#dark!sam

[turbulent-tunes]

i'll never not be thinking about unnatural history

ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒʳᶦᵍᶦⁿᵃˡ

[infinidean]

sam knows his brother so well. if sam had gone full darkside in the first few seasons, accepted his place as boyking of hell, he would’ve been aware of exactly how difficult keeping dean safe would be. dean would constantly try to save him, fight him find ways of redeeming sam- and yet neither of them can live without the other. this is why dark!sam fics are so fun imo. the things sam would have to do to just keep dean out of trouble and by his side would be insane

[stonenumberone]

Like Staring Into the Sun by @nyxocity [AO3] Set about mid-S3. Darker!Sam and Doomed!Dean find themselves in a place where morals and rules aren't starting to mean much in the face of what they really want.

“You two look good together,” she whispers, mouth melting against Dean’s before sealing over Sam’s, and Dean’s losing track of who’s where and who’s kissing who, blood singing sharply in his veins and knees rushing with warmth. Sam’s shoulder, his hipbone, pressing up against Dean, solid and warm and electric, mouths turned toward each other but not quite touching, girl kissing back and forth between them until Dean can’t tell the difference anymore. Feels Sam’s head turn toward him just a tiny bit more, can feel the rush of Sam’s breath as the corner of his brother’s mouth almost grazes his, feels the girl trying to kiss both of them at once, humming her approval. He wonders for a split second if things could get any more wrong than this. Feels Sam’s hot fingers brush his cheek, nails graze his scalp as they slip through the tangle of Dean’s hair and realizes it really, really can.

[sammysmaddy]

Normal (Winchesters x Reader) - Masterlist

Summary: Growing up as the baby of the Winchester family led you to be constantly guarded. Soon enough, you start to learn what's normal between families and what's not.

Pairing(s): John x Daughter!Reader, Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Warning(s): This story contains dub-con, some noncon elements, drugged!reader, use of drugs (otherwise alcohol), incest, and lots and lots of manipulation. The reader in this story is a victim of all four, starting off with manipulation. Please do not read if any of the above makes you feel uncomfortable.

W/C: 35k+ split into nine different parts

A/N: I believe I started writing this story in 2020 and I've just finally finished it 😅 I'll probably post a part or two a week as it's fully finished and sitting in my drafts :)

Masterlist

Teaser

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

FINALE

[sr-sam-bodypillow]

okay pretty cursed idea but let me cook. au where Sam is a pretty infamous serial killer, and Kaif is both his roommate and the lead detective on his case. Sam has to do something about it, and he decides to fuck Kaif silly.

tw: noncon. this is really bad. REALLY BAD. i do not condone these kinds of acts in real life at all. somnophilia, yandere!sam, kidnapping, drugging, incredibly dark sam is not redeemable in the slightest tbh, mentioned murder/gore but nothings really described

Kaif is a detective. He's been assigned to the case of a new serial killer, and he's incredibly exhausted, having been forced to work long hours or risk losing his job. He hasn't slept in days, he's barely eating and he's losing weight, quite literally withering away as he works himself to the bone.

The only upside to all of this is his lovely roommate, Sam, who tries his best to take care of him, cooking him food even if he never eats it and carrying him to bed once he inevitably passes out at his desk.

There's just one problem.

Sam's the killer they're after.

He's always one step ahead of the authorities because he's been abusing the fact that he literally lives with the lead detective, and everyone is none the wiser.

But Sam sees whats going on, how the higher ups are quite literally threatening Kaif with his entire livelihood and career, ready to knock it all down at a moments notice. Playing with his life. He knows why- Sam's only been targeting corrupt officials and crooked cops, and they do not like that, allocating as much of their resources as possible to the case in order to solve it.

Sam hates it. He hates watching Kaif wither away, because, alright, yeah. He's in love. It's absolutely not a normal amount of love but come on he's been murdering cops by tearing out each of their ribs one by one whilst they’re still alive, he’s not exactly the pinnacle of sanity.

So, he gets an idea. Kaif's not willing to rest himself, not wanting to risk losing his job, so what if... Sam made him relax? If Kaif's missing, then they can't get mad at him for not showing up, can they? Just one little kidnapping, to buy Kaif some time to recharge and take care of himself.

Besides, Kaif's one of the very few good cops in this city.

Sam thinks he deserves a reward.

Sam kidnaps Kaif and ties him naked with a blindfold to a bed after injecting him with an aphrodisiac drug, and slowly starts to have his way with him, starting with groping his tits and playing with his nipples.

Kaif is panicking the whole time, desperately trying to ignore just how good it feels for him, but he’s fighting a losing battle as he’s already rock hard and leaking precum within the first three minutes of Sam starting to play with him, blush covering his entire face.

Sam eventually moves down to his legs which have been tied open, unzipping his pants and getting ready to fuck him. Kaif starts to thrash more, completely oblivious to the fact that his struggling is only turning Sam on further.

Sam slides inside with ease, because he’d already taken the time to finger Kaif and get him prepared whilst he was unconscious. Kaif whimpers, trying to keep his moans in, but it’s a futile attempt, and Sam can’t help but coo at how he sounds like such a slut.

Sam doesn’t move just yet, giving Kaif some time to get used to his size. After all, this is so that Kaif can relax. It would be no good for him to be in pain. When he thinks enough time has passed, he pulls off the absolutely soaked blindfold Kaif is wearing, letting him see just who is fucking him like this.

Kaif’s crying turns to outright sobbing at the sight of Sam doing this to him, which leads to Sam leaning down to kiss away his tears and murmur sickly sweet words in his ear, telling him that he’s doing so well for him and that it will all feel so good if he just relaxes. Additionally, he brings up the fact that he knows Kaif has been jerking off to photos of Sam recently, something that makes the man go pale. After all, the only way Sam could know that is if he’s been actively spying on Kaif (which, he has. He’s got cameras.)

Kaif continues to beg Sam, but he ignores him, opting to slowly start thrusting into him. Kaif’s pleas quickly turn into broken, ragged moans, the aphrodisiac well and truly having made its way through his blood by now. Sam continues to kiss him, leaving a trail of hickeys along his skin.

Kaif doesn’t last very long before he cums all over his own stomach. He’s utterly mortified, especially when he watches himself harden again within a matter of seconds. He can’t be enjoying it this much, right? Right? He can’t take his eyes off Sam, watching with a combination of both muted horror and arousal as the man stops so that he can lick Kaif’s cum off his stomach before continuing. He can’t hide the sounds he’s making anymore, and he doesn’t even try to as time goes by.

Eventually, he finds himself begging. Not for Sam to stop, but for him to go faster. For more, for him to lean down and keep fucking kissing him like that because it feels so good. He can’t even find it in himself to be ashamed anymore, rising up to sloppily kiss Sam back, panting and moaning like a whore as he bucks his hips, desperate for more friction. He’s… oh, god, he’s enjoying this. Sam only chuckles, speeding up his pace.

Kaif comes two more times before Sam finishes inside of him, each one more mind-shattering than the last, causing his entire body to tremble violently with overstimulation and pleasure. He passes out shortly afterwards, Sam still clinging to him.

They spend the next four days like that.

When Kaif eventually resurfaces after his… ‘kidnapping’, he receives medical treatment for the injuries he sustained (that were intentionally done by both parties to help establish a false story), recounts his experience to multiple investigators, regretfully telling each and everyone of them that his attacker wore a mask and did not speak, giving them no identifiable features.

When he’s discharged, Kaif will go home to his apartment with his loving boyfriend Sam, and end up cockwarming him for the entirety of their movie night.

(And absolutely nobody will ever know what actually happened during those five days he went missing.)

[missroserose]

Whumptober Day 6: Ransom Video

“Speak.”

Sam resists the urge to give a canine bark into the camera that’s shoving into his face.  Resists, too, the temptation to shove it back out of the way; he’s only got one hand free from its bonds behind the chair, and he’ll be better off if he can take them by surprise with both.  He compromises by leaning to one side, out of the way of the lens, and glaring up at the person holding it.  Well, the body holding it, anyway; a beefy tattooed man of indeterminate Eastern European origin.  Probably a bouncer on the way home from his gig at a strip club, turning down a side street on his way home, only to be jumped by—Sam shuts down that line of thought.  It’s only going to make the next steps harder.

“I said, speak, Winchester.”  The other figure, some skinny little guy with a piercing voice—maybe a promoter for that same club, who knows—stares at him with equally blackened eyes.  “You want big brother Dean to come save you, right?  Gotta show him that the merchandise is intact.  Top to toes.  Scalp to bootyhole.”  A smile, unpleasant.  “All present and accounted for.”

“Intact” is a generous term.  Sam can feel the lump on his head where they cold-clocked him, the fresh cut on his temple, useless blood tacky and drying on the side of his face, plus the beginnings of what’s going to be a truly stunning black eye blooming in the socket.  He weighs the possibility of gaining information against the satisfaction of staying silent, and opts for the latter.

The talkative one makes a sound of disgust, and walks around the chair.  Sam holds tight to the bonds, hopes they still look solid—then grunts and sucks in a breath as the demon grabs hold of his hair and pulls his head back, tight enough to tug on the still-fresh cut, long enough for the bigger demon to get a shot with the camcorder.  “Good enough,” he comments, before tossing Sam’s head forward carelessly.  A moment later, Sam hears the goon close the camera screen, set it down.

“If you think Dean’s going to care one whit that you’ve got me, you’re wrong.”  Sam keeps his head down, staring at his lap; his voice feels rusty, throat thick with anticipation.  “He’s not talking to me anymore.  Probably he’ll just be glad you’re taking me off his hands.”

“What’s that?  A little trouble in the family love nest?”  Sam hears the flick of a lighter; a moment later, he smells tobacco smoke a moment later as the skinny demon takes a drag.  “Don’t worry, sweetheart.  There’s nothing like seeing your property a little roughed up to make you realize how much you want it.  Who knows, maybe you’ll end up thanking us when this is all over.  Get your boy to take you on a proper little honeymoon, show him how much he loves you.”  The second demon sniggers at this, and Sam grinds his teeth—it’s not like the insinuations are anything new, but they feel…dirtier somehow, now.

“What do you want from him?”  Sam chances a glance up, meets the talker’s eyes over the glow of the cigarette.  “If you’re looking for information, I’m your best bet.  Dean’s just the muscle.”

“We’ve heard all the stories about you two.”  The second demon speaks up from a few paces behind the first, looming in the shadows.  “He’s the fire, you’re the brains.  He fast-talks the bad guys, you cut the floor out from under them.”  A pause.  “He gets angry, you get even.”

The smaller guy nods, sneering.  “He’s the ladies’ man, you only take it out on Sundays and holidays for a good polish.”  A giggle.  “Brothers, am I right?”

Sam shakes his head, as much to hide the motion of his left hand freeing itself as a conversational gambit.  “That’s all you’ve gathered?  Petty gossip and rumor?”  

“Nah, big guy, all of that’s common knowledge.”  The skinny demon takes a drag, contemplating him.  “The point is, it’s always the two of you.  Saving the world, or bringing on the apocalypse, or even just fucking over some frat boys at pool—it’s always a two-man con.  And that’s the key, innit?”

Sam keeps up his disaffected expression, ignores the ice cube that’s slipped into his stomach.  “What key?”

The demon doesn’t answer right away.  He takes one last drag, long and luxuriant; blows out the smoke, examines the butt of his cigarette before putting it out on the back of the man’s right hand.  “As you can tell, we’ve made something of a study of the two of you, over the years.  Heard the others talk about you in hushed tones.  Listened to the stories grow into that fearsome reputation.  And we noticed something they all seem to miss.”  The demon moves close, leaning forward on the arms of the chair, face hovering bare inches over Sam’s.  “When the two of you are together, you’re unstoppable.  Like a tornado, or an earthquake.  An act of…you-know-who.  But when you’re apart—when Dean thinks his precious Sammy is in danger…ah.  Then you two have a markedly different effect on the world.”

“Neil.”  The muscled demon speaks up, warningly.  Smarter than he looks, probably smarter than his compatriot.  But Neil holds up a hand, holds Sam’s gaze.  “All we have to do is keep the hope alive.  Send out lures, proof of life, false leads.  And dear, sweet, angry big brother will do the rest.”  A toothy smile.  “He’ll burn down the world to find you.  And we get to watch and laugh while the fire spreads—”

Sam drives his forehead forward, feels the satisfying crunch of collapsing cartilage.  There’s barely time for a yelp from the demon, a spray of blood, before Sam reaches up, gets him into a headlock, squeezing the demon’s neck beneath one arm, the other hand between his shoulderblades.  The body flails, nose spraying blood everywhere, but Sam holds on, warning pressure against the carotid, and the demon goes abruptly quiet, coughing and spitting blood onto the floor.

The muscle demon has a gun on him.  Sam looks up, makes eye contact.  “Nuh-uh,” he says, tightening his grip in unmistakable threat.

A scoff of disbelief.  “Thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” the man says.  “You can’t kill him.”  

Sam gives a tight smile.  “One thing I’ve found in this business.”  Holding the larger demon’s eye, he reaches his free hand down, swipes it through the bloody mess of the smaller demon’s face—then brings his hand to his mouth.  Inhales, savors the scent, savors the look of confusion on the bouncer’s face—then swipes his tongue along his palm.  Swallows.  Smears the remainder across his mouth, and grins bloody-toothed.  “It pays to be certain of your research.”

His entire body blazes as the demon’s blood spreads through it—crack cocaine, unrefined but plenty potent.  The veil seems to fall away from the world; the dingy darkness of the warehouse surrounding brightens, details springing into existence.  He glances at the vessel before him, sees the shadow of the demon haunting it; a twitch of his fingers, and the shadow starts to struggle.  The body’s eyes grow wide; it drops the gun, makes a choking noise as, inch by inch, Sam pulls the shadow from it, dissolves it into mist, then nothing.

“That was your first mistake,” he remarks, to the demon still spluttering beneath his arm.  “Thinking I was the smart one.”  He breaks the bonds around his legs easily enough, then pulls the demon from the skinny body; this one goes louder, screaming the whole way until it’s out.

Sam looks at the two of them, alive and breathing but unconscious, though for how much longer is anyone’s guess.  He should check on them, he thinks; but here, standing tall with the world burning bright around him, he can’t quite see why he should care.

“The second was thinking Dean would burn down the world.” And with that, he strides off, letting the heavy door thunk shut behind him.

[hoboal87]

Don't Speak, Part 11

Characters: Sam, Reader, John, Bobby, Ellen, unnamed doctor, mentions of: Dean, Claire and Jo

Pairings: Sam x Reader, implied Dean x Claire, implied Reader x Claire, implied Sam x Reader x Dean

Summary: Y/N recovers from Sam and Dean's assault.

Warnings: soft!dark Sam, gaslighting, past rape/sexual assault**, recovery from assualt, stockholm syndrome, medical inaccuracies, mentions of past miscarriage, fluff?

Word Count: 1700+

**TW: past rape/sexual assault is mentioned throughout this chapter in non-explicit detail.

a/n: once again, i'd like to thank @negans-lucille-tblr for letting me bounce ideas off of her in the middle of the night (well, my time) thanks, Bee!

beta'd by the wonderful, lovely, @writethelifeyouwant

This is a dark!fic that includes potentially triggering content and is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for your own media consumption, so please, read the warnings and if you feel that you may be triggered and/or offended please move along. If you have any questions about the warnings/tags please feel free to DM me.

My Full Masterlist

Don't Speak Masterlist

Part 10

You’re tucked warmly in your bed and every inch of your body aches, so much so that even the slightest movement makes you want to cry. After Dean had finished with Claire, he and Sam focused all of their rage on you, showing you a level of brutality you’d not seen in months. The brothers invent a story about your injuries for Mrs. Harvelle and Joanna: that you and Claire had snuck out of the manor and were attacked by a stranger. They’re either too scared or too loyal to the Winchesters to question otherwise; but you know they don’t completely believe them. Joanna had told you on more than one occasion that most people who lived in town feared the Winchesters; none of them were brave enough to step on their property without permission. The look on Mrs. Harvelle’s face tells you that she doesn’t trust their story, and at one point, you think she may ask you what really happened, but she’s interrupted by John entering the room to check on you.

There’s a fleeting smirk on John’s face as he looks you over; no doubt the brothers had already given him every sordid detail. The smirk quickly turns into a look of concern when Mrs. Harvelle notes your unusual injuries, and suggests that they call for the doctor and possibly a midwife, so that you can receive proper care. John frowns at her suggestion, you’re sure he wants to keep your interactions with anyone outside of the manor to a minimum, but as she lifts your nightgown to show him the extent of Sam and Dean’s assault, he reluctantly agrees.

The doctor is a young man, he doesn’t look to be much older than you. You don't quite catch his name; you're too focused on the pain radiating throughout your body. He almost resembles Dean; dark blonde hair and chiseled features, but in place of Dean’s green eyes, blue ones shine back at you. Mrs. Harvelle holds your hand as he speaks to you warmly, examining your injuries gingerly, before declaring you have a broken wrist, cracked ribs, and a fractured cheekbone. He raises an eyebrow when Sam feeds him the stranger story, but you know he wouldn’t dare question a husband about what may or may not have happened in his marital bed. No one would be able to do anything even if they believed you. You were Sam’s wife, his property for all intents and purposes, and he could do with you whatever he pleased.

The doctor sets your wrist, and wraps a bandage around your chest, ordering that you stay on bed rest for the next two weeks. He not-so-subtly suggests to Sam that you keep ‘nighttime activities’ to a minimum. The idea of Sam sharing your bed at all sends you into near-hysterics, and you hope that the midwife will also give him the same order. the doctor gives Sam a little brown bottle full of a clear liquid, and you can make out the word morphine written in large block letters. For a moment you think you might have a way to help yourself and Claire. If the doctor comes to the manor every day, then maybe he'll see what's happening to you both. But your hopes are shattered when he begins to instruct Mrs. Harvelle on how to administer the dosage, at John and Sam's insistence, providing her with a needle and taking her through the steps. Once Mrs. Harvelle feels comfortable enough the doctor makes sure that she is watching your intake very closely.

As the doctor leaves your chambers, you hear hushed words between him and John. You want to speak up, to thank him for being so kind, but it hurts to open your mouth. the doctor nods and offers a warm smile when his eyes land on you, seeming to know what you wanted to say. John’s eyes narrow, and he grabs the doctor roughly by the arm and escorts him out of the room.

The same midwife who had given you a clean bill of health not two months ago is examining you again. She asks Mrs. Harvelle about the damage between your legs, and Mrs. Harvelle repeats Sam’s story about a stranger assaulting you. You wince as she looks you over, and when Sam asks if it could affect you becoming pregnant again, she answers with a sigh. She advises, just as the doctor did, that he refrain from lying with you until you are fully healed, and tells you both that you should have no problem conceiving again.

Mrs. Harvelle and Joanna seem to be splitting their time between you and Claire, but you’ve yet to learn what kind of state she is in. The brother’s may not have beaten her as badly as they did you, but the way they used her body will be seared into your memory forever. As it was before, the only men you can even tolerate being around are Bobby and John, and only then when you were in a morphine-filled haze.

“No man is stupid ‘nuff to come on this property,” you can barely make out Bobby’s voice through your still fogged brain. He didn’t seem to fear the Winchesters, unlike some of the other servants, but you weren’t sure with whom his loyalty truly lay. “Those girls barely do anything without the boys. Why would they sneak out in the middle of the night?”

“They’re young, not much older than Joanna,” John excuses.

“Yeah, but–”

“What exactly are you gettin’ at Bobby? You think Sam or Dean hurt them?”

“All’s I’m sayin’ is… I love those boys as if they were my own, John, you know that,” you’d never heard any of the servants at Winchester Manor call John by his first name, and to hear Bobby say it was almost unnerving. “But you know as well as me that there’s something off about them. Ellen and me have turned the other way for a long time now, we don’t say nothin’ ‘cause they weren’t hurtin’ nobody. But I saw Dean bring Claire back to their room–”

“What my sons do with their wives is none of your business, Robert, and I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself. Don’t forget your place, you and Ellen.”

You drift off to John and Bobby still talking, both making what seemed to be thinly-veiled threats and accusations. Thanks to the morphine, you spend a majority of every day sleeping, only waking for short bursts to be fed or bathed.

You wake one morning to see Sam sitting in a chair next to your bed. His focus isn’t on you, but a book in his hand, Frankenstein. Your body still aches but nothing like it did before. How long had it been– a few days, a week, more? Your wrist was still wrapped, and the bruises that you could see were no longer a deep purple but a light yellow-green.

You whimper as you move onto your side, unintentionally gathering Sam’s attention.

“Hey there, princess,” he smiles warmly, closing the book and putting it onto the table next to your bed. “How ya feelin’?”

You don’t know if you can speak, so you shrug your shoulders, and your hair falls in front of your face. Sam reaches out and you recoil, unsure of what he wants.

“S’okay, baby girl, I just wanna see those pretty eyes,” he soothes as he pushes your hair behind your ears. “There we go, now I can see my beautiful wife.” An uncontrollable warmth fills your body at Sam’s praise. “I’m gonna have Mrs. Harvelle draw us a bath, how does that sound, hmm? Let you soak up, s'been a while since you had a proper one,” Sam laughs slightly.

“‘Kay,” you mumble, fighting the soreness in your throat.

“Good,” he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “how ‘bout some tea as well? Warm you right up.”

You nod, sitting up slightly as Sam leaves your room. It’s late in the day, supper time at least, oranges and reds coloring the sky outside your window. The leaves of an oak tree are an orangish-brown, at least the ones still attached to the branches, and you realize that all your memories since the loss of your baby are hazy at best.

Ten minutes later Sam is gathering you out of your bed, and carrying you into the bathroom. Mrs. Harvelle is there, offering to help you undress but Sam politely shoos her away, saying that he will do it himself. There is a moment between them that you don’t quite understand, and her eyes briefly flicker to you, as if she’s waiting for you to give her a reason to stay.

Part of you wants to ask her to, but you dare not go against Sam’s wishes; he’s being unusually kind, and you don’t want to sour his mood. The large, clawfoot tub is filled with steaming water, and you can’t deny that it looks very appealing. Sam sets you down on a small chair, and reaches for the hem of your nightgown. Your breath hitches, and Sam stops before looking back up to you. You take a moment before nodding your head, answering his unasked question, and he removes the dress, gently caressing up your body as he does so.

“I’d like to get in with you,” Sam asks, almost innocently, like a naive young boy, not the brute you know him to be. “If that’s okay?” you nod meekly and he slowly strips himself of his own clothes.

Sam picks you up gingerly, carrying you as you had always imagined a husband would carry his wife. He sinks down slowly, and you gasp as he places you in the water. It’s almost uncomfortably hot, but after a moment or two your body adjusts and you let yourself be overtaken by its warmth. Sam climbs in behind you, wrapping his arms around your stomach, and encourages you to lean back against him and settle between his legs.

Sam hums as you relax into him, and you find a source of comfort in the steady beat of his heart. There’s silence between you, for once, and you don’t feel the need or pressure to do anything but be with your husband. Water ripples as Sam’s usual rough touches are replaced by soft and meaningful caresses over your healing body.

“You know I love you, Y/N,” Sam murmurs in your ear, breaking the silence. It's the first time he’s ever said that to you, and you feel your heart swell.

“You do?” You ask as you turn around to face him.

“Of course I do. That’s why I had to teach you a lesson, because I love you,” Sam caresses your face. “I know you want to be a good girl, a good wife for me, and you try so hard. The baby–” he stops as you retreat back. “–it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.”

“You don’t?” You’d been blaming yourself for the better part of two months, but now knowing Sam doesn’t, you find relief from the guilt you’d been feeling.

“No, baby girl,” he pulls you towards him, letting your chest rest against his. “It'll happen when it's supposed to, ‘kay?” You nod, too overcome by his confession to do anything else. He loves you. “I need you to promise me one thing, Y/N,” you perk up, staring deep into his eyes. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.” You don’t need him to be specific, you know exactly what he’s referring to. “We took it easy on you, and you don’t want to see what happens when I get mad, do you sweetheart?”

“I pr-promise,” you nod your head.

“Good girl.”

Feedback is fuel! Please tell me what you think!

Part 12

[theend]

i hope this satisfies your dark sam needs :)