All The Good Girls Go To Hell (18)
Summary: When Sam marries into Y/N’s family he naively believes she’s a little princess incapable of putting a step wrong. But once he comes face to face with evidence that proves she’s far from angelic which also implicates his own brother in her misdeeds, Sam finds himself battling against his own moral judgement.
Characters: Step Dad!Sam x Step Daughter!Reader, Uncle!Dean x Niece!Reader.
Warnings: stepfather/stepdaughter relationship, step uncle/step niece relationship, oral sex (male and female receiving), sexting, rough sex, major degradation, dirty talk, female masturbation, daddy kink, size kink, cheesy double entendres, Dean’s filthy whore mouth, consensual amateur pornography, thigh riding, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, threesomes, face/throat fucking, overstimulation, dom/sub themes, Sammy being an absolute deviant, cream pies, sloppy seconds, cum eating, spit-roasting, a little angst, mentions of grooming, mentions of rape. Assume all tags will apply to every chapter and warnings may differ/alter as story progresses.
A/N: As always, your comments and reblogs get me through the week. You’re the best. Beta: @deanwanddamons but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Masterlists can be found in my pinned post. Subscribe to Patreon and get access to fics, just like this one, two weeks before Tumblr for as little as $3.
Chapters nineteen and twenty already available on Patreon.
You’ve never heard your mom yell so loud, her shrill voice echoing through the now silent house. Without the acoustics of the music to shield it, you hear every word out of her mouth— swears and all.
Sitting on the edge of your bed, your thighs still tremble from your climax while Sam’s cum dries against your puffy folds. Fatigue claims every muscle and bone in your body, urging you to sleep, but you can’t.
Eyes drifting to your cell, you itch to text Dean, warn him of the impending thunderstorm that is bound to rain down on him in a matter of hours, but knowing your every move is no doubt going to be monitored from now on, you manage to stop yourself just as you reach for it.
You crave the reassurance your uncle always manages to give you— promising that everything will be alright even when he knows it won’t be. You don’t care that it would be laced with lies and uncertainty, just needing that false sense of security to keep you from surrendering to the anxiousness settling in your bones.
