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fallin2pieces · 25 days ago

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ִ ࣪𖤐 the boy with the demon blood

pairing sam winchester x female demon!reader summary after killing high rank hunters, you get hunted by others. you seek answers from sam by kidnapping him. what begins as interrogation turns into something darker and more intimate. notices/warnings HEAVY NSFW CONTENT, smut with plot, kidnapping, unprotected sex, questionable consent, knife play, season 4 demon blood addict sam so blood sucking, but from both sides... restraint (ropes), angst, manipulation, degradation. lowercase intended! might've missed some. english isn't my first language! author's note SHE'S BAAACKKK YEAAAA :D I'm back with a long ass fic, I saw that gif and immediately thought of this idea... I may be crazy I may be not whateva, ENJOY

the boy with the demon blood. that's how you knew him. that's how every black eyed entity roaming around on this godforsaken earth knew him. the demon child turned man, filled with rage and sins.

sam winchester.

you always heard stories, whispers, the soft clinking of teeth behind cruel smiles when his name was spoken in the deeper circles.

they said he was azazel’s favorite. they said he could tear the whole world apart. they said he was going to lead hell’s army.

but you knew him more than they did. you knew him better than that.

you met sam almost a year ago, during a hunt he shouldn’t have survived.

you were masquerading as a small-town sheriff. just for fun, really. the actual one had begged for life for two days before his flesh burned to ashes. you liked wearing uniforms, liked the control, the fear. and you loved when hunters came to town.

sam wasn’t the one you expected. too tall. eyes too soft. but beneath them, you felt it. that glint of something more. something darker.

he didn’t know you were a demon. not at first. but you knew exactly who he was the second he walked into your office.

the boy with the demon blood.

you watched him tear through town like a storm, his hands soaked in someone else’s blood, looking for a cult you’d helped build. you watched him interrogate people until his knuckles bled. and you loved it.

hell, he even warned you to not get too involved for the sake of your well being, that he could handle it all.

he thought he was hunting demons. he didn’t realize he was dancing with one every night he came back to you with questions, bloody hands, a mouth full of frustration and fury.

until he did.

until he found the sigil buried under your desk and the blood-stained blades in your drawer. until you turned and smiled at him with eyes that bled black.

you fought. god, did you fight.

he nearly killed you. nearly. pressed the knife to your throat and screamed for you to name yourself.

you just laughed at him. and then vanished in a cloud of sulfur and fire, leaving behind a scar on his shoulder he still doesn’t talk about.

second encounter was in chicago. months later. he was already darker. drinking too much, sleeping too little.

you followed him. let him catch a glimpse of you in a crowd. lured him into a warehouse where you’d painted the floor in blood. a summoning gone wrong, you claimed.

you saved him that night.

that’s the part that drives him crazy.

you killed the demon that was going to snap his spine in half. ripped it apart before it touched him. and then you just… stood there.

he didn’t understand. asked why you helped.

"because you're mine to ruin" you said, watching how fear, rage and confusion danced in his eyes.

you smirked, "you don't have to look so scared... I don't mean right now", you leaned in close, lips nearly brushing his ear, "I'm saving it for something special."

you kissed him then. just once. just to prove you could. and then you walked away, left him shaking and furious, with blood on his collar and lust boiling tight in his gut like a curse.

the game continued.

each time he found you, it ended in a nightmare.

a church in tennessee, where you disguised yourself as a nun, whispered things in latin that made 2 priests bleed from their eyes.

a bar in kansas city, where you let him pin you to a wall and nearly drive a blade through your ribs before twisting it out of his hands and vanishing.

a motel in illinois, where he dreamt of you, moaning his name, only to wake up with your hex bag under his pillow.

you haunted him. but not in cheap ways other stupid demons did.

you studied him. you let him hate you. you let him fantasize about stabbing you with a blade in your throat. and also let him fantasize about having you in ways he couldn't even dare to admit to himself.

but now, you got yourself in trouble. and you know that sam winchester happens to know something about it.

so that's exactly why you cross your paths with him again.

this time more brutal. filled with more terror.

the first thing sam registers is the cold.

not the sharp kind that bites, no, this is the thick, cold of stone and wood, old blood and older air. his arms ache, stretched and pinned behind the old wood pole at his back, the rough grain of it digging into his spine. his legs are bound at the ankles too, spread just enough to remind him that he’s not going anywhere.

the second thing he notices is the silence. no wind. no birds. just the soft creak of aging wood and something… dripping.

a sharp inhale, and pain rushes through his temple, blinding and stabbing. he winces, squints. everything’s dim. there’s a faint amber glow from a single lantern somewhere to his left, casting long shadows across the barn walls.

night has fallen, judging by the way moonlight spills in through the broken slats in the wooden walls, but it’s impossible to tell how long it’s been dark.

sam groans. his head lolls forward. blinking through the blur, he glances around as best he can.

nothing. no figures. no voices.

“took you long enough. you were passed out for hours.”

the voice slides in like smoke under a door. familiar. feminine. almost casual, but laced with something sharp.

his head snaps up. his eyes search frantically, pupils adjusting. and then he sees you.

you step into view slowly, like you’ve been watching him all along. a quiet sort of amusement curls on your lips as you walk across the barn and sink into a chair right in front of him. legs crossed, spine straight, hands folded in your lap like you’re about to read him a bedtime story. you lean forward just enough that moonlight catches your face, your eyes gleaming, lips curved in that same arrogant smirk he remembers too well.

“but that’s my fault,” you add, “I think I knocked you out pretty bad.”

he stares. disbelief. fury. recognition. and then, the memory punches through the fog in his skull.

the alleyway. the sudden sting in his side. you stepping out of the shadows, all confidence and venom, driving something sharp into him. his vision doubling, his legs giving out. he’d fought. he remembers that now. but whatever you used, it wasn’t ordinary.

his jaw clenches. his muscles pull against the restraints, testing.

“you…” he breathes, voice low, rasped. “of course it’s you."

you tilt your head and flash him a sweet, mocking smile.

“miss me?”

a dry laugh dies in his throat.

“what the hell is this?” he growls. “why am I here?”

“you’re here,” you say, leaning forward, elbows on your knees, voice soft but steady, “because you know something. and I need to know it too.”

he blinks, confused. angry.

“what are you talking about? I don’t know anything-"

“don’t insult either of us,” you interrupt, tone sharpening. “you’re sam winchester. you always know something.”

he glares at you, breathing heavy. sweat drips down his temple, cuts stinging along his jawline. his wrists twist in the ropes again.

“I don’t want to kill you, sam... well not yet anyway,” you say after a pause, voice low and sincere. “that’s not what this is. would’ve been a waste of time bringing you all the way out here if that was the plan.”

he narrows his eyes. “then what?”

"information."

“you kidnapped me for intel?”

you laugh softly.

“sam, come on. you and your brother, you know everyone. every hunter. every holy water-chugging, latin-chanting, blade-swinging freak in this country. and lately? a few of them have been getting real bold.”

he stiffens, silent.

“they’re hunting me down,” you continue, voice low now, serious. “not just your average rookies, real heavy hitters. I barely slipped out of a devil’s trap a week ago. one guy nearly burned me to ash two nights ago.”

sam’s expression doesn’t shift, but his eyes study you now, not with confusion, but calculation.

“so you’ve made yourself a target,” he mutters. “big surprise.”

you shrug. “I killed someone. a few someones. they were hunters. it got messy. and now they want revenge, apparently.”

“maybe you should’ve stayed in hell,” sam snaps.

that makes you chuckle. you crouch down from the chair, your fingers brushing along the wood beam beside his head, deliberately not touching him, but letting your presence loom.

“maybe. but that’s not the point. the point is, I don’t know who they are. I don’t know where they’re coming from, or how they’re tracking me. but you…” you lean in, voice almost a whisper. “you’re connected. and whether you like it or not, I think you might already have what I need.”

sam exhales sharply through his nose. “if you think I’m going to help you-”

“I don’t. not willingly, anyway.”

there’s a beat of silence. then...

“but I’m patient.”

you stand up again, stepping away.

“you’ll be staying here a little while,” you say, almost pleasantly. “figure I’ll give you some time to think. maybe remember a few names. dig into that pretty head of yours.”

sam pulls at the ropes, but they don’t budge. his chest rises and falls faster now, frustration edging into panic, but you don’t acknowledge it.

“you’re insane,” he mutters.

you only smirk again. “wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

and then you’re moving toward the door, hands casually in your jacket pockets.

but before you leave, you stop. turn back.

and your voice drops low, like you’re letting him in on something that should unsettle him.

“they’re not just after me, sam.”

he frowns.

“they’re after you, too. they just haven’t made their move yet.”

you leave him with that, a poisoned thought, buried deep, and walk out into the night, leaving the door to creak half-open behind you.

his eyes linger there, haunted.

because he knows you’re not lying.

it felt like an eternity for sam to sit through the night, but his tired limbs eventually gave out and whatever you used on him was still having some kind of effect on him.

he passed out in the morning.

and when he woke up, the sun was already dipping low again, the golden slashes of it breaking in the old, dusty and creaky windows of the barn.

and you. you were still sitting in the same chair, but this time a few feet away from him, your back facing him, legs resting on the table in front of you, holding a phone to your ear.

his phone.

you hit play on another voicemail.

"sam, it's me again," dean's voice cracked faintly, trying too hard to sound like he wasn't loosing his goddamn mind. "just... call me back, okay? I don't know where the hell you are, and this whole thing just smells wrong... I don't know if you're in trouble- just... call me okay? please."

you sighed and sinked further into the chair, letting your head fall back dramatically.

“nothing,” you muttered, your voice low and smooth. “ nothing… god, I hate this detective crap.”

the chair creaked as you twisted to look at him. sam was still slouched against the thick wooden post you’d bound him to, his wrists raw from tugging against the ropes, chest rising and falling under the thin, sweat-slicked fabric of his shirt. his hair was a mess, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“morning, sunshine,” you purred with a devilish smirk, tone dripping with sarcasm. “sleep well?”

he didn’t answer, only glared. jaw clenched, eyes hard.

“don’t give me that look, sam. you’re the one who made me knock you out.” you tilted your head playfully. “and tie you up. and drag you into the middle of nowhere. god, you’re so high maintenance.”

still, no answer. that made you grin even wider.

you crossed the barn slowly, boots echoing on the hollow wooden floor as you circled him.

"I just need the names, sam. tell me... and I'll let you go... maybe."

he still didn’t speak. just glared. he was angry. frustrated. maybe even a little scared.

"you and your brother are the celebrities in the hunting world, I know that you know something. I know that you know exactly what I'm talking about."

he still kept quiet, his breathing heavy.

you turned your back again, strolling lazily toward the chair, as if this were just some casual conversation between old friends. but your next words were like razors, sharp and soft.

“well, unfortunately, sam… if you don’t start talking… I’m gonna have to kill you myself.”

the silence thickened. then his raspy voice echoed.

“I’d like to see you try.”

your body stilled mid-step. a second passed. then you turned around slowly, a dangerous glint dancing in your eyes.

“promise?”

that smirk curled across your face like a dagger’s edge. you walked toward him. this time without any false playfulness. every step deliberate. heavy with heat. you stood right in front of him, your eyes trailing his face like you were memorizing it.

your fingers reached out, slow, careful, and traced his lips, then slid along his jaw. he turned his face away from you at first.

“mm,” you hummed, almost amused. “don't be rude.”

you straddled him slowly, deliberately, knees braced on either side of his thighs where he sat bound against the pole. his muscles tensed. his breath hitched. a warning? a plea? you weren’t sure yet. and didn’t really care.

you pulled the small pocket knife from your back pocket, flipping it open with a smirk on your lips.

you tilted his face toward you with the blade, dragging the tip of it down his cheek gently, just enough to make him freeze. then slowly, teasingly, you brought it to his bottom lip.

you pressed it just enough to break skin.

a bead of blood stained his lips.

you smirked.

then, you leaned in and kissed him.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t slow. it was heat and hunger and something far more dangerous than lust. you tasted the blood on his lips, smearing it with your tongue, breathing in the scent of him, anger and sweat and something darker, deeper.

when you finally pulled back, you licked your lips and smiled.

“you want mine too?” you whispered.

his eyes went wide, but only for a second. you could see it, the twitch in his jaw, the flicker of recognition. the want.

you knew. you always knew.

“thought so,” you murmured, fingers gliding down his neck. “I can smell it on you, sam. the blood. the power. It’s in you, isn’t it?”

sam’s chest rose and fell with barely restrained fury, but his eyes, god, his eyes were betraying him. they flickered, for just a second, with something primal. something hungry.

you saw it. you felt it. and you leaned into it like a slow poison.

your fingers slid along the open collar of his shirt, slick with sweat and grit. the blood was drying on his lip, but you dragged your thumb over it, before sucking it into your mouth.

his jaw clenched.

“I know you, sam. I know what you're doing in the dark. I know how good it feels.” you trailed your hand down his chest now, over his ribs, over the bloodstained shirt, then lower still. not quite touching, just threatening to. “and I know you’re not as clean as dean thinks you are.”

“shut up,” he hissed.

you leaned in until your mouth was brushing his ear. “why? are you feeling exposed?"

his breath hitched.

“tell me the names,” you said, tone soft, coaxing, just slightly breathless now. “give me what I want, sam. and I’ll give you what you want.”

you slowly dragged your tongue across his jawline. he didn’t pull away. but he didn’t lean in either. not yet.

so you upped the game.

you picked up the knife again, and without breaking eye contact, you dragged it across your own wrist. slowly. deliberately.

drops of black-red blood slid down your arm.

his pupils dilated.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible, head pressing back against the wood, forcing his eyes shut, like he was trying to physically escape himself.

you held your wrist just out of reach. “c’mon, sam,” you coaxed. “I know you've been dreaming about this moment, tasting me. just like you dreamt about having me in ways you can't even admit to yourself...” you tilted your head, just a little, a smirk appearing on your lips, "can you?"

he opened his eyes and looked at you. you saw it. plain as day.

the want. the need. the shame and fury of it all.

you smirked, straddling him tighter now, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. his arms strained against the ropes, muscles taut and trembling.

“I’m exactly what you need, sam.”

the air inside the barn thickened, suffocating with heat and temptation. your blood dripped slowly from your wrist.

sam’s eyes were locked onto it. onto you.

he was losing the fight, and you could see it, in the twitch of his jaw, the tightening in his thighs beneath yours, the way his breath had turned shallow and ragged. not pain. not exhaustion.

need. disgustingly overwhelming need.

“you hate me,” you whispered, pressing closer, brushing his chest with yours, lips grazing his temple. “you think I’m the villain in your story.”

his hands clenched into fists where they were still tied. his whole body quivered with tension.

“but you want me anyway.”

you pressed your wrist against his mouth.

“drink.”

he didn’t move.

“drink, sam,” you repeated, “taste me. feel what it’s like to stop pretending you’re not a monster too.”

he gave in with a sound between a growl and a gasp. his lips closed over your wrist, and the moment your blood touched his tongue, something inside him broke.

you felt it.

felt it in the way his hips jerked upward against you.

felt it in the way his teeth bit down on your skin now, hunger spiraling.

you smirked, letting him take, letting him drown in you. your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there like you were his anchor, when you were really the storm.

he pulled back with a sharp gasp, lips wet and eyes blazing. his pupils were blown wide, face flushed, chest heaving.

and then, you heard it.

snap.

one rope broke, the frayed end slipping loose around his wrist.

your breath hitched, eyes darting down.

another snap.

you didn’t move. you didn’t have to. this was what you’d wanted all along.

and before you could speak, his hand was around your throat, not choking, just claiming. his thumb brushed your jaw, almost gentle, before he shoved you back against the wooden pole, breathing hard.

“what the hell are you doing to me,” he growled, voice deeper now, raw and cracked.

you just smiled. “ruining you.”

you watched as lust and primal hunger slowly replaced the fury in his eyes. his breathing was heavy.

"you think i'm gonna run?" he asked, tone rough and sharp, "no. i'm gonna ruin you myself."

then he kissed you.

and it wasn’t like the first kiss. it wasn’t even a kiss, not really. it was teeth and hunger and vengeance in the shape of a man. his mouth crashed into yours with feral force, all heat and rage and need colliding.

and then he bit down.

hard.

right on your lower lip.

you gasped into him, the sting sharp and perfect, your hands flying up to grip his neck just as the blood welled between your mouths.

he groaned, deep and guttural.

then, slowly, deliberately, he dragged his tongue across your torn lip, licking the blood from it like it was honey, like it was his.

you shivered, spine arching against the pole.

he sucked the blood out of your bottom lip between kisses, as you gasped and moaned on his mouth.

he slipped his tongue into your mouth, your blood on his tongue mixing so perfectly with the faint taste of his on yours, it almost blurred into something holy.

and then he whimpered.

he fucking whimpered while sucking on your skin.

“you’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down your throat like he wanted to consume every inch of you.

“no,” you breathed. “you will. when you realize you don’t want to stop.”

that made him groan. his hands fisted in your shirt, tugging you impossibly closer, his body pulsing with need and barely caged violence and fury.

your hands grabbed his belt, legs wrapped around his hips, bringing him flush against you with a smirk, to the point where you felt his hard length press on your inner thighs.

his hand quickly reached for the back of your neck, fisting your hair in a tight, brutal grip, hurting so good.

"yeah, you feel that?" he spoke, pushing his hips down between your legs, "that's what you do to me." his dick pressed against your clothed pussy so perfectly it almost made you moan.

you could feel his hot breath on your mouth, his gaze never leaving your face. a smirk appeared on your lips.

"I love how much you hate me." you spoke, tone sharp and witty, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "it turns you on, doesn't it?"

and sam snapped.

his hands were all over your body in a second, his hunger getting unbearable to the point where it hurt.

he didn't even bother to take your top off, he just ripped your pants and your jacket off with shaky hands.

and when you tugged at the hem of his shirt, raising it upwards, he almost teared it off himself.

he didn't have time for foreplay, for being slow or gentle. no. that wasn't sam.

anymore.

that version of him disappeared the second your blood stained his tongue like sin. and no matter how hard he would try, he could never rip this memory out of his mind or scrub himself clean.

he undid his belt and the zipper of his pants with fast, trembling fingers. he didn't take his jeans off, just shoved it down his thighs along with his boxers, freeing his leaky and aching dick, which was begging to be inside you. the sight alone made your mouth water and your pussy clench around nothing.

he pushed your lace panties to the side, the faint contact making a moan escape your lips. he huffed.

"you're enjoying this, aren't you? making me break. destroying me." he spoke with shaky breaths, dragging his cock between your wet and slick folds with his hand. "you think you're ruining me with this? baby I've already been ruined the second you showed up in my dreams, moaning my name and taking me soo good."

"I know," you breathed heavily, allowing yourself a smirk "I saw it in your eyes every time you looked at me."

the look you gave him spoke more volumes than any words, like you already knew every single dark thought he ever had about you.

like you already knew how he fantasized about your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, gagging at his length every time he pushed your head to take him whole.

how he fantasized about fucking you stupid, while saying "you think I give a fuck what you are? I want you anyway. and I don't care that it's wrong."

his lips twitched. hunger and fury blended into each other in his eyes.

and then came his hand around your neck.

tight and claiming. owning.

the grip cut off enough air that your world and your thoughts narrowed to only him.

he pushed himself inside you. not slow. not giving you time to adjust to his size.

a grunt left your lips as he began pounding into you with a fast rhythm, losing himself in you.

your fingers clawed on his chest, eyes rolling back from the pleasure he was inflicting on you. you cursed under your breath, a barely audible "fuck" escaping your throat, as your head tipped back.

sam grabbed your face with his other hand, making you look at him.

"look at me. open your eyes." he hissed, his breathing ragged. "you wanted this, didn't you? so look at me. I'm all ruined for you."

you barely manage to open your eyes, your vision blurry. but you still couldn't miss that smirk he had on his lips.

you reached for his hands, your nails digging deep in them, as he picked up on a pace that you didn't think was possible for anyone.

he thrusts deep inside you, the rhythmical skin to skin sounds echoing throughout the cold, dark barn. he was hitting the spot every time, reaching places you didn't even know existed, making you see the stars.

you felt that knot deep in your lower belly, your orgasm threatening to take over your whole body any second.

sam felt it. of course he did. felt how desperately you clenched around his dick.

his pace faltered. for just a second. his breathing shaky.

"you're gonna come, aren't you?" he whispered near your ear, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. "c'mon, baby, make a mess on me, I want you as ruined as me."

he moved his one hand to grip your hip so hard it bruised, his other hand staying on your neck. his grip slowly loosened with each second he spent feeling you tighten around his cock.

your orgasm hit you like a lightning, leaving you a moaning and a shaky mess under sam, as he fucked you through it, his rhythm slowly getting shaky.

you clawed at his arms, your nails digging deep inside his skin. sam looked at you like you were something holy.

he followed right after you, speeding up for just a few seconds, before exploding into you with deep grunts and shaky fingers.

he finally released his tight grip on you, collapsing onto you in a second, his face dropping right in the crook of your neck.

and after a minute of heavy breathing and trembling bodies, a laugh escaped your lips.

sam didn't speak. didn't ask.

just stirred his face slightly near your neck so he could get a look at your face.

your ironically satisfied, fucked-out face.

"I've ruined you for anybody else, haven't I?"

only now he finally raised his face to look at you.

he still didn't speak

but he didn't need to.