GUNS N' ROSES ᯓ ❥ SAM WINCHESTER
ᨳଓ . when the boy you've always loved makes you his prey… would you refuse?
ᨳଓ contains: hunter and prey dynamic, smut, dub-con and con, anal sex, fear turning into pleasure, soulless sam, choking, teasing, playing with a gun, humiliation, overstimulation.
ᨳଓ based on another scene from Haunting Adeline, and part 2 of this!
ᨳଓ taglist
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
it’s been two weeks since… that, and you’ve been in denial, trying to convince yourself it was a mistake, that you’re terrified to see him again, all while remembering the physical pain his brutality left you with for over a day. The marks on your body are also a constant, lingering reminder.
you wanna believe you hate him, that he fills you with fear, with panic, yet every time you go to sleep, you can’t help but dream of him: his eyes tracing the lines of your body, his cock sliding in and out of you, filling you in a way only he can, with his lips pressed against your neck. These scenarios fill every single one of your fantasies, to the point where you feel ashamed, terrified of yourself. You can’t look him in the eye, or even breathe the same air without feeling like you’re falling apart.
so you made the choice not to speak to him, not to answer his calls, and to distance yourself from the group, going on missions alone or staying with Bobby, in an attempt to keep your distance from the devil himself: from those hollow eyes, that cold touch, and the ghost of the man who was once your best friend.
you even considered talking to Dean, despite Sam forbidding it when he returned, offering excuse after excuse about why it would be a bad idea or how you’d ruin his older brother’s new life by dragging him back into hunting. That guilt held you back, but you can’t help it; you need him to look at Sam and tell you if you’re hallucinating, or if it really is just an empty shell.
you feel like you’re losing your mind with each passing day, to the point of paranoia, feeling unsafe in your own home, checking every corner, every shadow, behind every door, and inside every piece of furniture. You know it’s bordering on ridiculous, but the idea of seeing him again terrifies you so much that you’d do anything to keep him away.
and Sam... he’s losing his mind too, because even though he’s a hollow shell, empty of emotion, empathy, or emotional intelligence, something inside him is burning, keeping his fists clenched and making the veins in his arms bulge. Inside, something is throbbing, searching for whatever thing is that he cannot comprehend.
and he tries to cope by fucking other women, ruining cases by acting like an animal, jumping from body to body in a desperate attempt to fill a void he can’t quite decipher, or, rather, one he refuses to accept.
the truth is, his mind is consumed; he thinks of you constantly, recalling your body, your touch, your voice. He replays every one of your reactions, almost able to taste you on his tongue again, imagining all the dark fantasies the old Sammy once had about you.
it was sick, maddening, humiliating. Or at least, that was the best way to describe it, because the reality is that all he knows is that he wants one damn day off to break into your house and shatter every part of you until nothing remains but devotion to him, the most transparent kind you have to offer.
he wants you, with your eyes filled with fear, your trembling legs, your tight pussy, and your throat filled with the loud moans that still echo in his ears. So he thinks about how to do it, plotting every detail, using his brain to plan ahead, wanting to truly catch you off guard so you never see the attack coming.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
then came that tuesday night, a time when you could finally rest at home, with the streets silent, no missions weighing on your mind, Sam’s face no longer seared into your memory, and the marks on your skin slowly fading away. It was the ideal situation, all things considered for someone who had been a hunter since childhood.
you didn’t hear him climb in through the first-floor window, right into the living room where you had been just half an hour earlier. In fact, you were sleeping so deeply that you didn’t hear his footsteps on the stairs, nor the way he slowly pushed open your bedroom door until it swung wide, as if the scene from a few days ago were playing out all over again.
to Sam, the ease with which he could invade your home and your privacy was almost comical, almost as if you were doing it on purpose, handing yourself over on a silver platter to the very predator who was supposed to terrify you completely.
he approaches you, knowing you won't wake up, gazing at your uncovered body, in different pajamas that are nonetheless revealing to him, showing off your lovely legs, marked with bruises and small cuts, and your shirt, which has ridden up to expose your belly and a glimpse of your breasts as you shifted in your sleep.
he savors the sight, etching it deep into his mind while you lie motionless now, inevitably dreaming of him, unaware that he's climbing onto the bed and moving between your legs.
you wake up when you feel his arm crushing your throat, cutting off your air and forcing your eyes wide open in shock and terror. You stare at him in horror, trying to make sense of the situation, and realize he's pinning your body down, leaving you no way to escape.
you feel something hard and cold against your thigh; you try to look and catch a glimpse of the outline of what appears to be a gun. His gun.
“Sam, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice raspy and low due to the arm pressed against your neck, watching as he smiled and leaned over your face, planting a teasing little kiss on the tip of your nose. “I missed you,” he replied, adding, “i thought i’d see you again, but it looks like you got a little coward after tasting what you wanted so badly.”
once again, you felt small, but you tried not to show it; you looked him in the eye, attempting to project hatred, though it was practically impossible, and frankly pathetic. “I'm not a coward,” you tried to defend yourself, watching him raise an eyebrow, challenging.
“you want me to believe that?” he mocked, loosening his grip on your neck slightly as he moved his lips to your ear, speaking in an almost intimate tone. “I think you tasted pleasure and didn’t want to admit that you’ll never feel anything like it again unless it’s with me.” You rolled your eyes, trying to break free from his hold and shake him off, but failing.
“i can find pleasure on my own, thanks,” you tried to say, though you knew it was a lie; ever since you woke up, you’d felt a tingling deep in your pussy, a sign that you were getting wet, preparing yourself for what you knew was inevitable.
“you know you’re lying; there’s no need for that,” he said, giving you another chance to humiliate yourself. He pressed his body against yours, forcing you to feel the gun digging harder into your skin, the shock of it stealing the breath right out of your lungs.
“i’m not lying; anyone would make me feel better than you do,” you said before you could even think twice, instantly regretting it as you watched his expression shift to a serious look. With his free hand, he freed the gun and pressed it against your stomach, savoring your face full of panic a little too much.
“see, i don’t like it when people lie to my face, so you’ve got one more chance to admit it,” he said, clicking the safety off. Deep down, he was hoping you’d dare to lie one more time, imagining how sweet it would be to punish you for it.
that was when you uttered the right words: “i said i can find pleasure if i want to; anyone can give more pleasure than you.”
you didn’t know where you’d found such stupid courage, but you felt like you might actually pee yourself from fear, especially when he smiled, savoring every word you’d just spoken before sliding the gun inside your shorts and slowly pulling them down. He used his body weight to pin you so you couldn't resist, leaving you trembling and gasping, your eyes fixed on him in sheer panic.
the tip of the gun touches your pussy through your panties, revealing the dark patch on the fabric, the result of how incredibly aroused you feel right now. You can’t help it. You feel sick, dizzy, confused. There has to be an explanation, but you can’t find it at the moment; you can only whimper, feeling pathetic and nauseous.
he presses the weapon against the wet patch, spreading it into a larger, more translucent stain. Sam seems to love it, drinking in every sound you make, feeling on top of the world, as if every move were the right one. As if it were all destiny. Being in the right place at the right time.
then he slides the weapon inside your underwear and pulls your panties down, exposing your pussy to his gaze, dripping obscenely, a spectacle meant only for him. He uses the moment to tease you, calling you a slut, his special little doll, one he’d use until he’d filled every one of your holes with his semen.
he watches you writhe, yet your legs part instinctively, inviting him to go on.
“i’m sure i can slide the gun right into your pretty hole this instant without needing to prepare you. You’re already dripping,” he teases, watching your eyes fill with tears, unable to bear the humiliation and the arousal all at once.
to prove his point, he tests it out, running the weapon between your folds and drenching it in your juices, coating it in the scent of your desire, until it reaches your hole, which throbs, craving to be filled. Then, he begins to insert the tip slowly, torturing you and savoring every reaction on your face: the way you furrow your brows, squeeze your eyes shut, and part your lips, even though no sound manages to escape your throat.
he notices the resistance, but the movement of your hips urges him on; he slides the length in until he hits the limit, making you feel the coldness of the weapon stretching your walls in a way unlike anything else you’ve ever had inside you, forcing tears to roll down your cheeks.
whimpers escape your lips now, but you can't stop them, nor do you want to, so you let him start moving the weapon, sliding it almost all the way out before thrusting it back in with force; it knocks the breath right out of you, making your head snap back, a reaction he meets by tightening his grip on your neck.
your folds embrace the rest of the weapon, swallowing it desperately as you move your hips in sync with his hand, craving the sensation of the metal deep inside you, fully aware of the danger that he might pull the trigger and end your life if he chose, especially since the safety is off.
your life is in his hands, yet as terrifying as that is, it is also incredibly arousing. The thought of him pulling the trigger only makes your heart race; your hands fly to the arm wrapped around your neck, digging your nails in until he bleeds, an attempt to release a pain that defies explanation, unlike anything you have ever experienced.
and Sam watches and learns, observing the way your back arches when he hits that sensitive spot, or how your legs tremble violently when he slows the pace. He learns everything about you just by looking at you, as if you were his most fascinating experiment.
but of course, he can't keep quiet; he keeps mocking you, pointing out how easily you surrender to a gun, how aroused you are, and how much you seem to enjoy it. He insults you, corrupts you. He fills your mind with thoughts until you feel dizzy, whimpering and begging him to be inside you.
he responds by turning you over, pressing your face into the pillow and lifting your ass, the gun still inside, swallowed by your sweet, lovely pussy, always so obedient to him. Then he lowers his pants and underwear, freeing his fully hard cock; it brushes against your ass, making you gasp.
he starts teasing you, rubbing against your back entrance, making feinting thrusts that set your nerves on edge. He hasn't prepared you, hasn't even used any lube. You could handle it with your pussy, but if he tried something similar with your ass, he could tear you, cause you real pain.
that’s why you beg and plead with him not to do it, or to at least prepare you first, but he only smiles, without the slightest shred of compassion or understanding. He feels no empathy, no remorse. He doesn't care what you say, but still, he simply spits directly onto your hole to lubricate it, using his fingers to relax your entrance and slowly pave the way for himself. He listens to your whimpering and sobbing as you clutch the pillow, waiting until you're finally ready for his cock.
he doesn't hesitate for a moment before sliding inside you, stretching your walls in a way you’ve never felt before. He's careful with his gun, yet he keeps it buried deep in your pussy to make you squirm. Feeling just how tight you are wrings a loud groan from him.
it was even better than what he’d already tasted of you, something he hadn't even realized was possible. He immediately set a possessive, animalistic rhythm. It was a pace fueled by fire and intensity, demonstrated through the way he hammered into you, swallowing your cries of pain and pleasure just as your ass swallowed his cock, making movement difficult.
it breaks you differently, parting your walls and reaching so deep that you feel the ache all the way to your back. It's unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and knowing the weapon is still there, risking your life, only makes a knot of tension tighten inside you.
the room fills with the sounds of you, of bodies colliding and the bed banging against the wall, along with the heavy scent of arousal and sheets stained not just by your juices, but by a few drops of blood; you don't even know where they're coming from. You simply don't care. You can't think of anything but his cock and the gun.
he's intense, growling and moaning your name in the most beautiful melody as he feels you climax, crying, closing your walls around him so tightly that he has to pull the gun out of your pussy; he then leans over your back, moving with a wild, primitive rhythm. His hand travels down to your pussy, sliding a couple of fingers into your hole just to make things harder for you and toy with your sensitivity.
he would explore every reaction, every part of your body, knowing how much you liked the old Sammy, and using that to get inside your head, to use you.
you won't say no to him. You can't.
and if you try, he’ll know exactly how to break you.
he’ll take advantage of every second in this empty body, right up until its owner returns and finds the mess he made of you.
he can picture it: his soul returning to the body, noticing how you get wet every time you see him, every time you remember. Fear washing over you, making your pretty pussy slick.
poor Sammy won't understand a thing, and you won't be able to bring yourself to explain it to him. At least, not until the memories start coming back.
what would you do when the old Sammy remembers?
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