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Sam and Dean are a constant in your life. You know what they do, and you aren’t stupid, but you choose not to get involved. You go to school, and they support you in that. Even though Dean isn’t as enthusiastic about it as Sam, he still allows you to enjoy your time, and he can’t help the soft smirk he sports sometimes when you are talking about your schoolwork. They are sweet, especially Sam. And that is the crux of the problem. He is way older than you, both he and Dea, and he wouldn’t even notice you, probably.
That’s why you decide to turn to your phone one night. If scrolling TikTok could ease some of the horny in you without making you go too far, might as well give it a shot. A few hours later, you are down the rabbit hole of Masktok, when you pause your scrolling. This masked man is like most of the others, except that he is HUGE. And that was saying something, because most men who do this seemed to be. But no, he is... truly massive. And his proportions are strangely familiar. You choose not to think about why that might be, and you hit the follow button. @CSRifle. Alright.
Soon, every time Rifle is posting, you are looking. And you know by now that if you got your comment noticed, he would always give you what you wanted. His thirst traps are undeniably hot, and the switch between Ghost and a Ghostface mask just makes you lose your mind, but you are starting to view him as something else. You can see the personality simmering under the surface, you tell yourself. You decide to be reckless, and comment asking for a face reveal. You scroll through his profile, drinking in more of this gorgeous man, when you catch the flash of a tattoo on his shoulder, and you flash a grin. It was just barely there, but you are sure. That was a warding tattoo. So this man is a hunter, huh? Well, maybe that’s where the air of danger came from?
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You are doing your textbook readings on, ironically, hybristophilia, while Sam is scrolling his phone. His sound is on, though low. You hear the clips of music, and realize that Sam is scrolling the same side of TikTok you do. You are embarrassed, but choose to pay attention to your homework instead. The sounds pause, and he seems to be reading something, then you glance up in time to see his eyebrows raise and a cocky smirk not unlike Dean’s settle on his lips. It makes you feel a jolt of warmth down to your toes, and you go back to your reading immediately, not sure what to do with Sam when he seems like that. It’s not that you don’t want to do anything, it’s that he wouldn’t ever look at you that way, you are sure. Sam gets up, and excuses himself gently. “I’ll be back, I just have something I need to take care of in the basement.” You nod.
You had just finished your homework when your phone buzzes. It says @CSRifle has posted, and you immediately rush into your bedroom to watch it. The video has your comment highlighted. You are so delighted, you don’t pay attention the first time and have to watch it through again. Then it hits you. This is.... Sam. Sam is the masked man you have been obsessing over. You grimace and throw yourself on your bed. Just great. Then your phone buzzes again. It is a text from Sam? Frowning, you open it.
You are flattered, but you figure that’s where it will stop. Sure, you can’t quite wrap your head around the pet names, but Sam seems to be taking a page out of his brother’s book... and unfortunately, you love it. You are startled out of your musing by a knock at the door. You go to open it, and are immediately pushed into the wall by Sam, one hand on your hip, and the other on the wall behind you. He leans in, lips ghosting just above your neck. “Sweetheart.... I’ve been chasing you long enough...” You know what he is asking, even if he doesn’t say it. He is clearly aroused, but he would stop if you asked him to. That thought alone is so arousing that you can’t help a flustered whimper leaving your throat. You nod, fast and a little bit jerky. It was always hard to think with Sam around, but knowing that he wants you too is keeping you so hot you feel like you could combust.
As soon as he receives your confirmation, Sam begins leaving hot kisses all over your neck, paying special attention to your pulse point, while his hands wander everywhere, reverent but demanding. Every kiss means more moisture, until you are dripping through your panties. One of his hands drifts lower, and probes you. He pauses from kissing you to chuckle darkly in your ear. “Sweet girl.... If I had known that all I needed to do to get you to look at me was put on a mask, I would never have shown you my face.” You moan, breathy, and he looks at you, eyes blown. “Bed. Now.” You nod, and perch yourself on the edge.
You aren’t wearing much, just the panties and an overly long t-shirt you use as a nightgown. Sam grabs the bottom hem, and looks you in the eyes. Apparently, he sees what he’s looking for, because he removes your top, before gently forcing you onto your back. His hand finds your clit through your soaked panties, and he strokes while he kisses and worships your tits. You have lost track of the sounds coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t seem to care. He nips at your nipple, and you jump, letting out a surprised yelp, before clapping your hand over your mouth. “Shit, sorry, Dean--” Sam interrupts you. “Let him hear. He should know that you’re mine.” He pulls away your hand and invades your mouth with his tongue, hot and demanding. Your defenses are battered and swept away in the face of this all-invading, obsessive passion Sam seems to hold for you.
He pulls your panties off, and then immediately gets on his knees, shoving his face in your pussy. He licks, and laves, and fingers you to an ocean of pleasure. He’s an expert at this, keeping you on the edge, but stimulated, until you’re begging to cum. He chuckles. “Not yet, sweetheart. I wanna torture you for making me wait as long as you did.” And true to his word, he keeps you dangling until your body just forces you over the edge anyway. You see stars, and then black out momentarily. When you come to, Sam is stroking your hair gently. “Fuck me!” You plead breathlessly. He shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. “That took a lot out of you, sweetheart. You need to rest. Later.” You pout. “Fine, but only if you involve a mask, and one of your knives.” His eyes glint. “Oh, I promise sweetheart, now rest.” You want to argue that you aren’t even tired, but your eyes close before you know it.
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You wake up and go to stretch, and then frown. Because you can’t seem to get your limbs to obey you. As your brain comes back online, you realize there’s a sensation of ropes. You open your eyes, but you can’t see anything. Then, the lamp on your desk comes on. Standing next to it is Sam. At least you know it must be, but as the mask of Ghostface stares back at you, you feel a rush of moisture. He’s casually twirling a knife you’ve seen before, but not in his videos.... Your eyes follow the knife, making out the engraving, and then it hits you. He’s got the demon knife for you. You know that since you’re human, it’s not going to affect you any differently than a normal knife, but you can’t help both the flicker of shock that this is happening, or the flush of arousal fast overwhelming your senses.
He chuckles, not the kind chuckle you are used to, but a mirthless, ruthless sound that sends a jolt of primal fear down your spine. You’ve known he’s a hunter for a long time, so it’s not like you didn’t know he was dangerous, but.... You never quite realized how dangerous that would make him to you. Tonight, you and he were blurring the lines between pain and pleasure, safe and unsafe, and you could feel down to your core that you would never be able to look at him the same way again. Not that you would be scared away, but the opposite. You knew what you had read in that book. You know the quiz you had done. You are attracted to men of danger, criminals, people who will tear you down and use you up. And yet, you have the strangest sense that crossing this line is going to prove to be safer for you in the long run. He will protect you like a precious thing, his thing. And that just sounds so good. A whisper of a moan slinks out of your lips, and he strides closer.
“Well, sweetheart... so pretty for me... just spread out like a feast....” You whimper again, and his knife tip dips to trail gently down to the hollow of your throat. You swallow, feeling deliciously numb from fear and arousal. He presses in the tip just slighly more, you feel a sting, and then Sam groans, a primal sound. “That beautiful crimson against your skin... truly, you are art, precious thing.” At that name, straight out of your own musings, you shift as much as you can, trying to open yourself further for what you know is coming. He lightens the pressure and idly runs the knife down your breastbone, between your breasts, and down onto your quivering stomach. “You know,” he begins, conversationally, “I’ve always wanted you at my mercy like this... a helpless little doe of a girl, smart as a whip, yes, but mine to make absolutely stupid with lust.” You jolt, causing a slight cut about your navel. The hand not holding the knife goes to his crotch, and you see and somehow feel that zipper giving way. He pulls himself out, and you can’t help the shock.
You knew Sam was a big man, and you’ve idly thought, maybe he’d be big, perhaps, but you didn’t expect anything so... proportional. The man is fucking giant everywhere, and you give another quiver at the thought of that thing inside you. You hear the grin in Sam’s voice. “Like what you see?” That lazy drawl rasps along your nerves, alighting the parts of your skin exposed to the air. The air feels thick and heavy. He strokes himself, using the knife tip to draw designs on your body with the tip of the knife. You don’t even know what he’s doing. For all you know, he’s doing some magic on you, or maybe he’s merely sadistic. You can’t find it in yourself to care either way. He is right in whatever he does, he is purified by the very carnal act you are about to engage in.
He plays with you a little while longer, leaving shallow cuts all over your body, and then suddenly he strikes. He places the edge of his knife to the bump on your throat at the same time as he lines himself up. You can’t even shift your head now, and you are powerless against the pleasure as he sinks into your silken heat. Your eyes roll back at the sensation of fullness, of stretching that you are currently experiencing. He gives you no time to get used to it, and immediately begins a punishing, claiming pace. You realize that his pants and groans are all one word. “Mine.” You open your mouth and manage to moan out “yours” around the pitiful whimpers that fall from your lips. He groans ferally, and pumps faster, deeper. You are drowning in the sensations, and Sam’s massive form seems to be everywhere, no place that he can’t touch.
He plays with you for hours, varying his pace, his angle, everything just to make you scream. He drinks in the sounds you make, drawing them forth using his talent and prowess. Finally, coming down from your last orgasm--how many was that? You had lost count--you notice his rhythm faltering and stuttering. You do your best to clench around him, to give him something even as you are trapped, unable to do much beyond lay there. You are rewarded by your name falling from his lips, like a prayer, over and over. His cock throbs in your channel, and then he’s pulsing and rutting into you like a dog in heat. You feel warmth spread over your whole body. This was amazing. You sure hope there will be a next time. He pulls off his mask, and gives you a claiming kiss. He whispers, “consummatum est.” You let out a breathy laugh. “Latin? Really? Well, Sam, what did you do?” He chuckles. “I made you mine, permanently. You probably wondered what I was drawing on your skin with your blood... part of a ritual. For all intents and purposes, you are mine for eternity, sweetheart.”
“Hmmm.... possessive much?”
“Only for you, sweetheart.”