#do you think that sam drank rubys blood and missed how deans tasted

[samdeancrimespree]

samdean having the same blood type is so important to me like icb we never saw them giving each other blood transfusions.

it would’ve been john’s idea at first… sam gets a serious injury on one of his first hunts and he’s losing blood but they’re in the woods and john— calm, ignoring the obvious horror and self-blame on dean’s face— orders dean to the car, go get the first aid kit. dean’s out of breath when he gets back, silently taking over putting pressure on sam’s wound, entire focus on keeping him awake, you’re okay sammy, just look at me. he barely takes notice of john until he’s pulling dean’s left hand off sam, pushing up his sleeve. dean doesn’t even glance at him until he feels something stick in his forearm. that’s when he looks, seeing plastic tubing and needles. he makes brief eye contact with his father, understanding despite never going to a doctor before, and turns back to sam. sam barely reacts to the needle in his arm, just a weak flutter of eyelids, and dean sits there in shock until john smacks him on the side of the head, ordering him to stand up. dean obeys, already a good soldier at 17. he stands over sam like a guardian angel, watching his blood travel down the tube into sam’s veins as john sews the hole in his abdomen shut.

john knows from looking at him that he must be lightheaded, but dean still insists on helping sammy back to the car, sticking close to him like he’ll die if he lets go.

both boys in the backseat, pale from blood loss, but alive. sam’s head is on dean’s shoulder, and deans arm is around him, blood-stained fingers dragging up and down his arm slowly, soothing.

john doesn’t even argue about them sharing a bed that night; he’s too tired. dean refuses to leave sam’s side for a moment, washing the blood and grime off sam’s face, hands and stomach without doing the same for himself. they fall asleep with sam’s face almost against dean’s chest and dean’s arms tight around him, feeling him breathing.

once they know they can, they do it a lot. dean offering when it’s really not necessary, and sam letting him, both pretending they don’t just enjoy sharing everything about themselves.

and Maybe when they get a drop of blood on their hands they just lick it off instead of dirtying their clothes and Maybe that’s where sam got his taste for blood from but who am i to say

#dean gets a violent reminder that sam actually Is still tiny and delicate and dean could lose him #and dean hates john for bringing his baby on the hunt #i just know john was happy about the two of them having the same blood type…. even when they were babies #i love field medicine as long as it’s This #they’re such freaks #ik for demon blood plot purposes this wouldn’t happen but idc man #do you think that sam drank rubys blood and missed how deans tasted #weirdcest #wincest #weecest #samdean #blood kink #mars.txt #teenchesters #pre series #my writing

[nonagesimus]

abominable (Sam/Paul ~1300 words)

(AO3 Link)

For all that Sam prayed, he didn’t like churches when they were filled with people.

He and Dean had stayed with Pastor Jim enough growing up that he’d spent a lot of time in church but a relatively small proportion when Mass was in service. Mostly when there were only a few people around, maybe praying in the pews, maybe lighting a candle. When it was quiet, and easy, and conversations had to be kept soft. Dean hated it, but Pastor Jim didn’t mind answering Sam’s questions, whether they were about monsters, the bible, or his homework, just as long as they didn’t interrupt the parishioners.

There was another priest at the church too, who Sam didn’t talk to much. Didn’t even know if the man knew about the true monsters in the world. He knew that his least favourite thing was Mass when the other man preached. They didn’t stay every time, if Jim wasn’t running the service sometimes he’d take them somewhere else, but when they did. Sat on hard wooden pews, unable to twist himself to sit comfortably, listening to a tirade against sinners.

Sam was thirteen and being bowled over by Bryce Turner during PE had set his heart pounding for reasons completely unrelated to the air being knocked out of him.

Three weeks later he was back in Minnesota listening to this absolute asshole quote Leviticus and- After, Jim seemed to realise something was off. He let Sam hole up in his office until the church was mostly empty again, the congregation finished with their conversations.

“Do you think it’s all true?” Sam asked. “God needs you to follow all those rules?” He couldn’t bring himself to specify.

The way Jim was looking at Sam made him think he might’ve guessed. “I think it’s doctrine,” he said. “And some people find doctrine helpful, but it was written by men. So it has all the same failures as men do.”

Sam let out a long, shaky breath. “Ok,” he said.

Gently, Jim said, “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“No,” Sam said. Then, quieter, “I just worry. That there’s something wrong with me and-”

“Hey,” Jim says, gripping his shoulder, “Sam. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re the way God made you.”

Sam’s breath got shakier. Jim pulled him into a hug. Sam stayed there for a long time.

And it helped, that conversation. Became a touchstone. After, Jim always had something else to do on Sundays when the other priest was the one delivering the sermon. It wasn’t perfect. There was still plenty to give him that feeling like his skin was the wrong size. Like there was something fundamentally bad. Not just in church, plenty of other places too. But he breathed deep, thought about what Jim had told him. Kept moving. He tried, at Stanford. Plenty of places of worship around, but Sam never learned to like the services better.

Anyway. Turned out he’d had demon blood flowing through him ever since he was six months old, so maybe it wasn’t just the queer thing making him feel weird in churches.

By the time they were back in Blue Earth, Minnesota Sam was sure he had bigger sins to worry about. And it wasn’t like Pastor Jim was still around to comfort him.

“A wedding?” he asked, on edge from the fight, from dying a few scant days before, from kickstarting the damn apocalypse. “Seriously?” It was rude, for sure, luckily the only person who seemed to hear him was one of the soldiers - Paul.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a grimace like he agreed with Sam’s attitude. “We’ve had eight so far this week.”

It wasn’t Jim’s church. Still, Sam felt like he could breath easier once he was in the command centre in the basement, and then easier again once he was outside. It was Paul behind the bar - easy rapport with the rest of the soldiers, easy with Sam when he wandered over as well. In a different way.

“That round’s on me,” he said, with a wink and a half cocked smile.

It was warm, and it was recognisable, and it pulled at Sam’s gut. Worse as he turned back to Dean. It wasn’t- he hadn’t been hiding, but it wasn’t like he’d been picking up guys in every town, and they’d never had a conversation. Easy to miss. Idly, he wondered where coming out fell on the list of confessions he’d had to make to Dean over the years. Better or worse than being psychic, or sleeping with Ruby, or the demon blood.

He drank his beer in record time and watched where Paul was serving drinks at the other side of the bar.

It was Dean’s decision when to head back to the motel room, and Paul flipped him a salute when he looked back on his way.

They watched a kid die, and the mother spat the words, “This is your fault.” Dean looked stricken. Sam mentally added a tally to their list. The pluses and minuses. They’d save the town, they would, he had to believe they would, but how many would they lose along the way. Then the beginning of mourning got interrupted by a vision, because apparently angels were that kind of asshole too. A church full of desperate, scared people and they got a litany of rules. Drawing a line in a sand that was just a big circle keeping them penned in.

Sam wanted to tell them being chosen by angels usually wasn’t a good thing, but he held his tongue.

Besides, what was there to say? That he’d met angels, and most of them weren’t worth the effort of trying to impress? That, as far as they could tell, God was taking an extended sabbatical and didn’t care the apocalypse had started? Sam prayed for Dylan’s soul, but he couldn’t tell where faith ended and habit began.

Dean went back to the church, but Sam couldn’t deal with the people anymore so he slid into the tavern.

Paul leaned over the bar to meet him, and they talked, and it was all that warmth and recognition again. When Sam kissed him, Paul’s smile was slow and sweet as dripping honey and all he said was, “I should make sure everything’s cleaned up before curfew.”

Were the angels watching, he thought, as he flaunted the rules they’d laid down? And, sure, this particular set of rules from a soft-spoken midwestern preacher hadn’t said anything specific about ‘perverts’ but Sam had heard enough sermons in enough churches to read between the lines. Even if it mattered, it was far from the only thing damning him, and he won’t give this up, the warmth, the burn, Paul’s hand curled in his shirt as he tugged him behind the bar.

Dean asked where he’d been and he said, “Drinking,” with the taste of Paul still on his tongue.

Anyway, it wasn’t God, it wasn’t angels, it was just more demons, and it should have been obvious from the get go. Castiel was sitting beside him on the couch, still smelling strongly of whiskey, calling Sam an abomination like it was obvious, because it was. Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam like he was waiting for him to protest.

What could he say? The knees of his jeans were still damp because Paul had just finished mopping the floors when Sam sucked him off.

He still had demon blood in him.

He still dreamed about the devil.

Sitting sides pressed together on the bar floor, arms slung over each other - laughing and warm in the knowledge that there were still things that were good. They didn’t last forever, they didn’t even last long, but they were bright enough to dispel the darkness. Paul had turned his head and pressed his lips to the point of Sam’s jaw, then again an inch in, worked his way along to his mouth and kissed him properly.

It did not feel like sin. It did not feel like an act of rebellion. It felt like an act of reverence.

It felt divine.

#supernatural #sam winchester #supernatural fic #sam winchester fic #queer sam winchester #my fic

[xalgaliareptx]

Kill of the Night

trigger warnings: blood, violence, non-con, bondage, etc. 

You got Sam’s number off a hunter, so you called to tell him about a vamp nest. 5 hours later, the boys were knocking on your motel room door. Seeing as this was the only room left, they boys were left to bunk with you.

You woke the next morning with something stiff poking you, “Dean, that better be a flashlight that’s poking my ass cheek right now” you said scooting away.

Dean didn’t answer, but you could hear him laugh while he rolled out of bed and made his way into the bathroom.

Sam chuckled as he threw the thin motel sheets off his long body. Standing up, he stretched his lean muscles, much to your delight. His arms went above his head as he leaned back slightly, his shirt pulled up to reveal a tight and toned lower stomach. Your eyes travelling to the deep V on both sides. To point the way to salvation, my dear. You thought hungrily.

The younger Winchester was just as beautiful as Dean, but in a quieter way. Dean’s attractiveness was in your face, fueled by his cocky ego.  Sam was subtle in his beauty, a quiet confidence. I bet they both knew how to fuck you into a coma, though. Thinking of the boys like that had your mind travelling to darker places and you shivered with anticipation.

The bathroom door opened, taking your attention away from Sam. Dean walked out of the bathroom with only a towel on. You couldn’t help but stare. Damn, this guy was beautiful. His hair was in wet spikes, his green eyes bright against his tanned face. Your eyes couldn’t help but travel down his body, taking in every freckle. Every scar. Your eyes danced over his tight chest, taking in his perky nipples pulled tight from the abuse of the cold air. Imagining your tongue dancing over them, while Dean moaned your name. His strong hands fisting tight in your hair, almost had you rubbing your thighs together.

“Take a picture sweetheart, it’ll last longer” he sassed, shooting you a wink.

That knocked you out of your stupor. You couldn’t think of a comeback so you just stuck your tongue out at him.

Dean laughed deep in his throat. “I got something you can do with that tongue” he said suggestively. Oh shit. You wanted to drink him dry at the thought. Sam decided to speak up then, distracting you from your urges.

“Come on man, I haven’t even had my coffee yet, can you not?” Sam whined, grabbing his clothes to take into the bathroom.

After showers, you and the boys sat down in the back booth of the diner down the street, to plan your attack on the vamp nest. You had it pretty much figured out, with your intel and superior knowledge of the place, so you put the papers away to enjoy the final meal with the boys.

It was around 3pm, when everyone was ready to go and take care of the nest. You all loaded up and headed off to the warehouse, where you knew they would be. Sitting in the back of the impala, you could feel the deep rumble of the engine. It was not mixing well with the feeling in your gut. Maybe anxiety with a side of eggs? It was too late to back out now. Everyone was counting on you. Counting on your intel.

The impala sat, idling for what seemed like a lifetime. Everyone looking at the imposing building in front of you. Dean turned off baby, “let’s go gank these bitches”. Your stomach did a flip.

You got out, fighting the urge to vomit, and headed to the trunk to wait for Dean to pass out weapons. The plan was simple. The boys decided it would be better for you to wait for them to clear out the den first. Dean would take the back entrance, Sam the front and you would follow a few moments later, getting any stragglers they had missed.

The sound of gravel crunching from your footsteps, raked against your brain. Your nerves were on fire. You watched the flannel duo disappear to their appointed spots. You hoped this was over soon. Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you started walking towards the warehouse.

Once the boys made it through the doors, you counted to thirty and walked into the building. What you saw made your stomach fill with bile, blood everywhere and bodies without heads scattering the floor. The lifeless eyes of your family staring up at you, seeming to say “why did you let them do this to us?” The smell of pennies filled the air, clouding your mind. Your sharp teeth started to push out of your gums, fueled by your rage.

No. No, this isn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This many weren’t supposed to die. They were supposed to get the jump on the Winchesters. You had made sure your nest had enough numbers, the Winchesters didn’t stand a chance. Your nest would be famous, the ones who took out the flannel wearing fuckers. But, you had underestimated the Winchesters and lead them straight into your home and let them slaughter half your family. The guilt was enough to bring you to your knees. You held on to the pain, it would give you an edge while fighting. You stood up and followed the sounds of fighting into the next room and Dean and Sam surrounded, fighting back to back.

The moment Dean had seen you walk in and his eyes lit up with hope. It was enough to make you sick. The light in Dean’s eyes vanished as he saw your teeth. Anger and betrayal darkened his eyes. In a challenge, Dean chopped another vamps head off, eyes never wavering from yours.

You ran towards Dean, rage coursing beneath your skin. “She was my sister!” you screamed as you ducked the swing of his machete. Your body collided into his solid mass and you both went sprawling. Quick on the recovery, you jumped on Dean’s back and stuck the syringe into the soft flesh of his neck. Dean threw you off, and quickly pulled the needle from his neck. He looked at you, hate in his eyes. “you bitch.” Then he collapsed.

“DEAN!” Sam yelled, trying to fight off the other vamps to get to his brother. You could smell the adrenaline in his blood. He was fighting hard, but your nest had numbers. It was like watching a pack of wolves take down a bull moose. It took 5 of your brothers to hold him down long enough for you to stick the needle in his neck. Sam’s usually soft eyes, were hard and dark. A storm raged in his eyes. You pulled back your fear, and smiled down at him, placing a kiss to his cheek as he slumped in your brothers’ hold.

 You had tied Dean to a chair, pulled his pants down low enough to release his soft cock. You started to play with it, twisting your hand around tugging gently. Deans head bobbed, his pleasure trying to clear away the unconsciousness. You took him into your warm mouth and swirled your tongue around the head. His cock twitched in your mouth, coming to life.you could hear soft moans coming from Dean. He would be awake soon. You straddled his bare lap, sinking down, sending his hard cock deep into your cunt. Dean groaned, his eyes fluttering open. You leaned in, hot breath against his skin, as you licked up his neck “I wanna taste the way you bleed” you whispered against his neck before biting into the soft skin. Dean growled and you sucked harder, savoring the warm liquid. Dean struggled against the ropes that bound him. “You fucking bitch, I’m gonna cut your goddamned head off” Dean growled, trying to pull away from your mouth, tearing his skin more as he struggled.

You pulled back, his blood running down your chin. “Now, Dean, that isn’t any way to talk to a lady, especially one you are balls deep in.” you rolled your hips and he groaned. You grabbed his face to make him look at you. Dean jerked his head out of your hands.

“You fucking drugged me. I would never fuck a blood sucker like you.” He spat at you.

You smiled, bracing against his chest, you lifted your body so his tip was at your entrance and you slammed your hips down. Dean growled deep in chest. You could feel the rumble against your fingertips. His face was scrunched with his eyes closed. His muscles were tight against the restraints.

His cock filled you in a way you had never experienced before. He was hitting all the right spots, deep within your body.

You giggled, rolling your hips. The head of his cock hit your cervix and it made your breath catch. “Sounds like you are enjoying it.” He moaned, despite himself. You purred against his neck, licking at the wounds you had left there, keeping them open so the blood flowed freely.

“You know you’ve wanted me since the moment you saw me back at the motel.” His eyes met yours, you could see the truth in them. Shame crossed his eyes before flashing back to anger.

“That was before I knew you were a traitorous, blood sucking bitch!” he yelled, struggling against the ropes again bucking his hips up and into and he groaned, ashamed his body was betraying him. You could feel the pressure building in your core and you knew you were close. You started grinding harder, trying to find that sweet spot to send you over the edge.

Deans breathe was getting more ragged, his balls tightened against your ass and you knew he was close though he was trying to fight it. You bit hard into his neck as you came, moaning as you drank the ruby liquid. Thrusting your hips deeper into him as you rode out the wave of pleasure. You felt good knowing you had made the great Dean Winchester cum against his will. Taking that from him, would keep you warm and fuzzy at night.

Dean yelled, whether it was in ecstasy or frustration you didn’t know or care, and you felt him pulse inside you, his deliciously hot cum coating your fluttering walls, triggering another orgasm. You milked him dry, your hungry pussy wanting all he had to give. You drank deeply from his neck, satisfying all of your primal needs.

Dean started to weaken, his head falling to the side, limbs going slack. You stopped drinking, not wanting to finish him off just yet, you had planned on getting off a few more times before ending him. You got off his lap, enjoying the sight before you. The blood from his neck was running down his chiseled chest, to mix with your combined juices covering his soft cock. He looked positively delicious. You looked up at Dean’s face and saw him smiling. The air shifted behind you, turning just in time to see a blood-covered Sam, rage burning in his eyes, and a cruel smile playing at his lips. He was going to enjoy killing you. “Gotcha” he said, swinging the machete. There was no time to react, no time to even scream before the sting of cold metal was biting into your soft flesh, leaving you silent forever.

#dean winchester #Sam Winchester #vampire