two-bedroom ranch across town (so Sam and Dean can share a room and Dean can always keep an eye on the baby boy) and gets back to work. By day, he works at his garage with his partner, but by night, he hunts down any scrap of information he can about his wife’s murder. 

And Dean and Sam grow up the same way, going to daycare and then school and then the local community college, keeping their heads down and acting just like every other boy that grows up in Lawrence. They get called down to the guidance counsellor a little more often, they have bruises and cuts and scrapes a bit more than your average kid, but they lost their mother young, and John’s always been a bit rough and tumble. Everyone makes excuses for them, Sam and Dean don’t even need to come up with lies to cover up their true nocturnal activities and weekend getaways. 

They spend every moment they aren’t in school helping their dad hunt down evil–the supernatural variety. Ghosts and werewolves and poltergeists and vampires and demons. Demons become their speciality. Because as soon as they learn that it was a demon that killed Mary, it’s their mission to hunt down every single one of those sons-of-bitches until their entire godforsaken species is extinct. When they learn that Sam has demon blood running through his veins, courtesy of the murderous visit Azazel paid them the night he turned six months old, cracks start to emerge in their life’s work. 

Dean is working with John at the garage now, Sam is bartending while he finishes up his final year of school. Sam’s got a pretty girlfriend, and Dean’s got a pretty long list of booty calls. John’s got his demon-hunting. And then all of the sudden, they have to make a choice they never anticipated–what level of demon-ness can they stretch to tolerate? Family has always been the most important thing to them, besides the hunt, so what’s more important? Killing the demon race to extinction or protecting their family. Family wins. 

When John has the choice of working with a demon to save Dean’s life, or killing Azazel and letting Dean die of his injuries… he knocks over the next domino. Taking care of his boys wins again. And when Sam dies, Dean makes the deal with the demon to bring him back, because taking care of Sammy wins. And when Dean dies, Sam tries hunting down and threatening every demon he can to bring back his brother, but when that doesn’t work, and Ruby offers him another way, Sam succumbs to the temptation and lets himself get hooked on demon blood because she promises him that if he’s strong enough, he might be able to bring Dean back. 

And on and on it goes, the unhealthy brotherly affection spiralling from commitment to codependency and ever closer towards addiction. There’s hardly anything keeping Sam and Dean from slipping the rest of the way down that slope. And demons–once again–are what push them over the final threshold to a place they can never come back from. 

When Dean becomes the thing they’ve always fought so hard against, more purely demonic than Sam has ever managed, the final domino begins to teeter. Sam tries to pull his brother back. He traps him in the back room of his garage, where Dean technically lives these days, ties him down to his bed and force feeds him the clarified human blood that can bring him back to his regular old mechanic, demon-hunting self. Dean wonders if some deeply buried part of Sam scratches the devil’s trap open on purpose, lets him escape on purpose, because they both know that neither of them are really happy leading their apple-pie double lives. Sam with his girl and his dog and his bar, Dean with his garage and his Impala. They’ve both been burying a secret far worse than their supernatural murder sprees all these years. 

When Dean escapes, he corners his little brother against a concrete wall of the garage, and he dares Sam to be strong enough to do it–to choose their mission, their life’s work, over protecting his big brother. Sam’s hand twitches, like he’s willing himself to fucking nut up and end it, fighting not to make the same mistake that’s gotten them into this situation over and over again. 

Sam accidentally nicks Dean’s throat with his knife, and finally, life as they’ve always known it is all over. 

Demon blood will always be a weakness for Sam, but usually, he has enough control over himself to resist the urge to drink. Something about Dean’s blood, though, it’s not the same. The siren song from the small rivulet of blood trailing down the hollow of his brother’s throat is a thousand times stronger than a veritable kiddie pool of blood from lackey-demon number nine; a hundred times stronger than the gashes over Ruby’s wrists that he’d suckled on so obsessively for over a year. And this is just one small drop of blood. Suddenly Sam can hear the rest of Dean’s blood rushing beneath the delicate membrane of his skin, pulsing in his veins, barely restrained. It would be so easy… hardly any effort at all… 

Dean’s fingers wrap purposefully around Sam’s wrist. He doesn’t have to work hard to push his brother’s arm away from his throat or use his demonically-enhanced strength. Sam’s willpower is now focused entirely on not drinking Dean dry, the tension in his arm illustrating his restraint in not pushing the knife further into Dean’s throat, and the demon can tell. Dean smiles darkly as he raises Sam’s hand and the knife it’s clutching up to his mouth, letting his sinful tongue dart from between his lips to collect the small line of his blood on the blade’s edge. He slices the tip of his tongue in the process, the wound burning violently thanks to the magic of the Demon Blade, and he hisses but he keeps his tongue firmly out of his mouth, the blood now welling temptingly on the muscle.

Sam feels like he’s about to hyperventilate. 

Slowly, teasingly, Dean twists Sam’s wrist and angles the back of his hand towards his mouth so he can lick across the surface of Sam’s knuckles, decorating them with his tainted blood. Sam stares at the shine of the deep red against the white of his skin, blanched from how tightly he’s still holding the Demon Blade. He feels himself swallow and regrets that he can’t taste any of the honeyed-metallic scent that’s enveloping him sliding down his throat. His vision has tunnelled to the back of his hand, everything else around him unimportant–even his demonic and murderous big brother. The world has faded to black and white except for the stain of red against his knuckles, clinging like dew drops on the grass to the coarse hairs that are standing on end, alert and at attention. Idly, Sam thinks he might be shivering. Everywhere feels cold except the skin of his wrist that’s still locked beneath Dean’s fingers. 

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean coos, and when Sam tears his gaze away from the blood on his hand to look at his big brother, the familiar green of his eyes has been swallowed by the black of the demon that’s inhabiting him. No. That he is. This isn’t some random demon possessing Dean’s body–this demon is Dean. Dean with all his cruelty and bloodlust twisted obsessiveness worn on his sleeve, no longer buried deep beneath years of shame and better judgement. 

“Do it,” the demon whispers again, no longer talking about Sam cutting his throat, but tempting him towards a wholly worse kind of violence. The kind that will destroy them both more egregiously than Death or Hell could ever conceive. 

“Let me take care’a you, Sammy,” Dean pleads, his eyes suddenly the bright, kind green that turns Sam weak at the knees. He’s never admitted it aloud, but Sam is just as weak for Dean’s imploring expressions as Dean is for Sam’s kicked-puppy look. “I know you want this. You need this. Let me help you,” Dean brings a hand up to the back of Sam’s neck bracingly, soothing away the tension of his restraint, massaging his muscles into submission. 

Sam lets out a sob, feeling himself breaking apart under Dean’s touch and wanting to refuse but finding that he can’t with each second that slips by, each touch of Dean’s burning fingertips against his skin. His head cants forward and Dean swivels to catch him, their brows touching, foreheads pressed together in a sick lovers parody. And Dean knows exactly what Sam needs, and how to get him to break and take it for himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean murmurs, licking his lips and painting them with a slick stain of his blood, prettier than any hooker in red lipstick that Sam has ever seen. “I’ve gotcha, I’m gonna take care’a you.” Sam’s body is wracked with another sob as each word drives a stake into his resolve, splitting it down the fault lines as Dean targets each weakness. “I love you so much, baby brother,” Dean whispers, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from Sam’s, waiting for him to fall and join him in his Hell on Earth. 

But when Sam’s lips crash into Dean’s he swears it feels more like Heaven. 

The old adage of drugs, sex and rock-and-roll feels an entirely appropriate descriptor for their lives now. 

Sam gets his blood-fix, Dean brings the rock-and-roll with his cassette collection like he always has, and they both get the sex. Dean isn’t sure which part is his favourite–the way Sam looks when he’s drunk on his big brother’s blood, or when he’s high on his big brother’s cock. Of course, more often than not Sam is both at the same time, so Dean doesn’t feel particularly guilty about not wanting to choose between them. 

Dean looks down at his little brother, kneeling on the floor between his legs, the long sandy brown hair tangled and knotted at the back of his head where Dean’s fingers have been messing with it. Sam hasn’t thought about brushing his hair in a while. That sort of thing isn’t important to him anymore. He only thinks about one thing these days, and that’s exactly how Dean likes it. The old human-him had always been worried that Sam would leave him someday, like he did when Dean was twenty-two, and too weak to stop him. But Dean isn’t weak anymore, and the new and improved him had the obvious solution for keeping Sam exactly where he wants him. 

“There’s a good boy,” the demon croons, petting Sam’s hair as he laves the huge flat of his tongue across the cut Dean has carved into his inner thigh. Dean doesn’t scar anymore when he heals, but Sam is so attached to drinking from this particular spot that he swears he can see a faint trace of the cut every time the skin closes over it again these days. 

With the hand that isn’t in Sam’s hair, Dean reaches for his cock and strokes himself languidly, enjoying the slow roll of his skin over the blood-engorged muscle, teasing his veins by squeezing tighter and letting go, making the blood pulse along his length in heady spurts, and Dean knows that Sam can hear it as he teases himself, because the man whimpers pathetically against his thigh, his tongue shaking with the increased speed of his breath. 

“Where’s your girl think you are?” he asks with a cold grin, and Sam shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent, not wanting to pause in his drinking to take the time to answer.  “She think you’re at work?” Dean prods, and Sam shakes his head again, teeth scraping over the cut in Dean’s skin. “She think you’re out with your brother gettin’ drunk? That’s not too far off the truth I guess,” he chuckles deeply, petting Sam’s head fondly. 

“Don’t wanna talk about ‘er,” Sam slurs when he pulls off Dean’s thigh with a gasp, only pausing in his quest for blood because his need for oxygen had become too urgent. Dean cups his cheek and drags his thumb across Sam’s lower lip, collecting the bloody spit pooling there and bringing his finger up to his own mouth, sucking it in with a hum of satisfaction and enjoying the look of disgruntled longing on his little brother’s face. Sam resents missing out even on that tiny, diluted drop of Dean’s demonic essence, and the demon knows it, which is exactly why he does it every time. 

Reaching to his side for his knife–not the Demon Blade, just a regular steel pocket knife he’s always carried around–he flicks the blade back out and runs it over the base of his stomach gently before dragging it down through the mousy trail of hair that draws a line from his belly button to his cock. As if someone would need directions on their way down, Dean’s cock stands out huge and heavy between his legs, twitching up in anticipation at the feeling of the pocket knife glancing over its length. 

The masochistic part of Dean loves this bit. He holds the head of his dick in one palm and angles the tip of the knife just so across the top, going for one of the smaller veins instead of the big one that runs up the underside. They’ve done that before and Sam nearly bit his dick off in his enthusiasm to suck down the tide of blood that started flowing. The smaller veins work better, giving Sam just enough of a taste to keep him happy, but not letting him gorge himself. Keeps Dean in control of the situation.  

Sam looks up at Dean pleadingly with eyes nearly as black as the demon’s own, waiting like he’s been taught. Waiting for permission. 

“This cock isn’t going to suck itself,” Dean scoffs, and that’s all the instruction Sam needs before he’s diving in hungrily, sucking the head of the demon’s length between his lips and swirling his tongue over the small incision, moaning with even more pleasure than Dean does at the feel of the wet heat sliding around him. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, fisting his hand in the knot of Sam’s hair. “There’s my boy. Dirty fucking boy, aren’t you? Gagging for a dick down your throat when you’ve got a pretty girl at home who wants to be choking on yours–such a fucking waste, aren’t you?”

Dean doesn’t do well with silence, he never has. And since he became this version of himself, it’s like all the voices in his head that he’s been trying to muffle his whole life have all been given microphones. Demons are the most tortured of all, he remembers being told during his sojourn in Hell. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out what Alastair meant by that, but now he knows all too well. Demons crave violence and pleasure and oblivion because that’s the only way to make the voices shut the fuck up. It’s the only way to get some goddamn quiet. 

The volume starts to dim as Dean yanks Sam forward, using his hair like a leash and dragging him down his cock until he’s pushing into a throat that’s fighting him. When he’s in Sam’s throat Sam can’t taste the blood anymore, and Sammy doesn’t like that, which means Dean loves it. 

“Yeah, bitch,” he groans, using his own voice to drown out the ones inside, still too loud. “Look at you taking my dick all the way down this pretty throat.” Dean circles the fingers of his free hand around the front of his brother’s neck and squeezes as he fucks in as deeply as possible, feeling the bulge of his cock moving in Sam’s throat and letting a groan ring out in the echoey concrete of his room at the back of the garage. 

This place has always been perfect for hunting the supernatural, and now for their even more secretive activities because it’s built out of the way, on the edge of the town. No one wants all the noise from an auto shop near their houses or offices, so there’s nothing else around here for at least half a mile. Sam and Dean can scream as loud as they want, and no one will ever hear them. 

“Good fucking cocksucker, aren’t’ya boy?” Dean keeps up his monologuing as he fucks Sam’s throat, denying him the blood that he’s so desperate to feel on his tongue again, keeping the crown of his cock firmly away from the man’s tastebuds. “What would people say if they saw you like this, huh? Big, tough, Sam Winchester, on his knees for a fucking demon, for his fucking big brother. What would Dad think of you, huh? His boys. Probably turned out worse than he could ever’ve imagined, didn’t we Sammy?” Dean laughs as he throws his head back, hips bucking off the edge of his mattress as he thrusts into Sam’s throat as roughly as he can. He feels Sam’s tears sliding off his face and onto the hand he has braced around his neck, and Dean wants to lick them up; taste a part of his brother’s shame the way Sammy tastes his. 

Because how can it not be shameful that Dean Winchester, famous demon-hunter, is now a demon himself and doesn’t give enough of a fuck to let his brother save him? Instead, he’s dragging Sammy right down to the pit with him, because they sure as shit weren’t gonna let something like this split them up after everything they’ve pulled to stay together. If Dean is a demon for good then Sammy’s getting damned too, that’s just the way it is with them. And Sam is far too addicted to the demon blood now to protest, even though he’s probably powerful enough to overcome Dean if he tried. 

That’s the most magnificent part, that Sam has every capability to escape this situation, to fight Dean off, and he’s becoming more and more powerful with every drop of Dean’s blood that he drinks, but none of that matters to him. Fighting Dean hasn’t even occurred to him. Because all that matters is his next fix. Dean has the all-powerful, special child of Hell as tamed as a hellhound. Obedient and hungry. Every second of every day, Sam is waiting for Dean’s call, telling him that it’s time. He would sit on his knees beside Dean’s bed on the cold concrete until his skin was rubbed raw and he was wasting away. His life’s one joy, now, is to service Dean, because when he does, he gets his reward. He gets Dean’s blood. 

They’re bonded more deeply now than ever before, in a way that Dean, twisted as he was even as a human, has always craved. Sammy as his; Sammy devoted solely to him. If they didn’t have a facade of a normal life to keep up, he would happily keep Sam naked at his beck and call. He’s had dirty dreams about the idea for years. Dean cums down his brother’s throat reminiscing about his old fantasies. The sounds of Sam choking on his release as Dean shoves him back off his dick are just about enough to drown out the noise in his head.

Part 1 is posting straight to Tumblr for Kinktober. Part 2 is a bonus smut scene and will be posted to my website as a member exclusive!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

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[runawaydr3amerao3]

Just bury me alive in this. I'll go quietly.

I hear there’s a pink thing going on in the fandom right now…

[pastorpresent]

"Wakey wakey time, Sammy."

Sam jolted awake. Or at least, his body tried to jolt. It was difficult when he was tied to the bed frame by every limb. He yanked his hands forward, fingers curled into fists as he tried to use all his strength to break the rope.

It didn't budge. All he achieved was making his tender wrists sting more as the material dug into his skin.

"Oh come on Sam, you know you're not breaking out of this one." Dean mocked, his eyes flashing black.

Sam resisted the urge to flinch. It was horrifying, seeing his brother as one of those. He understood why Dean had been so freaked when he was at the height of his demon blood kick. There was something deeply disturbing about such familiar eyes turning pitch black, eliminating those speckles of green that Sam had grown up seeing in them. Eliminating that barely there softness he often reserved for Sam.

"I have to say, we're going to have so much fun baby brother. The plans I have for you..." he approached the bed, and Sam tried to tug at his confines again in one last ditch effort. Not an inch of give.

Dean always had been an expert at tying knots. Sam wasn't going anywhere.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed next to him, lifting the knife to Sam's face.

He tensed, staying as rigid and still as possible as the light reflected off the metal, making it glint in such a pretty way despite the fact that whatever it was going to inflict was sure to be the opposite.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, gasped as the cold metal came downwards to press against his neck.

For one painful moment he truly believed this was it. He was going to die at the hands of his own brother - the same one who had been protecting him all his life. He was going to bleed out in the bunker with his neck slit, just another casualty of Dean's demon side.

But the sharp edge barely pressed into his skin enough to draw a few drops of blood, and then it was removed.

When Sam let his eyes flicker open, Dean was staring at him. His eyes were soft and his smirk held something fond, and if Sam didn't know better? He would've probably thought this was his Dean again.

But there was still something too oddly unsettling about the expression, rooted a little deeper that Sam could really process right now.

"My beautiful baby brother. You went wrong, but we can fix that, me and you. We can get you back on the right path." Dean lifted the knife again, using it to brush some hair from Sam's face.

Sam kept his expression hard. He wasn't giving this thing the satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

Well, that was the plan until the knife was drawn back, and Dean used it to slice open a long cut down his own wrist.

The blood immediatly beaded on the surface, trickling over his skin and drip, drip, drip onto the bed sheets below.

"W-what are you doing? What are you..." Sam trailed off, swallowing hard because he could see exactly where this was going and he needed Cas here now.

"I'm helping you, like I should of all those years ago. This is what your destined for - strength, power, control... you're our boyking, Sammy. It's high time you finally take your throne." Dean hummed, and Sam shook his head desperately.

Cas where the hell are you?!

"No, no please. I- I can't. I don't want to be, please don't." He was begging a demon, and it felt low, embarrassing. But he couldn't do this. He couldn't get back on the stuff, he'd quite literally rather die first.

"Shhh, it's ok Sammy. You remember it, right? How delicious it was. How strong it made you feel pumping through your veins. Let's be honest here, if I hadn't stopped you back then? You'd still be chugging the stuff and have hell under the heel of your boot by now." Dean was talking about it in such a dreamy manner, and he lifted his hand to brush soothingly through Sam's hair.

Sam hated that his body relaxed to the gesture at all, swallowing down the urge to cry.

"Me and you. Forever. You rule hell and I sit at your side, your highness. Your faithful knight."

It was painful to want someone when that someone was sat right in front of you. A twisted, scary and horrible version of that person.

It was Dean's words, his touch, his smile. Things Sam had always responded to automatically. Things that made up all of his earliest memories and things that normally made him feel safe, and that ingrained desire to do everything his big brother asks him to was still very much present even if Dean wasn't fully human anymore.

Even if what he was asking would make him not fully human, too.

"Dean..." it came out more like a whimper than he intended, and those eyes filled with pity.

"You're ok, Sammy. I'm here. Just let it all go and stop thinking so hard."

His wrists were untied slowly, and Sam didn't even try anything. All he could do was watch Dean, feeling tiny and vulnerable and slightly terrified as the demon slid behind him on the bed, and Sam found himself resting against the solid chest of his brother.

"Drink, Sammy." Dean repeated, lifting his wrist up towards Sam's lips, with his free hand drawing lazy circles over his side.

Sam was shaking. A tremor was wracking his body, and Dean moved his hand up to run through his hair, and he felt lips press against the shell of his ear.

"Drink."

Sam let the flesh press against his mouth, letting himself latch on and suck as his fingers gripped at the limb being offered to him like it was his lifeline.

"Good boy."

Dean's eyes returned to black, but Sam couldn't see them anymore.

[ohsamtumbles]

On AO3

[runawaydr3amerao3]

JUN-KIES! JUN-KIES! JUN-KIES! WOO! *crushes beer can on forehead* WOOOOO!

Meathead excitement aside, if you haven't read the previous parts, you're missing out. Just be sure to check the tags. This some heavy shit, yo. Wonderful, painful, sexy, heavy shit.

How heavy, you ask? Well, think 'Knight of Hell Dean getting Sam addicted to his blood and coercing him into scaldingly hot but superbadwrongsexy situations and then trying to unfuck the absolute mess he made' heavy.

But don't panic! @sam-is-my-safe-word is going to fix it. If it's the last thing I do...

Soooooo uhhh...

If you follow me on AO3, you'll know it's been almost a year since I updated my Demonic Junkies series.

Well, I'm pleased to say part 7 is now finished! Holy fuck. It's taken me a whole year to untangle the mess I made. And its not fully untangled, but it's less tangled than it was?

So this Monday (pending a final beta & my travel home from Liverpool Comic Con (omg, I'm gonna meet Jared! I'm gonna throw up) the 1st chapter will be live! If you haven't been following my Demonic Junkies series, and you like wincest, angst, smut, angst, hurt/no comfort AND hurt/comfort, angst, and more then it might be for you!

I'll leave you with this comment from the amazing @runawaydr3amerao3 to whet your appetites <3

[stillintheimpala]

Énouement

Word Count: 1,468

Pairing: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester (platonic)

Summary: “Sam, listen to me. This is the demon blood. You have to fight it!” “Why would I do that?” — Dean happily welcomed death now that he knew his little brother, the one he had loved, was dead too.

Warnings: Major Character Death (canonical), Violence (not graphic)

A/N: Set in the alternate reality seen in 15x04 ‘Atomic Monsters’ where Sam never stopped drinking demon blood.

A soldier. Daddy’s blunt little instrument. The sword of Michael. Heaven’s weapon. He’d rejected all of those titles. He hadn’t let any of them define him; he had defined himself. He’d chosen his own role instead of any of the preselected ones. His destiny was to fight his destiny. He had made his own.

A soldier was what they’d wanted him to be, what they’d expected. He had taken their ideas, wants, and expectations and thrown them back in their face, spitting free will. Fate was not going to have anything to do with his life. His life was his own and that’s how he was going to live it.

But now, as he navigated the halls of the bunker, bathed in the red of the emergency lights, his point feels a little moot. Deafening gunfire is surrounding him with the screams of his (doomed?) men.

Through the haze of the chaos only one thing is clear to him. Clear as day he hears his father’s voice. “Look out for Sammy.” It doesn’t matter the when or where of that specific memory, because they’re all the same. “Watch out for your little brother.” Protecting him never really had to be installed in his mind. It had always been there. Destiny or fate hadn’t put it there. He had put it there himself at the age of four when his mother had placed a little blanket wrapped bundle in his arms and declared him a big brother.

Dean remembers one night, years and years ago clearly: John wasn’t home. He had yelled and left. He did that sometimes. Dean would usually go hug mom and comfort her to the best of his toddler abilities. “It’s okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you.”

But that night was different.

The front door slamming shut had woken up baby Sammy. Dean didn’t know who was crying harder. He usually comforted his mother, but not tonight.

Sammy was awake. Sammy was upset too. Dean didn’t consciously make a choice, he had just barely glanced at his mother crying at the kitchen table before he went over to the playpen, standing on his tiptoes to reach in and pick up his baby brother.

Mommy and Daddy didn’t like Dean holding Sammy without them around since Dean was still small and Sammy even smaller, but Dean didn’t care about getting in trouble right now. Right now, Dean just cared about the bundle of baby brother in his arms.

Baby Sammy’s face was red from crying with tears still rolling down his chubby cheeks, but his wails quieted to little hiccup breaths when he looked up and saw his big brother’s grin. From that moment on, Dean knew he would protect his little brother and never let anything happen to him. Sam knew Dean would always keep him safe. They both knew they had each other no matter what.

Life has a funny way of going to shit.

Dean’s life was his own. His only jobs were to protect Sam and enjoy his free will.

Now, he walked through the halls of the bunker, familiar yet foreign.

The emergency lights were useless. The supernatural lockdown system was supposed to keep evil out, but the evil was in anyway.

The evil had been living with Dean before they even had their rooms in the bunker. The evil had lived with Dean in motel rooms. The evil had lived with Dean before his mother had burned. He had comforted the evil instead of his mother one night. He had been told more times than he could count to watch out for, look after, and protect the evil. Was the evil his brother anymore? Had it ever been? Did the evil become his brother or had his brother become the evil?

The emergency system was useless. A joke. The red lights mocked him. His life was a joke. His family was a joke. He was a joke, and fate and destiny were laughing their asses off.

His reluctance, his refusal to be what they wanted him to be meant nothing. He never wanted to be his father’s or heaven’s soldier, but now, going down the hallways of the bunker flooded with taunting red lights, he looked the part. Silently giving his men orders; he acted the part. He felt the part. Hearing his men yell as gunfire rained as background noise; he was the part.

A soldier he refused to be, yet a soldier he had become.

His brother’s eyes…oh god his brother . The same eyes that would well with tears every time the boy asked why their father wasn’t back yet. The same eyes that would look up at him with pride shining through back when he thought Dean was a hero and the world revolved around him. When his world was Dean. The same eyes with a kicked puppy look that pleaded for Dean to still have answers after Jess, when Dad was missing, after Dad died, after his nightmares and his visions. For an answer of who he might be and what he might become.

Those same eyes were now pure black. Not one hint of the multicolor mystery they had always been. Those were his brother’s eyes, but not his brother’s eyes. He didn’t know this person in front of him. Not anymore. Same but different.

“I knew you’d come looking for me. After Sioux Falls…I guess you had to.”

The evil spoke in his little brother’s voice.

He tried not to flinch at the mention of the town with now tarnished memories. His pseudo father had called to alert him of Sam’s presence at the old house. The house that sometimes felt like a safe haven.

Part of him had foolishly thought of it as good news. The part of him that refused to see Sam as anything but his baby brother. Sam, his Sam, had to be in there somewhere.

Dean had dropped everything to race to the old man’s home, but by the time he’d gotten there, Sam was gone and the crumpled body of Bobby Singer was on the floor of the kitchen, a flask of holy water still in his hand.

This was wrong, this was all wrong. Something else must have happened. Something had been here that wasn’t his brother. It couldn’t have been Sammy.

He knew that thought was a pipe dream.

The house was clean. No sign of a break-in. No sulphur. Nothing out of the ordinary besides Bobby Singer’s corpse lying in front of him.

His next contact was Jody. His call went to voicemail and his stomach dropped. He tried again. And again. No answer. Dean knew what that meant.

“They tried to stop me,” his brother’s voice carried on, “but I will not be stopped.”

Dean didn’t want to believe that it was too late. Sam, the Sam he knew had to still be there. Somewhere.

“Sam, you need to listen to me,” he hoped his voice didn’t give away the mess of emotions he felt running through him. “This is the demon blood. You have to fight it!”

“Why would I do that?”

His chest tightened as the thought that his version of Sam was really gone. Gone for good. He tried to not entertain those thoughts.

Movement caught his eye. One of his men, Tyler, had silently entered further back in the massive library and was now slowly stalking towards what was no longer his brother.

Dean’s eyes only glanced for a second, but that was enough. Or maybe Sam just felt the presence behind him. Dean didn’t know the full extent of the powers his brother now possessed.

Without even turning around, Sam moved his head to the side, and Tyler’s neck snapped immediately, his body falling onto the bunker floor.

He no longer felt any hope of his Sam still existing. He doubted he could ever get him back.

“Sammy, please…” He had hoped there would be some reaction, even a small one, at the use of the old nickname.

Sam’s mouth lifted in a smirk as darkness gleamed in his eyes and Dean wished he hadn’t said it at all.

“Please.” He didn’t know what he was begging for. There wasn’t anything left.

The villainous look stayed put on his brother’s face as his eyes turned pitch black. Dean could only stare back.

Sam was gone for good.

The man he had once called his brother cocked his head to the left and Dean heard the snap of his own neck.

Laying on the ground, feeling himself dying, he watched what used to be Sam climb up the stairs and walk out the door of the bunker.

Dean happily welcomed death now that he knew his little brother, the one he had loved, was dead too.

[phoenix1966sbottom]

Hey, phoenix! I love your works on AO3 and I've read them all at least 6 times. I was wondering if you could write a fic where Dean is still a demon and forces Sam to drink his blood and they have heated sex later. That would really make my day! I'm just asking, you don't have to say yes.

Glad to hear you like my work. :)

As I mentioned here last week, I lost my job so most everything extracurricular is off the table right now.

You might poke around on Ao3 as this is a popular kink/pwp idea! If anyone has any favorites, feel free to mention them in the notes for this anon.

[coffee4bookworm]

Sometimes the bad is real bad and the good, it can come at one hell of a price.

[ohsamtumbles]

This fic is so DINGDANGED good! Trust me on this and read it right now.

Fic, on AO3: ‘Still Driving’ for julia_sets

[soulsofanarchyyyi]

     ‘ please don’t --------- ‘

           nostrils flared and his mind was slowing down. enraged and surged through his NEED for demon blood, it was the higher risk he would take. his pupils dialed together, alternating under his true COLORS and pitch black as he looked at the indivual stating before him.

                     ‘ why are you doing THIS ? ? ‘