roma★
hello vonnie
occasionally subtle
Cosimo Galluzzi
NASA
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price
Three Goblin Art
d e v o n
Game of Thrones Daily
noise dept.
★
Keni
Discoholic 🪩
PR's Tumblrdome
Show & Tell
Andulka
#extradirty
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from Norway
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Singapore
seen from Brazil
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
@fawnapplepie
🍁 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 "Be patient, love... that could be us..."
੭﹕﹒ kᥱ᥆ ₊ㅤ⊹ ⠀18 ₊ㅤ⊹ ⠀mძᥒі ₊ㅤ⊹ ⠀і ᥕrite fᥱᥱᥣ ᥣіkᥱ ₊ㅤ⊹ ⠀ᥴrᥱᥲtі᥎ᥱ ᥕritᥱr. ⠀ ⠀fᥲᥣᥣ ᥆ᥒ rᥱ⍴ᥱᥲt ₊ㅤ⊹⠀⠀tһ᥆ᥙgһts ᥣ᥆ᥙძᥱr tһᥲᥒ і'ᥲmㅤ₊ㅤ⊹⠀⠀18+ ᥆ᥒᥣᥡ.
₊ㅤ⊹ ⠀ᴄᴀʀʀᴅ ₊ㅤ⊹ ㅤ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ₊ ㅤ⊹ ⠀ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ ₊ㅤ⊹ ⠀ᴍᴜsɪᴄㅤ
© fawnapplepie, est. 2026. Please don’t steal, rewrite, or repost any of my work without explicit permission.
SAM WINCHESTER DATING A BLACK FEMALE !! Sam winchester x Black!femalereader 𓂃 Canon-typical violence, blood, anxiety/panic attacks, microaggressions, childhood trauma mentions, explicit sexual content , unprotected sex, code-switching exhaustion, pining, temporary emotional manipulation by a parent, happy ending.
THE HAIR THING.
Sam's hands are always in his hair when he's thinking. Stressed. Tired. You noticed it week two, when you were both running on three hours of sleep and he kept pushing those ridiculous bangs back, over and over, like he could push the case away too.
Now you notice when he stops doing it around you.
You're not sure what that means. You're not sure you want to know.
HE BRINGS YOU COFFEE WITHOUT ASKING
Black, two sugars. You mentioned it once, offhand, month one. He still remembers.
Dean gives you both that look when Sam slides the mug across the library table, not saying anything, just continuing whatever research he was doing like it didn't happen.
"What?" Sam asks, not looking up.
"Nothing." Dean smirks. "Just cute."
"Shut up."
You hide your smile behind your own cup.
THE LIBRARY
You were supposed to be temporary. Three weeks, help them organize the Bunker's archives, get paid, go home.
That was eight months ago.
Now you have a desk. A chair that squeaks. A spot on the couch that's unofficially yours. Sam moved his stuff to make room for yours without mentioning it, like you'd always been here.
You should leave. You know you should leave.
The Bunker feels more like home than anywhere you've lived.
HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR HAIR
Not in a weird way. In a Sam way. Curious. Respectful. He watches you take down your braids one night, TV playing something stupid in the background, and he goes quiet in that way he does when he's learning something.
"Does it hurt?" he asks.
"Sometimes. Tension headaches."
"Can I-" He stops. Rubs his neck. "Never mind."
"What?"
He looks actually embarrassed, which is rare. Sam Winchester embarrassed. You want to catalog it. "I used to braid Dean's hair. When we were kids. Mom taught me, before... anyway. I wondered if-I could help. If you wanted. With the tension. Or whatever."
You stare at him.
"I know that's weird," he says quickly. "Sorry, that was-"
"Yes," you say.
He looks surprised. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
So now Sunday nights are braiding nights. Sam's big, careful hands working through your hair while you both pretend this is normal. While Dean makes increasingly obnoxious comments from the kitchen that you both ignore.
Your scalp has never been less tense.
Your heart has never been more of a problem.
HE DEFENDS YOU
Not that you need defending. You've handled yourself your whole life. But there's a case in Georgia, some small-town cop who looks at you like you're the suspect, and Sam steps in front of you before you can even open your mouth.
"She's with us," he says, voice flat. Dangerous in a way you don't usually hear from him.
The cop backs down.
Later, in the motel, you tell him you didn't need that.
"I know," Sam says. "But I needed to."
You don't know what to do with that.
THE WAY HE LOOKS AT YOU WHEN YOU'RE NOT LOOKING
You've caught it three times now. Four, if you count the library incident when you were both researching and you looked up and he was already looking and he didn't look away fast enough.
He smiled instead. Small. Private. Like you were sharing something.
You think about that smile more than you should.
HE REMEMBERS THE SMALLEST THINGS
Your favorite snack. The way you take your tea when you're sad. That you hate the cold but love winter mornings when the world's quiet. He brings you blankets without being asked. He saves you the last slice of pie.
Dean says, "You know you're obvious, right?"
Sam says, "Shut up, Dean."
You pretend you didn't hear.
THE ALMOST MOMENT
It happens in the kitchen. Late night. You're both reaching for the same mug and your hands brush and neither of you moves.
Sam's eyes are very blue in the fluorescent light. You can see the freckles on his nose. The scar above his eyebrow. Everything you want to know and haven't let yourself ask.
"Hey," he says, soft.
"Hey," you say back.
You could kiss him. You know you could. The distance is nothing. The want is everything.
Your phone rings.
The moment shatters. You both jump back like you've been caught.
You don't talk about it after.
HE FINDS YOU WHEN YOU'RE UPSET
You don't hide it well. You're in the library, some R&B playing low from your phone, and you're not crying but you could be, and Sam just appears. Sits on the floor next to your chair. Doesn't ask what's wrong.
"You want to talk about it?" he offers.
"Not really."
"Okay." He settles in. Pulls out his own research. "I'll just be here."
And he is. For two hours. Working in silence, close enough that your shoulders touch sometimes, and you don't feel alone.
You tell him about your mom that night. The pressure. The expectations. The way love sometimes felt like a test you kept failing.
Sam listens. Really listens. Asks questions that show he heard you.
At the end, he says, "You're not failing anything. You're here. You're alive. That's enough."
You believe him when he says it.
THE CONFESSION
It happens after a hunt gone wrong. You're both bruised. Sam took a hit that should have killed him and you can't stop shaking, even hours later, safe in the Bunker.
He's patching your arm and you're trying not to cry and the words just fall out.
"I can't keep doing this," you say. "This-whatever this is. The almosts. The pretending."
Sam goes still. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. That you feel it too? That I'm not crazy?"
He sets down the gauze. Looks at you with those eyes that see too much, that you've been trying not to drown in for months.
"You're not crazy," he says. "I've been-god, I've been trying so hard not to-" He laughs, helpless. "You were supposed to be temporary. Three weeks. And now I can't imagine this place without you. I don't want to."
"Sam-"
"I know I'm not-I know I come with things. The job. The trauma. Dean. The whole package is a lot."
"I like the package," you say, and it comes out hoarse.
He smiles. That real one. The one he saves for you. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." He takes your hand. His is warm, calloused, steady. "Okay. We can-we'll figure it out. Together?"
"Together," you agree.
He kisses you in the library, surrounded by books and lore and all the lives you've been saving, and it tastes like coffee and patience and finally.
BONUS: DEAN REACTION
He walks in on you two making out against the kitchen counter three days later.
"Finally," he says, grabbing an apple. "Took you long enough. I had money on month six, Sammy. You owe me twenty bucks."
"Dean-"
"Don't care. Happy for you. Both of you." He points at you with the apple. "You break his heart, I'll break your legs. Fair warning."
"Dean!"
"Kidding. Mostly." He winks. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart. It's weird here. You'll get used to it."
You look at Sam. He looks at you. You both start laughing and don't stop.
How Supernatural Men Would React If You Rejected Their Kiss 𓂃 (I can't reject Sam i'm sorry...HE"S FINE ASF...so it's nsfw for Sam...funny btw.)
DEAN WINCHESTER !
Dean leaned in slowly, like he was trying not to scare off a wild animal. For once, there was no cocky grin, no smart comment waiting on the tip of his tongue.
Then you turned your head.
The kiss landed directly on your cheek.
Dean froze.
You froze.
Even the bunker felt awkward.
Dean pulled back and stared at the wall.
"...Well."
A beat.
"That's going in my villain origin story."
You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.
"No, no," Dean said, holding up a finger. "Don't make fun of me while I'm experiencing a life-changing event."
"Dean—"
"I just got cheek-zoned."
The betrayal in his voice was so dramatic you couldn't help it. You burst out laughing.
Dean pointed at you like you'd committed a crime.
"Look at this. Public humiliation. In my own home."
"It's your bunker too."
"Exactly. Now I can't even leave."
For a second, he looked genuinely wounded.
Then he sighed heavily and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
"You know what's worse?"
"What?"
Dean cracked open the bottle.
"I moisturized today."
The look on his face sent you into another fit of laughter while Dean muttered something about never taking emotional risks again.
SAM WINCHESTER !
Okay so here's the thing. I'm not rejecting Sam Winchester's kiss. Like, that's not happening. This man could have DORITOS BREATH and I'd still be like "yes please, more."
So when we're sitting in the bunker library at like 2 AM, both of us pretending to research but ACTUALLY just stealing glances at each other over our laptops, and he does that thing where he runs his hand through his hair and bites his bottom lip while he's reading—
Yeah. I'm DONE for.
"You okay?" he asks, because of course he notices me staring like a CREEP.
"Yep. Totally fine. Very normal." (I am NOT normal. I am thinking about climbing this man like a TREE.)
He closes his laptop. Oh no. OH NO. He's giving me the LOOK. The soft eyes, slight smile, head tilt combo that has probably caused THOUSANDS of people to make questionable decisions.
"You know," Sam says, voice dropping lower, "we've been dancing around this for weeks."
"Dancing around what?" (I know EXACTLY what. I'm just—okay I don't know what I'm doing, my brain is OFFLINE.)
He stands up, walks around the table, and suddenly he's RIGHT there, looking down at me with those hazel eyes that should be ILLEGAL.
"This," he says simply.
And then he leans in.
And you know what? I'm GRABBING him by the flannel and pulling him DOWN to me because I have WAITED long enough, thank you very much.
The kiss starts soft—surprisingly gentle for how much tension has been building. His lips are warm and he tastes like the coffee he was drinking and something uniquely SAM, and oh my GOD his hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek, and I'm making embarrassing noises into his mouth but I DO NOT CARE.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, "Your room or mine?"
"Closer one. NOW."
(His room is closer. We barely make it.)
The SECOND the door closes, it's GAME OVER for any pretense of taking things slow. Sam's hands are in my hair, my back hits the door, and he's KISSING me like he's been thinking about this as much as I have—which, based on the way he's pressing against me, he DEFINITELY has.
"Wanted this for so long," he mumbles against my lips, and okay, that's—that's doing THINGS to me.
My hands are under his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders, and Jesus CHRIST his body—I knew he was built but FEELING it is a whole different situation. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, warm skin, and when I drag my nails down his back he makes this LOW SOUND that goes straight to my—
Yeah.
His hands find the hem of my shirt and he pauses, pulls back to look at me with those EYES. "This okay?"
"Sam Winchester if you don't get me naked in the next thirty seconds I'm going to LOSE MY MIND—"
He LAUGHS, and it's gorgeous and warm and then my shirt is GONE and his mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, moving lower, and oh my GOD his hands are everywhere—
We stumble toward the bed (gracefully? No. Do I care? ALSO NO.) and then I'm pulling him down on top of me and the weight of him is PERFECT, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this through his jeans and—
"Fuck," I breathe, and he GRINS against my skin.
"Planning on it."
(SAMUEL. This man is going to be the DEATH of me.)
Clothes are disappearing—when did my pants come off? Who CARES—and then his hand is between my legs and I'm arching up into his touch because FINALLY, and he's watching my face with this intense focus like he's memorizing every reaction.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, and his fingers are—OH—moving in exactly the right way, and I'm grabbing his shoulders, probably leaving marks, but he doesn't seem to mind based on the way he's GROANING.
"Sam—need you—NOW—"
He reaches over to the nightstand (of COURSE he has condoms readily available, this prepared NERD) and then he's settling between my legs and looking at me like I'm something PRECIOUS and—
"You sure?" he asks, because even now he's being RESPECTFUL and CONSIDERATE and I'm going to marry this man.
"Sam Winchester I swear to GOD—"
He pushes in slowly, carefully, watching my face, and the STRETCH and FULLNESS is—it's—I can't even THINK. My head falls back and I'm making sounds I didn't know I could MAKE.
"Okay?" His voice is STRAINED, like he's holding himself back, and that's—that's really doing it for me.
"Move. PLEASE move."
And he DOES. Slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that hit EVERYTHING, and his hands are gripping my thighs, pulling me closer, changing the angle, and—
"FUCK—right there—SAM—"
"Yeah? Like that?" He does it AGAIN, harder this time, and I'm pretty sure I'm leaving scratch marks down his back but he seems VERY into it based on the way he's cursing under his breath.
The rhythm builds, gets faster, more desperate, and he's hitting that spot inside me that makes me see STARS, and his thumb finds where we're joined, circling, and I'm SO CLOSE—
"Come on, baby," he breathes against my ear, voice absolutely WRECKED. "Wanna feel you—"
And that DOES IT. I'm coming HARD, clenching around him, crying out his name, and he follows right after with this gorgeous broken moan, face buried in my neck, hips stuttering.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweaty and satisfied, and he's pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw.
"So," he says, slightly breathless, grinning down at me. "Worth the wait?"
I pull him down for another kiss. "We're doing that again. Like, immediately after I can feel my legs."
He LAUGHS, warm and happy, and rolls us so I'm tucked against his side, his arm around me.
Yeah. I'm DEFINITELY not rejecting Sam Winchester's kiss. Or anything else he wants to offer, frankly.
(Best. Decision. EVER.)
CASTIEL !
Castiel stared at you after you dodged the kiss.
Then he blinked.
And blinked again.
His head tilted slightly.
"Interesting."
You immediately started laughing.
"What?"
"I was under the impression we were about to kiss."
"We were."
"Then why did you move?"
The question was so sincere it caught you off guard.
"I just didn't want to kiss you."
"Oh."
Castiel considered this.
"I see."
Another pause.
"Was it my angle?"
You blinked.
"What?"
"The angle seemed correct, but perhaps my approach speed was too aggressive."
"Approach speed?"
"Yes."
"Cas, you sound like you're discussing a failed airplane landing."
Castiel frowned thoughtfully.
"That is surprisingly similar to how this feels."
You nearly fell over laughing while Castiel continued analyzing the rejection like it was a case file.
Dean Winchester 𓂃 Explicit sexual content, NSFW, 18+ only, Sex in the Impala, riding Dean, whimpering, grunting, ass griping, neck & jawline kissing. (black queens..this is for you also!! ^^. Use you're creative mind!!!.)
The opening chords of "Livin' on a Prayer" crackle through the Impala's speakers, and you can't help the smile that curves against Dean's jaw as you press another kiss there. The leather seat creaks beneath you both, the familiar scent of gun oil and leather and Dean surrounding you completely.
"Fuck," he breathes out, the word barely audible over Bon Jovi's voice, and you feel it more than hear it—the vibration of it against your lips as you trail kisses down the column of his throat.
His head falls back against the seat, exposing more of that beautiful neck to you, and God, he's so responsive like this. So different from the cocky hunter who swaggers through life with that trademark smirk. Right now, with you straddling his lap in the backseat of his baby, he's completely undone.
Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape, and you rock against him slowly, deliberately. The friction makes you both gasp, and Dean's hands—those strong, calloused hands that have saved the world more times than you can count—grip your ass hard enough to leave marks you'll feel tomorrow.
"Please," he whimpers, actually whimpers, and the sound goes straight through you. His hips buck up involuntarily, seeking more contact, more friction, more of you.
You kiss along his jawline, feeling the scratch of stubble against your lips, tasting the salt of his skin. "I've got you," you murmur against the corner of his mouth, and his eyes—those gorgeous green eyes—flutter open to meet yours. They're dark with want, pupils blown wide, and there's something vulnerable there that makes your heart clench even as your body moves against his.
We're halfway there, oh-oh, livin' on a prayer—
The music swells and so does the heat between you. Dean's grip on your ass tightens, guiding your movements, and you can feel every inch of him pressed against you through the layers of denim that suddenly feel like too much, too many barriers between you.
"You feel so good," you whisper against his ear, and he grunts in response, the sound raw and desperate. His breathing is ragged now, hot puffs of air against your neck as he buries his face against your chest, and you can feel his lips moving there, kissing, biting gently through your shirt.
You roll your hips again, finding a rhythm that matches the driving beat of the song, and Dean makes this broken sound that's half-moan, half-whimper. His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer, harder, and you can feel him trembling beneath you.
"That's it," you encourage, one hand sliding from his neck to cup his face, tilting it up so you can capture his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. He opens for you immediately, tongue sliding against yours, and he tastes like whiskey and want and everything you've been craving.
The Impala rocks gently with your movements, the windows starting to fog up from your combined heat. Dean breaks the kiss to gasp for air, his forehead pressed against your chest, and you can feel his heart hammering against your own.
"Don't stop," he manages, voice wrecked, and you have no intention of stopping. Not when he looks like this—completely wrecked and beautiful and yours in this moment. Not when every whimper and grunt and desperate grab of his hands tells you exactly how much he needs this, needs you.
You kiss his temple, his cheekbone, back down to that sensitive spot just below his ear that makes him shudder. Your arms wrap tighter around his neck, holding him close as you continue to move against him, the friction building and building until you're both trembling with it.
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear—
"I've got you," you repeat, and Dean's grip on you becomes almost bruising as he holds on like you're his anchor in a storm. And maybe you are. Maybe in this moment, in the backseat of the Impala with classic rock playing and the world locked outside, you're exactly what he needs.
His whimpers turn to low groans, and you can feel him getting closer, the tension coiling tighter in his body. You kiss him again—his jaw, his neck, that spot behind his ear—and whisper encouragement against his skin until he's shaking beneath you, fingers digging into your ass as he pulls you impossibly closer.
The song plays on, and so do you, lost in the heat and the friction and the perfect desperation of Dean Winchester coming undone in your arms.
The fact that I just want to sit on his lap and rest my face against his chest… like I’m about to rip out my locs and boil them like noodles.
AND THE BICEPS OMGG?!!!!! Jaareeeddd. 😩😩
I just need a Sam Winchester. Like deadass.
Please..I beg….make like the reader is riding Sam Winchester (he’s a sub) and when Sam like yk release inside the reader. They kept going…idk what else to say BUTTT I want.
this image has me ctfu lollll also this idea is perfect!!
riding sub!sam is probably a life changing experience. lets be honest, he’s such a good boy and he just lays there and takes it until you’re finished with him.
when you overstimulate him like this, he can’t even bring himself to get up and go anywhere!! he squeezes your hips, hands and nails digging into the soft skin of your ass as you roll your hips into his.
“y’gonna cum?” you ask, hands rubbing over his wrists as he holds onto you. sam nods eagerly, panting below you. his face is scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he feels his balls tighten, his orgasm filling up like a balloon inside his stomach. he moans softly, biting at his bottom lip as his tip kisses your cervix. he’s so deep, and it’s affecting him way more than it is you.
“n-need to cum, baby.” he trills, turning his head to the side and blinking up at you through hazy, clouded eyes. you giggle softly, reaching over and twisting one of his nipples between your fingers. he gasps and bucks up into you, whining and exhaling deeply. “cum for me then. fill me all the way up, sammy.”
who is he to refuse that? he rocks his hips up into you for a moment, his head tilting back against the pillows as he cums immediately. his orgasm crashes over him in waves. you continue rolling your hips as he finishes. much to his dismay, you don’t stop when he’s done.
“wh- what’re you doing?” he asks, voice becoming high pitched as you begin bouncing on his softening cock. your walls are squeezing onto him so tight he thinks his balls might explode. “fuck, stop it, stop,”
sam’s begging is music to your ears. there’s nothing you love more than hearing his teary little voice beneath you.
“stop? really? i haven’t even cum yet, sammy. you can’t expect me to stop.” you whine, your mischievous smile turning into a pout. you inhale sharply as he squeezes the fat of your waist. not a single moment do you take to slow down or pause your movements.
sam writhes beneath you, body twitching and toes curling from his over sensitive body. “oh my god,” he sobs, blinking away a tear. he’s rigid as a board, muscles tight in reflex. you can feel his cock chubbing up inside you, clearly ready for another orgasm.
your thoughts are proved true when his legs begin trembling under you. he sniffles and plants his feet on the bed, hip angled just right inside you. “gonna- gonna cum, sweetheart. m’gonna cum again, oh god.”
after a few more bounces on him, his whole body convulses as he cums inside you again. his arms hug at your waist instinctively, hips thrusting inside you as he shoots another load inside. you gasp at the suddenness of his movements, moaning softly from the feeling of his cock ramming into you, even if for just one moment.
“are you done for now?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his mouth. he nods with a trembling lip. “such a good boy, sam.” a puff of air is released through your nose. “took it like a champ.”
HEEHEHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
i wanna fuck sam winchester. ok goodnight. 🥸
Gurl don’t we all???
don't know why but i'm obsessed w/ the way he says "fuck" here
I had a eargasm 🧍🏽♀️(literally everytime jared cusses OMGGG you don’t know what I’m FEELING RN!!!)
Damn they cut me out the screen smh. 🤦🏽♀️
What is wrong with me 😭😭
I have some serious issues 😭😭😭
Omg I love ur writing and saw requests were open!!’ Castiel with a thick reader like she’s got a fat ass and he can’t put his finger on why he likes her curves so much and he goes crazy once he gets his hands on her :pp
castiel 𓂃 explicit sexual content, curvy!thick!reader, possessive behavior, touchy castiel.
Castiel doesn't understand it at first.
He's seen countless humans in his millennia of existence. Bodies are just vessels—flesh and bone arranged in predictable patterns. But then there's you, and suddenly nothing about his understanding makes sense anymore.
It starts innocently enough. You bend over to pick up a book, and his eyes track the curve of your ass like he's hardwired to follow. The way your jeans hug every inch of you, the soft roundness that he wants to grab with both hands. He tears his gaze away, confused by the tightness in his chest, the heat pooling low in his stomach.
"Cas? You okay?"
"Fine," he lies, but his voice comes out rougher than intended.
He can't stop noticing. The plush thickness of your thighs when you sit beside him. How your shirts cling to your breasts, your soft stomach. When you stretch, your body curves in ways that make his mouth go dry. He's obsessed, and he doesn't know why this—why you—affects him so viscerally.
You catch him staring more than once. And instead of being uncomfortable, you smile. Like you know exactly what you're doing to him.
"See something you like, angel?"
He does. God help him, he does.
The tension builds until he can barely breathe around you.
Every casual touch is torture. Your hand on his arm, your hip bumping his, the way you press against him when you lean over to look at something on his phone. You're so soft everywhere, and all he can think about is how you'd feel under his hands, under his body, wrapped around him.
His control is slipping.
"Cas." Your voice cuts through his thoughts. You're standing close—too close. "You've been staring at my ass for the past five minutes."
"I—" He can't even deny it.
You step closer, and his back hits the wall. "If you want to touch me that badly, all you have to do is ask."
Something in him snaps.
His hands are on you before he can think, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. You gasp, and the sound goes straight to his cock. He's never wanted anything as much as he wants you right now.
"I can't—" His voice is wrecked. "I can't stop thinking about you. Your body. I don't understand it, but I need—"
"Then take it," you breathe, and he's gone.
He kisses you hard, desperate, one hand sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. Finally. Finally. You're so soft and perfect, filling his palm, and he groans into your mouth as he squeezes. You moan, grinding against him, and he's pretty sure he's going to lose his mind.
His other hand roams everywhere—your thick thighs, your hips, up to cup your breast through your shirt. Every curve, every soft inch of you that he's been fantasizing about. You're better than he imagined, responsive and eager, arching into his touch.
"Bed. Now," he growls, and you don't hesitate.
He gets you naked and nearly comes from the sight alone. Sprawled out beneath him, all curves and soft skin, looking at him like you want to be devoured.
"Castiel, please—"
He runs his hands up your thighs, spreading them wide, groaning at how thick and perfect they are. "You have no idea what you do to me. How many times I've thought about this. About you."
When he finally pushes inside you, you're so wet and tight and perfect that he has to pause, overwhelmed. You wrap your thick thighs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he loses whatever remained of his restraint.
He fucks you hard, hands gripping your hips, your ass, anywhere he can reach. Watching your body move with every thrust, the way your breasts bounce, the soft jiggle of your thighs and stomach—it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"So perfect," he pants against your neck. "So fucking perfect."
You come around him with a cry, and the feeling of you clenching tight sends him over the edge. He buries himself deep, groaning your name, finally understanding exactly why he couldn't resist you.
He was never meant to.
how he looks at you when your sucking his dick
My brown bagels are bouncing
just went through your sam p links 🚬 can you pls do a sam x reader smut with size kink & praise i beggg
The way I giggled so loud..YES YES YESSSS!!!
BIRTHDAY SURPRISE
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.
The door opens.
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.
"Always." No hesitation.
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.
"Yes—god, yes—"
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.
"Sam—oh god—SAM—"
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.
"Sam—too much—I can't—"
"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!!
ANIME STORIES TIMEEE!!
WHOSE UP FOR SOME ANIME?!!
MEEEEE!!!!
nawww.
Comment or request what you want me to write and I’ll do it!!
How Supernatural Characters React When They Pound You Senseless (Face-to-Face Position) 𓂃 Explicit sexual content, NSFW, 18+ only, rough sex, penetrative sex, ass grabbing, dirty talk, explicit language, wet sounds, overstimulation, my brain is so freaky.
DEAN WINCHESTER .ᐟ
Dean grabs your ass with both hands the SECOND you're in his lap, giving it an appreciative squeeze before pulling you down onto his cock. "Fuck yeah, c'mere sweetheart," he growls, and then he's thrusting up into you so hard you can barely breathe. Your face is pressed against his neck, your moans muffled against his skin as he absolutely POUNDS you. The wet sounds are obscene—skin slapping, the squelch of how soaked you are, Dean's grunts mixing with your desperate cries. "Listen to that—listen to how fucking wet you are for me. You love getting fucked like this, don't you?" You can only moan in response, your voice high and broken: "Dean—oh fuck—Dean—" He SMACKS your ass while still gripping it, the sting making you clench around him: "Answer me, baby." "Yes! Yes, I love it—" "Damn right you do." His pace is brutal, hips snapping up to meet you, hands controlling your movements as he uses your ass to pull you down harder onto his cock. You're practically SCREAMING against his shoulder, overwhelmed by the friction, the fullness, the way he hits that perfect spot with every thrust. "That's it, let the whole fucking bunker hear how good I'm making you feel." Your thighs are shaking, your whole body trembling as pleasure builds unbearably: "Dean, I'm gonna—I can't—" "Come on my cock, sweetheart. Wanna feel you squeeze me." When you shatter, you're moaning his name over and over against his neck, and he fucks you through it: "Fuck yes, that's my girl—so fucking perfect—" His rhythm starts getting erratic, his breathing ragged, and suddenly his hands leave your ass to grip your waist TIGHT, pulling you flush against him. He buries his face in your neck, nuzzling against your skin, and his cocky facade cracks just slightly: "Fuck—sweetheart—you're gonna make me—" His hips stutter, thrusts becoming desperate and uncontrolled: "So fucking good—you're so fucking good—" He comes with a broken groan muffled against your throat, holding you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded, his whole body shuddering as he spills inside you.
SAM WINCHESTER .ᐟ
Sam pulls you into his lap with those HUGE hands gripping your ass, spreading you open as he positions you over his cock. The moment he pulls you down onto him, you're gasping against his neck—he's so fucking BIG and the angle has him hitting spots that make your vision blur. "That's it, baby, let me hear you," he groans, and then he starts THRUSTING upward and you lose your goddamn mind. His hands grip your ass cheeks hard, using them as leverage to slam you down while he pounds up into you, and the wet sounds of skin slapping skin fill the room. You're moaning uncontrollably against his shoulder, your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent while he absolutely RUINS you. "Fuck, you're taking me so well—can you hear how wet you are for me?" The obscene squelching sounds make you clench around him and he groans: "That's it, squeeze my cock just like that." His pace is RELENTLESS, powerful thrusts that have you crying out with each one, your voice breaking: "Sam—oh god—Sam, I can't—" "Yes you can, baby. You're doing so good for me. Let me feel you fall apart." His fingers dig into your ass, spreading you wider, and the stretch combined with how deep he is makes you SCREAM against his skin. You're trembling, overwhelmed, your moans turning into desperate whimpers as he fucks you harder: "Please—please—" "I've got you. Let go for me." When you come, you're sobbing his name against his neck, your whole body shaking, and he keeps pounding through it, his rhythm getting erratic as he chases his own release. Suddenly his hands shift from your ass to your waist, gripping you TIGHT, pulling you impossibly closer as his thrusts become desperate. He buries his face in your neck, nuzzling against your skin, his breath hot and ragged: "Fuck—you feel so good—I'm gonna—" His voice breaks and you feel him shudder, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a deep groan muffled against your throat, holding you like he never wants to let go.
CASTIEL .ᐟ
Cas pulls you onto his lap with surprising strength, his hands immediately gripping your ass possessively as he guides you onto his cock. The intensity in his blue eyes is OVERWHELMING as he watches your face contort with pleasure. Then he starts thrusting upward and you're GONE—your face drops to his shoulder, moaning helplessly as he pounds into you with barely-restrained angel strength. "You feel—" his voice is wrecked, "—incredible. So tight around me." The wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the air, obscene and raw, and you're whimpering against his neck: "Cas—oh god, Cas—" His grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he uses his strength to slam you down onto him while thrusting up. The combination has you CRYING OUT, your voice breaking: "Too much—it's too much—" "You can take it. Your body was made for this—made for me." His usual composure is completely SHATTERED, replaced by this feral need as he fucks you harder. You're moaning uncontrollably, the sounds spilling from your lips without permission, your whole body trembling from the intensity. The friction, the fullness, the way he hits so DEEP—it's overwhelming. "I can feel you getting close. Let me feel you come apart." His voice is commanding and desperate at once. You're sobbing against his shoulder, pleasure building to an unbearable peak: "Cas, please—I need—" "I know what you need." He adjusts his angle and you SCREAM, coming so hard you see stars, your body clenching around him rhythmically. He groans your name, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate, and suddenly his hands leave your ass to grip your waist TIGHT, possessively pulling you impossibly closer. He buries his face in your neck, nuzzling against your skin, and you feel his lips moving against your throat—he's PRAYING, broken fragments spilling out in a wrecked voice: "Please—Father, please—I can't—" His hips stutter, the feral angel intensity cracking into something raw and vulnerable as the prayer dissolves into desperate whispers: "Mine—you're mine—blessed—so perfect—please, please, I—" His voice breaks completely against your throat, spiritual and physical overwhelm colliding as he follows you over the edge, still gripping your waist like he'll never let go, his whole body shuddering as he spills inside you with a broken groan muffled against your neck, your name and fragments of Enochian prayers tangled together on his lips.
Taglist ! 🥧 ~ @crawlinback2youat505 @alasdecas @its-all-empty @thousandyearsorsmth @in-app-ropriate @k1ng-z3ro @hopelessbrain @wierdwinchester @swagyyleee @evesdust
cassie robinson appreciation post because she was so beautiful and i miss her dearly !!!
