Ciel

You were the youngest, the one Sam and Dean had sworn to protect at all costs. Even though you were technically their step-brother—brought into the family when your parents died a hunt and John had to take care of you—the Winchesters treated you like blood.

Sam especially.

He was your big brother in every way that mattered: the one who patched you up after hunts, the one who made sure you ate properly, the one whose quiet presence made the bunker feel like home. You were so sweet, so naively sheltered. At eighteen, you still blushed at Dean’s dirty jokes, chewed on your hoodie strings when nervous, and looked at Sam with complete, unwavering trust. You had no idea how deeply that trust twisted something inside him.

Sam’s obsession had grown slowly, like a poison he couldn’t stop drinking. It started with protective glances lingering too long on your soft smiles, on your back, your waist, the shy way you’d curl up against him during movie nights. Then it turned darker. He began noticing your laundry—specifically the delicate lace panties you wore. One night, alone in his room, guilt already gnawing at him, Sam gave in. He pressed the soft lace to his face, inhaling your scent, and jerked off hard and fast, imagining your innocent eyes looking up at him. Afterward, shame crashed over him like ice water.

He’s your little brother. You’re supposed to protect him, not defile him. He swore it wouldn’t happen again. But the fantasies only grew stronger.

It was a quiet night in the bunker. Dean was gone for the weekend, chasing a lead in another state. You had fallen asleep early in your room, exhausted from a long research session, curled up in just an oversized t-shirt and those soft lace panties.

The door was ajar— you never locked it, trusting your brothers completely.

Sam stood in the hallway for what felt like hours, heart pounding. The guilt was suffocating. This is wrong. He’s innocent. He trusts you. But his cock was already hard, throbbing painfully at the thought of you sleeping so peacefully just a few feet away. He couldn’t resist anymore. Quietly, he slipped into your room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You were on your side, facing away from the door, breathing slow and even. Sam lay down carefully on the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He stayed on top of the covers at first, just watching the rise and fall of your shoulder. Then his hand moved, trembling, to rest on your hip. You sighed softly in your sleep and leaned back into the touch, subconscious warmth seeking the familiar safety of your big brother.

Sam’s breath hitched. “Fuck…sweet boy.” He whispered, barely audible. His hand slid lower, cupping the curve of your ass through the lace. He squeezed gently, then bolder, fingers tracing the edge of the fabric where it met your skin.

You made a small, content sound and pressed back against him. His cock strained against his sweatpants. Sam freed himself, wrapping a large hand around his thick length and stroking slowly as he groped you.

He leaned in, nose buried in your hair, inhaling that clean, comforting scent. His strokes sped up, thumb brushing over the head of his cock as pre-cum slicked his palm. The guilt was still there, sharp and vicious, but it mixed with overwhelming lust. “You’re so perfect. I shouldn’t…God, I’m sorry, baby.”

You shifted again, unconsciously grinding back against his thigh. The lace dragged against his skin. Sam groaned lowly and slipped his hand under the waistband, fingers brushing over your clit and the warm, slick folds beneath. He didn’t push inside—just touched, reverent and hungry, feeling how your body responded even in sleep. You whimpered softly, hips twitching into his hand.

That small sound undid him. Sam jerked himself faster, breath ragged against the back of your neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, mind hazy with sleep. At first you thought it was just another dream—Sam’s warm body pressed close, his hands on you. But then you felt the movement, the rhythmic motion, the heat of his bare cock against your lower back. You froze, shy confusion flooding your cheeks.

“S-Sammy?” You whispered, voice small and uncertain. You squirmed, which only pressed you more firmly against his stroking hand and cock. “What…what are you doing?”

Sam stilled for a second, but didn’t pull away. Instead, his voice came out low, soothing, and achingly patronizing. “Shh, sweet boy. It’s okay. Big brother just…needs a little help tonight. You feel so nice. So warm and soft. You don’t mind, do you?” His fingers continued their gentle exploration, stroking your clit with feather-light touches. “Look at you, leaning into me even now. Such a good, sweet little brother.”

You whimpered, a bit overwhelmed, but the praise made something warm bloom in your chest. Sam had always protected you. If he needed something…You would give it to him.

“It feels weird… but nice.” You mumbled shyly, hiding your face in the pillow. Your body betrayed your innocence, growing wetter under his fingers.

Sam cooed, nuzzling your hair. “That’s right, baby. It feels nice, doesn’t it? You’re making big brother feel so good just by being here.” He guided your hand back gently until your fingers brushed his thick cock, you gasped, sharp and breathless. “See how hard I am for you? That’s what you do to me.”

You touched it hesitantly, cheeks burning. “It’s really big, Sammy…”

He groaned at your innocent wonder. “Yeah, it is. And it needs your pretty mouth, little brother. Will you do that for me? Will you make big brother happy? You always like pleasing me, don’t you?”

The question hung in the air, gentle but heavy with something wrapped in affection. You hesitated only a moment—eager to be good, to keep that warm approval in his voice. “I— I want to make you happy, Sammy. I’ll try.”

Sam’s heart twisted with fresh guilt even as lust won. “Good boy. Such a sweet, perfect boy.” He helped you turn over and sit up, positioning himself against the headboard. You knelt between his spread thighs, shy and clumsy, staring at his cock with wide eyes.

“Go on.” Sam murmured, voice dripping with sweetness. “Open that pretty mouth. Just like sucking on your hoodie strings, but nicer. For me.”

You leaned in awkwardly, tongue darting out to lick the tip. The taste was salty, musky. You made a small surprised sound but continued, lips wrapping around the head. Your movements were inexperienced—too much teeth at first, then too tentative, bobbing shallowly while your hand fisted the base clumsily.

Sam’s hand settled gently on the back of your head, not forcing, just guiding. “Easy, baby. Relax your jaw. There we go… good boy. Look at you, trying so hard for big brother. So clumsy and cute. You’ve never done this before, have you? My innocent little brother sucking cock like it’s the most important thing in the world.”

You whimpered around him, the vibration making Sam’s hips twitch. Drool slipped down your chin as you tried to take more, gagging softly when he hit the back of your throat. Tears pricked your eyes from the effort, but you didn’t pull away. You wanted to please him.

“Shh, shh, you’re doing perfect.” Sam cooed, thumb stroking your cheek. His tone was so gentle, so condescendingly affectionate. “Such a sweet mouth. A little messy, but that’s okay. Big brothers are supposed to teach their little brothers, right? Just suck nice and slow…use your tongue. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, you’re a natural.”

He praised you constantly, voice low as you worked him. “Look how hard you’re trying. Eyes all watery and cheeks flushed. Adorable. You like making me feel good, don’t you?”

Your clit throbbed untouched in your lace panties, the praise making you squirm. You redoubled your efforts, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper despite the awkward angle and your inexperience. Sam’s hand tightened slightly in your hair, hips rocking gently to meet your mouth.

“That’s it, baby. You’re making me so happy. So close already…gonna cum for you. Be a good boy and swallow for big brother, okay?”

You nodded around him, eager and shy, eyes locked on his face for approval. Sam groaned deeply, thrusting shallowly as he came hard down your throat. You choked a little, swallowing what you could, the rest spilling from the corners of your mouth. Sam held you there through the aftershocks, murmuring endless praise.

“Good boy…such a good, sweet little brother. You did so well. Made me feel amazing.”

You didn’t even realize when you started craving hurting yourself. Your gaze lingered on every blade within sight, images of the relief that came with a cut flashing before your eyes. It was as if a voice was constantly there, in the back of your mind, murmuring that it would make you feel better.

At first, you resisted, thinking it was strange. Why would you want to hurt yourself? What could possibly be pleasurable about the pain of an open wound?

But the voice kept insisting that this was exactly what you wanted—no, needed.

“Don’t you want to feel better?”

“It’s just a small, tiny cut.”

“Come on…”

Over and over again.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The whole day had been a disaster, and when you finally got home, you collapsed onto your bed, exhausted. Your thoughts darted from one place to another, and the urge to reach for the blade intensified again. The need was nearly physical, and that was exactly when the voice usually appeared.

“You’re hurting.” It spoke, and you nearly jumped. It felt so close, so real—like someone was whispering directly into your ear.

You never answered it. Whenever the voice spoke, you ignored it, focusing instead on not looking like a lunatic. You had quickly realized that no one else could hear it, and talking to yourself was out of the question. Until now.

“It was a long day,” you mumbled quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “I’m tired.”

“Oh, I know.” The voice murmured again, so vivid in your mind. The worst part was that it didn’t sound condescending. Quite the opposite. “You’re having such a hard time, poor thing…"

You nodded faintly, your eyes dropping to the sheets. “I know what you want to say. You want me to hurt myself, don’t you?” you replied, anticipating another string of encouraging words about the relief it could bring. “…But I don’t want to suffer.”

“That is precisely what I’m talking about.” The voice rang out once more. “You’re already in pain because you refuse to let yourself relieve it.”

You sighed quietly, taking a moment to consider its words. It would be so simple to grab the pocket knife from the drawer of your bedside table—even simpler to make a single cut. But you hesitated.

“Why are you pushing so hard? What’s in it for you?” You finally asked the question that had been bothering you ever since you first heard him speak.

“I care about you.” The answer came immediately. Honest. Tender, even. “Is it wrong that I want what’s best for you?”

Your grip on your knees tightened.

You felt strangely seen, but not in a bad way—not quite. It was a feeling of being understood, and perhaps of being a little less alone, in a twisted sort of way. The tone, that gentleness… it felt too human. Too real to still dismiss as nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

“Who are you?” You lifted your head from where it rested atop your arms. Then you felt it. An unfamiliar warmth pressed against your back.

“I’m an angel.” His voice was much clearer now. Closer. Right against your neck.

The warmth suddenly became overwhelming. Something physical leaned forward and wrapped two strong arms around you, one resting at your waist while the other enclosed your hand. Your head snapped to the side, only to find a blond-haired man sitting directly behind you, his chin resting against your shoulder.

You went completely still. "Angel?” It was the only word that left your mouth. Your body’s first instinct was to freeze, but it quickly adjusted, slowly beginning to lean into the comfort.

“Mhm.” Just a hum, his soft breath ghosting across your neck and making your skin prickle. “Everyone has their own guardian, and my job is to care for you, little one. For you and your well-being.”

His touch was gentle and soothing, exactly how you imagined an angel’s care would feel. His thumb traced lazy circles over the fabric of your shirt, never slipping beneath it or pushing for anything more. Yet he was already guiding you.

His fingers loosely wrapped around your wrist as he led your hand toward the pocket knife lying inside the suddenly opened drawer. You hadn’t even realized it was open.

“How is this supposed to be good for me?” you asked, your voice wavering as Lucifer wrapped your fingers around the handle.

“Don’t you trust me?” A question answered with another. You could feel him watching you. His touch remained gentle, even as he guided you toward committing a sin against yourself.

“Should I?” you whispered, trying to remain vigilant and in control of the situation.

“You’re too tense.” Lucifer’s voice brushed against your neck. “Have I done anything to deserve your hesitation?”

He hadn’t. You knew that.

“No…” You relaxed slowly, allowing your back to rest fully against his chest. He drew your hand closer, the knife already secure between your fingers. The same image flashed before your eyes:

Blood dripping down your wrist. Then the calm that followed. In those carefully orchestrated visions, there was no pain, no sting at all. Only relief. So you let him.

Lucifer’s arm tightened more securely around your waist, his hand splayed across your abdomen while the other guided the blade toward your forearm. He held you gently, as though you were something precious and fragile.

“Will it hurt badly?” you asked quietly, your gaze fixed on the silver gleam of the knife.

“Just a little sting.” Lucifer pressed a reverent kiss beneath your jaw. His chin still rested on your shoulder, imposing closeness without making it feel forced. “Think about what comes after, little angel.”

Your heart clenched at the nickname. It slipped from his lips naturally enough to make you feel safe in his embrace. Safe enough that any thought of resisting simply faded away.

The blade finally touched your skin, just a few inches above your wrist. Lucifer didn’t push you. He didn’t make the cut himself, even though his hand rested atop yours. He simply waited patiently for your move.

You didn’t want to hesitate any longer. You tightened your grip around the knife’s handle and sliced through your delicate skin. The speed and carelessness with which you acted had the opposite effect than intended. The wound was deep. A whimper escaped your lips, and tears welled in your eyes.

Lucifer immediately tightened his hold around your waist, pulling you more firmly against his chest while pressing one kiss after another to your neck. “Shhh, it’s alright. Let yourself feel it. He cooed soothingly.

Your hands trembled, causing your grip on the knife to loosen. Lucifer carefully eased it from your clenched fist and set it aside before reaching for your injured forearm.

“Open your eyes, sweet thing.” He noticed the way you squeezed them shut, trying to hold back your tears. “You’re bleeding so beautifully.”

The crimson liquid was already trickling down your skin by the time your gaze landed where Lucifer wanted it. The pain was still there, burning and uncomfortable, but beneath it another feeling began to blossom. Exactly what Lucifer had been talking about. Relief.

“It feels… good.” You whispered it like a revelation. Lucifer smiled softly, allowing himself to enjoy the sight as well.

“Try it.” He offered, his thumb still rubbing slow circles over your waist.

“Huh?” A confused sound escaped you as you tilted your head to look at him. Lucifer didn’t back down. Instead, he adjusted his hold on your forearm and brought it closer.

“Taste yourself, little one.” It wasn’t an order. And perhaps because he wasn’t pushing or forcing you to do anything, you leaned in and, slowly—almost hesitantly—pressed your tongue against your own skin.

If the cut had been a revelation, the taste of your blood was a true discovery. The faint metallic aftertaste was difficult to replicate. It left you aching for more, even though somewhere beneath it all, you knew it was wrong.

Lucifer, however, watched with utter fascination as you lapped at the wound, dragging your tongue over the open cut again and again. “Someone’s hungry.” There was light amusement in his voice as he released your forearm and reached instead for your jaw.

“Show me.” He whispered, tilting your head toward him. You obeyed, opening your mouth for him. Your tongue was coated in your own blood, with faint crimson stains lingering around your lips and chin.

“So pretty.” He brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. “Will you let me taste you too, little angel?”

You were too high on the taste of your own bodily fluid to think clearly. For some unknown to you reason, the whole ritual made you unbearably aroused. You could feel yourself growing slick between your thighs, legs clenching weakly to create even the slightest friction.

"Yes..." You whispered, closing your eyes instinctively. Only after gaining your permission did Lucifer lean in and kiss you. At first, just lightly grazing your lips, then his tongue found its way inside your mouth, mixing saliva with blood.

You moaned into the kiss, your hand reaching out to tangle in his hair. "It feels funny..." You murmured after he pulled away to let you catch a breath.

Lucifer didn't ask what did—he already knew. "Let me help you once more, little angel." An offer, and when you nodded in agreement, his hand moved down, from your abdomen to your crotch.

His hand slipped easily under the waistband of your pants, finding you already slick and soaking through your underwear. It brought a faint smile to his face and he pressed his chest more firmly against your back.

When one of his fingers found your entrance and began to draw small circles around it, a soft moan escaped your lips. Lucifer took that as encouragement and slipped inside. The sensation was both overwhelming and frustrating at the same time.

He was teasing you, you could feel it. Lucifer was purposefully avoiding that one specific spot that he knew would make your eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Can you take one more?" He asked, pressing a reverent kiss to your jaw before allowing his tongue to lick off the tiniest drop of blood that was staining your chin.

You whined, nodding a little too frantically while trying not to squirm too much in his arms. Lucifer certainly appreciated that sight.

His second finger was inside you a moment later, curling deliberately to make you whimper but not reach what you desperately craved. He was observing you—the way your cheeks flushed and breath grew shorter and shallower. It was delicious.

"Stop playing..." You scolded him weakly, eyes closing when his thumb brushed over the spot above your entrance.

"Where are your manners, little angel?" He teased lightly, almost affectionately, while leaving red marks on the sensitive skin of your throat.

"Please—" You pleaded, legs already trembling from the lack of release. Lucifer was fortunately great at granting wishes.

His movements sped up until you were finally clenching around his fingers, coming around them with a broken moan and the taste of your own blood on your tongue.

"Such a perfect, little angel..." He praised, slowly pushing his hips forward.

Just a few minutes after Sam laid you down on the motel bed, you could hear the sound of a key turning in the door. His hand only tightened around your thigh, though, almost smugly.

Sammy pushed the door open and stilled as soon as he saw you. your flushed cheeks, unzipped shorts, and of course, Sam's fingers curled on your leg.

"What did you do to him?" Sammy accused immediately, shutting the door behind himself and approaching you two quickly.

"Nothing you wouldn't like to do yourself, Sammy." The soulless version of your brother said, giving your thigh a faint squeeze that made you squirm visibly.

Sammy frowned and his eyes went back to you. You looked so vulnerable, so sweet. He tried to ignore the ache in his heart, the need that he had been trying to shut down for the past few years. It didn't help at all— quite the opposite —the need only flared at Sam's words.

"Are you okay?" He asked after pushing Sam's hand off you, taking a deep breath, and crouching by the bed.

You didn't answer right away. Instead, your half-lidded eyes went to your big brother and you smiled faintly, almost innocently. "It doesn't matter."

He wanted to keep pushing for an answer but you were faster. Your hand moved, wrapping gently around your older brother's wrist and pulling him closer. "I just want to make you happy."

Sam smirked victoriously, crossing his legs and watching Sammy's reaction in real time. Your older brother's heart stopped beating for a moment there, for sure.

"What?" He asked, gaze trailing involuntarily to your exposed abdomen then snapping back up to your eyes. "No. No, little one. I don't know what he told you but—"

"Come on, Sammy." Sam groaned, giving your older brother an unimpressed look. "He's all prepared and waiting for you. This is your chance."

"You're sick." Sammy retorted sharply.

"No, you are." Sam grinned, leaning forward and letting his eyes obnoxiously move down to the growing bulge in Sammy's own pants. "Hard already?"

Sammy let out a sudden huff of embarrassment, shifting to hide the fact that he was, in fact, aroused by your words and the sight alone. The knowledge that Sam was the one to open you up wasn't helping the already less-than-comfortable situation in his pants.

"It's okay." You said, smiling up at your big brother. "You need this, no?"

"I—" Sammy was visibly struggling. His strict moral code was screaming at him to just punch Sam and take you out of here, but the other part of him, the one that wanted you for years, was saying something else.

Sam scoffed and took the matter into his own hands again. He pulled your pants down with one, swift movement, exposing you to Sammy's gaze, to which you responded with a quiet yelp of surprise. You were still slick from your previous release, thighs clenching tightly together in a small attempt at decency.

All the air left Sammy's lungs at the sight and he closed his eyes tightly, desperate to remain in control. Yet, he still turned his wrist slightly in your grip so he could take hold of your hand and intertwine your fingers.

"I'm sorry, little one." He whispered, bringing your hand to his mouth before pressing a faint kiss to the back of it. "You trust me, right?" He asked quietly, glancing back at you once more.

"I do, really." You said reassuringly, squeezing his hand back.

Sam already knew where this was going and his smirk widened. "Aw, look at him, little brother. He wants to make it look less fucked up so bad." He mocked, tilting his head almost curiously. "Will you cry too while pounding into him, Sammy?"

Your older brother's eyes snapped to Sam in an instant. "You're the one who touched him first."

"You should be grateful." The soulless one said, his hand already wrapping around your waist and pulling you up to a sitting position.

"Please..." You whined quietly when Sam pressed your back against his chest and pulled your legs apart, this time not allowing you to hide yourself from your brother's eyes.

"God—" Sammy nearly whined himself, especially when you hid your face in Sam's arm, all shy and embarrassed. It was making his cock throb in his pants almost shamefully hard.

"That's what you wanted, Sammy?" Sam continued teasing him relentlessly. "Your baby brother spreading his legs for you just like you were spreading yours for me?"

Sammy inhaled sharply, moving slowly to sit in front of you, he didn't plan on scaring you any further—it was apparently Sam's job. All Sammy wanted was to reach out and touch you but he was still visibly holding himself back.

"Sam explained everything to me." You reassured him again, trying to put your older brother at ease. That's what he always dreamed of, was it not? "It's okay, Sammy—just take what you need."

Sammy's resolve broke completely at those words and at the sight of Sam's hands resting under your thighs, holding your legs spread out in front of him like an offering.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this..." He mumbled quietly and moved forward, shifting closer so he could face you properly. Sammy was so gentle—much different from Sam, whose grip now tightened and he leaned down to nip on the sensitive skin of your neck.

A soft whimper left your lips to which Sammy reacted almost immediately. He groaned, giving your hand another squeeze before reaching down to unzip his own pants.

"You're too good for me, little brother." He murmured reverently and freed his cock from the confines of his underwear.

"See?" Sam's hand reached for your jaw, forcing you to face Sammy directly. "I told you. He's throbbing already." He mocked, pressing another kiss against your now exposed neck.

You weren't brave enough to point out the fact that Sam was hard as well, his length already pressing and grinding slowly against your backside.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

"I'll be gentle," Sammy murmured while pressing his tip against your entrance. Sam only huffed quietly in amusement as if he couldn't make the same promise. You could feel the way his hand tightened on your jaw after that, almost hard enough to bruise, before pulling you into a searing kiss.

Sammy's own touch was firm but not rough, his arms wrapped around your hips protectively as he pushed inch after inch inside you. He buried himself to the hilt carefully, and let out a sound of pure, unfiltered pleasure. "Taking me so well..." He praised, letting you adjust to the intrusion instead of immediately pushing.

"Yeah, you were made for big brother cock, weren't you?" Sam added, his hand sliding down to wrap around your neck possessively.

You moaned when Sammy began moving, his hips rolling forward carefully, as if he was still afraid of it being too much for you to take. Your back arched after every snap and yet, you started pushing against him, trying to meet every thrust to please him. Sam, however, was nowhere near as soft as your older brother.

Somewhere in between your gentle, almost intimate sex with Sammy, the soulless version of your older brother pulled his cock out of his pants and lifted you up slightly. You didn't even have the time to react—the tip of his length was already pushing inside you too.

"No, Sam, that's too much—" You cried out, but Sam slammed forward, effectively trapping you between himself and his soulful version, their two, thick cocks now buried deep inside you.

"He can't take us both—" Sammy tried but then he felt how Sam's length rubbed against his inside you and a broken moan left his lips. He was a weak man.

All he could do was kiss your cheeks and forehead, trying to redirect your attention from Sam's harsh movements to his own soft hands and gentle gestures.

Sam, meanwhile, simply wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you back down to meet their shared thrusts. The sensation made you whine and squirm, fingers desperately curling in the fabric of Sammy's shirt to hold onto something.

"Fuck." Sam groaned, biting into your shoulder to leave an obnoxious mark on your skin. "So tight. Been saving for us, huh?"

"You're doing amazing, little brother." Sammy cooed right after, praising instead of mocking.

After a few moments, your moans became louder, filling the motel room and probably echoing in the hallway as well. Sam's pace picked up as he began fucking into you relentlessly, Sammy couldn't match it—his thrusts were shallower but accompanied by whines and kisses to your collarbones.

Sam finally pushed in one last time, his cock hitting that exact spot before he unloaded inside you. Sammy followed nearly right after with a loud groan, his head falling forward to rest against your chest shamefully.

You came as well, pretty much immediately after they both pulled out and their cum started obscenely dripping down your thighs.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

That night, Sammy tucked you into bed again like you were a kid—right after helping you wash up, of course. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before turning the lights off and moving outside the motel room quietly.

Sam was already standing there, leaning against the wall with his eyes narrowed and a small, almost sly smile on his face. "And?"

"He's fine," Sammy responded, definitely about to scold his soulless version for being too rough with you. "You and I are not done yet, though."

Sammy had no idea how it had happened, really. Just a while ago, he'd been fighting his soulless version in a motel room, and now? Now he was being pinned to the bed, legs parted and his clothes off.

"We need to hurry up..." He mumbled between moans, hands clenching around nothing. "My— our little brother will be here in a moment."

Sam only smirked, a little too smugly for Sammy's taste. "That's a good thing, no?" He asked, tightening his grip on his soulful version's wrists. "Take your chance, Sammy."

"What is that even supposed to mean?" Sammy frowned, looking up at the hovering man over him.

"Come on..." He murmured condescendingly, thrusting into Sam with deep, purposeful strokes. "I'm you. I know what you truly want— what you always wanted."

Sammy nearly choked at that, his face flushing involuntarily from the sudden realization that indeed, Sam is him. Every single thought he ever had about his younger brother— about you —Sam knew it all.

"Every little glance at his ass." Sam teased, punctuating every word with a snap of his hips. "Every filthy, sinful thought you had about him."

Sammy nearly whined, turning his head away from his soulless version because he knew Sam was right. Sammy often thought about you in less than innocent ways, but he always refused to act on those thoughts. Sammy knew it was wrong to desire you, Sam, however— it was a different story.

"Oh! Do you remember that one time you took him shopping just to—" Sam started but Sammy didn't let him finish.

"Just stop already! That's our little brother. We saw him grow up, for hell's sake." Sammy's voice trembled. He was afraid of hurting you, of accidentally making you hate him. He'd never forgive himself.

Sam scoffed, the mean, condescending smirk still on his face as he fucked into Sammy with dark satisfaction. He knew Sammy would give in eventually. It was just a matter of time.

"You and your morality." He said mockingly, leaning down to nip on Sammy's neck. "Right. Better stick to fucking yourself, huh?"

Sammy whined audibly.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Later that day, when you and Dean returned from shopping to the motel, you both nearly had a heart attack when you saw two Samuels sitting on the couch.

Sammy immediately explained everything, besides the sex, of course, and had to assure Dean five times that he would find a way to get rid of Sam. Dean simply looked like he wanted to strangle the soulless version with his own hands.

Talking to you, though, was much harder for your older brother. Sam stayed inside with Dean, and Sammy dragged you outside the motel for some privacy.

"Look, you cannot trust him, okay?" He said with worry written all over his face. "Always stay alert when you're around him— or even better— don't be around him at all."

"But why, Sammy?" You asked in a hushed tone, matching his. You truly didn't understand, because Sammy never bothered to explain. He just always said Sam was evil.

"He's a bad person, little brother. He's nothing like me." He said quietly, protectively, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "I'm worried he'll do something to you. Just please— promise me you'll stay away."

And you promised.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

It's been a week since you all lived together, and Sammy made sure you were never alone with Sam. Maybe it was because he was afraid Sam would try to do something to you, or maybe that he wouldn't do anything at all, just reveal what Sammy had been secretly thinking his entire life while pretending to be the perfect older brother.

Today, however, Sammy failed to find an excuse and was forced to leave you with the soulless version of himself. It was only supposed to be one hour, what could even happen in such a short amount of time, he thought.

Apparently a lot, because as soon as the door closed behind Sammy, Sam was already at your side, looking you up and down with cold, smug curiosity.

"So..." He hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sammy's really possessive, huh?"

"What?" You blinked, taking a step back, just to put some distance between you two. Sammy's words were still lingering in your head, after all.

"Well, this whole stay away from him thing," Sam said and leaned against the kitchen counter. "He's afraid that I'll be the first to do what he's wanted to do for many years."

You took another step back, the mere tone of his voice was making you feel uneasy. "Be more specific." You demanded weakly.

"Sammy wants you, little brother," Sam said with mock sweetness and took a step forward. "He's always wanted you, ever since you first sat on his lap. Ever since you first called him big brother."

You remained silent, not wanting to believe him at first. Sam, however, didn't stop at that. He lowered himself onto the couch before reaching for your wrist— too quick for you to be able to react— and you found yourself in his lap.

"Sammy's too good to take what he wants..." Sam continued, almost condescendingly, bringing his hand to your thigh. "But I'll prepare you for him, hm? Get you all nice and ready."

"Don't—" You tried to wriggle out of his grip but it was pointless. Sam was too strong, his one arm tightly wrapped around your waist and keeping you in his lap.

"Don't you want to make your big brother happy?" He hummed and buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent shamelessly. "He raised you. He gave you everything. Now he wants one thing from you and you're refusing?"

You swallowed thickly, watching the way Sam's hand moved up your leg. His touch was gentle, too gentle for someone who was supposed to be soulless, yet his words were pointed. You felt strangely guilty for never giving Sammy what he apparently needed.

"I...I didn't know." You admitted weakly, pressing your legs together when Sam's fingers brushed over your inner thigh.

"Shh, it's alright. We'll give Sammy what he wants, yeah?" Another kiss, this time pressed to your jaw.

You squirmed in Sam's lap when his hand slipped under the fabric of your shorts, teasing right above the waistband of your underwear. You felt even more uneasy when his fingers started rubbing you through the thin fabric, slow and careful at first, then turning bolder.

"Sam—" You whined quietly, shifting a little in his lap, as far as his hand around your waist allowed you to, that is.

Sam ignored your whimpers and instead pushed your underwear aside, his finger skimming over your slick entrance. "Wet already, aren't you?" The mocking tone returned, especially when he saw how responsive you were.

He pressed yet another kiss to your neck, watching you squirm and wriggle in his lap when he finally pushed his finger inside you. Slow, at first, curling and stretching you open, savoring the way your cheeks flushed and eyes went a little wider every single time.

"Oh, he'll love that." Sam grinned and sank his teeth into your skin, not too deep but not completely gentle either. A moan slipped past your lips which only spurred the soulless version of your older brother on.

Then came another finger, the intrusion unfamiliar and painful, even though Sam was visibly holding back, for whatever reason.

"You can take it, right? For Sammy?" He asked, curling both fingers inside you while leaving another mark just above your collarbone. The sensation of being filled wasn't fully unpleasant, despite the initial pain, and soon enough you were clenching around his fingers and moaning into his shoulder.

Sam held you in his lap, still uncharacteristically gentle, and when the first orgasm crashed over you, he pressed his lips against yours, swallowing the low moan that left your mouth.

The hour passed rather quickly, Sam didn't even try to overstimulate you. No. He wanted you to be somewhat conscious when Sammy returned. So instead, he moved you to the bed in the corner of the room, pressing another kiss, this time to your forehead.

"And when Sammy comes in, what do you say?" He asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, his hand curling teasingly around your still trembling thigh.

"I want to make big brother happy." You mumbled, looking at the soulless version of Sammy through half-lidded eyes.

You had always been alone.

Not in the dramatic way — no tragic backstory of abandonment or abuse that made for good sermons. Just…quiet loneliness. The kind that settled in your bones like dust on old pews. At twenty-one, you were the youngest regular at a Catholic Church in a dying town.

You attended every Mass, cleaned the altar after services, and volunteered for every outreach program. The older parishioners smiled at you and called you a “good boy,” but no one ever stayed after the coffee hour to talk.

You were too awkward, too quiet, too eager to please. People sensed the emptiness in you and kept their distance.

So you filled the silence with prayer. You spent hours on your knees in the empty chapel, whispering to God about the ache in your chest. The loneliness. The way your body sometimes felt like a cage you didn’t know how to escape. You asked for guidance. For friendship. For someone to see you.

One night, after locking up the church, you got your answer.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The first time Lucifer appeared, he looked like an angel, to you, at least.

You were kneeling in the front pew, rosary beads slipping through your fingers, when the air grew warm and cold all the same. A figure materialized in the stained-glass light — tall, blond, beautiful beyond words, eyes like summer skies.

You gasped, dropping the rosary. “Are— are you…?”

The being smiled, gentle and radiant. “I’ve been watching you, child. Your devotion. Your purity. God has sent me to guide you.”

Tears filled your eyes. You bowed your head, trembling with awe. “I’m not worthy.”

He knelt before you, cupping your face with warm hands. “You are. Such a sweet little lamb. So lonely. So in need of love.”

From that night on, he visited you often.

He called himself “Luci.” He listened when you spoke in your halting, awkward way about your isolation, your dysphoria, your fear that God had forgotten you. He touched your cheek, your shoulder, your hair — always gentle, always reverent. He told you that you were special. Chosen. That your body was a beautiful vessel, not a mistake.

You believed him. How could you not? He was the first being who had ever truly seen you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The corruption began slowly.

At first, the touches were innocent.

You flushed and stammered everytime, heart racing. It felt good. Too good. But it was divine, you told yourself. A blessing.

Then the dreams started.

In your sleep, Luci would appear in your small bedroom. He’d undress you slowly, cooing praises as he kissed down your chest, your stomach, between your legs. You’d wake up gasping, soaked and aching, guilt twisting in your gut. You prayed harder. You confessed in the empty confessional, whispering your sins to a priest who wasn’t there.

But Luci kept coming.

One night, in the dream, he pushed inside you — slow, deep, claiming. You woke up crying, your body sore and used, slick coating your thighs. You curled up on the floor and begged God to make it stop.

He didn’t.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Reality and dream began to blur.

One evening, Luci appeared in the flesh. He backed you against the altar, hands gentle on your hips.

“You’ve been praying for me to leave.” He murmured, lips brushing your ear, he sounded almost sad, if he could even be sad. “But you don’t really want that, do you, lamb?”

You shook your head, tears falling. “I’m scared— I don’t understand what you want from me.”

He smiled, soft and terrible. “Everything. Your innocence. Your body. Your soul. You were made for me.”

He kissed you then — deep, hungry, possessive. You whimpered but kissed him back, tried to, shy and desperate. When his hand slipped under your shirt and palmed your warm skin, you trembled.

“Please…I’m not supposed to...God—”

“Shh.” He nipped your bottom lip. “God isn’t here. I am.”

He didn’t fuck you that night. He just touched you — fingers sliding between your legs, stroking you until you came with a broken sob against the altar.

You felt filthy.

You felt seen.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The isolation deepened.

You stopped going to confession. You avoided the priest. You spent every free moment at the church or in your room, waiting for Luci. He became your whole world. When he didn’t appear for a few days, the loneliness crashed back worse than before. You cried yourself to sleep, whispering his name like a prayer.

When he finally returned, you clung to him desperately.

“I thought you left me.” You sobbed into his chest.

Lucifer held you close, stroking your hair. “Never, sweet boy. I’m always with you. Even when you pray for me to go.”

He took you that night.

He laid you on the altar like an offering and undressed you slowly. You were shaking, terrified, but you didn’t stop him. When he pushed inside you — slow, deep, claiming — you cried out, tears streaming.

“It hurts…” You whimpered.

“I know, lamb.” He cooed, thrusting gently. “But you’ll learn to love it. You were made for this. Made for me.”

He fucked you on the altar, whispering how perfect you were, how much better you were than any angel or human. You came sobbing his name, guilt and pleasure twisting together until you couldn’t tell them apart.

After that, there was no going back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

You stopped fighting the dreams. You stopped praying for him to leave.

When Luci appeared in your sleep now, you reached for him eagerly. You let him fuck you in every position, let him mark you, let him fill you. You woke up sore and leaking, but the emptiness was gone.

Your family noticed you pulling away. They tried to reach you, but you were too far gone. You had found someone who wanted you. Someone who saw you.

One night, Lucifer held you in your bed after fucking you slow and deep. You clung to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered.

He stroked your hair, smiling against your temple. “Never, my sweet little lamb. You’re mine now. Forever.”

You believed him.

And in the quiet darkness of your lonely life, you finally felt loved.

You were always Lucifer’s favorite.

Even in the endless light of Heaven, when the choirs sang in perfect harmony and order reigned absolute, you were the quiet shadow at his side. Created long after the archangels but before the lower orders. Innocent. Curious. His.

Lucifer had taken you under his wing from the beginning. He called you “little brother” with that warm, velvet voice that made the other angels envious. He taught you the stars. He held you when the vastness of creation felt too heavy. And slowly, gently, he taught you other things.

Touches that lingered too long. Kisses pressed to your forehead that drifted lower. Whispers of how special you were, how the others could never understand the bond between you. You were so young then — barely formed, wide-eyed and trusting. You didn’t understand the heat that pooled in your belly when his grace brushed yours. You only knew that when Lucifer touched you, you felt seen.

He never went too far in Heaven. Not fully. But the affection was there — soft words, lingering touches, making you crave only him. And then he fell.

The absence carved a hole in you that never healed.

You searched for him in secret for millennia. You watched from afar as he raged against Heaven, as he fell further into darkness. But you never stopped yearning. Never stopped loving the brother who had made you feel whole.

Until Earth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The reunion happened in a abandoned church in rural town.

You had fell too, after being drawn by rumors of Lucifer’s vessel walking the Earth. When you felt his grace — corrupted but unmistakable — you followed it like a moth to flame.

The moment you stepped through the broken doors, his head snapped up. Those ancient blue eyes widened, then softened with something dangerously close to wonder.

“Little brother.” He breathed.

You stood frozen, heart hammering in your vessel’s chest. Tears pricked your eyes. “Luci…”

He crossed the distance in an instant and pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tight, almost desperate. His grace brushed against yours — familiar, intoxicating, overwhelming. You clung to him, sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

“I missed you.” You whispered, voice breaking. “Every day. I never stopped looking.”

Lucifer held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head. “My sweet boy. Look at you… Still so mine.”

He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. You trembled but didn’t pull away. This was everything you had dreamed of for millennia.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Lucifer abandoned the apocalypse that night.

Not publicly. Not yet. But in his heart, the grand plans for the end crumbled the moment he held you again. Sam Winchester, the perfect vessel, the perfect tool — none of it mattered anymore. All he wanted was this. His little brother. The one piece of Heaven that had never truly rejected him.

His only family.

He took you to a quiet safehouse, far from anyone that could bother you. For days he simply held you. He fed you. He listened as you told him about your life after his fall and your own fall— the loneliness, the longing, the way you had watched over his memory like a secret.

“You were always my favorite.” He murmured one night, pulling you into his lap on the large bed. “The others never understood. But you… you always loved me. Even after everything.”

You nodded shyly, face hidden in his neck. “I still do.”

Lucifer’s hands stroked down your back, gentle but possessive. “Good boy.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The desire built slowly, but inevitably.

Lucifer was gentle with you at first. He undressed you with reverent hands, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. He worshipped your chest with slow kisses and soft words, thumb tracing the scars of your vessel. “So beautiful. My perfect little brother. Made just for me.”

You were overwhelmed, but you let him. You had waited too long. When his fingers finally slipped between your legs and found you wet, he cooed praises against your ear.

“Look at you. Already so ready for your big brother. Such a good, needy angel.”

You whimpered as he opened you up, two fingers sliding inside while his thumb circled your clit, you didn't knew it could feel like this. Tears slipped down your cheeks — not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of finally being touched by him again.

“Luci— I don’t understand why it feels like this…” You whispered, voice trembling.

He kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours. “Because you were made for me. Your body knows it. Let me show you, sweet boy.”

When he finally pushed inside you, slow and careful, you cried out and clung to him. The stretch was overwhelming, but the fullness felt like coming home. Lucifer fucked you gently at first, rocking into you with deep, claiming strokes while he whispered against your lips.

“That’s it. Take your brother’s cock. You’ve been waiting for this for so long, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” You sobbed, legs wrapped around his waist. “Please, Luci…I need you.”

He was needy in a way that surprised even him. This was the closest he would ever get to Heaven again — to family, to love, to God. He buried his face in your neck as he thrust deeper, grace brushing against yours in intimate waves.

“My little brother.” He groaned. “Mine. Only mine.”

You came with a broken cry, clenching around him. Lucifer followed soon after, filling you with a low, possessive sound. He held you afterward for hours, stroking your hair and murmuring soft words.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

One night, as he moved inside you, slow and deep, you whispered against his shoulder, “I love you, Luci. I always have.”

Lucifer stilled for a moment, then kissed you fiercely. “I know, baby. And I’m never letting you go again.”

He abandoned the apocalypse completely after that. The Winchesters could wait. The world could burn later.

You had been with Sam Winchester for three months, and it was the safest, warmest thing you had ever known.

Sam was everything you needed. Gentle. Patient. He never pushed when you got shy and quiet. He never made you feel broken for the way your body worked or the way your mind sometimes spiraled. He held you through nightmares, kissed you when you were too anxious and whispered “I’ve got you” like it was a promise carved in stone. You were kind of awkward with him — blushing when he called you beautiful, hiding your face when things got intense — but he loved it. He loved you.

You thought it would last forever.

Then Lucifer started appearing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The first time was during a quiet night in the bunker.

You and Sam were in his room, tangled together under the sheets. Sam was moving slow and deep inside you, one hand cradling your face, murmuring soft praises against your lips. “You feel so good, baby. So perfect for me.”

You whimpered shyly, legs wrapped around his waist, trying not to hide your face like you always did when pleasure got too overwhelming.

Then you felt it — a cold brush of grace against your soul.

Your eyes flew open. Over Sam’s shoulder, Lucifer stood at the foot of the bed, watching with a lazy, cruel smile. Only you could see him. He winked.

You froze. Sam noticed immediately, slowing his thrusts. “Hey…you okay?”

You nodded frantically, voice barely a whisper. “Y-yeah. Just…felt weird for a second.”

Sam kissed you softly and kept going, gentle as always. But Lucifer stayed. He watched the entire time, eyes dark with amusement, occasionally mouthing filthy things you couldn’t repeat. When you came, shaking and teary in Sam’s arms, Lucifer blew you a mocking kiss and vanished.

You didn’t sleep that night.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

He kept coming back.

During soft mornings when Sam was still asleep, Lucifer would appear beside the bed and whisper in your ear while Sam held you. During showers, he’d lean against the wall and comment on how pretty you looked all wet. And worst of all — during sex.

He never touched you. Not yet. He just watched. Smiling. Mocking. Making you feel exposed and dirty even as Sam made love to you with nothing but care.

You became more skittish. More awkward. You started flinching during intimate moments, apologizing constantly for no reason. Sam noticed.

“Baby, talk to me.” He said one night, holding you close after you’d tensed up again. “You’ve been different lately. Did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. You wanted to tell him. You needed to. But the words wouldn’t come. What if Sam thought you were crazy? What if he thought you wanted Lucifer there?

So you stayed silent. And Lucifer kept appearing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Sam found out anyway.

It happened during one of the worst nights.

You and Sam were in the middle of making love — slow, sweet, the way you both liked it. Sam was deep inside you, kissing your neck, whispering how much he loved you. You were trying so hard to stay present.

Then Lucifer appeared right beside the bed.

He leaned down, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Look at him, baby. So gentle. So boring. You deserve more than that.”

You whimpered, trying to focus on Sam. But Lucifer kept talking — filthy, mocking things that made your stomach twist with shame and unwanted heat.

Sam noticed you trembling. He stopped moving. “Sweetheart?”

That was when Lucifer spoke loud enough for Sam to hear, when he appeared right in front of him.

“Hello, Sammy.”

Sam’s head snapped up. His face went white. “Get the fuck out.”

Lucifer laughed. “Oh, I’m not here for you. I’m here for him. Your sweet little boyfriend has been such good company lately.”

Sam pulled out of you gently and covered you with a blanket, shielding you with his body. You curled into a ball, shaking, tears falling silently. You were so ashamed.

Sam’s voice was deadly calm. “Leave. Now.”

Lucifer smiled. “Why don't we make a deal, Sam? One night. Just one. Let me have him, and I’ll leave you both alone. No more visits. No more whispers. One night, and he’s all yours again.”

Sam’s hands trembled where they held you. You whimpered, hiding your face against his chest. “Sam…”

But Sam looked at you — at how broken you already were — and made the hardest choice of his life.

“One night.” He said, voice cracking. “And you never touch him again. You never speak to him again. Swear it.”

Lucifer’s grin was victorious. “Deal.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The night came three days later.

Sam had prepared a room in the bunker — soft lights, clean sheets, everything to make it as safe as possible. He held you for hours beforehand, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your trembling hands.

“You don’t have to do this.” He whispered. “We can find another way.”

You shook your head, voice small and scared. “He won’t stop. I just…I want it to be over. I want you.”

Sam held you tighter. “I’ll be right here the whole time. I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

When Lucifer appeared, the air grew cold. He looked at you with dark hunger.

“Hello, sweet boys.”

Sam stayed beside you on the bed, one hand holding yours. Lucifer was gentle at first — too gentle. He undressed you slowly, cooing praises while Sam watched with clenched jaw.

“Look at him, Sammy.” Lucifer murmured, spreading your legs. “So shy. So pretty. You’ve been keeping him all to yourself.”

You whimpered, hiding your face in Sam’s shoulder as Lucifer pushed inside you. Sam held you through it, whispering “I’ve got you” while Lucifer fucked you with slow, claiming strokes.

You cried the whole time — overwhelmed and guilty. Lucifer mocked you softly. “Such a good boy for me. Taking the Devil’s cock while your boyfriend watches. Does it feel good, little one?”

Sam’s grip on your hand never wavered. He kissed your tears, stroked your hair, grounded you when the shame became too much.

When Lucifer finally came, buried deep inside you, he kissed your forehead, almost tenderly, terrifyingly so.

“One night.” He reminded Sam. “A deal’s a deal.”

Then he was gone.

Sam pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you as you sobbed against his chest. He cleaned you up gently, dressed you in his hoodie, and wrapped you in blankets.

“I’ve got you.” He kept whispering. “You’re safe. You’re mine. He’s gone.”

You were the youngest Winchester, the one Sam and Dean had fought hardest to shield from the full weight of their world. At barely eighteen, you still carried that wide-eyed softness they had lost long ago. Late nights in the bunker library were spent with your nose buried in lore books, hoodie strings perpetually chewed between your teeth when you concentrated. You asked innocent questions about spells and sigils, blushed at Dean’s crude jokes, and trusted too easily. That innocence had drawn Lucifer like a moth to flame.

The devil’s obsession started subtly. He first appeared to you alone during one of Sam and Dean’s hunts, materializing in the corner of your room with a lazy smile. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little Winchester.” He’d murmured, voice like warm honey laced with danger. Over the following weeks, he returned again and again—only when your brothers were away or distracted. He’d perch on the edge of your desk, teasing in that playful, probing way. “Such a pure boy. Do you even know what the world wants to do with something as untouched as you?”

Your mind rarely caught the full implication. You’d tilt your head, cheeks warming, and reply earnestly. “I’m not that innocent, Lucifer. I hunt too, you know.” Your earnestness only fueled him. He loved watching the slow realization dawn across your face minutes later, the way your brows furrowed and your fingers twisted in your hoodie.

Lucifer cataloged every detail: the shy way you ducked your head when praised, the soft whimpers you made when startled, the lingering stares you would give him when you thought he wasn't looking. You were his favorite secret, a bright spot of purity in his ancient chaos.

Sam and Dean sensed something was off. They reinforced wards, warned you repeatedly. But Lucifer was the devil—he slipped through. And you, sweet and trusting, never fully reported the visits. “He’s not always mean.” You’d mumble if pressed. “He listens.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

On a quiet Thursday, with Sam and Dean gone for a hunt, Lucifer decided it was time to push deeper. The bunker was silent except for the low hum of the lights. You were curled up on your bed, knees drawn to your chest, flipping through an old journal when the air shifted. He appeared beside you, graceful and commanding.

“Hello, little one.” His voice wrapped around you like smoke. Before you could protest, he settled against the headboard and patted his lap. “Come here. You’ve been alone too long. Let me keep you company.”

You hesitated, biting your lower lip. “Luci…Sam and Dean said—”

“They’re not here.” He interrupted smoothly, golden eyes gleaming. “And you’ve missed me. I can tell.” Something in his tone—gentle yet insistent—pulled you over. You crawled into his lap, straddling one thigh, back to his chest. His arms encircled your waist, holding you securely. You relaxed gradually, the warmth of him soothing after days of quiet worry. His hand stroked slow circles over your stomach through the hoodie, possessive and calming.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence. Then you felt it. A growing hardness pressing insistently against your ass. It was warm, solid, and it twitched when you shifted. Your innocent mind spun slowly. You squirmed, trying to adjust, which only made the pressure more pronounced. A soft, confused whine escaped your throat.

“Luci...what is that?” You asked, voice small and genuinely puzzled. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, eyes wide. “It’s poking me. Did you put something in your pocket?”

Lucifer’s low chuckle vibrated through his chest and into your back. He rocked his hips up deliberately, grinding the hard length against you. “Oh, my sweet, clueless boy. No pocket. That’s my cock getting hard for you.” His breath ghosted your ear. “You feel so good sitting on me like this. So warm and innocent. It makes me want you.”

You blinked, processing. Your cheeks burned bright red. “Hard? Like…because of me?” You squirmed again, whiny and restless, the movement rubbing you against him unintentionally. “It feels really big. And warm. Why’s it doing that, Luci? Does it hurt?”

He groaned softly, one hand sliding under your hoodie to rest against your bare skin. “It aches, baby. In the best way. Because I really like you.” His voice dropped, teasing yet tender. “Every time you chew on that string or look at me with those big eyes, it gets worse.”

You whimpered, shifting again, caught between confusion and a strange, fluttering heat low in your belly. Your body was responding, cunt growing slick. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to make it hurt. You keep pushing it against me. Do you… want to put it inside me? Is that why you’re grinding like that?”

The words were so naively offered, so lacking in any real awareness of what you were suggesting, that Lucifer’s grip tightened, his control fraying. “Yes.” He breathed, voice rough with want. “I want to put it inside you, little one. Deep inside that tight cunt. Fill you up until there’s no room for anything else.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

He moved with deliberate slowness, drawing the moment out. Lucifer laid you back on the bed, stripping your clothes with careful hands, murmuring praises the entire time. “Look at you…so pretty.” When you tried to cover yourself, he gently pinned your wrists above your head. “None of that. Let me see what’s mine.”

His own clothes vanished in a flicker. His cock stood heavy and thick, flushed and leaking. You stared, eyes wide. Lucifer slicked his fingers with your growing wetness and began opening you— one finger first, slow and patient, curling gently. You gasped, back arching, a high whine spilling out.

“Feels weird…but kind of good.” You admitted breathlessly, mind still lagging. “Luci, are you sure this is okay?”

“More than okay, sweet boy.” He added a second finger, scissoring patiently while his thumb stroked your clit in soft circles. Your hips twitched, whines growing needier. He took his time, building you up until you were slick and trembling.

When he finally lined up, pressing the thick head against your entrance, reality hit you harder. “Luci— it’s too big. It won’t fit inside me.” You whined, legs instinctively trying to close. Tears pricked your eyes from nerves. “Please, it looks like it’ll break me.”

“Shh, baby. It will fit. I’ll make it fit.” Lucifer pushed forward inch by inch, stretching you open with a burning fullness. You sobbed softly, hands clutching his shoulders, body trembling. “Too much…hurts, it won’t fit, Luci! I’m too small—”

“You’re perfect.” He groaned, voice thick with obsession. Halfway in, he paused, leaning down to kiss your tears. “Taking my cock so well already. And when I cum, sweet boy…I’m going to put a nephilim in you. Fill this womb with my seed until it takes. You’ll swell with my child. Our little miracle.”

Your eyes widened in innocent panic. “A baby? No, Luci, I’m too young for a baby— Sam and Dean would kill me… I can’t have a nephilim. Please, I’m not ready!”

Lucifer rocked deeper, bottoming out with a satisfied moan. The stretch was overwhelming, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clenching heat. “Too young? That’s what makes it sweeter. My innocent little boy. Imagine it—your belly rounding out, heavy with my offspring. You were made for this. Made for me.” He began to thrust, slow and deep, grinding against that spot inside you that made your vision spark. One hand stroked your clit in time with his movements.

You whined and moaned beneath him, torn between protest and overwhelming pleasure. “But— a baby…I’m too young, Luci. It’ll hurt— ah!— and everyone will know…” Your words dissolved into sobs of pleasure as he angled perfectly, fucking you with measured, devastating strokes.

“I’ll keep you safe. Hidden away if I must. Just you, me, and the life I put inside you.” His hand pressed lightly on your lower belly. “Feel that? Right here. Gonna flood you until it sticks. A nephilim with your eyes and my power. You’ll look so beautiful carrying my child, little Winchester.”

Despite your whimpers of “too young” and “can’t,” your body betrayed you. Your cunt fluttered around him, slick sounds filling the room as he drove deeper. Lucifer’s pace gradually quickened, control slipping as obsession took over. He pinned you down, murmuring dark promises between kisses.

Another orgasm crashed over you, cunt spasming hard around his cock. Lucifer followed with a guttural groan, burying himself as deep as possible and flooding you with hot, endless seed until your belly felt full and warm.

He stayed inside you long after, grinding lazily to push his cum deeper. “Good boy. So full already. It’ll take. My perfect vessel for our child.”

You lay there dazed, panting, one hand resting uncertainly over your stomach. Tears slipped down your cheeks—overwhelmed, innocent mind spinning with new fears and strange warmth. Lucifer kissed your forehead, obsession burning brighter than ever. “Don’t worry, sweet one. I’ll take care of everything.”

The meeting at the Seven tower dragged on. A group of investors with sticks up their asses acted as if they had the right to dictate terms to Homelander when he was, in fact, the face of Vought.

There were ten people inside the room, all sitting around the table. Homelander, eight old, bitter pseudo-businessmen and you. Your father had taken you to the meeting because he knew you admired Homelander, so now you sat in one of the chairs, almost vibrating with excitement, which also made you the only person there who was in a somehow good mood.

Halfway through their complaining about how the price of buying a supe is too high these days, Homelander rested his chin in the palm of his hand, a faint frown on his face indicating his growing irritation. You were watching him intently, trying to be subtle about it, even though your eyes didn't leave him even for a moment.

"Four hundred million for some pseudo-hero pumped full of blue shit from a syringe?" One of the investors scoffed while reviewing the offer. "This has to be a joke."

Homelander's eyes were on him in an instant. Not threatening just yet, simply watching. Waiting for another misstep.

"You want that much money for some walking drug addict? It's absurd." Another one said, daring to address John directly.

"I don't set the prices, Stan Edgar does." Homelander responded flatly.

You kept watching him, not really interested in their conversation, too invested in the way John was leaning back in his chair, looking like he was growing more and more agitated by the minute.

"Then tell Stan we won't let some lab rats cost us a fortune." Your father suddenly spoke up, turning to Homelander with a frown. Their eyes locked, and at the mere mention of lab rats, John's gaze became icy.

"Tell Stan Edgar?" He repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Who do you think I am?"

It should've been enough of a warning. But it wasn't.

"You're a product, you listen to the people who are buying you." Your father said coldly, which only made John's eyes narrow further. This time in something closer to dangerous amusement.

"I'm the Homelander." He smiled slowly, baring his white teeth. "I do not take orders from Stan or some weak, human garbage like you."

Silence. Homelander's gaze swept over the room, he could hear their hearts pounding in their chests, fear slowly beginning to take root in their minds. John inhaled the scent with unhidden pleasure. He wanted more, more of that terrified obedience.

Then his gaze finally turned to you. The smirk that appeared on his face was downright feral. "Oh, right. That's your kid, huh?" He asked your father, even though his gaze was fixated on you. It made you feel uncomfortably bare, the excitement from earlier slowly dissolving to make place for unease.

Your father nodded slowly, suddenly much more careful while choosing his words. "Indeed, why?"

John shrugged and turned to him again. "Let's see how well I listen, then."

He wasted no time, just stood up, pushing the chair back and walking over to you. Your chest tightened at the mere sight of him approaching you with that mean look. John, however, didn't let you think too long, he simply grabbed you by the shoulders, forcing you up to your feet. Everyone gasped, watching in horror as he manhandled you, bending you over the table right there, in front of them.

Your father immediately stood up, slamming his hands against the desk. "Stop that immediately-" He demanded but John's eyes shifted to him, already glowing red. The laser burned a hole in your father's shoulder, effectively rendering him incapable of further speech. Apart from pained, pathetic whines that started leaving his mouth, of course.

You couldn't react. Not with Homelander's grip shifting to the nape of your neck before slamming your cheek against the table. He wasn't gentle at all. This was more of a performance than anything else, after all. He easily kicked your legs open with his foot before moving his other hand to your pants, causing you to let out a yelp when with one sharp movement, he tore them off you, leaving you bare and trembling.

"Stop, please-" You tried, hands moving to grip the desk but he ignored you completely. The silence in the room was defeating. Nobody dared to make a sound, terrified and nauseous from the sight in front of them.

Homelander didn't bother with opening you up, he simply pulled his own pants down swiftly, his cock already hard and leaking precum from the tip. You could feel it press against your entrance for barely a second before a sharp cry of pain left your mouth when he pushed in, burying himself to the hilt inside you. Everyone in the room gasped and your eyes went shut, tears welling up in them.

"Eyes on your daddy, sweetheart." Homelander murmured with mock sweetness, hand twisting in your hair before forcing your head back so you could face your father. He looked horrified and pale, trapped between wanting to kill John and being unable to do anything while actively bleeding out and squirming in pain.

In this position, you could see every single person in the room, or at least as far as your teary eyes allowed you to. Some of the investors were staring in horror, unblinking and nauseous, others were shamefully looking down, either embarrassed or aroused beyond reason. Your father, however, turned his head away, unable to keep looking at his child getting fucked right in front of him. He just kept tightening his own hand over the gaping hole in his shoulder.

"Yeah, just like that. Keep looking." Homelander smirked and shook his head, hand escaping your hair to painfully grip your throat instead. He was pounding into you with single-minded focus, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. You were sobbing, tears streaming freely down your cheeks from how painfully deep he was thrusting into you.

He slowly leaned down, his other gloved hand moving to clench on your thigh and pin it to the table as well. The new position allowed him to fuck even deeper into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again, making you moan and whine shamefully. "So tight. Never had a cock inside you, huh?" He taunted.

John's gaze then turned briefly to the people present at the table, x-ray vision allowing him to see exactly what was happening under that surface and he grinned with feral amusement. "Oh my. Did you know that two of them are jerking off right now?" The filthy chuckle that left him made you physically flinch.

After a few more moments of enjoying the fear and disgust, John apparently grew bored of it, though. He frowned slightly before shifting his grip on you, grabbing both of your arms and pinning them behind your back. His thrusts started growing more erratic, hips snapping forward, not caring about your pleasure or discomfort whatsoever.

He pushed in one last time before pulling out suddenly, leaving your hole gaping and letting his seed coat your ass instead. The absence of his cock filling you made you whine, as he didn't even let you come, just sharply pulled you off the table and threw you onto the floor like a discarded toy.

You hit the ground like a ragdoll, curling up on yourself almost immediately, sobs leaving your parted lips involuntarily. Homelander just pulled his pants up, watching with a self-satisfied smirk how some of the more empathetic investors were trying not to gag at what they just witnessed. Then his eyes shifted back to your father.

"Oh." Homelander hummed, gaze sweeping over the pale, lifeless body, blood pooling under your father's chair. "Well, that's quite unfortunate."

He sighed, eyes lightening up again and just a second later, everyone sitting at the table was cut in half by his laser vision, the upper halves of their bodies hitting the ground with a thud.

You looked up with terror, almost expecting him to murder you as well, but Homelander didn't even glance at you, he simply adjusted his gloves and left the meeting room, the heavy metal door sliding shut behind him. You looked around briefly before curling up on yourself again, trembling and sobbing weakly into your own arm.

You thought the dreams were just stress.

At first, they were harmless. Lucifer would appear in empty, hazy versions of the bunker or old motel rooms, sitting across from you with that lazy, charming smile. He’d listen when you talked about feeling invisible. He’d call you “sweetheart ” in that velvet voice and tell you how special you were. How seen.

You woke up from those dreams feeling warm. Wanted.

Then the dreams changed.

The first explicit one came after a bad hunt.

You’d frozen again. Sam had to save you. Dean had yelled. You’d gone to bed feeling small and worthless. In the dream, Lucifer found you curled up on an empty bed.

“Poor thing.” He murmured, sitting beside you. His hand stroked your hair. “They don’t see how hard you try. But I do.”

You leaned into the touch, starved for it. When his hand slid lower, cupping your cheek, then your neck, you didn’t pull away. When he kissed you — slow, deep, possessive — you whimpered and kissed him back.

You woke up hard and wet, face burning with shame. You changed your underwear in silence, heart pounding. It was just a dream.

But Lucifer kept coming back.

Night after night, he visited you in your sleep. He’d undress you gently, cooing praises the whole time. “Such a pretty boy. So lonely. So desperate for someone to want you.” He’d touch you everywhere — fingers sliding between your legs, mouth on your chest, tongue teasing your clit until you woke up gasping and soaking the sheets.

You started dreading sleep. And craving it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

One night, the dream felt too real.

Lucifer had you on your back in a version of your bunker room. He was between your legs, licking slow stripes through your folds while two fingers curled inside you.

“Look at you.” He crooned against your cunt. “So wet for the Devil. Does Sammy know his baby brother spreads his legs for me every night?”

You sobbed, hips twitching. “Please— Luci…”

He sucked on your clit and you came hard, waking up with a broken moan, fingers between your legs, slick coating your thighs.

You cried afterward, ashamed and guilty. Sam and Dean were your family. They were trying to protect you from him. And here you were, letting him ruin you in your dreams.

But you never told them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

The night it became real, you were alone in the bunker.

Sam and Dean were on a hunt two states away. You’d stayed behind because you’d been “off” lately. You were in bed, trying to stay awake, when the air grew cold.

Lucifer appeared at the foot of your bed, solid and real.

You sat up fast, heart hammering. “You’re— You're here.”

He smiled, gentle and predatory. “I got tired of only having you in dreams, sweet boy.” He crawled onto the bed, cupping your face. “You’ve been such a good little secret for me. Touching yourself after my visits. Whispering my name when you come.”

Your face burned. “I...I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh.” He kissed you softly, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. “It’s okay. I know how badly you need this. How badly you need me.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed, but you didn’t push him away. When his hands slid under your shirt, you trembled.

“I shouldn’t…” You whispered.

“But you will.” Lucifer murmured, peeling your binder off. He kissed across your chest, tongue teasing your nipples. “Because no one else makes you feel like this. No one else sees you.”

You were crying quietly by the time he got your pants off. Lucifer cooed at the sight of you — hard and dripping.

“Look at this pretty cunt.” He whispered, fingers sliding through your slick. “All mine.”

He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly. You moaned, hips jerking. He fucked you with his fingers while kissing you, swallowing every shy, embarrassed sound you made.

When he finally replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding in slow and deep, you sobbed against his mouth.

“Too much?” He asked, voice soft.

You shook your head, clinging to him. “Don’t stop. Please, need you.”

He fucked you gently at first, then harder, hips snapping with controlled power. All the while he praised you — “Good boy,” “My perfect little Winchester,” “So much better than Sam could ever be.”

You came with a broken cry, tears streaming down your face. Lucifer followed soon after, filling you with a low groan.

Afterward, he held you close, stroking your hair as you trembled in his arms.

“You’re mine now.” He whispered. “Not theirs. Mine.”

You nodded against his chest, exhausted and strangely at peace.

The guilt was still there.