Birthday!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader 𓂃 Explicit sexual content, NSFW, 18+ only, rough sex, light bondage/restraint, praise kink, size kink, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, penetrative sex, oral sex (male receiving), dirty talk, possessive behavior, multiple orgasms, I'm writing this instead of therapy
You've been planning this for weeks.
Sam's birthday always gets overshadowed by hunts, by world-ending apocalypses, by Dean's need to make everything about pie. But not this year. This year, you're making damn sure Sam Winchester feels WORSHIPPED.
His room in the bunker is transformed—soft amber candlelight flickering across the walls, casting everything in warm shadows. You've dimmed the usual harsh lighting, and the air smells faintly of sandalwood and something darker, headier. You're wearing the silk robe you bought specifically for this—deep green, short enough to make your intentions crystal clear, clinging to every curve.
Your heart is POUNDING as you hear his footsteps in the hallway. He's been out on a supply run with Dean, completely unsuspecting, and you texted him twenty minutes ago: Come to your room. Now.
Sam stops dead in the doorway, his eyes going wide as he takes in the scene—the candles, the lighting, and then YOU, leaning against his desk in that barely-there robe with a smile that promises everything. His duffel bag hits the floor with a thud.
"Happy birthday, Sam," you purr, and the way his pupils dilate is IMMEDIATE.
"What—" His voice comes out rough, his eyes dragging over your body like he's trying to memorize every inch. "What is this?"
"Your present." You push off the desk and walk toward him slowly, deliberately, watching his throat work as he swallows hard. "I figured you deserved to feel appreciated for once. Worshipped, even."
His hands flex at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for you. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." You're close enough now to press your palm against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath the flannel. "Let me take care of you tonight, Sam. Let me make you feel good."
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and your name, and then his massive hands are cupping your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you DESPERATELY. It's all heat and need, his tongue sliding against yours as he walks you backward until your legs hit the bed.
"You're incredible," he breathes against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. "So fucking beautiful—"
"Sit." You push gently at his chest, and he obeys immediately, sinking onto the edge of the bed with his eyes locked on you. The size difference is even more pronounced like this—Sam is HUGE, all long limbs and broad shoulders, and you standing between his spread thighs makes you feel deliciously small.
You reach for the silk ties you'd laid out earlier—deep burgundy, soft and strong. His eyes track the movement, darkening with understanding.
"You trust me?" you ask softly.
You guide his wrists together, wrapping the silk around them with careful loops—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to restrain. Enough to make him FEEL it. You secure the ties to the headboard, and Sam tests them experimentally, his biceps flexing as he pulls slightly.
"Fuck," he mutters, his voice already wrecked. "You're really—"
"I'm really." You straddle his thigh, letting him feel how wet you already are through the thin silk. "Tonight is about YOU, Sam Winchester. About making you feel as amazing as you are."
You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the way he strains against the restraints like he's desperate to touch you. Your hands map the planes of his chest as you work his flannel open, button by button, revealing golden skin and muscle.
"God, look at you," you murmur, pressing kisses along his collarbone. "So strong. So beautiful. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
He groans, his head falling back as you work your way down his chest, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs. "Please—"
"Please what, birthday boy?" You're working his belt open now, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room.
"Touch me. Your mouth—fuck, I need—"
You free his cock and it's THICK and hard and already leaking, and the sight makes your mouth water. "Need this?" You wrap your hand around him, barely able to close your fingers around his girth, and he BUCKS into your grip with a strangled sound.
You take him into your mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way his whole body goes taut as you hollow your cheeks and SUCK. The sounds he makes are absolutely OBSCENE—broken groans and curses and your name like a prayer.
"So good," he's gasping, his hips jerking despite his obvious attempts at control. "Your mouth feels so fucking good—"
You work him deeper, relaxing your throat, using your hand on what you can't take, and his thighs are TREMBLING beneath your free hand. The silk restraints creak as he pulls against them, desperate to touch you, to grip your hair, to take control.
"I'm gonna—fuck, I'm close—" His voice breaks on a moan and you pull off with an obscene pop, grinning up at him.
"Not yet. It's your birthday. You're getting EVERYTHING tonight."
You strip off the robe, letting it pool at your feet, and Sam's eyes go MOLTEN as he takes in your naked body. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
You climb onto the bed, straddling his hips, and reach up to untie his wrists. The moment he's free, his hands are ON you—gripping your waist, your hips, sliding up to cup your breasts as he sits up to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss.
"My turn," he growls against your lips, and suddenly you're on your back with Sam looming over you, all that height and muscle and POWER focused entirely on you. "You wanted to worship me? Now I'm gonna worship YOU."
His mouth is EVERYWHERE—your neck, your breasts, sucking marks into your skin as his huge hands spread your thighs wide. When his tongue finally drags through your folds, you nearly scream, your back arching off the bed.
He's RELENTLESS, his tongue circling your clit with devastating precision, two thick fingers sliding inside you and curling to hit that spot that makes you see stars. The size of his fingers alone is almost too much, stretching you, filling you, and when he adds a third you're SOBBING with pleasure.
"That's it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice pure gravel. "Let me hear you. Wanna hear every sound you make when I make you come."
You're already so close, pleasure coiling tight in your belly, and when he seals his lips around your clit and SUCKS while his fingers thrust deep, you SHATTER, coming so hard your vision whites out, your whole body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you.
He doesn't stop. He works you through it and PAST it, his tongue gentling but never leaving your clit, his fingers still moving inside you, and suddenly you're coming AGAIN, overstimulated and overwhelmed and absolutely wrecked.
"You can." He rises over you, his chin glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with possession. "You're gonna give me one more, baby. Gonna come on my cock this time."
He lines himself up and pushes inside in one slow, devastating thrust, and the STRETCH is incredible—he's so big, so thick, filling you so completely you can barely breathe. Your hands scrabble at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he bottoms out with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his soul.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," he grits out, his forehead pressed to yours. "So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Move," you gasp. "Please, Sam, I need—"
He pulls almost all the way out and SLAMS back in, setting a brutal pace that has you crying out with every thrust. The bed frame creaks, the headboard hitting the wall, and you don't care who hears because Sam Winchester is fucking you like he's trying to imprint himself on your soul.
"Look at you," he's panting, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other slides between your bodies to circle your clit. "Taking my cock so well. So beautiful like this, falling apart for me. You're MINE, you hear me? Mine."
"Yours," you sob, your nails raking down his back. "All yours, Sam—god, you're so deep—so BIG—"
The praise makes him GROWL, his hips snapping harder, faster, the angle shifting until he's hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. You're babbling now, incoherent pleas and his name and broken sounds of pleasure, and you can feel another orgasm building, bigger than the others, threatening to consume you entirely.
"Come for me," Sam commands, his voice wrecked and desperate. "Wanna feel you come on my cock. Come for me, baby, NOW—"
You EXPLODE, your whole body seizing as pleasure detonates through every nerve, and you're dimly aware of screaming his name as you clench around him rhythmically. Sam groans, his rhythm faltering, and then his hands are leaving your hip and clit to grip your waist TIGHT, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in your neck, nuzzling against your skin.
"Perfect," he's gasping against your throat, his hips stuttering. "So perfect—love you so much—fuck, I'm—"
He comes with a broken shout muffled against your neck, his whole body shuddering as he spills inside you, his grip on your waist never loosening, holding you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
For a long moment, there's nothing but harsh breathing and racing hearts and the feeling of his weight pressing you into the mattress. Then Sam lifts his head, his eyes soft and wondering as he brushes your sweat-dampened hair back from your face.
"Best birthday ever," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.
You laugh breathlessly, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He carefully pulls out, making you both hiss at the sensitivity, and then he's gathering you against his chest, his huge hands gentle now as they stroke your back. "You're incredible. I love you."
"I love you too." You press a kiss over his heart, feeling it thunder beneath your lips. "Happy birthday, Sam."
He holds you close as the candles flicker around you, and for once, the world outside can wait. Tonight, Sam Winchester is exactly where he belongs—worshipped, loved, and completely yours.
Happy Birthday Sammy Sam. LYSMMM!!