Porn Star!Sam x Porn Star!Reader AU—So entirely NSFW
Summary: You get to work with Sammy Winchester for the first
time, Mr. Big Cock Super Star
Word Count: 5.9k
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (both female and male receiving),
kinda choking, hair pulling, spanking (like, only one little spank, but it’s a good one), come play. It’s filthy porn,
A/N: This is the prelude to a series I’m currently working on. So, get used to
reading Sam as a porn star. And maybe—just maybe—some
other spn characters as well. Guess you’ll have to wait ;) update: some users have had trouble opening the fic on Tumblr, so here is the AO3 link if you find yourself unable to open it as well. Sorry for the inconvience!
You walk on set in your typical fashion—hair tied up in a
messy bun, prescription glasses resting on the bridge of your nose, wearing
sweatpants and a t-shirt with a grande latte with double espresso in your freshly
manicured hand. Part of you dreads how long the day is going to be with
shooting and scene preparation, while the other part buzzes with excitement.
“You ready for your scene today?” Penny, your
agent, asks, face glowing with just as much excitement. You give her an
enthusiastic smile and a quick nod. “Good,” she smiles back,
hands coming up to grab at your shoulders, her deep green eyes catching yours.
“Sammy’s the best in the business. I hear his cock’s insured for a million
“That seems a bit drastic,” you murmur before finishing off your latte.
As promised, here’s the ridiculous amount of pictures I took at the red carpet event yesterday! I tried to get most of the players as they were getting out of their cars when they were closest to me. Also plz enjoy my snapchat captions.
(I’m putting most of it under a read more because there are 20 pics and I didn’t want it clogging up people’s dashes)
Oshie, lookin hella good in his checkered vest, was first on the scene
Head cannon for how the junky boys (Junkrat, Roadhog) would act and dreds at a fancy, high class party?
~*Cue shopping montage*
The minute they get the invitation, Roadhog decides they’re going. Junkrat whines (and then screams when he’s forced to take a bath).
Junkrat is wrestled into a charcoal grey suit with dark shoes and a plum purple tie. He twirls around in the mirror and sends pictures to Lucio and D.Va.
Roadhog goes traditional with a simple black suit and tie combo. His shoes are polished to a shine.
There’s a three minute struggle of Junkrat tying a tie before he gives up and lets Roadhog do it.
Everyone stares at them once they get there. They come in on Roadhog’s huge bike. Meanwhile, everyone’s arriving in limos and sports cars. Junkrat feels provoked by their stares. Roadhog keeps his eyes on the prize.
They tag team the entire party. Roadhog distracts the party goers with conversation and Junkrat steals everything off them but the clothes on their back.
They rob the whole place blind and eat finger foods while they do it.
They make eye contact from across the room while Junkrat is trying to steal a pearl necklace off a woman’s neck. Junkrat gives that crazy grin of his and runs off to set up the explosives.
Roadhog steals a bottle of wine on his way out.
They get on his bike and Junkrat blows the place to kingdom come on their way out of the parking lot. They laugh the whole way home.
Once home, they change out of their stuffy clothes and drink the stolen wine while watching the news cover the giant crater that was the party and call the night a success.
never liked Halloween, not even when I was a kid. My parents didn’t
have much money and all of my costumes were handmade by my well meaning,
but creatively challenged mother. She tried so hard and would look so
proud whenever I tried on her creations that I didn’t have the heart to
tell her it looked like it had been cobbled together by a blind person
who was learning to sew with their feet.
Alaude has, and always will have, a rather large soft spot for animals. Besides finding them far more tolerable than any person he’s ever met, there’s something about a tiny animal, gazing up at him with such trust, that makes him feel slightly responsible for it and happy to have found it.
The hotel's dining hall filled with guests, the establishment holding a modern masquerade ball as the new year clock ticked. Darya adjusted her white mask and mint green dress, her fiery hair falling to the middle of her back as she made her way in. Moscow was lively, and she happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Dmitry and his two partners in crime were already there. It had been a bitch to get them out of the house too.
Joe was dressed in a red velvet suit, his mask clean for once and shimmering its natural bone white color. He had black gloves and dress shoes on, his blonde hair tickling his jaw. Mike had a standard olive green suit and tie combo with his surgical mask, plain and simple. Dmitry was in a lovely black tuxedo with a bow tie, his hair combed back nearly and a black mask covering the top half of his face and drawing attraction to his steely-blue eyes.
All three were antsy to get moving. They wanted to drink, dance, talk, scout for victims, and enjoy themselves before they headed back to work.
I’d never liked
Halloween, not even when I was a kid. My parents didn’t have much money and all
of my costumes were handmade by my well meaning, but creatively challenged
mother. She tried so hard and would look so proud whenever I tried on her
creations that I didn’t have the heart to tell her it looked like it had been
cobbled together by a blind person who was learning to sew with their feet.
After years of crooked-eyed ghosts made out of old
bedsheets, attempts at various superheroes (using those same bedsheets as capes
clothes pinned at the neck), and all the teasing that came with them, I
officially retired from Halloween at the embittered age of twelve. No amount of
free candy was worth the cruelty of my classmates at the annual school parade.
I wrote it off as Ruined Forever and could never shake the bad taste it left in
the back of my throat.
Even as I got older, my dislike for the holiday remained.
I’d attend a party or two when invited, although never in costume, but I
refused to put up decorations, made no attempts to spook friends or family, and
I never took any part in trick or treating. I kept my outside lights off, my
door closed, and any chocolate that happened to be in the house went straight
into my belly. I was the Scrooge of All Hallows’ Eve.
when my alarm went off on the 31st of October and the first thing I heard was
the radio host wishing me a happy Halloween over the opening notes of Thriller,
I groaned, long and loud. The thought of my workplace being awash with costumed
coworkers encouraging me to “get into the spirit” was almost enough
to make me call out, but I didn’t have much vacation time saved up and spending
what I did have to avoid a few rubber spiders and plastic cauldrons filled with
candy corn seemed wasteful.
I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on the same old suit
and tie combo I’d wear any other day of the year. If anyone asked what I was
supposed to be, I’d just tell them I was a corporate drone programmed to sell insurance.
That usually got a short chuckle and the questioner off my back for a while.
With a fresh brewed travel mug of pumpkin spice coffee in hand (one of the few
good things to come out of the season), I grabbed my briefcase and trudged out
the front door.
As I started to back out of my driveway, I happened to catch
a glance of my mailbox over my shoulder.
“Oh, God damnit!” I snapped, slapping my palm
against the top of my steering wheel.
I slammed on my brakes, put the car into park, and got out
to get a better look. Someone, probably a teen with a bit too much Halloween
cheer, had painted a big inverted cross in red on both sides of the mailbox.
“How freaking edgy.” I muttered, running a finger
across the paint. It was dry and I figured it must have been done in the middle
of the night.
“You shouldn’t open the door tonight.”
I jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected suggestion
from across the road. A young girl, maybe thirteen and already in costume, was
standing on the curb, her thumbs hooked in the straps of her backpack. She was
dressed in a private school uniform, the shirt and skirt of which had been
splashed with fake blood and ripped in places. Someone had spent a lot of time
perfecting her makeup, giving her a convincing set of slash marks across one
side of her face. Her “torn” cheek even seemed to glisten wetly.
Childhood me would have been so jealous.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” I replied and dismissed
“Not for anyone.” She said gravely, “They can
come out tonight.”
I sighed and climbed back into my car. It was way too early
for such shenanigans. I hoped scrubbing that paint off the mailbox wouldn’t
prove difficult. Would it scratch the box itself if I used a hard bristled
brush? I didn’t want it to rust. As I pulled into the road, I noticed the girl
was still standing there, watching me.
“Don’t open the door!” She called after me as I
drove off, “They can come out tonight! They’ll find you! You’ve been
Hi, Smithsonian tumblr team; A distant, grainy/ low-def image of James Smithsonian standing in front of a gigantic black bird ('Thunderbird' exhibit) image pops up on tumblr now + then but the source doesn't seem exactly reputable (not posted by "official" Smithsonian tumblr). Just curious if this is an actual exhibit and if so, where, when, etc...? If you have info (or a link) it would be great. It's posted on tumblr byamericanwizarding. (can't include image in my Q). Thanks, tuesday
Hi there, Tuesday! Thanks for asking. We did some Googling and found the photo you were referring to. First things first: That couldn’t be a photo of James Smithson. He died in 1829. The first cameras weren’t practical or useful until a few decades later. The suit and tie combo also would have been extremely fashion forward for the time.
The “Thunderbird” is a legendary animal in cryptozoology like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. Just to be sure (and much to their enjoyment) we checked with Smithsonian Archives and this photo is not from our collections. We also never had any exhibition featuring a large bird like this. We’re not sure of the photo’s origins or why it has been attributed to the Smithsonian.
And while we know we don’t have to explain there’s no secret Institute of Magical Knowledge that houses wizardry artifacts here, we dohave a connection to one of the most famous wizards in popular culture.
It is true that our founder James Smithson was the illegitimate son of the Duke of Northumberland (he was not a half-blooded wizard, however). The residence of the Duke of Northumberland is Alnwick Castle, which was used as the Hogwarts School in the Harry Potter movies (reference ).
Now excuse us while we consult the Library of Forbidden Books and cast a forgetting spell on all who read this.