#samcest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ryugarika · 4 years

Text

You’re welcome

Square Filled: duct tape Ship: Samcest (soulless/stanford) Rating: Explicit Tags: non-con, sam knows what sam truly wants, bondage, breath play, nipple torture, anal sex Summary : Soulless Sam has always wanted someone else to overpower him, truly take charge no matter what he does. But in their line of life that's- not advised. Truly, the only one who he'd ever trust with himself is ... himself. So what else is there for him to do but go back in time and overpower his younger self as he sits alone in his dorm room? It's the only way to give himself exactly what he's always needed. Word Count : 2962 Created for @spnkinkbingo

————————

Sam struggles against the tape. Yanking hard, and then even harder, but getting nowhere.

“Yeah, you know that’s not going to work. Drop the theatre.” Sam tells Sam, as he finishes tying him to his dorm bed. “I already proved I’m not a monster. I’m you. You’re me. And I- I know what you want.” Sam leans in, getting right up in your younger self’s face. “You want this.”

He drops the roll of tape onto the blankets. Surveying his work.

Twenty-one years old, he doesn’t have much of the muscle mass he’ll be building soon - hunting with Dean - but damn does he look good stretched out like that. Fully clothed or not, this is hot. No wonder everyone’s always trying to get him in some form of bondage.

“Too chicken shit to go out and ask for it, though. So here I am, from the future, making our dreams come true.”

His younger self grunts, trying to kick and failing miserably. There’s silver tape criss crossing his face and jaw, keeping this whole shindig nice and private. No need for words anyway; grunts and whines will do.

He smiles, taps himself on his taped jaw.

“You’re welcome.”

Now sure he isn’t going anywhere, Sam takes his time getting the both of them undressed. Shoes first, then socks. He doesn’t resist the urge to tickle, relishing the frantic whimpers from further up the bed.

“We’ve been dreaming about this since before we knew it was wrong.”

He reaches up, up, up, flicking open his younger self’s belt and then his jeans. It’s an older pair, Sam vaguely remembers picking them up as a teen at some fifth hand shop. No zipper, just a row of buttons. He’d thought it was cool. Makes for ease of access now, at least.

Tied up and forced to take it, Sam’s breaths hitches higher and higher as his jeans are dragged down to his ankles.

Fingertips barely touch skin as they dance across Sam’s trembling legs. Ankles, calves, knees, thighs, and then the delicate juncture between leg and ass. Up and down. In and out. Each time closer and closer to the boxer briefs that keep Sam’s dignity intact.

“Always so in control, the both of us.”

The second a fingertip slides under the tight cotton, Sam goes rigid. Breathing hard and fast, but too shallow for it to help.

“Never a real chance to just- be out of it.”

He slides more fingertips under that arbitrary line in the sand, and then both of his hands; cupping tight muscular cheeks and squeezing them till his younger self whines behind his tape mask.

Sam leans up to see the fear and arousal in his own eyes. It’s glorious.

“Not giving someone control. No- that would be too simple.”

He squeezes again, digging his nails in just hard enough that it stings.

“We want someone to take it.”

He drags his hands back out, making sure he’s leaving behind vicious red lines.

“Want someone to make us give in.”

He rips Sam’s shirt to shreds, buttons flying across the room before he tears open the sleeves. He’s not messing with his tape or wrestling Sam’s hands back into submission just to save a shirt or two. The shirt is even easier. Cheap and weak, the material doesn’t even put up a fight.

No knives, just brute strength.

Sam is almost docile underneath him when he’s done. Sucking in shallow little breaths through his nose and staring up at him with wide blown eyes. Kid looks high, and adorable at the same time, and Sam can’t help but lean down to kiss the tape covered lips.

“I’m going to take everything.” He hisses, kissing and licking across more tape till he gets to the sensitive skin behind Sam’s ear. “And you can’t do a single thing to stop me.”

Sam whines beautifully when he bites down on the tendons he finds there. He worries the delicate skin between his teeth.

“Not that you want me to stop.”

continue on AO3

#spnkinkbingo 2020 #samcest #non con #duct tape

68 notes · View notes

hellhoundsprey · 4 years

Note

Today is a great day. Thank you!! How about Samcest. Early season Sam permastuck somewhere in the future timeline?

Oh, it certainly is. So many delicious prompts from you guys! I’m having the best time. Also, why do I feel like @awabubbles sent this on anon lmao? Imma go with some good ol’ bunker PWP with this one; older!sam POV.

warnings: dubcon, no discussed consent, unsafe sex

includes: samcest, Stanford!sam, s14!sam, everyone gets off but yeah no discussed consent, dirty talk, implied wincest, orgasm control, choking

There have been too many deaths, too many universes ending and being born.

Sam swears he can’t remember.

Hears the kid holding his breath, pushing his entire meager body back into the wall that is Sam, now—tortured and still standing and steel and fire.

He doesn’t know anything, yet.

Forgets to swallow back that gravelly, “Fuck,” upon Sam forcing them even closer, grinding his semi where not even Dean had been yet, at that point.

Kid keeps his hands out of the way, maybe half-knowing he won’t be able to make any impact anyway.

Sam hasn’t forgotten about that side of himself, though.

The needy, secret part. That yearned to be discovered by someone, anyone. How he spent years fantasizing someone would just take the lead, drag him down with them.

College freshman him makes a pillow-noise upon current him peeling those boxers off his ass. Pulls his knees a little higher into his fetus position; in one of now-Sam’s newer shirts. Fits him like Dean’s used to, Dad’s used to. But it’s Sam’s, now.

Sam swears he can taste the uptick of that pulse.

His own, maybe. Or: as well.

He’s commando in his pajama pants and he feels himself going too hard too fast; the lazy, patient tick of it as he hocks some spit into his hand, brings it right to where the kid obviously needs it—rubs him up-down there, first, before he angles his middle finger right and presses in.

Past-him shivers, pointedly silent.

“It’s gonna hurt,” mumbles Sam, and his own voice feels foreign in his throat, his chest. No reply. “You’re gonna fucking love it.”

Kid tenses—not with the lack of experience, no, because God, how many hours did he spend in bathrooms, locked away and Dean pounding on the door, FUCKING HURRY UP IN THERE, and the adrenaline always helped so so well—and squirms, uncomfortable but unsure if he should (could) retract himself from Sam’s greed. Bites back a complaint upon finger number two with the first one only ever halfway in yet.

Sam advises, “Breathe,” low and quiet and the bunker hums around them. Dean is marathoning LOTR in his room down the hall; the whisper-hints of the battle rackets reach them all the way in here.

Kid-him does as he’s told—shaky, hesitantly.

It’s perfect.

Sam corkscrews his finger deep into that pink, until there’s only knuckles and the threat of his entire hand. Kid’s slowly getting into it, then, and Sam can’t tell if he’s disgusted or amused at the push-back of that body.

“Made for this, weren’t you?”

No hesitation, “Yeah,” wet around the edges and nearly falling apart.

Sam didn’t even get his dick out yet.

“Gonna do this every night. You got that? Gonna use you,” and Sam’s voice is a lone growl cutting through the silence, the choked need of his younger self writhing on his hand. “Like you need it. Maybe ask Dean, what do you think?”

His other self whimpers. Milks Sam’s fingers without his say-so, slurs, “Please,” with his face pressed into the pillow, turned away, hiding.

“Yeah.” Sam scoffs. “Yeah, you’d let us, huh?”

Not wet enough for three fingers; Sam has to pull them back out, roll to his other side to get at the lone, innocent nightstand. Shoves away condoms to get at the lube; two generous dollops of it, more than enough.

Back on his left, he pulls his cock out of its too-soft cotton containment, strokes himself with his dry hand before he spreads some of the lube here. His younger self scrambles to shove the blanket off himself and Sam lets him put one white-knuckled hand on his own ass to spread himself.

Sam rumbles, “Fuck,” with hair falling into his eyes, his cock blindly humping at his own gash. Formerly his.

There’s no need for patience or sweet words. Too easy to get a hold of the base of his cock and hold it in place so he can start to force it past the understandable resistance—the crown pushes inside with a hiss from himself, a gulp of nothing from the kid.

Again, “Fuck,” and Sam settles here, hand off so he can put it on Sam’s hip instead, hold him in place as he rocks himself deeper in slow, even strokes. Tips his head back and breathes, blissed out by the pressure, the soft-not-soft suction tucked away all slutty and safe.

Kid’s gonna be fucking altered after Sam’s done with him.

“Gonna give you all of it. Like we always wanted,” he warns, and brings his palm down hard across that ass when he sees that hand worming between those tight-clamped legs; Sam yelps, mainly for the shock. “Absolutely not. You come on this or not at all.”

A light-headed sob—no tears, all precome.

Sam tucks another couple of inches up those guts and rolls his hips all lazy, with relish.

Praises, “There you go,” and slowly but surely switches his movements to something quicker, something fluid and deep and uncaring. Up on one elbow, he can lets his head droop, can nose behind that scarlet ear, into the now-unfamiliar length of his hair. Can graze his teeth along his skin, here, before he sucks at it, bites at it, while he continues to hollow the kid out right.

Steals his hand underneath that borrowed shirt to pinch at a nipple, pull at it all mean until finally, a noise stutters from that mouth.

Sam takes that opportunity to punch him out even deeper; mean quick snaps of his hips that allow him to grind his pubes up against that tailbone soon enough.

Former him grunts lovesick sounds for that. Works himself into a song like that which Sam muffles with his own mouth, licks and drinks and makes Sam crane his neck for it, fucks him so precise that their teeth click on occasion.

Sam can’t explain the taste of Sam’s mouth. Wrings a hand around that throat and presses down, thumbnail into that skin and fuck, the roll of those eyes to nothing but white before they flutter, violet, in sheer bliss.

“Better come soon, I’m about to blow.” No reply, of course. Sam doesn’t even use that much force in his grip. “Gonna load you up so fucking deep, huh? Gonna be fucking dripping with it.” Adds, cruelly, “Been a while,” just to feel that hitch in that throat.

He belly-groans, slips his eyes shut.

Promises, “Gonna be so fucking good,” and sinks his teeth into that shoulder as he rams in once, twice, and locks his hips to just grind as his cock pulses gush after gush of come into Sam’s too-tight guts—the hungry fucking suck of them and they both tremble, now, with how perfect it is. How urgent it had been, without them noticing.

Sam sigh-slurs another, “Fuck,” and moves his hips in tired, long strokes. Works his load deeper and rides out the last urges—the fucking friction of it.

Not a drop of it slips out after his cock, and he smiles, pleased.

He sighs, contented, as he rolls back onto his side, kid clutched in his arm, back-to-chest. Still breathing hard, groaning with just a little frustration. Sam knows they can be obedient if they want to.

“Gonna ask him tomorrow,” mumbles Sam, absently chewing on the kid’s available earlobe, pressing a kiss after. “Promise.”

#hellhoundsprey #request #lemon #samcest #selfcest #implied wincest #dirty talk #Anonymous #dubious consent

36 notes · View notes

samsexualdeancurious · 4 years

Text

Not That Different (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Sam Winchester

Words: 2,173

Summary: Sam and Sam get to know each other.

Warnings: Samcest, spoilers for 15x13, anal fingering, anal sex.

Betaed by Amory

---

He’s so goddamn prissy.

Everything’s been so go-go-go since they first saved their alternate versions from the world between worlds, and Sam hasn’t had much time to sort through how he’s feeling. Now that they’ve completed Jack’s next task and can finally breathe again, things are starting to sink in. Sam finds himself sitting across the library table from Samuel, as he’s mentally labeled the other Sam in a failing attempt to maintain his own sanity. It’s clear Samuel is equally as puzzled and overwhelmed by the situation as Sam is. Sam recognizes the tightness in his lips, the little line between his brows.

Both Deans have disappeared somewhere in the bunker in search of the things needed to give these alternate Winchesters a chance at rebuilding a life in this universe. So Sam and Samuel are alone in the library and the silence is beginning to be unbearable.

“So…” Samuel says slowly, watching Sam pick at the label on his beer. “Clearly your life has been… different from mine.”

Sam snorts. “What gave you that idea?”

Samuel rolls his eyes and Sam can’t help a chuckle. “Tell me,” Samuel says, fiddling with his own beer bottle. He’s taken a few sips and though he’s pretending not to like it, Sam can see that the taste is growing on him. “What’s it like, living on the fringes of society the way you seem to do?”

Sam shrugs. “I mean, compared to the life you lived? It’s pretty damn simple. We grew up in motels and the back of the Impala. I saw a good amount of the country before I was a teen. Didn’t have a home until we found this place.” He gestures around them and Samuel’s gaze flicks around the room with an admiration that surprises Sam until he realises that beneath their rustic, hunter lifestyle is a baroque architecture that probably suits Samuel’s tastes more than it does his own.

“It is quite the find,” he says. “Men of Letters, you said? They are - were - extinct in my world.”

“The US branch was extinct here until Dean and I came along.” Sam takes a swig of his beer. “The British Men of Letters still exist but they’re all dicks. It’s a long story.”

Samuel hums thoughtfully, watching Sam with a strange expression. “Care to give me a proper tour of your home? Your brother rather thoughtfully showed us the bathroom and kitchen earlier, but not much else.”

Sam lifts a brow at him but shrugs. “Sure. Couldn’t hurt.”

They start in the library. Sam shows Samuel the organization system he spent months putting together, feeling a swell of pride at how openly impressed Samuel is by it. Next are the war room and the infirmary behind the stairs; it smells of dusty old papers and strong disinfectant. Then he shows Samuel the way to the kitchen and bathroom, despite the other man having already seen both, before moving on to the gym Sam is slowly putting together, the armory, the shooting range, Dean’s lounge, the various storerooms and archives they’re nowhere near done going through, and finally ending in the storeroom with the dungeon behind the shelves.

“This is a truly amazing place,” Samuel observes, studying a shelf of carefully cataloged boxes. “I wonder if it existed in my universe.”

Sam shrugs. “It’s possible, sure.”

“I’m assuming there are also bedrooms?” Samuel asks, giving Sam a strange look Sam can’t quite decipher.

“Uh, yeah. They’re this way.”

He leads Samuel through the winding halls of the bunker to where the bedrooms are. Sam gestures vaguely in the direction of Dean’s room, where he assumes both versions of Dean are since they weren’t to be seen anywhere else, and then they arrive at Sam’s room.

“This is mine,” Sam says, pushing the door open. Normally he would feel strange about inviting a virtual stranger into his space but not this virtual stranger. Maybe because, technically, they’re the same person? “It’s not much but…”

“Cozy,” Samuel observes, zero judgment in his expression. “I do enjoy warm tones.” He picks up one of the books stacked on Sam’s desk - one of the Game of Thrones novels. "I wonder how similar these are compared to our version. An excellent choice, regardless, I'd imagine.” He sets the book down and his eyes land on Sam’s bed. “You fit in that?”

Sam feels his cheeks warm. “I mean… not really. But I’m used to sleeping curled up. I don’t really fit on most regular beds, ya know? Though I’m sure you guys could afford bigger beds.”

“Quite right. My bed at home was… quite large. This one will do just fine, though.”

“Do just fine?” Sam narrows his eyes at the other man. “For what?”

“This.”

That’s all the warning Sam gets before warm, soft lips are pressed against his own. A long-fingered hand slides into his hair, holding him in place when he starts to jerk away, and Sam finds himself relaxing into the kiss. Samuel is really good at kissing.

“What the hell?” Sam gasps without any heat when they break apart for air.

Samuel grins. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been imagining it. If I have, then...”

Sam’s cheeks warm. He had thought about it briefly but he never intended to act on it. “We shouldn’t…”

Samuel closes and locks the bedroom door before unknotting his scarf and draping it over the back of Sam’s desk chair. “We’re technically the same person,” he points out. “It’s really just masturbation. Right?”

A laugh drags itself from Sam’s throat and he gives in to his desires, reaching for the other man. “That’s a good point.”

He shoves that stupid burgundy jacket off Samuel’s shoulders and starts unbuttoning the shirt underneath. Samuel gets his own hands into the mix, attacking the buttons of Sam’s shirt. Soon both shirts are on the ground and they’re kissing again, tumbling onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs. They toe-off their shoes at the same time and then Sam rolls Samuel onto his back, sitting to the side so he can work Samuel’s pants and overly expensive underwear down those long legs.

He pauses as he takes off his own pants to just look, taking in the familiar and yet unfamiliar body stretched out on his bed. There are similarities for sure - the same lean musculature, the same moles, the same quickly-hardening cock - but that seems to make the differences stand out even more. There are scars Sam doesn’t recognize, for starters, and Sam wants to explore all of those but his eyes are immediately drawn somewhere else because Samuel shaves down there.

“Like what you see?” Samuel says with a smirk, bending one leg and letting it fall to the side.

Sam doesn’t respond, instead letting one hand wander up the inside of Samuel’s other thigh until he reaches smooth, hairless skin. Samuel groans and spreads his legs wider.

“Oh,” Sam purrs, fingertips tracing little circles closer and closer to Samuel’s hole. “Someone likes that.”

“You know I do,” Samuel replies, gazing up at him with lust-blown eyes.

Sam grins. “Hell yeah, I do. I’m gonna do all the things you silently wished someone would do to you..”

Samuel opens his mouth to respond but cuts off with a breathy sound when Sam’s fingers finally reach that tight little furl of muscle. He massages it, teasing at penetration but not following through quite yet, and reaches for his bedside drawer with his other hand. He digs out some lube and a condom. The little silver square is dropped onto Samuel’s chest and then Sam pops open the lube. He coats his fingers with it and returns them to Samuel’s hole, continuing the same massaging motions as before.

When he slides the first finger in, Samuel groans and throws his head back against the comforter. Sam smirks. He’s careful to avoid Samuel’s prostate for now, focusing more on opening the other man up. Once he’s two fingers deep and Samuel is a squirmy mess, Sam curls his fingers just so and chuckles at the way Samuel’s back arches with a helpless sound.

“I’m ready,” Samuel manages, grinding down onto Sam’s fingers.

Sam grabs the condom and tears it open as he shifts to kneel between Samuel’s legs. He pauses a moment to take it all in - Samuel splayed open on his bed, cock hard and leaking against his belly. He’s never looked at himself like this - obviously - and it’s… fuck. Is that how he looks?

Sam knows the world sees him as a decent looking guy but this is… Samuel is gorgeous. His hair is messed from rolling his head on the pillow, his lips swollen from kissing and biting, his eyelids half-closed. Sam suddenly realizes what Jess was seeing when she would stroke his hair and whisper about how beautiful he was. He’s not sure he’ll be able to see himself that way all the time but this? With Samuel? Is a step in a good direction.

“Are you going to stare forever?” Samuel teases, pulling Sam from his thoughts. “Or are you going to fuck me?”

Sam narrows his eyes, slicking his cock with the leftover lube on his fingers. “You’re a bit of a brat,” he observes.

Samuel grins and something in the tone of the room shifts. “Am I?”

“Definitely.” Sam grabs Samuel’s hips and flips him onto his hands and knees. “I better fuck you like one.”

Samuel moans, falling down on his elbows and arching his spine. Sam growls at that sight and can’t resist laying a smack on one side of the tight ass that’s being offered up to him. When Samuel whines and pushes back into the blow, Sam repeats it on the other side before lining up his cock and shoving in.

A strangled sound is punched from Samuel’s throat as he’s abruptly filled with Sam’s cock, all the way to the base in one stroke. His fingers dig into the first thing they find - one of Sam’s pillows.

“I know what you like,” Sam says, low and dangerous as his hips make slow circles against Samuel’s ass. “Remember?”

“How could I forget?”

That’s too many words for Sam’s taste. He curls his fingers into narrow hips, pulls almost all the way out, and then drives forward again. Samuel jerks in his grip, crying out. Sam repeats the move, careful to avoid Samuel’s prostate until the man is reduced to desperate noises and trembling limbs. The air is thick with sweat and arousal. Sam’s hair is plastered to his forehead and neck, and one glance at Samuel shows he’s in a similar condition. Somehow, though, that goddamn man bun has survived.

Sam reaches forward without thinking and pulls the tie from the bun, setting those curls loose. Samuel opens his mouth to protest but Sam digs his hand into the newly freed locks and pulls, dragging Samuel upright and turning any words he may have been trying to form into a broken moan.

“That’s better,” Sam praises, curling his other arm around Samuel’s waist to help ease the pressure on his scalp. His hand drifts lower to circle the base of Samuel’s cock but he doesn’t really touch. “I want to see you cum for me.”

He adjusts the angle of his hips just so and Samuel groans, both hands landing on Sam’s forearm. Not pulling, not insisting that Sam touch his desperate cock. Just holding on for dear life, for a little bit of grounding.

“Think you can cum on just my cock?” Sam asks, tugging his hair lightly and feeling Samuel’s body clench around him.

Samuel manages a nod and Sam picks up his pace, driving across Samuel’s prostate with every thrust. He can feel it when Samuel starts to get close - the way his hole flutters, his whole body starts to tense. Sam knows those signs, having felt them in his own body, and he doesn’t let up. All it takes is one last well-aimed thrust and twisting a fistful of hair just so and Samuel is falling apart in his arms. Sam works him through it the best he can before tipping over that edge himself.

They end up in a sweaty tangle of limbs on the bed, chests heaving and bodies sliding against each other. Sam manages to roll off of Samuel and ends up flat on his back, staring at the ceiling while he tries to catch his breath.

“You know,” Samuel says after a long moment of silence. “If Dean and I stay…”

“No,” Sam interrupts, knowing exactly where that sentence is going. “Nope. We’re not going there. That would be. So weird.”

He turns his head to see Samuel pouting and rolls his eyes.

“You’re welcome to visit, of course,” he relents. “And if you need help, don’t hesitate to call.”

“What if I need help with something of a more… sensitive nature?”

Sam laughs. Samuel may be prissy but other than that, he’s not half bad. “I make no promises.”

---

Like this fic? Support me longterm on Patreon HERE or make a one-time donation on Ko-Fi HERE.

---

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward @onethirstyunicorn

#samcest #lemon #my writing #destiny's child #15x13 #season 15

22 notes · View notes