#katomicarchetype

when ruby said sam winchester was off limits, she made the forbidden fruit even sweeter.

so naturally, when you wanted to piss her off, you tracked the winchester boy down to that abandoned shed in nebraska that he’d been squatting in for the past few days. scared and alone with his brother rotting in hell, vulnerability was practically oozing off of sam as you threw the shed’s doors open. you watched him like a hungry wolf watches a fawn as he scrambled to his feet and reached for his shotgun.

“who the hell are you?!” sam barked, aiming the barrel straight for your head.

“me?” you chuckled with a sweet bitterness. “i’m practically your sister in law, honey… by the way, dean sends his love,”

you see his face twitch in reaction to your words and you can’t help but lick your lips. as you saunter closer to him, you can see his resolve begin to crumble, and the position of his gun falters just a bit. it should be illegal to look that pathetic and sexy at the same time.

“what do you want?” he sneered, looking down the barrel of the slightly lowered shotgun at you. he backed up a half step, as if he had the ability to control himself.

“i wanna help you, sammy,” you purred, running your fingers along the dusty workbench as you stepped closer to him. you could see him clench and unclench his jaw as he caught a whiff of your scent: dark and smoky-sweet, like a bourbon that burns your throat all the way down to your gut. "...unless you're loyal to a demon,"

sam slightly shook his head, and you wondered if he were trying to convince you or himself with that answer. you stopped walking once your fingers brushed something on the workbench and picked it up, testing its weight in your hands. it was an old hatchet, still surprisingly sharp. you ran your index finger along the bit, drawing a drop of crimson blood to the surface of your skin.

"i'll let you have the first taste for free..." you tell him in a sick sing-song voice.

you can almost hear the gears move in that pretty little head of his. click... click... click. within an instant, he's crossed the shed to you, lapping at your finger like a starving man, his eyes wide and crazed, holding your wrist like it were the most precious thing in the world.

once he's hooked, you pull your finger away from his mouth and click your tongue. "tsk, tsk, sam. the rest comes at a price." he looks up at you with those classic puppy-dog eyes you've heard so much about from ruby. it would've hurt your soul if you still owned one.

"...what's the price?" he asked hesitantly, his dewy eyes looking at you as if you were holy rather than damned.

"just show me how much you want your fix," you drawled, boosting yourself onto the edge of the workbench, crossing your legs.

next thing you know, sam winchester, the forbidden fruit, is fucking nose-deep into your pussy... well. not really your pussy. the girl that you possessed's pussy. the same girl that you thanked god (again, not really.) wore her cutest lacey panties today. and the same girl who is probably watching from the inside, horrified that she's inadvertently cheating on her goodie-two-shoes boyfriend. you chuckle to yourself as you picture him: starched khakis and on his way to church, hoping to catch this girl's eye in the pews...

your thoughts were quickly interrupted as sam moves from tongue-fucking you to sucking on your clit.

"shit!" you hiss, feeling your thighs twitch from where they're wrapped around his neck. he sucks harder at your loud expletive, sending you over the edge, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your thighs. jess was a lucky woman before she, y'know, exploded into flames... tragic.

"that good?" sam huffed impatiently, finally coming up for air. his nose twitched as if he were ashamed. as if he wasn't known for being a monster-fucker.

"don't be in such a rush, sammy," you cooed. "you've hardly made an appearance."

he followed your eyes down to his jeans, where a prominent bulge was forming below his belt. sam frowned, deciding if he wanted to give yet another demon the pleasure. he looked you up and down, chewing the inside of his cheek. sure, what the hell? it wasn't that bad- in fact, the sicker side of him kind of enjoyed it. and dean wasn't here to judge or yell at him...

as his hands frantically move down to his belt buckle, you unwrap your legs from his neck, and your high heel connects with his chest, pushing him back from the workbench so you have some room to hop down and help the guy out.

once his belt was no longer in the way, you helped him shimmy his jeans down his hips, leaving him in only his boxers from his mid-thigh, up to where his shirt had ridden up a little. you could see his jaw clench again as your fingers, then your hand, dipped below the waistband of his underwear and pulled out his dick.

he was only half hard, but despite that, he was the biggest out of all the men you've seen completely hard. you raise your eyebrows and glance up at sam, and he turns his head as if he has something to be embarrassed of.

"sorry," he mumbles, and you quickly shake your head.

"don't be sorry,"

you spit on your hand and wrap it around his cock, placing your other hand on his chest to brace yourself. he lets out what you could've sworn was a low whimper before dipping his head and brushing his lips against the side of your face, finally allowing himself to kiss you, as if you actually care for him, because right now, he's pretending that you do.

you stroke him a few times until he becomes actually hard, and he lifts you by the hips, and holds you against the workbench, the rotted wood biting into your ass. you continue to pump your fist until he holds you steady enough so that you can line the tip of him up with your entrance. you allow yourself to sink down on him a bit, and he thrusts up, meeting you the rest of the way. sam stutters to a stop, allowing you to stretch and accommodate his size before continuing.

"god," he hisses, leaning over you more and pressing his nose to the side of your neck. he places a few kisses on your skin before moving again.

he starts slow and calculated, but begins to speed up and get hasty as time passes. by the end of it, he's going deeper, hitting spots you never knew existed, even though you've never had the same uterus twice, and he's fucking you so hard that the tools on the workbench rattle and begin to fall off.

"fuck!" you cry in between his grunts, your nails digging into his scalp and into the wood grain of the workbench, one of his hands splayed across your lower back, and the other across your hip.

before he cums, he bites down on your shoulder and quickly pulls out, allowing himself to spill all over your stomach. he breathes heavily against the crook of your neck and you can feel his skin slick with sweat as well as your own release between your thighs, wetter than the ocean tide.

"sam," you whisper, and he lifts his head enough to glance at you. you tilt your head in the direction of your outstretched arm, a long red cut along your forearm, already dripping as much as your fucked-out pussy.

his eyes lazily drift towards your bleeding arm and he praises god that he is finally worthy to drink the nectar of your veins.