𝓒𝓱𝓵𝓸𝓮🐇🧸🎀🧸🐇🎀

⚠︎ — MDNI 18+. fem!reader, fauxcest (between reader and soldier boy + homelander and reader), voyeurism (homelander watches), slight incestuous themes (homelander watches soldier boy fuck you using x-ray vision), exhibitionism, p in v, male masturbation, dead dove

based on this.

“Your brother is watching through the wall, baby. Why don’t you put on a show for him? Show him how good dad makes you feel…” Ben rolls on top of you, positioning himself between your legs as he hooks his fingers in your panties and pulls them down to your mid thigh.

“Dada….” you mumble the sweet nickname you’ve given your father figure as he slides his length inside of your sticky core. It doesn’t take much for Ben to get you wet, all he has to do is raise a brow and press his body on top of yours and your heartbeat is sent straight to your pussy. The tip of his cock fucks into your cervix, bullying the soft tissue with each rock of his hips.

“That’s right. Your first word, sweetheart. I was so proud when you learned it,” Ben coos as he wedges his hand in between your bodies, his fingers finding the special spot that makes your back arch off the bed. He rubs circular motions, slow and calculated, only picking up the speed to match the rhythm of his strokes. Beneath him, you babble nonsensical words, sounding like a cross between gibberish and ‘more dad!’ as you try to focus on the feeling of Ben’s veins pressed against your wet walls.

“Your kitty is swallowing me up. Such a glossy cunt. You were made just for dad,” he mutters against your ear, the quiet praise still loud enough for Homelander to pick up on through the other side of the wall.

Homelander watches intently, his eyes fixated on the way his father moves around your body. He can’t help but notice his dad knows just how to make you squirm beneath him. As much as he feels that he should pry his gaze away from watching Ben’s length make your belly bulge from his girth alone, or try to refrain from amplifying the sound of your moans and the wet noises of Ben sliding in and out of your cunt, he just can’t stop. Why else would he have developed x-ray vision if not to watch his father fuck you until your juices puddle beneath your body?

John mindlessly moves his hand to his crotch, pressing and palming at his hardening cock. He sucks in a hiss through his teeth as precum leaks from the head. It’s wrong to fuck his hand to this, he’s more than aware, but when has he ever made the morally correct decision? It doesn’t take long to get himself there, the inside of his supe suit painted with his climax as he watches his father slip out of you, dad’s cum leaking down your thighs.

oh dadbf!robby helping you go pee after you refused to go when he asked you, only wanting you to be safe and healthy since he did just rearrange your guts..

like at first you were just on the bed catching your breath, getting under the covers cos you got cold being butt naked, then you started to feel a bit drowsy and closed your eyes—really only for a few seconds!

until robby came back from the bathroom in his boxers and in his hand a wet towel, shaking his head repeatedly. “nope nope nope—you know the drill sleepy girl, gotta get you cleaned up first.” and your eyes are still closed when you lie, “m’not sleeping mikey promise.. just resting my eyes.” but the older man doesn’t buy it and pulls the covers off your body, shushing you when you whine about it being cold.

“I really don’t want to hear whining right now, you’re a big girl. get up” he’d say so condescendingly :( and he pulls you by the arms until you’re sitting up, pushing the small of your back into the direction of the bathroom.

“I don’t have to pee right now..” you whisper, standing at the door way with a pout and looking down. you hear a deep sigh from robby as he puts the sheets he was fixing down, his head tilted up and his eyes closed in slight irritation.

in the back of your mind you know you’re being kind of a brat right now, robby is doing what’s best for you like always and prioritizing his little girls health!

next thing you know you’re in the bathroom with robby and completely exposed, sitting on the toilet as he stands next to you, watching you as you sulk up at him. “I told you I don’t have to daddy, nothing is going to come out!” you protest—but you really weren’t trying, you just didn’t want robby to be right. his arms are crossed and he looks as if he’s this thinking, but it turns into a more frustrated face as you continue to test his patience. “really?” is what your boyfriend comes out with, his eyebrows widening to show he doesn’t think you’re being truthful.

you nod your head hastily, “mhm!”, droopy eyes following robby’s movement as he bends down, making himself match your height since you’re still sitting down. and he sticks his hand between your sticky thighs, finding your soaked clit and rubbing at it roughly :(

you grab his bicep as some kind of support, clamping your legs around his arm in defense, your face smushed on his skin. it feels so stimulating. it was the same thing he was just doing to you a couple minutes ago on the bed, but you had to pee now and you were trying with all your might to hold it in—and his fingers kept making that difficult.

“w-wait stop-“ you kept mumbling with a frown, tears streaming down your face as robby keeps massaging your sensitive bud. “are you gonna keep being difficult? because i can do this all night honey.” and he’s looking at you with that fed up face, his head cocked to the side cos he can feel you physically holding your pee in just to prove a point.

a bunch of dumb babbling leaves your lips as you start to let go for robby, “m’listenin d-dad wait please..!” almost sobbing as he makes you cum on his fingers so you’ll behave. a stream of piss that he forced out of you trickling all over his fingers and into the water, “atta girl.” he’ll praise, giving you a few more rubs and dipping a finger or two into your cunt to get the last of it out. “dad knows what’s best for you okay? stop being such a brat.”

𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝒙 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒚!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒄) 🎀🍓🪽🦌

𝒕𝒘: 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒅𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏,𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆, 𝒎𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔

Summary: Sam's always been your obedient little puppy, but after a hunt that nearly kills him, you decide to remind him who he belongs to. By the end of the night he's on the floor, crying inside you, and begging to know if he's still your good boy.

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

warnings: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader (Reader is named Bambi 'I hate the Y/n thingy, just know it's you'), Season 1-2 vibes, Bratty!Black Cat!Reader x Whiny!Golden Retriever! Sam, Crying during sex (male tears), Praise Kink, Size Kink, Desperation, Emotional hurt/comfort, Rough sex turned soft, Begging, Dean Winchester is a judgmental brother, Overstimulation, Hair pulling, Aftercare, Clingy!Sam, Slight OOC, Coquette aesthetic reader who looks submissive and absolutely is not, Foot pressure, Degradation, Thigh squeezing, Bobby Singer is permanently confused

Dean Winchester had seen a lot of weird things in his life.

Demons. Ghosts. Vampires. His brother drinking blood from a demon's wrist in some backwards panic room while their dad's journal sat on the table like a ticking time bomb.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for whatever the hell was happening between Sam and Bambi.

They'd picked her up three hunts ago. Some girl from a bar in Ohio who turned out to know more about wendigos than any civilian should.

When Dean first saw her he'd thought—okay. Small. Delicate. Five foot six on a good day. Mary Jane shoes with little white lace socks. A bow in her hair. Pink ballet flats when she wasn't hunting. She looked like she'd blow over in a strong wind. Like she should be at home baking cookies or whatever it was soft girls did.

She looked like the kind of girl Sam would have to be gentle with. The kind of girl who'd need protecting. The kind of girl who'd say "please" and "thank you" and blush when things got rough.

Dean could not have been more wrong.

It started small. At least that's what Dean told himself.

"Sam. Grab my bag."

Dean had been mid-sip of his beer. Just a normal Tuesday in a normal motel room. He watched Sam—six foot four, two hundred plus pounds of muscle and Stanford education—stand up immediately and grab the duffel bag from the corner without a single word.

Not a sigh. Not a "get it yourself." Nothing.

Bambi was sitting on the bed crossing her ankles. Her little white socks had a lace trim. Her Mary Janes were dusty from the road. She looked like a doll. Untouchable. Sweet.

She didn't even look at Sam when she took the bag. Just sifted through it, found what she needed, and dropped it back on the bed.

"Good."

ONE word. That's all she gave him.

And Sam sat back down. Smiling.

Dean almost choked on his beer.

It got worse from there.

"Sam, move."

He moved.

"Sam, shut up."

He shut up.

"Sam, you're in my way."

He stepped aside so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet and Bambi didn't even acknowledge it. Just walked past him in her little ballet flats like he was furniture.

And every single time Sam just took it. Ears turning pink. Eyes dropping to the floor like a scolded puppy. Then looking back up at her like she hung the fucking moon.

One afternoon at Bobby's place, Dean watched it happen in real time.

Bambi was sitting on Bobby's couch. Legs crossed at the ankle. Pink bow in her hair. Looking like she'd wandered out of a vintage photo. Sam walked past her with a cup of coffee and she just held out her hand without looking up from her book.

He gave her the coffee.

His own coffee.

Then walked back to the kitchen to make himself another one without a word.

Bobby watched this happen from behind his desk. Looked at Dean. Dean looked at Bobby.

"The hell is wrong with your brother?" Bobby asked under his breath.

"I have no idea."

"She looks like she should be making him cookies and he's— what— her butler?"

"Something like that."

Bobby adjusted his cap and went back to his books. Clearly deciding it was none of his business.

(It became his business about twenty minutes later when Bambi snapped "Sam, come here" from the other room and Sam literally dropped what he was doing and went. Bobby stared at the doorway for a full ten seconds before looking at Dean with an expression that said what kind of reverse universe bullshit is this.)

Dean pulled Sam aside that night behind Bobby's house.

"Dude."

"What?"

"You just— she just— Sam, she called you useless and you apologized."

Sam shrugged. Looked away. "She was right. I forgot the salt."

"You forgot the salt and she called you useless and you said sorry like you kicked her dog."

"She's not wrong, Dean."

"She's not—" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sam. Look at her. She's wearing a bow. She's got lace socks. She looks like she'd cry if you raised your voice at her."

Sam's jaw tightened. "She wouldn't."

"I KNOW that now. But my point is—" Dean gestured vaguely. "You're six four. You could bench press her with one hand. She looks like a strong wind would carry her away. What is happening with you?"

Sam didn't answer. But his ears were red again and he wouldn't make eye contact and Dean realized with dawning horror that his little brother was gone for this woman.

Completely. Utterly. Gone.

And the worst part? The part that made Dean want to pour holy water in his own eyes? Sam liked it. Loved it. Being talked down to by a girl in Mary Janes with a ribbon in her hair. Being told he was pathetic and dumb and useless by someone who looked like she should be in a painting hanging above a fireplace.

It made no sense. It made perfect sense. Dean hated every second of knowing about it.

The hunt in Blackwater was supposed to be easy.

Rawhead. Basements. Easy kill.

Except nothing was ever easy.

The rawhead was faster than the lore suggested. Stronger. It threw Sam into a wall so hard the drywall cracked and Bambi screamed his name in a way that didn't sound mean at all and Dean didn't have time to process that because he was being tossed across the room like a ragdoll.

Sam got back up. Because of course he did. Stupid self-sacrificing bastard.

But he went in reckless. No plan. No backup. Just charged at the thing with an iron rod and a death wish and Bambi watched it happen in slow motion.

She killed it. Single electrocution hit to the wet basement floor while Sam was pinned underneath it. The thing seized and screamed and died and Sam was left gasping on the ground with burns on his arms and blood on his face.

When it was over Bambi was kneeling next to him. Her white lace socks were soaked with basement water. Her Mary Janes were scuffed. Her little pink bow had fallen out of her hair at some point and she looked fragile and small and furious all at once.

"You idiot."

Her hands gripped his jacket collar. Yanking him up slightly just to slam him back down.

"What the hell was that? You just— you ran in— you could have DIED, you stupid, useless—"

"I had to—"

"You had to WHAT? Be a hero? Get yourself killed? For WHAT?"

Her voice cracked on the last word and Sam saw it. Just for a second. The fear underneath all the sharp edges. She'd been scared. She was still scared.

Dean saw it too.

And he suddenly felt like he was standing in a room he wasn't supposed to be in.

"I'm taking the Impala back," Dean said carefully. "Get some rest. We'll head out in the morning."

Sam barely looked at him. Eyes fixed on Bambi like she was the only person in the world.

Dean grabbed his keys and left.

He did not want to know what happened next.

(He absolutely wanted to know what happened next. But he respected his brother enough to pretend he didn't.)

The motel room was quiet after Dean left.

Bambi hadn't moved from where she was kneeling next to Sam on the bed. Still gripping his collar. Still furious. Her hair was messy now without the bow. Her lace socks were ruined. She still looked soft. Delicate. Like a porcelain doll that had been dropped and cracked but hadn't shattered yet.

Sam's arms were burnt. Not badly, but enough that they needed cleaning. His lip was split. There was a gash on his forehead that was going to leave a mark.

He looked up at her with those big brown eyes. Floppy hair a mess. Blood drying on his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You're sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"You're pathetic. You know that? Absolutely pathetic. Can't even follow a simple plan. Useless. Dumb. Reckless—"

Each word landed like a slap and Sam took every single one. Eyes dropping. Jaw tight. Because she was right. He was all of those things.

But then her grip on his collar loosened. Her thumb brushed against his jaw. Just barely. Her small hand against his stubbled jaw. Delicate fingers on rough skin.

"Get on the floor," she said quietly.

Sam's stomach dropped.

Not from fear. From want.

He slid off the bed. Slowly. His knees hitting the nasty motel carpet and he didn't even care. He sat back on his heels. Hands flat on his thighs. Looking up at her.

From this angle she looked even smaller. Perched on the edge of the bed with her ruined lace socks and her scuffed Mary Janes and her messy hair without the bow. She looked like something that should be protected. Cherished.Handled gently.

She was none of those things.

Bambi sat on the edge of the bed. Looking down at him. And for a moment she just... looked. Taking him in. All six foot four of him folded up on the floor at her feet like he was made to be there.

"You scared me," she said. So quiet Sam almost missed it.

"I know."

"Don't do that again."

"I know."

She studied him. His burnt arms. His split lip. The way his chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

Then she moved. Slowly. Deliberately. She lifted one foot—the scuffed Mary Jane still on—and pressed it against his crotch. Not hard. Just... there. Pressure. Just enough for him to feel it.

Sam's breath hitched.

"You've been sitting there taking it," she said. "Haven't complained once. Haven't argued. Just taking everything I give you like a good little puppy."

Sam whimpered. Actually whimpered. The sound came out of him before he could stop it and his face flushed red.

Bambi pressed down a little harder with her foot and Sam's hips twitched up involuntarily.

"Ah ah." Her voice was sharp. "Be still."

He froze. Thighs trembling with the effort of not moving.

"Good boy."

His eyes fluttered shut. A shaky breath escaping through his nose. The praise hitting him like a drug straight to his bloodstream.

"You like that?" Bambi asked. She already knew the answer.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Yes what?"

"Yes— yes ma'am. I like it."

She rubbed her foot against him slowly. Lazy pressure. Back and forth. The worn leather of her Mary Jane dragging against him through his jeans and Sam's mouth fell open. Hands still flat on his thighs because she hadn't said he could move them.

"You're so pathetic," she said. No malice in it this time. Almost fond. "Sitting on a dirty motel floor with a split lip getting hard from being stepped on by a girl in lace socks."

Sam nodded. Couldn't deny it. Wouldn't even try.

"Pathetic," she repeated. Pressed down a little harder. "Dumb. Useless."

Each word made his cock twitch against the sole of her shoe and they both felt it.

"But you are being good for me, aren't you, Sammy?"

His eyes snapped open. Glassy. Desperate.

"Yes. I'm—I'm being good. I promise I'm being good."

"I know you are." She tilted her head. Her small frame casting a shadow over him from the bed. "You want a treat?"

Sam's whole body went rigid. His head nodding so fast it was almost funny. Ears bright red. Lips parted. Looking up at her like she was holding his entire world in her hands.

Because she was.

Bambi leaned back on the bed. Slowly. Her foot leaving him and Sam had to physically stop himself from whining at the loss. She kicked off one Mary Jane. Then the other. Her little white lace socks damp and dirty from the basement. She spread her legs. Hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear. Pulled them to the side.

Just like that.

Sam's brain went white.

He could see her. Glistening. Wet. Right there in front of him and his hands were FLEXING on his thighs and his jaw was clenched so tight it hurt and every single nerve in his body was screaming at him to MOVE—

But he didn't.

Because she hadn't said he could.

"Please," he choked out. "Bambi— please— I'll be so good I swear I'll be so good please let me— I need it— please—"

He wasn't even forming full sentences anymore. Just fragments. Desperate. Pathetic. Tears pricking at the corners of his eyes because he wanted it so badly it physically hurt.

Bambi watched him fall apart on the floor in front of her. This massive man. Destroyed. By her. By the girl in the lace socks and the missing bow and the scuffed Mary Janes kicked carelessly on the floor.

Something warm flickered in her chest.

"Come here," she said softly.

Sam didn't walk. He didn't crawl.

He surged.

His mouth was on her before she could take another breath and Bambi's head fell back against the pillow with a gasp. He wasn't gentle. Wasn't slow. He was devouring her like a man who'd been starving for weeks and finally got handed a meal.

His tongue pressed flat against her and dragged up slowly before his lips closed around her and sucked and Bambi's hand flew to his hair. Gripping. Pulling. Her small fingers tangling in his floppy hair and yanking.

"Sam— slow down—"

He didn't slow down.

His hands gripped her thighs. Fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises and she could already feel them forming. His tongue was everywhere. Relentless. Desperate. Like he needed to taste every inch of her or he'd die.

She hit the side of his head. "I said slow—"

He moaned against her. A broken, needy sound that vibrated through her whole body and she squeezed her thighs around his head. Tight. Tighter. His vision blurred at the edges. Ears ringing. And he still didn't stop. If anything the pressure made him work harder.

But then—through the haze of pleasure and the loss of oxygen—Bambi felt it. How perfectly his tongue was moving. How he'd found the exact spot that made her toes curl inside her damp lace socks and he was staying there. Consistent. Dedicated. Good.

She loosened her thighs.

Sam gasped for air but didn't pull away. Just breathed against her wet skin for a second before diving back in and Bambi's fingers tightened in his hair.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. Stop."

He pulled back immediately. Whining. Nuzzling his face against her inner thigh like he couldn't stand to be that far away. Staring at her pussy with glassy desperate eyes. His lips swollen and wet. Floppy hair sticking to his tear-streaked forehead.

"Take your dick out," she said.

Sam's hands moved so fast he almost ripped his belt off. Fumbling. Shaking. Eager in a way that would be embarrassing if he had any dignity left.

He didn't.

His cock sprang free. Red. Hard. Leaking at the tip. Angry and desperate and Bambi looked at it. Looked at him. This enormous man falling apart at her feet while she lay there in nothing but ruined lace socks.

"Pathetic," she murmured. But her voice was soft now.

She reached into her bag. Pulled out a condom. Rolled it onto him herself and Sam's whole body shuddered at her small hands on him.

Then she swung a leg over him. Positioned herself. And sank down.

Sam choked on a sob.

She was warm and wet and tight around him and he was balls deep before he even processed it and his hands found her hips and gripped hard but didn't move. Just held. Anchoring. His large hands almost covering her entire waist.

Bambi started to move. Slow. Rolling her hips. Setting the pace. Controlling everything. And Sam just took it. Head thrown back. Neck exposed. Whining with every movement. This giant of a man completely at the mercy of a girl who looked like she should be on a greeting card.

"Good boy," she breathed. "Holding back for me so good."

His hips twitched up involuntarily and she stilled.

"Ah. I didn't say you could move."

"Sorry— sorry I'm sorry—"

"Shh. It's okay." She leaned down. Her small body pressing against his broad chest. Her mouth right next to his ear. "You can move. Be good."

Sam lost it.

He snapped his hips up. Hard. Deep. One hand still on her hip the other flying to the sheets and gripping so hard the fabric pulled. And the sounds that came out of him—whining, whimpering, desperate—

"Am I doing good?" His voice cracked. "Bambi— am I— tell me— am I your good boy? Please— I need to know— please tell me I'm your good boy—"

Tears were streaming down his face. Not sad. Just overwhelmed. So full of everything—her, the praise, the feeling of being inside her, the permission to move, the fact that she was LETTING him have this—

"You're so dumb," Bambi gasped. But her voice was shaking. "Pathetic. Can't even— fuck—"

He thrust up hard. Hit the spot that made her vision white.

"Yes," she breathed. Broken. "Yes. You are. Fuck— you're— yes—"

The meanness was crumbling. Each word less sharp than the last. The "yes yes you are" came out breathless and ruined and nothing like the cutting tone she used earlier. This tiny soft girl coming undone on top of him and Sam could feel it.

Sam heard the difference. Heard her break and his crying picked up because he did that. He made her feel good enough that she couldn't even be mean to him anymore.

"You're my good boy," she whispered. Soft. Almost reverent. "So good for me, Sammy. My good boy."

Sam sobbed. His rhythm going sloppy. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated. Tears and sweat and floppy hair sticking to his forehead and he was so close but he couldn't— he needed—

"Can I— please— can I come— Bambi please— I need to— I'll be good I swear I'll—"

"Yes. Come for me. Be good. Cum for me, Sammy."

He broke.

His whole body seized. A raw broken sound tearing out of his throat as he came. Hips jerking up erratically. Hand on her hip gripping so tight it would definitely bruise. Tears running down his face into his hair. This massive man completely wrecked beneath a girl in dirty lace socks.

Bambi rode him through it. Slower now. Gentler. Watching him fall apart beneath her and something in her chest ached in the best way.

When he finally stilled she didn't move off him right away. Just sat there. Looking down at him.

Sam's eyes were closed. Tears still slipping down his temples into his hair. Chest heaving. Lips swollen and parted. Completely and utterly wrecked.

"Open your eyes," she said quietly.

He did. Glassy. Wet. Looking up at her like she was everything.

"You did so good," she whispered.

His face crumpled. Fresh tears spilling over and he reached for her. Pulling her down against his chest. Big arms wrapping around her small body and holding her so tight. Her head fit perfectly under his chin. Her small frame tucked against his massive chest like she was made to be there.

"Don't let go," he mumbled into her hair. Voice raw from crying. "Please don't— just stay—"

"I'm here."

"Don't let go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

He held her like she might disappear. Clingy. Needy. His face buried in her neck and his breath hot against her skin and his big body curling around her smaller one like he could shield her from the entire world.

Bambi let him.

She ran her small fingers through his sweaty hair. Gentle. Softer than she'd been all night.

"You scared me today," she said again.

"I know."

"Don't do it again."

"I know."

She pressed a kiss to his temple. Barely there. Sam made a small sound and held her tighter.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Dean came back the next morning with coffee and donuts and walked in on Sam and Bambi on one bed. Sam was wrapped around her like a koala. Face pressed into her back. One arm draped over her waist. Completely unconscious.

Bambi was awake. Looking at her phone. Her other Mary Jane was on the floor next to the bed. One lace sock on. One off. Her hair was a mess. She looked soft and small and rumpled and completely unbothered.

She didn't even acknowledge Dean.

He looked at the hickey on Sam's neck.

Looked at Bambi.

Looked back at Sam.

"I don't want to know," he said.

"Then don't ask."

"I'm not asking."

"Good."

Dean set the coffee down harder than necessary and went to the bathroom.

He did not want to know.

Two days later at Bobby's, Dean watched Sam set a plate of food in front of Bambi without being asked. She was wearing fresh white socks with new lace trim. Fresh pink bow in her hair. Fresh Mary Janes. Looking like she'd stepped out of a vintage dollhouse.

She looked up at Sam. "Sit."

He sat.

Bobby looked at Dean. Dean looked at Bobby.

"I don't even have a theory for this one," Bobby said quietly.

"Join the club."

On the couch, Bambi reached over and patted Sam's head once. Twice. Like he was a dog.

Sam's eyes closed and he leaned into her hand and smiled like he'd just been handed the world.

Bobby took a long sip of whiskey.

Dean did the same.

Neither of them said a word.

A/N : If you couldn’t tell I love the opposites attract trope sooo much, plus like her being mean while looking like an angel is perfect for season 1-3 Sam, I hope yall enjoyed this is my first proper I’m back post, and it’s one yall been begging for so eat it up! - Cherry out!!

NSFW ! NSFW ! NSFW ! NSFW ! NSFW ! NSFW ! NSFW

Dean doesn't know what to do when you turn around one night with those pretty doe eyes and beg him to stick his gun in your mouth.

He tells you he needs to think on it. It's a thing with enough weight that he needs to sit with the thought, contemplate it. He's never even considered it- mixing something as violent and coarse as his job with something as beautiful as you.

But the next night, when he's got you on your knees with wet eyes and sobbed moans, you notice his Colt sitting on the bedstand, bathed in golden lamp light.

He leans back for it causally, gaze still fixed on you below him. He lets out a sharp breath through his nose as his hand grazes across it, relaxed, like he's just looking it over.

You know it's not loaded- Dean's not stupid- but he still looks at it with a fire in his eyes before he returns his gaze to you. It's a look that makes your stomach tighten, sparks of danger filling the air.

"This what you wanted?" He speaks slowly, staring down at you.

You pull back slightly, biting your lip as you give him a small nod.

He smiles at you, that fire still there, "Go on then, show me how bad you want it."

titus danforth x female reader, cw: fauxcest, mdni, dadbf!titus

titus comes into your room every morning, sometimes before then, to have his way with you. he leaves the door wide open, because this is his house, his rules, and he wants the servants to hear. he turns you towards him, pulls your delicate nightgown off, presses a kiss to your head, and slides his fat cock into you, all the way. he stays like that for a few minutes. the first time he did this, you cried and cried and cried. you don’t cry anymore. you just mumble “‘s it morning already?” he nods, dipping his head down to give you a peck. his pajama shirt is still on, you notice. you wish you were allowed to wear shirts. you’re not. not in the lodge. it’s either dresses, or being in just the undergarments he picks out for you.

he presses his thumb in between your lips, and you take the cue, suckling on it. “that’s my sweet girl. we’re having visitors over today. the council. so dad’s gonna get you in that tiny pink dress of yours, you know the one. and you’ll sit on my lap the whole time. no panties, gotta be able to show you off to that,” he pumps into you harder, groaning “fucking cabal of vultures.”

titus empties into you with a shudder. you haven’t cum yet. he murmurs, cock softening inside you, hand lazily rubbing over your tummy “gonna wait until the meeting to make you cum. wouldn’t you like that, bunny? want dad to make you cum in front of his friends? show dad’s friends what a good girl you are when you want your little treat.”

he withdraws, reluctantly, and rolls off to check your closet. he comes back with a sheer, pink babydoll. it is tiny. it covers only half your ass. titus pats your face. “arms up, you know the drill.” you blush uncontrollably. “but your friends are gonna see all that.” growing frustrated, he pulls both your arms up. “that’s the point, sweetheart. wanna show off my daughter.”

once the dress is on, titus steers you in front of the mirror. your nipples are clearly visible. your pussy is fully out. he presses blush onto your cheeks. swipes some gloss over your mouth, tingly and plumping, dusts pearly eyeshadow on your lids, and finishes with four coats of mascara on each eye. he likes you looking like a doll, he always says. big eyes. pouty lips.

Rick and Lori had been trying to reach the school for almost an hour.The roads were chaos.Cars sat abandoned in the middle of intersections. People were running. Sirens screamed from every direction.“What is happening?” Lori whispered from the passenger seat, gripping the dashboard.Rick kept his eyes on the road.“I don’t know. But we’re getting our kids.”That was the only thing that mattered.Getting to Carl.Getting to their seventeen-year-old daughter.Nothing else.At the school, teachers were desperately trying to keep students inside classrooms.Rumors spread faster than facts.There was a virus.There were riots.People were attacking each other.Nobody knew the truth.Carl sat beside his sister in a classroom, bouncing his knee nervously.“You think Mom’s coming?” he asked.“Of course she is.”Even though she wasn’t completely sure.The teachers looked scared.Adults never looked scared.That was the worst part.A few minutes later shouting erupted down the hallway.The classroom door suddenly opened.Lori rushed inside first.“There they are!”Carl jumped out of his chair.“Mom!”Lori wrapped both kids in a crushing hug.For a second she couldn’t even speak.She just held them.Tight.Like if she let go they’d disappear.Behind her stood Rick.Relief washed over his face the moment he saw both of them safe.“There you two are.”His daughter immediately crossed the room and threw her arms around him.Rick hugged her back without hesitation.For a moment he buried his face in her hair.His little girl wasn’t little anymore.She was almost grown.But right now none of that mattered.She was safe.“Dad, what’s going on?” she asked quietly.Rick glanced toward the windows.Outside, people were running through the parking lot.A distant scream echoed.His jaw tightened.“I don’t know yet.”Which was terrifying.Because Rick Grimes always seemed to know what to do.The family hurried toward the parking lot together.Carl held onto Lori’s hand.Their daughter stayed close to Rick.The second they stepped outside they saw a man stumble across the pavement.Blood covered his shirt.He collapsed beside a car.Several students screamed.Their daughter froze.“Dad…”Rick immediately stepped in front of both kids.“Don’t look.”But it was too late.They’d already seen.The world wasn’t normal anymore.Something had changed.Something terrible.As they finally got back into the truck, Lori reached into the back seat and squeezed her daughter’s hand.“We stay together.”Carl nodded.Their daughter nodded too.Rick started the engine.“That’s right.”His eyes met Lori’s.Then the kids’.“We stay together no matter what.”At that moment none of them knew how much their lives were about to change.They only knew one thing.Whatever was happening outside They would face it as a family.

꒰ ✉️ ꒱ MDNI taboo ! content incest filming objectification jealousy crying infantilization power imbalance grooming

grandad!ward

ward’s grip on your hips is iron-tight, bruising the soft skin he’s marked a thousand times before, his thick cock buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt while rafe watches from the chair, stroking himself slow. “look at her, son,” ward growls low, pelvis flush to yours — “my granddaughter’s tight little pussy still flutters like it did the first time i stretched it open without you knowing.” he pulls out just enough to slap the fat head against your swollen clit — smearing your cream everywhere — then slams back in so deep your belly bulges. “been thinkin’ about this all week, angel. grandad’s balls been achin’ to flood his favorite girl again. you gonna milk me dry tonight while your daddy films it?” ward’s thumb circles your puckered asshole, pressing in dry just to hear you choke on a sob.

dad!rafe

now, rafe stands over you with hungry eyes, chest rising and falling fast as he watches his father ruin his daughter’s poor little cunt. camera zooming in on where ward’s fat hairy cock splits your hole in two, clit peeking out and twitching with every nasty thrust. “fuck, look at that greedy little pussy,” he mutters, barely there like he’s in some sort of twisted fascination at the sickness presenting itself before him. “that wet for your grandfather’s old dick, babygirl? y’been creaming on his tired ass without me knowin’, huh?” he reaches down, spreading your lips wider with two fingers so the lens catches the obscene stretch, the way your walls flutter and grip ward’s cock like it was made for him. rafe’s own cock is still rock-hard in his shorts, straining painfully as he watches his daughter’s precious cunt get ruined. “this pussy belongs to me first. i made it — and you really get this fuckin’ wet for him?” rafe pulls his fingers away only to shove two of them into your mouth, forcing you to taste your slick mixed with ward’s precum.

reader!you

your back arches off the sheets, legs shaking uncontrollably as ward pounds into you without mercy, his heavy body pinning you down while rafe towers above, camera capturing every obscene second. tears streak your flushed cheeks, drool slipping from your parted lips as the stretch burns so good it scrambles your brain. “daddy — fuck, he’s so deep, stretchin’ me so fuckin’ full i can’t think.” you choke out, voice wrecked and breathy, hips twitching up to meet every thrust like you can’t help it. you reach back, spreading your ass for him like the desperate slut you are. “more, grandaddy, please — ruin your granddaughter’s pussy. i need it deeper, don’t wanna be able to walk when you’re done with me.” your words turn into broken whimpers when ward does — grinding harder against that spot that makes your eyes roll back.