#ugly abusers are the same | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 21 days ago

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Sex, Lies, Ugly Truth

art in the banner is by @3-aem ! god they make the juiciest art, go follow <3

Pairings - Your mom's boyfriend Satoru x F! reader

Summary- here's just one thing worse than having to stay with your estranged mom for just a few days while your apartment is getting renovated - and that's the six foot four white haired man banging her out every night. And does he own a fucking shirt!? You can't stand being around them, your mom's much younger boyfriend who's closer to your age. What's worse is... you liked him first. He's arrogant, annoying and you're disgusted by him - he doesn't actually make you wet that's... nothing!? And you don't want to fuck him, not at all! No way you wanna fuck your bitch ass mom's boyfriend. right?

Warnings - oh boyyy aha, forbidden love, abusive mother (reader) mentions of past eating disorders, verbal abuse from reader's mom, sm tension and build up, sex doesn't happen till after Toru tells your mom byeee, but fingering does happen before that, oral (f and m receiving) backshots while on the phone with your mom -yeppp - damaged ass reader and Satoru, they have issues, hints of stepcest I guess but he's not rly your stepdad lol, Satoru is 32, reader is 22 so AGE GAP, reader calling him daddy as a joke - maybe. Oneshot - WC - 13.2k

This is literally so toxic aha, my mommy issues haven't gone away. read the warnings! and if you fuck with this brand of crazy, I'll see you in the comments

The first day staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

Staying at your mom's for a couple weeks was horrible to say the very least, not just because she was an insane bitch, and not just because you swore you'd never come back here. Not because the memories of being in your old room - transformed into a mural of her pictures and crowns from various pageants she’d been in, you think she changed it the same day you left.

No, not because you love having your freedom, and busted your ass to make sure you never have had to stay here, not because you hadn’t talked to her in so long you have no clue what to say to each other. And not just due to the fact that she was only allowing you here because your father called and asked her to do one favor for once - he lived way too far away.

No, there was another reason that you were miserable, and that was the moans emanating from the next room.

How many rounds could that man go?

And did she have to scream so loud!?!

You slam a pillow on your face, screaming into it while your mom is screaming out - Gojo! There, there! - and then to make it worse, you hear a filthy smack. You feel nauseated at this point, about to throw up if you had to hear one more moan, when finally he seems to finish up.

Jesus, that was a longer session than usual. Does the man do anything but fuck you’re really not certain. Huffing, you throw off the covers of the little futon she’d so graciously brought out, the woman was well off, mind you, but none of that ever helped you any. You wonder if he’s after her money or something, because he was gorgeous, but you suppose your mother was as well.

It still seemed odd, he wasn’t much older than you, but it’s not as if your mom wasn’t notorious for fucking younger guys - even some of your high school friends as soon as they turned eighteen. That was one of the reasons your dad moved out of the country, and you couldn’t blame him for it, she was by far the worst human being, but everyone didn’t know that.

In fact, it was really only you and your dad, along with a couple close friends of yours that knew how horrible she was. Keeping custody of you - for ‘appearances’ - had been hell. But everyone saw her as the ideal, doting mother - after all she spent all her time taking you to every competition there was, and made sure you looked and acted perfect for them.

As soon as you shed the ‘perfect image’ she decided to quit acting.

Shaking off reminiscent thoughts, you get up now and walk over to the door, glaring at the endless photos of her in bikinis and gowns, no one loved themselves more than your mother did, truly. You peek out and notice it’s finally gone quiet in that room, heading to the kitchen to grab a water, downing it to fight back the nausea.

That’s when he walks out, smirking at you, shirtless, nothing but boxers slung over his narrow hips - the reason this was even worse for you.

Satoru Gojo.

"Gimme, I'm dehydrated." This mother fucker snatches the watter bottle then, gulping it down, you watch his Adam's apple Bob as he does, sweat dripping across perfectly sculpted abs. You stare for a moment as your mom walks out, or should you say waddled out, glaring at you now.

"Gojo, come back to bed." She doesn't acknowledge you, and Satoru frowns a bit, the never ending tension between you two prevalent. Satoru actually never knew she had a daughter till he saw you come to the house yesterday, but she sure doesn't seem to have any affection- in fact she hasn't even introduced you properly to him, it was more - this is my daughter.

"Need a break." Gojo says, you bend down to snatch up your bottle, and he can't help but eye your ass in those shorts, looking away quickly now.

There was a big problem staying at his girlfriend’s house for the past couple nights, and that was -

Satoru wants to fuck his girlfriend's daughter.

His girlfriend is forty five, Satoru is thirty two. And it just so happens you're twenty two, so you’re honestly closer to his age just a bit, but Satoru loves older women, he loves milfs, girls his age or younger were never much interest. He probably has mommy issues, no, he definitely does, there's nothing better than having his head stroked and having a meal made for him after fucking a Milf's brains out-

Except, maybe, getting to ever touch you.

Gorgeous. You're so gorgeous, effortless and seemingly unaware.

You dress in all black, the opposite of what he expected with your mother who was literally beauty pageant winner for her state for years, her crowns are displayed everywhere. But not a single picture of you to be found, and you'd win them all too with your beauty. But you seem to shove it all away, baggy shirts and ripped jeans, you have not a speck of makeup on your face. Big buffalo plaid jackets as if to hide a body he now sees is fucking banging.

Your mom scowls over at you as she ties her robe. "Stop bothering him and go to your room."

"I just got water because hearing you all fuck for hours was making me sick. I'm not bothering him. He took my water."

"I don't care, when are you leaving again?" You blink a bit.

"I told you it's just a week while they're fixing that roof leak, and I won't bother you again. I'd have asked dad but I can't be that far from work."

"The sooner the better, and don't judge me for having a life, my sentence of you is over now." Satoru pauses, the woman he's been with for months was always sweet and perfect, until you got here.

Seeing your eyes water he clears his throat. "She wasn't bothering me, I did snatch her water up."

Your mom's face has plastered back on a fake smile, the beauty queen smile that’s so cold it makes you shiver, as she brushes up and down Satoru's bare arm, you hate how pretty he is. How much you think of him, and how her hand is all over him, it makes your stomach turn.

"You're right, sorry sweetie I'm just tired." She cooes, all fake she comes and hugs you. Satoru frowns, hoping he read that wrong, you stand still, unmoving, eyeing him over your mom's shoulder then. "I'll try to be quieter -" she leans against your ear. "So you're not so jealous of me hmm?"

You bite back tears, shoving her off. Satoru hadn't heard anything so he has no clue as she comes up to him that you're sobbing in your room. You almost forgot how much you hate that bitch. Yes, you hate your mother. Who pushed you beyond your means to compete when you were younger, damn near starving and working you to perfection, and when you turned eighteen and threw all your tiaras in the trash, lit your gowns and sashes on fire, she never fucking forgave you.

You haven't talked to her in four years, tired of living in her goddamn shadow, your father left her ten years ago and you see why. He hates her as much as you. They fought all the time over letting you have a choice of who to move with, but she ultimately won custody.

And now she takes the guy you were thinking of working up the courage to talk to.

Satoru Gojo.

You saw him every day as you studied at that coffee shop right by your college, flirting with everyone, so light and free with his bright smile and confidence, while you wallowed in the corner. But you never did say hi, you're sure he never saw you, but to come home and find him shirtless and grinning was almost too much.

Your apartment unfortunately had a horrible leak upstairs and you had to leave, this was the last place you expected but it was right across from work. Never asking her for a thing you hoped maybe you could mend some bridges, but she's as cruel, beautiful and cold as ever. As a younger girl, you craved to have any of her attention, looked up to her, but now you know it’s not worth anything.

Maybe that's the type of woman a guy like Satoru Gojo went for, not you.

What did it matter!? He’s as off limits as it gets.

You hear them moaning again and shove in your earbuds, throwing a blanket over your head and praying for the week to end.

*****

Three days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

“Shit, sorry…” You’ve stepped right into the bathroom while Satoru’s walking out the next morning, skin glistening with the shower he just took, steam rising out of the door behind him. He smirks down at you as you careen into him damn near, hitting his hard body and almost falling before he catches you.

“Sorry for what?” He sets you right, lazy in his assessment of your face, blue eyes impossible to read, while your eyes drift across his nearly naked body, falling to the towel that’s not hiding shit, bringing a flush to your cheeks. “What, never seen a naked man? You freak out all the time.”

“Well if you ever wore any fucking clothes,” you shove him out of your way, scowling at his smirking face. “What?”

“You’re cute. Bet you’re a whole virgin.”

“Oh fuck yourself, none of your business, fucking Mrs. Robinson.” Satoru chuckles now while your hands brush against his slippery skin a little too long, making him pause, seeing color decorate your cheeks. He falters then, looking down at you, so clearly unused to any attention, clearing your throat and dropping your hand.

“How do you know what Mrs. Robinson is, you’re a baby.” He teases, arm resting in the doorway, that towel daring to dive lower with every moment, you avert your eyes now, digging out your makeup bag from the drawer to wash your face.

“You’re not much older than me, right?”

“Ten years older. You’re still a baby.”

“I’m closer to you than she is.” He blinks a bit, you wish he’d leave, but he’s just lingering like a little fucking pest.

“I guess. You’re nothing like her.” You scoff then, he didn’t mean it as an insult but he sees it is one, your jaw setting while you dry your face with a soft towel, and fuck if you’re not prettier bare faced than anyone he’s seen with a face full of product.

He shouldn’t think like that.

“I’m definitely nothing like her.”

“You don’t call her mom, huh?” He raises a brow, while you’re slathering serum on your skin, cool and tacky as it dries, counteracting the steam and the overheating of your skin from his proximity.

“No, I don’t. It’s none of your business, you all will be back to an empty love shack in days.”

Satoru chuckles then, shaking his head as you glare up at him. “Love shack, what’s with these old ass references?”

“I enjoy old things too, just like you enjoy old women.” He snorts now, rolling his eyes.

“She’s not old to me, one day you’ll be there too.”

“Sure will and won’t be fucking dudes that look like babies.” Satoru leans forward then, that perfect, pretty face right against yours, you freeze when he tilts your chin up, breath brushing across your lips.

“I’m no baby.” His whisper is too much, you swallow nervously, stepping back while he wreaks havoc on your nervous system, heart hammering when his snowy lashes lower, hand falling. “Why do you care what she does and with who?”

“I don’t. But I am not surprised, she was a hit at the high school graduation party.” He blinks in confusion at your words, you shake your head now. “You’re new to her. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Do you now…” You shove him aside, hating how good his skin feels again, hating whatever the fuck he does to your tummy being too close, shoving those thoughts far back.

“I do, she runs through toys like you.”

“We’re dating, not just fucking, you know.” Your lips quirk up, patting his shoulder, only for him to grip your wrist with his huge hand, taking it over, pausing your steps. You turn back to glare at his grip, then up into those arrogant eyes. “You know something I don’t?”

“Let’s just say, she’s a bitch.” You shake him off again. “But you are too.”

“Me!? You’re the mopey, emo little brat glaring daggers at me, sweetheart.” His voice murmurs, his breath against your skin as he leans down, you yank your wrist out of his grip.

“Don’t call me sweetheart!” You hiss as the bedroom door opens, as you two quickly separate, but she’s eyed your proximity, smiling coldly as she assesses you, the look that’s always made you feel so small, holds less than it did before, but it’s still there, the haunting memory of it all.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She says it so nasty to you then, you just glare once more at Satoru and nod, walking past, her hand halting you, her mouth against your ear, making you shiver in disgust. “Stop looking at him, you’ll never have someone like that.”

“I don’t want him.” You whisper back, earning her laugh now, while she fake hugs you, and you just want to fucking fall into a hole.

“Have a great day, honey!” She smiles and steps forward to Satoru, you can’t stop looking back over your shoulder at them, sighing when his eyes catch yours over her shoulder, unreadable - but you swear you see something flicker.

You can’t even think that way.

You’re stupid.

*****

Five days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The man does not own a tee-shirt, you’re completely convinced - he’s always half naked, as if this is how he exists. Well, he clearly has dress shirts, he wears them when he heads off to run his business, you’re not even sure what that job entails, apparently some trust fund baby considering he’s never there. He left for the past couple of nights to go home, thank god.

When he does he brings her with him and she doesn’t come back until late, driven home in some fancy limo, but you get a reprieve.

You suppose he looks good in his Armani suits as he leaves every morning though, always getting some breakfast made from ‘mommy’- yuck. You have to watch them kissing in the kitchen as you fight waves of nausea, but the past couple days you haven’t heard that ridiculous fucking, and he barely kisses her, eyeing you intently when he does press his lips on her cheek.

“Satoru, do you have to go to work today?” She pouts as she blinks those long lashes at him, and he sighs, smiling and touching her cheek, as you vividly wish it was you, which you hate yourself for. You avoid his eyes, sipping on coffee before you head to work yourself.

“I do honey, don’t worry I’ll come stay tonight.” She pouts again, he just smiles a little stiffly, walking out as you head out the door, hands touching the knob at the same time, making you both pause. You clear your throat, pulling your hand back like it’s on fire, as he lets you out first, feeling your mom’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Want a ride to work?” He asks quietly, heading over to the black car with a driver holding the back door.

“You don’t drive, huh?”

“Why should I when I can pay someone too.” His pretentious smirk again has you itching to smack him, but the thought of not having to catch a bus is tempting. “You know you wanna.”

“Whatever. Thanks I guess.” He bows as if he’s some gentleman and not an idiot, you slide in next to him, sighing as his thighs spread way too far, brushing against yours. “Manspread much?”

“You hate me don’t you?” You blink in confusion, looking away and biting that lower lip, the lip that fucks him up mentally to look at. Being this close to you alone is making his body react, his pulse racing, even as he keeps a neutral look, he aches to drag your lips against his.

He’s been trying to avoid you since that morning in the bathroom when you touched his chest, burning his skin like a brand. The pull is too much, to where he can hardly remember what he was thinking with your mom. She’s gorgeous, she’s his type, she’s got everything Satoru needs after spending the day at his boring ass family company, but her daughter won’t stop tempting him.

How he saw your breasts spill out of your tank top this morning, your scent that he can’t describe filling a room, it’s all horrible - and shit timing, as now your mom has been talking about getting more serious. Before he saw you, he was hopelessly enamored with her beauty, her clear confidence, but he can’t stop looking at the shy, insecure girl far too eagerly.

He’d show you how gorgeous you were if he had a chance-

The fuck is wrong with him?

You’re her daughter.

“I don’t hate you, Gojo.” You say softly, turning to look up at him now, so much pain behind your eyes it nearly takes his breath away.

“You sure act like it.”

“I know. I have to.” You clear your throat nervously, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, his fingers itching to sweep it back, breath catching when you look up at him, eyes so intense he can’t look away.

“Why do you have to hate me?” He asks quietly again, trying to remember - you’re young, you’re his girl’s daughter, while you remember, he’s your mom’s boyfriend, and you can never act on anything.

“You know the answer,” you whisper, leaning forward a bit, when he leans down, the car cruising gently through the busy streets, entrapping you both in the black tinted windows. “Don’t you?”

“Do I? Seems like you hate her, and I’m hated by default,” he brushes that hair back finally, the contact bringing heat to your cheek, he feels it against his fingers, exhaling when you don’t pull back. “Do you have a good reason to hate her?”

“I do.”

“What-” The car comes to a stop now, jostling you just a bit, as the driver apologizes for hitting the brakes too hard, throwing you right against Satoru’s hard body, you inhale that cologne, expensive and musky, almost making you salivate before he pulls back a bit. “Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You pull back before it feels good, sliding away again and looking out the dark window. “It’s too long of a story.”

“We have a drive to talk.” He wants to talk to you, fuck he wants to do a lot more than talk, last night he’d seen you when he tried to fuck her, and he had to stop, much to her irritation.

He kept fighting the need to jerk it to the memory of your pretty tits, to picture you instead of her, to shove it all down and try to remember himself.

He’d be glad when you weren’t around, tempting him.

“It’s too much to even begin, but… let’s just say living in her shadow, and with her expectations were brutal.” Satoru tilts his head, big hands on his own thighs, sitting still so as not to further touch you, or do more. “I gave up pageants when I turned eighteen and she disowned me.’

“You did them?” He asks softly, you sigh and turn to look back at him.

“Yeah, since I was three. I… don’t wanna get into it all.” He sighs, was it just that your mother was so upset you gave up on her dream? It felt like more. “I don’t hate you though. Okay? Aside from constantly making her scream out like some goat-” he bursts into laughter then, making your eyes narrow. “And never wearing a shirt.”

“You really hate that.” He muses, you want to tell him more about her, but he’s not your therapist, not your friend, and as much as you despise your mother, it’s just not your place to spill it all. So you leave it at that, sighing and pulling out your phone, checking the time.

“Besides all of that you’re okay I guess.”

He smirks just a bit. “I’ll take it.”

“I will never call you step dad.”

“Oh god, fuck I hope you won’t.” You both laugh it off a bit, the tension, the unspoken words in the air, as you slip into a soft silence, the two of you busying yourselves now, both trying to ignore it. Whispering in your minds - it’ll be over soon.

*****

One week of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The amount of stress your mother puts you through is unreal, when Satoru is there at least she puts on enough of a show not to do too much in front of him, as to appear perfect. You went out with a few friends for the night - a much needed getaway, and free drinks - sounds like the perfect remedy for dealing with her bitchiness.

You wish you just had some extra money for a hotel, but you just paid all your bills and pay day is a couple days away. As soon as that came in you were going to just grab a hotel for the last couple of days - they are stupid expensive with the holiday right now, but anything was worth leaving her as quickly as you can.

Stumbling in, your mother eyes your clothes with disdain. “You look like a slut.”

You snort in laughter at that, opening the fridge and grabbing another drink out, the seltzers you bought to knock out at night when you had to hear her and Satoru fucking. You crack it open and sit on a chair, crossing your legs that are well revealed in the dress that does barely cover anything. You look hot as fuck though, you already know it.

“Says the woman who had like an entire frat run a train on her in her forties?” You raise a brow, and your mom smacks you right in the face, you smile nastily at her. “Ya mad your ass can’t wear this shit anymore?”

“You’re a stupid little bitch, everything I did for you - and you turn out like this?”

“What, work for a living? A degree? How’d I turn out so bad.” You swipe your cheek then, and her gaze drifts across you with cold eyes - the same color as yours, but they just have no fucking soul to them.

“The biggest disappointment. You could have had a modeling career, but now you’ve let yourself go.”

“Let myself go?”

“Remember how you looked senior year?” You shrink back at her nasty words, biting at your lower lip then, you try to act tough but it’s difficult at times to not let old insecurities hit.

“I was starving because of you.”

“Exaggeration, my god. I did that so you could look your best.”

“My best, huh? I think I look hot, so you can suck a dick. Where is Satoru, by the way? Can he shove one in your mouth?” You smile as your mom gasps, and that’s when the door opens, and you hear Satoru’s footsteps on the floor, still rubbing your stinging cheek as your mother instantly puts on her front.

“You’re a little bitch.” Your mom whispers, yanking your drink out of your hand then, slamming it on the table. “What a waste of your looks, down the drain.”

Usually your mom would stop when Satoru got here - perhaps your saving grace was that. But as he walks into the kitchen, his snowy lashes blink in confusion at seeing her. You catch his eye over her shoulder, smiling then. “Why don’t you fuck her so she’ll be in a good mood again?”

Your mom gasps as you take your drink back, standing and getting away from her overwhelming presence, taking a breath and acting ‘normal’ while Satoru’s gaze drifts across your outfit slowly. You feel every inch of your skin caressed by blue eyes, like he’s touching you.

You can’t think that way, even if she’s a bitch.

“What’s wrong?” He asks then, setting down his jacket, your mother finally seems to notice he’s there, putting on a pretty pout and batting her lashes.

“Just her being mean to me, Satoru.” She walks up to his arms, and you laugh then, so loud you’re crying, swiping tears as you truly feel you’re losing it, seeing her run her long red nails across Satoru’s chest as he looks at you.

There’s too much in the look.

“Maybe if you get dick in your mouth you’ll shut up.” Your words earn your mom’s mouth wide open, while you stretch, knowing half your breasts are fucking out, your thighs fully revealed in the short, tight skirt, hoping to piss your bitch mom off more.

It’s petty but.

It works.

You bend over to snatch two more drinks up, and Satoru has trouble tearing his vision from the sight, picturing bending you over and cursing himself for it. Your mom is whining to him, bitching about you, but your evil little smirk towards him and her turns him on more.

“I’ll be gone tomorrow night, then you won’t have to see me again mommy dearest.”

“I know you didn’t just call me that.” Her affronted tone just makes you giggle, drunk honestly, even more, walking back to your old room - her pageant trophy room - and sighing then, leaning against the door.

You can act as if you’re not hurt by her words all you want, but they hit and they hit deep, hearing the quiet murmurs of her and the man you’re fast desiring far, far too much. You slide down to the floor - you’ve talked endlessly about how your mom never loved you to your therapist - but it still feels like shit, not that you think she could love anyone but herself.

After downing your seltzers, you’re thoroughly drunk - something you haven’t been since freshman year of college, when you go out into the quiet kitchen, in search of a bottle of water. You tense when you see a shirtless Satoru, his strong back illuminated by the soft light over the stove as ice clinks into a glass. He turns his head, catching sight of you before you can dip back to the room.

“Hey.” He usually has something snarky to say, but that’s all he manages, turning toward you and leaning on the counter, you try to avoid your gaze on his body, on the light trail of hair under his flat belly button - but you’re too drunk to avoid it.

“You get her off enough? Maybe she’ll be okay tomorrow.” You murmur, and his jaw tenses then, while you walk up, stumbling just a bit when you get to the fridge, one of his hands dart out to your arm, wrapping around it gently. You pause, eyes darting up to his.

“You all right?” You scowl, yanking your arm out of his hold.

“What do you care for?” Your whisper is angry, he sees so much anger, and though he doesn’t exactly know what was said, hurt was written all over your face.

“Can I not care?” He asks softly. You scoff, looking away.

“No, you can’t.” He sighs now, sipping his drink as you bend down, grabbing another drink instead.

“You shouldn’t have more, you’re torn the fuck up.”

“Oh, thanks dad.”

Satoru scowls now. “Don’t call me that.”

“No?” You’re annihilated, he’s absolutely right, removing the barrier you have put up for him, fingers drifting up his chest, bare and hot to the touch. He tenses, as your fingers drift down over his abdomen, and you step closer. “Should I call you daddy?”

Satoru scowls, thin brows deep over his blue eyes, and his cock is throbbing under his sweats, he wills it to go down, feeling like a horrible fucking man. He couldn’t get hard for her tonight, not when every time he was touching her he pictured her daughter instead, pictured how tight and slick he bets your cunt is, pictures your perfect tits in his fucking hands.

“You’re drunk and stupid, sweetheart.” He grips your wrist, as you quietly giggle, and you look far too hot, drunk mess and all. “You’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gojo. I just hold back when I’m sober.” He exhales, and your eyes dart down, raising a brow when you see a far too impressive bulge. “Need to go fuck mommy some more?”

“You’re a brat.” He whispers, pressing you against the cold steel of the fridge now, a thigh pressing between yours, and your heart races. His proximity has you dripping wet in moments, the strong thigh between yours, his breath ghosting over your lips as he bends down. “Touch me again like that and see what happens.”

“Gonna spank me, step dad?” He pins your wrists right over your head, muscled thigh pressing up against your overheated cunt then. Your eyes roll back, you’re too gone to act like you don’t want him, arching your hips up and earning his soft little moan, as he rests his head down on yours.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re… just shut up.” He whispers, a desperate, needy little voice now. “If you weren’t… If I wasn’t…”

“What, big man? Can’t finish a sentence?” You roll your hips again, he feels you soaking him, he can’t stand how badly he wants to slip his cock inside you then, lift your right on that fridge. “Don’t wanna make mommy mad, do we?”

“I can’t stand you.” His lips are a centimeter from yours then, and your breath catches. “Need me, don’t you? Cunt is soaking wet.”

“It’s n-not.” He smirks, letting your wrists go, you shove at his chest, when he pulls back just a bit, gripping your chin.

“It’s not?” You shake your head and he pulls back his leg, looking down at it. Your entire body heats up as you see it, the wet spot darkening his light sweats. “What’s this then, hmm sweets?”

“N-nothing.” You look down in horror, when he swipes it with his thumb, leaning forward again, silvery white locks falling over his forehead then.

“Nothing?” You nod, and he swipes that thumb over your lips, moaning as they’re coated in a gloss, while your cunt throbs around nothing, aching for his touch.

“Mmm, fuck, why do you have to look like that?” He whispers, lips leaning close again, his hands on your hips, your nails slip up his side, contemplating leaving marks for your bitch ass mom to see - hating yourself for it.

“Go back to bed, mommy will miss you. Go fuck her.” He glares even deeper, just looking far too attractive when his lips brush against yours barely, before there’s a noise and he immediately backs away, as do you, heart pounding. What the fuck were you even doing!? “I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, you are.” He whispers, fists clenching as he huffs, turning and pulling his cock up into the waistband of his sweats, annoyed as shit by your laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“Am I, or are you just wanting to fuck a mom and a daughter? Didn’t you get off enough al-”

“I can’t fuck her, okay?” You blink a bit at his declaration, you scoff, rolling your eyes. You won’t believe him. “That’s your fucking fault. I’ll be glad when you go.”

“Good, so the fuck will I.” You shove at him now, and he hates the hurt on your face. “Don’t want you, creepy old stepdad.”

“Old!?” You smile, mean and nasty, only making him want to fuck that expression right off your face. “I’m not your fucking stepdad.”

“Sure you’re not.” You pat his bare shoulder, walking past him now, barely able to breathe when you walk back into your room, leaving him cursing, eyes shutting tightly when he leans against the fridge, heart racing.

Satoru Gojo has never hated someone until you, for fucking his brain up and whatever morals he does have. He’s by far not a cheater and never has been, but all he can picture when your mom sucks him is you instead, shutting his eyes and pulling on hair that looks just like yours. He hates whatever the fuck you’ve done to him, and how bad he feels for telling you he wants you gone.

He does want you gone so things go back to normal, he can be the milf fucker he’s always been, he can live his life and fuck away all his problems with the career he’s been shoved into. But laying next to her that night he’s staring at the ceiling, wondering what you taste like.

******

One day left staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

You and Satoru have avoided each other completely, you work and come home, packing up the few things you have left so you can stay with a friend who’s offered you to come with her for the next few days. It was tiny and cramped there, but anything was better than staying here, and not just because your mom is an evil bitch who loves to trash you every moment.

It was him, the reason you wanted to leave so fucking bad.

“Should you eat that, honey?” Your mom says, so fake sweet as you nibble on a candy bar, you didn’t eat shit at work so you instantly busted out a snickers.

“Should you fuck men half your age, mommy?” Your mother glares, and Satoru overhears, though he stays in the hall.

“He’s not - also your ass is just looking really big in those shorts, you know.”

“That’s good, I like it.”

“Your hair looks oily.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Your mom scoffs again, snatching the bar and throwing it out, and you glare up at her. “I just care about you. No makeup, you dress like shit, and you’re munching on a candy bar? How much further do you want to let yourself go?”

“I work for a fucking living, I don’t make money off fucking men and having them take care of me. So back the fuck off. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Thank god, Satoru can’t stand you.” You blink a bit then, wishing that didn’t hurt as much as it did. You could handle her trashing you in every other way, but the man that you can’t rip your fucking mind from actually hating you stung.

“Huh?”

“He can’t stand you, and you’re not going to come between what I want. I see you, looking at him.” She tilts your chin up then. “You think you’d ever get a man like him? That’s funny. Maybe before, when you were still competing. Now?” She laughs, and you feel tears running unwillingly from your eyes. “Not a chance, so stop dreaming about him.”

“You don’t know shit.” You smack her hand off you. “I’ll leave now.”

“Go right ahead-”

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Satoru walks out then, and your mom pauses. “Who’s cooking?”

“She’s leaving.” Satoru checks his Rolex on his wrist then, frowning.

“It’s nine already, buses aren’t running. Why not wait till the morning?”

“Because she-” your mom puts back on her airs now, smiling so saccharine and fake. “No, you’re right, Satoru. She should stay and eat some dinner.”

You scoff, since the bitch just threw your only food for the day in the trash - but you do get paid in the morning, and it would be more convenient to just stay. “I’m not eating with you. But I’ll leave in the morning. Good night mommy dearest.”

“I swear to-”

She’s cut off with you shutting yourself in again, laying on the bed and shutting your eyes, wishing her words didn’t cut so deep like knives, stomach growling. Even later when you smell food you don’t come out, until a soft knock is on your door, and you finally drag yourself out of your bed you’re just rotting away and crying in.

“What do you want?” You say softly, looking up at the tall man - who really should wear a fucking shirt - in the doorway.

“You should eat something.” He murmurs softly, you sigh, shaking your head.

“I’m not hungry.” Your tummy inconveniently growls, and he frowns now rather than an amused smirk you’d expect.

“You should eat.” He repeats, shocking you when he grips your hand in his, bringing you out to find he’s set a plate aside for you.

“I don’t need you to feed me.” You nibble while standing, cutting up a piece of chicken however, chewing thoughtfully as he watches you, far too intensely. “What, are you gonna just watch me?”

His heart aches for you then, having overheard her. It all fits with the conversation he had with you in the back of the car, the pressure she had you under all made sense. He’d only seen glimpses of it, her cruelty toward you, but they’re glaringly apparent. When she’d tried to fuck him earlier, and brought you up, he couldn’t do anything with her, thanking god she went to sleep early.

He needed to see you.

You were so clearly not okay from her.

“Stop acting like you care.” You murmur then, nibbling another bite, not even sitting at the seat before you turn away.

“Finish eating.” His commanding tone is far too fucking sexy, in fact all of him is - and you could almost forget about last night, in your drunken haze, but the problem is you remeber it vividly, tasting your arousal on your lips.

“You don’t tell me what to do. I have a dad.” He laughs without humor then, shaking his head and leaning low, pressing one hand on the wall, lifting your chin with the other.

“Stop acting like I’m even close to old enough to be your dad.” You bite your lower lip that trembles, you inhale that hundred dollar a spray cologne that’s haunted your fucking senses all week.

“You fuck my mom, so.” Your little glare hits him so good, your mean little words that just make him more obsessed with you, picturing you constantly. He’d jerked off in his office just remembering your heat against his thigh today - simultaneously feeling horrible and the inevitable pull of you, intoxicating like the liquor he’d drunk to just lay next to her last night.

He can’t get hard around her - not when you’re in the next room.

“Does that make you mad, that I fuck her?” He asks then, your scowl deepens, teeth clenched as you shove at his chest.

“Why would it?”

“Seems like it bothers you,” his fingers brush your hair back, goosebumps rise on your skin, tummy clenching with the hot desire. “Seems like you’d want me inside you instead.”

“Ah, you wish, conceited ass of a man. I don’t want you.” You’re lying through your teeth, and it’s like he knows, the blue eyes seeing right through your fucking bullshit. “You don’t want me either, so stop fucking with me.”

“I don’t?” He’s close, too close, you shove him away then, shaking your head, her words ringing in your fucking ears.

He’d never want you

Out of your league

You’re nothing

Maybe they did still get you, words you’d long since stopped giving her the ability to speak. Years of striving for her affection, of wanting to be perfect and win so that you could get just a bit of her praise. The moment you broke free was the best time you can remember, throwing those tiaras away - but you fear you’re just barely a step away from falling back into the sadness that she caused.

Worse is this tall, beautiful fucking man acting interested.

“You would never want me,” his mouth drops open at that. “So stop fucking acting like it.”

“You think I don’t!?” You scoff, walking away now, heading to the bathroom to perhaps put some water on your face, but this fucker follows you in, shutting the door, coming up behind you now, and you see his reflection in the soft lighting around the mirror, see the way he’s looking at you.

“Get out. Stupid. I’m not your milf okay?” You gasp then, as he tilts your chin so that you catch his brilliant blue eyes, the bathroom is too small suddenly, when his chest presses against your back.

"Look at me," Satoru whispers, you shake your head, tears falling. "I said look at me." He tilts your chin to look to the side as he leans over you.

"What?" You whisper through your teeth, trying to be quiet in the dark room, as Satoru’s hand slips down your bare arm, the other arm wrapping your waist, dragging you against his hard body. You whine out softly at it, being pressed against him, before you can stop yourself. When he leans lower, cool breath against your lips.

"You're beautiful, okay? So fucking beautiful..." You shake your head at that, earning his sigh, gripping your chin so tightly you feel his strength, only making the sweet ache worse. "You are. All I can think of is fucking my girlfriend’s daughter on every surface, you know what that fucking does to me?" His hushed, desperate voice makes your tummy clench with desire.

You have tried to fight it, but the resolve weakens every second you stare into his cerulean gaze, words you don’t want to accept. "Satoru... I… mnh!"

“Shh, sweetheart,” he groans now, shaking his head, kissing up your neck as his hand splays your stomach, drifting to your heat, breaths faster and heavier, mixing with yours. "Is it just me? Being fucking horrible?"

You shake your head, crying out softly when he finds your hot cunt over your shorts, soaking the thin fabric of them immediately. He moans so sexy against your ear, as the longing keeps swirling around the two of you. "You're not horrible, I am..."

"No, she's a fucking bitch. I didn't know she... was that mean. I like psychos, but that?” Your eyes shut, ass brushing against his thighs, feeling his hardness press against the small of your back.

“She’s just how she’s always been. Mnh… you shouldn’t.”

“I know I shouldn’t, okay? Fuck, you just take it. Let her treat you that way, why don’t you stand up to her, hmm?” His fingertip finds your clit, pressing up as your head falls back, and his cock twitches, aching to come inside you when you soak his fingers through your shorts, gasping and writhing against him.

"I'll be gone tomorrow. It's f-fine... Satoru, what are you… mnh!” You cry out, he brings a hand to your mouth while you watch your reflection in the mirror, he's taking over every sense you have.

“God you're soaked, so fucking hot, so tight.” He leans down, slipping a thick digit in your tight little entrance, making you scream out weakly against his hand. His blue eyes dilate, in the dark, quiet hushed sighs against his hand mixing with the sound of embarrassing wetness echo across the walls. “Lemme make you feel good, hmm?”

You just nod weakly, so tired of pretending like you don’t want him, entranced by the image in the mirror of him overtaking you, fingers angling up as your juices pour down his hand, you whine out, trembling as he keeps hitting just that spot, the one that makes your eyes roll back. Your ass arches back for more, knowing she’s in the next room and could hear or see fucks you up too much.

Your mommy issues clearly are still prevalent.

After hearing all her loud high pitched moans from this man, knowing all of his attention is on you is addictive, his lips brushing the shell of your ear while his fingers curl in your slick walls, gripping him and quivering. “Can you keep quiet so I can see your pretty face when you cum?”

You nod weakly, his words are destroying you, and any resolve you currently have, any part of your brain that knows this is wrong is gone, you want to cum for him, as he is bending low to angle his fingers deeper. You gasp and bite your lip as he does, as the squelches of your hungry cunt echo in the small space.

His breaths come heavy as he feels your walls, as you feel every line of his long - fuck they’re so long - fingers curling against your spot over and over, thumb pressing your twitchy little clit. “Satoru!”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he’s lost in you, cock leaking precum as he studies your face in the dark reflection, feeling you grip him so fucking good, picturing stretching your perfect little cunt out. “Like this?”

You nod, swallowing as you cling to his bare arms, feeling his muscles bunch as he moves his fingers, you are blinded when he rolls his thumb just right, as his other hand grips a breast under your tank top, brushing against your nipple. It’s all too much, you bite back the moans that threaten to rip from your throat, instead whining out softly, gasping and hiccuping as pleasure waves through you.

You’re soaking his fingers, dripping down them when he leans low, capturing your lips, drinking in your little cries as his fingertips brush your spongy spot, over and over, while you shatter in his hold. Your saliva drips across your tongues as his fingers slow, thumb pressing up your twitchy clit again, while you’re lost in his embrace, his taste sweet on your tongue.

You should feel bad you’re dripping down Satoru Gojo’s fingers, had they been inside her earlier? Would he touch her with them? You wish it all didn’t just make you wetter, more sensitive for him, when he eases them out, sucking them into his mouth now, moaning when your flavor hits his tongue, the filthy thoughts just echo louder as your pussy pulses from the aftershocks.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he moans then, turning you and lifting you until you’re spread on the counter, your thighs shake as he presses against you, hard and thick, kissing you with your juices dripping across his plump lips. “God I wanna bury my face between your thighs.”

“Satoru, this is insane.” You whisper, as he’s hungrily kissing down your neck, moaning a little too loud. “Shh!”

“Fuck, maybe she should hear,” his eyes are batshit insane then, brilliant blue almost glowing, long fingers spreading your thighs apart. “All I can think of is you.”

“Shut up,” you’re shaking your head, hands slipping through his silky locks as he kisses down your chest. “Fuck me.”

Satoru blinks at that, when you’re reaching down to touch him, he exhales, hands trembling as they hold you, kissing your lips again and losing himself, cock brushing your soaked cunt. He hears the door click across the hall then, pausing and cursing. “Shit…”

“Shit!?” He covers your mouth, glaring with his snowy lashes lowered over his blue eyes.

“Shut up.” He’s kissing you again, hot and desperate as your mom is calling out his name, you can’t stop the soft whine from your lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut me up.” His hand lifts a thigh, groaning quietly as he hears his fucking name again, cock leaking so much precum, throbbing so much it hurts.

“Satoru honey, where are you?” He sighs now, and you shake your head.

“Go, I’ll stay for a few.” You whisper softly, he is aching to stay, but the situation at present is horrible, and he doesn’t want you getting hurt because he can’t keep his hands off his girlfriend’s daughter.

“Don’t leave tomorrow until we talk.” He says then, against your ear.

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.” You smile a bit at his scowl. “I’ll be right out, just in the bathroom!”

“Okay honey, I miss you.” You feel sick, watching him walk out, you let out a held breath, thighs shaking, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he made you feel better than anyone ever has, that you've never cum like that.

Worse, how he had kissed you?

This was some sick, cruel fucking joke, falling for your bitch ass mother's boyfriend. You can't trust him. You know you need to slip out in the morning, to try to forget him and how good it felt to be in his arms.

******

The last morning staying with your mom

You want to wait for Satoru like he asked, but laying there and counting down the moments until you know the buses run, you couldn’t stay.

You can’t do this, even to her, have some sort of affair?

You can’t be the other woman - especially to your own mother, even if she’s fucking awful, the guilt is eating at you. It would be different if it was some petty revenge to her for all these years, if it was just sexual attraction, but you absolutely know it’s way more with Satoru, kissing didn’t feel like that, nothing felt that good, being consumed by Satoru and losing yourself in him.

You’re trying to slip out that next morning, when Satoru Gojo grips you by your wrist, out of nowhere, you look back and his azure gaze is furious. “I asked you to wait for me.” His tone is so hurt, you can hardly stand it.

“Gojo, we have to forget it.” Your broken words ruin him, he’s breathless as he looks at you, two bags slung over your shoulders. “I shouldn’t have.”

“No, why not?” He caresses your cheek, bending over you then, his sweet breath bringing back the memories that kept you up all night, of kissing him back, of his fingers now on your wrist that were inside you.

“You’re hers.” You hear her then, panicking and shoving at Satoru, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Your mom’s words make Satoru chuckle, and the sight of it confuses the fuck out of you, as he looks back at her, raising a brow.

“I’m pinning her to the door and you’re yelling at her right now?” She sputters, your heart fucking races, the heat creeping up your cheeks, burning as she stomps over to you both, furious so clearly.

When you were younger it would have scared you, but Satoru is here, and in the short week, you oddly trust him, feel the comfort, something to be said about it that you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.

“It’s her trying to take what’s mine, jealous of me always.” She grips your hand, your bag falls to the floor as she scowls down at you. “Never show your face here again, leave my life the fuck alone, stupid little bitch.”

“I didn’t-” She raises her hand as if to smack you when Satoru grabs her wrist, she looks at him in shock.

“You won’t raise a hand to her again, she might not stand up for herself when you do, but I will.” He drops her wrist now, raising a thin brow and bending down, picking up your bag for you.

“Satoru baby, you don’t understand all she’s put me through,” she’s trying to be sweet again, crocodile tears dripping down her cheeks, long lashes blinking, her lip is even trembling. She’s always been great at that. “I don’t want to hurt her, but she is horrible to me.”

“I’ve heard and seen far, far too much this week. You are an evil bitch to her, and you won’t get to be anymore.” He shoves her off him dismissively as she tries to cling to him now, then she scowls at both of you.

“What, because she’s younger!? Is that who you are? Some sick game to fuck us both?”

“No, she’s actually just better than you. In every single way, and you hate it, don’t you? That’s just pathetic.” You look down, unbelieving he’s standing up for you like this, your mom lets out an affronted scoff while Satoru picks up his phone.

“You don’t want her, you can’t.” She’s losing her composure, her act, it’s all falling apart as she starts to panic.

What could be worse than you ever outshining her? You’re supposed to live in her perfect shadow.

“Why are you so jealous of your own kid? You got some crazy issues, you know that? Not even hot crazy, either, just a batshit narcissist.” He clicks his tongue, sighing and smiling down at you, with lidded eyes. “Wanna stay at my penthouse until your apartment is ready, sweetheart?”

“What!?” Your mom is blowing a whole fucking gasket - you should feel bad for stealing her man, but you really can’t find it in you.

“Yes, if you really don’t mind?” Satoru grins, those bright white teeth, and picks up his dark shades off the side table, your mom is tugging on his dress shirt, and he brushes her off, looking over his sunglasses at her.

“Satoru I’m sorry, I just… I was acting out too much. It’s her, the problem! Look how happy we were before?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of young men for you out there, maybe younger than me so they are too dumb to see how fucked up you are.” She’s glaring as he takes your hand in his, and you can’t stop the happy little giggle from your mouth as you both leave, and you hear things getting thrown at the door.

“Satoru, that was insane!?” You whisper, he brushes your hair back then, sighing.

“I wanted it to go a little smoother, that whole exchange. But no, of course you were bratty and didn’t wait.” He tilts your chin up and you kiss him, smiling against his sweet, plush lips.

“You’re not step-dad anymore, maybe the appeal is lost-”

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” He’s scowling as you giggle through your tears, when his car pulls up, he hands your bags off to the driver, climbing in and holding out his hand, tugging you in the back. “You do need a good ass beating.”

“I think I had enough mental beatings,” you grumble a bit, he frowns at that as the car revs up, and he tugs you against his chest. “You noticed?”

“Yeah, hard not to. Last night was when I saw how fucking much she hates you, the way she talks it’s just not how a normal person does. I’m sorry you…”

“I’m good. I promise.” You look up at him then, kissing him softly, while your hand slips down his chest, hearing his hitch of breath.

“You can eat whatever you want at my place, okay? Also your ass is very nice.” You blink back tears, mixing with your tremulous smile from his sweetness, and you’re flustered- you’re literally a wreck.

“You heard it all?” He nods, swallowing, his brows together.

“It’s why I came to you. I’m so disgusted that I even…”

“How could you know? She’s beautiful, she knows how to play people.”

“You’re more beautiful than she could be,” he murmurs, kissing you again, messy and hungry in the back of the huge black luxury car, having you straddle him, your mom’s ex boyfriend, feeling his phone vibrating against your thigh now. “I swear if it’s her I’ll have you cum right on the speaker.”

“Gojo!” He’s sighing, his big hands drifting over your waist, when your phone starts going off too, but you’re too lost in his kisses, in his scent, in how good he fucking feels.

“Feel so good on me, fuck I wanna bury my cock inside you,” he is desperate and needy then, feeling your heat against his cock, when you drop to your knees, making his lips part. “Sweetheart…”

“Want your cock in my mouth,” he’s whining out at that, helping you unbutton and unzip his slacks, until his cock springs free, making you gasp.

You knew it would be big, but you didn’t know it’d be that big, a solid nine inches and thick, veins running and wrapping under his shaft from the base to his blushing pink tip. You moan softly at it, soaking wet under your panties from the sight, that clean yet musky scent. Satoru brushes your hair back softly with long fingers, eyeing you down there, making you feel so sexy with just a gaze.

“Want me to suck you down my throat?” He nods quickly, and you do just that, after spitting on his cock and slathering your saliva as the phone keeps vibrating, but his hands are enwrapped in your hair while you look at him under those lashes.

“Fuck, look at you, can you take it all?” He’s taunting, a mix of devotion and talking shit, so intoxicating you can’t take it, tummy full of so much pressure you whine out at the sensations, gliding his tip inside your mouth now, hot and hungry while you taste him. You swirl your tongue on his tip, fingers brushing across the soft white hair right over his cock.

His eyes never leave yours as you move, as he fucks up into your throat, hissing at just how fucking good your mouth feels, how pretty your eyes are as you look up at him. You’re whining out, vibrating around him, while his hands tug your hair into a ponytail, fucking into your mouth harder, harder, you’re slobbering down his cock so messy and filthy how you take him.

“So beautiful, fucking look at you,” you whine at the praise, from his soft lips, which he’s biting and releasing, making the sexiest moans from the back of his throat that drive you to get wetter and wetter. You reach down, touching yourself under your skirt when he yanks your wrist. “No.”

“No!?” You glare, and Satoru smirks, shaking his head.

“I’ll bet the one touching you, licking you- ah!” You’re sucking him again, even as he grips your little wrist tightly, sucking one of your little fingers, so lewd and sexy you can’t stand it, grinding on nothing for friction, as the car comes to a stop, Satoru huffs, yanking you up. “Open.”

You do just that, and freaky ass ‘stepdad’ Satoru Gojo spits in your mouth, you gasp, swallowing it and feeling the need grow so much it’s painful, kissing desperately, hand still stroking his length up and down. “In me, please.”

“Shit, yeah,” he adjusts himself, leaving the belt unbuckled as the two of you ride up the elevator to his stupidly fancy and clean penthouse, once the door is shut he presses you against it, hands slipping up your sides, gripping you everywhere. “Wanna taste you again, fuck…”

“Taste me then, mnh!” He’s on his knees right before you, the way he looks up at you is so intense it takes your breath away, as he shoves your skirt up, lapping a hot stripe up your slick panties, already soaked. “Oh my god, more, more!”

“Demanding little thing,” he teases, stroking fingers up your soppy panties, groaning as he then pulls them down, letting them fall down to your ankles, still clad in those ridiculous combat boots. They’re so hot he just keeps them on, throwing a thigh right over his shoulder, breath ghosting on your bare cunt. “Fuck, look at you, you’re so pretty.”

“Y-you don’t have to say- ah!” Your hands entangle in his silky, silvery white locks, soft as your fingers grip and pull until it hurts, but he wants more.

“Fuck my face, that’s it, taste s’good, mmm,” his whispers against you vibrate against your clit, and you’re screaming out, head falling back against Satoru’s door, as his mouth devours your cunt, so hungry and desperate for you.

His impossibly long tongue makes you furious that your bitch ass mother ever got him in this way, toxic and petty, it just makes you fuck his face more, hips rolling while that tongue plunges into you. He’s licking and stroking between your folds, right up in your hole, straight nose bumping your clit. Your thighs shake, his fingers pressing into them, your gummy walls are convulsing around his tongue.

The sound of him sucking up all your wetness - well he’s trying to, but you’re so fucking wet it’s pouring, his cock is leaking precum - already sensitive from that stupidly talented mouth, and now this? He can hardly remember your mom’s name any more, in fact he can’t remember anything right now, but how he should have been doing this, just drinking your sweetness up down his throat.

Devouring your pretty pussy, pulling your plump, puffy lips apart to slide that tongue in and out of your quivery little cunt as you scream out hoarsely. “Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, please!”

You’re sobbing out his name, panting as he licks and nibbles your twitchy little clit with sharp teeth, making you gasp out at the shock of the pain and pleasure, your nipples pressing against your top, tummy clenching as you feel your orgasm so close. He’s slipped two fingers up inside your hole, looking up at you as his tongue flicks your sensitive clit again.

“You’re so messy, aren’t you baby?” He taunts softly, all you can do is weakly nod, while his fingers now know your spot way too fucking well, pressing up against your g spot while he stretches you hot. “So sweet now, is this what you needed?”

“Shh, jerk.” He chuckles against your cunt, before sucking your little clit into his hot mouth and fucking moaning, making you feel like you’re going to collapse. It’s so good, so fucking good, and you’re so close. “I-I’m gonna, Satoru, oh god-!”

He doesn’t let you go over the edge though, pulling away with a pop of pink lips,covered in your arousal like a gloss. You yelp, looking down at him with a desperate expression, your cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He can’t stop thinking how fucking pretty you are like this, desperate for him, whining and wiggling.

“Why’d you stop!?” He stands now, slipping up your sweater, groaning when he realizes you have no bra on, seeing those tits he’s jerked it to bounce gently.

“Want you to cum around my cock, like a good girl. Can you?” He’s way too fucking hot, it’s actually unfair. You nod weakly, he sighs, cupping your breasts and watching your eyes roll back, his thumbs brush your nipples, already hard and aching for more.

Satoru unlaces your boots, leaving your knee socks and skirt on, you just look too sexy in them, unbuckling himself hastily as you tug his shirt off him. “Please, hurry, fuck…”

“Demanding, thought you hated me not wearing a shirt?” You glare at him, just making him chuckle, before he’s down to nothing, fully naked and gorgeous, as the light streams in through the blinds of those floor to ceiling windows, casting shadows across his perfect form.

“Fuck…” You’re kissing across his chest, when he shocks you, lifting you up like it’s nothing, pressing you right on that door again, the cool wood against your burning hot skin, tip drooling and leaking against your cunt. “Mnh! Please!”

“Need my cock so bad inside you?” You just nod weakly, done pretending or teasing, you’re still throbbing from the way he edged you, and when his leaky tip bumps your clit it almost pushes you over the edge. You’re clinging to his neck, kissing him as you roll your hips, soaking wet and begging with your body.

“In me, g-god, just - ah!” Satoru shoves his cock so deep in one stroke you’re left breathless, blinking rapidly at the ridiculous stretch, so full you can’t think, you’ve never been stuffed like this. Your eyes lock, his are so bright they’re insane, his lips and chin coated in your arousal, holding you by your ass right under your skirt as your legs tremble around narrow hips.

“Fucking feel you, my god,” he’s whispering in wonder for a moment, blinking snowy lashes to try to orient himself, to not cum just from one stroke like some dumb teenager from pussy.

But your pussy!?

“Prettier, tighter,” he’s whispering, and the words itch that toxic, fucked part of your brain, the mix of craving Satoru and the petty part of you that hates her. He can tell too, smirking. “Wetter than her. Feel better, fuck than anyone.”

“Shut up, so full of - ah!” He’s fucking you now, you got that moment to adjust, bruising your lower back when he fucks you against that door with no mercy, thick cock bullying your quivering little walls with filthy smacks of skin and your squishing cunt. “Oh my g-god!”

“I’m telling the t-truth you… bratty little fucking… god she’s so tight, mnh…” Satoru’s lost then, hips bucking up and rolling just so, and he watches your pretty face hungrily. “Cum f’me, all over me, make a mess.”

“Ah!” You’re gushing, just making the sounds in the enormous penthouse you’ve barely noticed louder, mixed with his moans as he fills you up so good, when he pushes deep and rolls those hips, watching you intensely as you cum, his eyes so brilliant blue and fucking starved for you. “Ohmygod fuckfuckfuck!”

“That’s it, fucking you dumb, huh,” he’s groaning, feeling your slick coat him, your mouth in a slutty O when he looks back up, feeling your aftershocks pulse around his cock. “God, baby, you came so hard f’me, bet you never have.”

“B-bet you never… felt pussy this good,” your bratty little whisper makes him smirk, slamming into you and pulling you off the door, you’re clinging to him in shock without the support, but he’s lifting you up and down his thick, lengthy cock like you’re a little fuck toy. “Ngh!”

“You mean better than your mom’s?” You scowl, gripping him tighter with your thighs as he just walks around with your fucking cunt around him, smirking as he lifts and drags you back on his cock again. You’re clinging to his back, nails pressing in and leaving marks.

“Psycho, mmm!”

“Says you, need to know if your pussy is tighter? I already told you, but no, gotta know every part that’s better? You’re so fucked up baby.” You glare, biting the shit out of his lip and earning his moan, as you draw just a little bit of blood, a bright red droplet that makes him grin.

“Maybe I am fucked up.” Your answer makes him chuckle, picking you up again, fucking you suspended in the air as you cling to him, whining. “Feel s’good, so thick mmm!”

“Am I the biggest you’ve had? The best?” He’s whispering, husky and needy now, you could bluff and taunt him, but you just nod eagerly, and he exhales, pulling out with a wet squelch, making you whine. “Hang on to me.”

You do just that, heart racing while Satoru carries you now, and your dark spots fade for a moment, long enough to get glimpses of his gorgeous, expensive ass fucking penthouse, making your mom’s place look like shit when you thought hers was fancy. Everything is spotless, surprising you only briefly when he makes it to his bedroom, tossing you right down on it.

You bounce gently on a black silky comforter, taking several breaths, looking around then glaring. “She fuck you on here?”

He grins at you, nodding and unzipping your skirt, groaning as he sees your hips for the first time. “Fuck you’re sexy,” he caresses you softly for a moment, fingertips drifting down the jut of your waist, the curve of those hips, before grabbing them, looking at your cunt. “All beat up already, huh?”

“Shut it, back in.” He grins, fingering your knee socks and sighing.

“They’re too hot, they stay on.” His open admiration of you makes you feel so fucking good, the way his eyes worship you, leaning low and kissing you again. “So fucking sexy, y’know that?”

“Mnh, s-so are you. But you know already, conceited- ah!” Satoru’s cut you off with a bite to your lower lip, sexy glare on his face now.

“Couldn’t even walk around her house without getting wet for me, could you?” Your glare just turns him on more, while he bends down, sucking your nipple into his hot mouth as you cry out, his teeth sinking in.

“Ah!” He moans, going right to the other. “Y-you wish.”

“Bet you played with your cunt, maybe right next to your mom’s room huh?” You bite his shoulder so hard it makes him moan at the pain. “Shit.”

“Shut it. You wish I did, bet you jerked it thinking of me? Your girl’s daughter, freaky ass-” He’s bit you again on your other nipple, the pain shooting up and making your sore cunt wetter.

“I did,” you blink, so disoriented, eyes now looking up to his in shock. “Yeah, I did, thinking of that slutty dress you wore that night.”

“Shit… really?” He sighs, and before you can say anything else, Satoru turns you around now, bending your ass up in the air, moaning at the sight, the dimples in your back, the way your ass looks, he moans and slaps each cheek, as you whine out, head falling back.

“God, look at this ass, fuck…”

“Prettier from the back than mommy is?” He scowls as you look back and giggle, smacking the fuck out of your ass now. “Ah!”

“You’re so damaged,” he smacks your cunt, you’re just drooling now, eyes rolling back, so ready to be filled by him. “Already told you, prettier pussy, yummier, tighter - gotta hear how much better your ass is too?”

“Mmm! Was teasing,” you whisper, when he slips his cock back inside you, this time so deep he bottoms out in one stroke, you scream out at it, hair now in his hold as he fucks into you. “Gojo!”

“You’re so damaged baby girl, god it’s hotter than it should be,” he’s losing it inside you then, your wet, slick little cunt gripping him even tighter, balls smacking your clit with every brutal stroke, as his other hand grips your ass, marking it over and over. “Feel so much better.”

“Yeah, daddy? Ah!” Satoru’s smacked the fuck out of you again, it stings so good as he slams his cock deep, tip drooling along your cervix. “Oh my god!”

“Stop running that mouth,” he leans over, gripping your throat with one hand, long fingers wrapping it entirely, bent over you with a arm braced on the other side, as his cock is stretching you, feeling so fucking perfect even as it hurts, how big his cock is. “You’re so fucking slutty, huh?”

You nod weakly, as he starts squeezing your throat now, making it all fuzzy and heady, you’re gasping for a breath as he presses on your pulse point, cock pounding you from the back, you’re gasping for breaths as filthy smacks fill his huge room. “Oh, Gojo!”

“Satoru, call me Satoru…” he’s whispering desperately, needing it from you, and you feel his cock thickening inside your slutty, drooling hole.

“Satoru, ah!” You’re lost as he chokes you while fucking so deep, rolling his hips, making you shatter for him, walls quivering around his cock, trying to milk him for everything he has. “Satoru!”

“Wanna fill your pretty little cunt with all my cum,” he whispers, squeezing harder as he hits just that spot, and you feel the pressure in your tummy explode, screaming out as the orgasm hits. “Oh god baby, yes, cum again f’me hmm?”

You can’t not do just what he asks, blinded as he saps your oxygen with his fingers tightening over your throat, you’re fuzzy and dizzy as you scream, the sound hoarse and weak. He’s moaning and kissing you, drool spilling out the corner of your mouth, releasing your throat a bit and just gripping under your chin now. You’re shaking, cunt so wet it’s dripping onto the dark blankets.

“S-Satoru…” you whisper again, making him whine when your head falls back, he’s biting across your neck, groaning. “Feel s’good in me…”

“You feel s’good wrapped around me, f-fuck…” the phone goes off again, in the pants discarded on the floor, and he smirks as he bends down, grabbing it.

“What are you…” Satoru presses that green answer circle, before sliding back in your cunt, psycho grin and dilated blue eyes vivid as you hear her voice. You look at him, covering your mouth as you hear her voice, but he leans down, whispering in your ear.

“Make noise.” You shake your head - you can’t be that fucked up!?

Can you?

“Satoru please, just come back. I’m sorry.” She’s sobbing, her sweet little meal ticket is gone after all, he’s slamming his cock deep in you as you scream into your palm, making him laugh a bit.

“Sorry, I’m not… coming… back that is, hah-” he’s hitting those backshots harder, the filthy sound of your cunt echoing, your eyes roll back, drool spilling on your palm now as you hear her voice in the background.

“She’s manipulating you!? She wants what I have. Satoru- what’s that!?” He chuckles, bottoming out and stuffing you so full your hand falls and you scream out.

“That’s your daughter, god she’s so much tighter than you.” You gasp and glare back at him, only making him hit it harder, until there’s no denying the filthy sounds.

“Oh you are… you both… you’re a whore I swear-”

“Ah!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit, murmuring in your ear.

“Cum f’me again, hmm?”

“You’re insane!?” He grins, and you shake your head, but soon you’re shattering again, earning his moan.

“So, I need to go, gotta get your daughter pregnant.” You gasp again, mid orgasm, as your mother sputters and he hangs up on her, chuckling.

“Y-you… she’s… Satoru!”

“She won’t call again now I bet,” he’s leaning low until you’re in prone position, turning your face and kissing your soft lips. “I wanna fill you all up, baby, hmm?”

“Do you, daddy?” He glares, but his cock pulses, and you giggle, breathless, earning him shoving hard, pulling at your hair. “You like that.”

“Shut it,” he’s moaning as you tighten around him, aftershocks pulsing, as he pictures doing just that, knocking you up. “Beg for it, slutty little brat.”

“Please, daddy,” he whimpers at that, and you bite your lip. “You’re damaged too, huh?”

“Not as damaged as you,” he’s huffing, kissing you as you laugh. “You can laugh? Need to fix that.”

“Gonna teach me a lesson daddy- ah!” Satoru Gojo is so deep you feel him fucking everywhere, making you tremble, as he’s throbbing inside you. “You like it!”

“Shh. Yes.” Your breathy giggle is cut off when he chokes you again, so intimate like this, teeth sinking in your neck now. “Beg for it.”

“Daddy please fill me up - mnh!” You’re both lost then, Satoru won’t admit it but hearing you call him that makes him sensitive, whimpering as he busts deep inside your perfect little hole, your gummy walls grip his cock and pulse around it, while his white sticky load coats them. “Oh my g-god!”

“Fuck, feel her… milking my cock huh?” You just nod weakly, when he cups you under your chin, kissing you messy and desperate, you’re cumming from the warmth, from all that cum pouring down his cock, mixed with your gossamer strings of arousal swirling down his cock, his balls, to the bed.

“Mnh, Satoru…” He’s kissing you deeper, teeth sinking into your lips as you both come down, easing his strokes and softening just a bit, still so thick inside you, making you feel so full.

“You’re so fucked up, baby.” You gasp, glaring now as he eases out. “It’s okay, all your issues? Hot as fuck.”

“You’ve got your own issues then, hmm?” He smirks, pressing kisses along your shoulder blades now.

“Too many to count. Not the only one with shitty parents, sweetheart.” Satoru turns you over now, and you brush a hand across his cheek, sighing.

“Then tell me them all, daddy.” He scowls again, and you can’t stop the grin on your face, Satoru lets you get away with it a bit, because it’s just so pretty to see on your face.

“Can’t tell if you have mommy or daddy issues or both?”

“Mommy issues. You can give me daddy issues though.” His glare is so cute you can’t stop the soft smile on your lips, as you lean up, body reeling from him.

“Should beat you, I swear. I’ll grab water.” You nod, and he leaves for a moment, you lean up, his cum leaking out of you, you search for any part that feels just a little guilty for fucking and stealing your mom’s man.

But it’s not there.

You see a picture of them on the side table then, sitting up and frowning a bit as he comes back, boxers slipped on, a blunt and lighter along with water. “Wanna smoke, sweetheart?”

“You’re corrupting me, step dad.”

“I swear to god stop.” You grin again, as he sits next to you, frowning as you study the photo. “Throw it out.”

“No…” you take his lighter and light the flame, burning the image of your mother and letting it die out in the ashtray, before handing the lighter back to him. “I burned all my sashes and dresses too.”

“Part of me wants to see you in a pageant dress, but the other part knows how much you hated it.” He says softly, watching the picture burn and lighting up a blunt now. “I’d fuck you in a sash and tiara though, nothing else.”

“Would you now?” You tease, he nods, inhaling the smoke, and handing the blunt to you, his perfect body covered in dripping sweat from you. “I may have one I didn’t get rid of.”

“Shit, don’t make it hard again.” You’re straddling him, inhaling the blunt and blowing the smoke into his mouth, he’s gripping your waist, already hard under his boxers, as you two fall into each other, each finding the other’s issues unreasonably hot, both damaged as fuck and honestly morally grey - but you really don’t mind fucking your mom’s ex boyfriend all night until you’re dripping his cum.

Your mom never does call you again - what a shame :’)

Sooo the pageant mom idea was fromm @huntyhuntycunty , also took inspo from them having met before from @yenayaps ! alsoo ty @blkkizzat for making me motivated to finally finish this hehe I love you girls <3

taglistt- @doulcha @chiyokoemilia @emonaculate @vladsgirlxx @bookished @ureuphoriasworld @rawwrrgal @rousouhouuu @ovela @4evahevah @sugucultfollower @maddy44 @disappointedpeaches @princess-bblgm @astrasworldsblog @nazzysworld13 @gojos1wife1 @selenerium @jkslaugh97 @satoruxsc @thecookiebratz @kaylarilla @ajd1111 @mo0nforme @yoimiyamain2932 @pinkfqiry @plznomonkeys @pandabiene5115 @thelostkira @lushjunkie @mochibunnex @mrsimpurity @coralbae @curlyhairkk @dollieeees @xixflower @ayumilk @leviskittywh0re @nx-0w @mahalsuya @sugarcoatedsoul @afrohani @ineedtofeedmycat @kinnimi @erensfavve @vvaoo

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dvchvnde · 6 months ago

Text

PRAIRIE WOLF | prologue

domestic violence, abuse (not Price). unexpected pregnancy. implied age gap.

MASTERLIST. AO3

He's a regular at the diner you work at.

Sits in the same spot, orders the same thing. Doesn't say much, but—according to Elliot—he never does. English, too. A foreigner. But here longer than you've been. Grown roots. Stretched his legs.

He owns a cabin in the woods that be built with his bare hands, and does odd jobs around town wherever he's needed. Mostly carpentry. Woodwork. Only forty, Elliot says, and already semi-retired. Military grunt, though (and in a terrible, exaggerated cockney accent, he adds) back home.

Running from something, he surmises, and you try not to feel flayed under his heavy, pointed stare, offering little more than a shrug you hope is more blase than you feel and a flat, aren't we all? so what makes his marathon so special?

Comes by at five in the morning, fours hours into a twelve hour shift. Likes, what he calls, an English Breakfast.

He isn't like some of the men who show up after midnight, or in the early hours. Blue collar works hungry for more than rubbery pancakes and coffee. The ones who ignore the split in your lip, hidden under a thick coat of lipstick, the puffiness of your eye. Whispering oil-slick charm at quarter to three in the morning when the pregnancy test you stole from the dollarrama is still buried under bloodied toilet paper in the motel you've converted into a temporary home.

Price—John Price—stares at the mess of your pretty face and meets the ugliness head-on, eyes narrowed into something that might be suspicion. Askance. Wariness. Some amalgamation of what the fuck happened to you and don't bring that mess over to my table.

Quiet. In theory.

You've heard him talk—this low, growling thing; the misfire of an engine, a rumble that reminds you of the old Plymouth Fury your dad had. Dangerous. Men like him usually are.

Little girl fantasies spun into real life. Duct tape. Magnets to girls like you with all the broken pieces, fragile parts. And with the bruises bubbling under your skin—burst blood vessels, fist-sized—and the—

The kid, you suppose. Baby. You can't afford to get wrapped up into something like that no matter how many times you catch him staring.

Watching.

The other server always handles his order when he arrives. Since starting work here four months ago, you maybe had all of a single conversation when you floated through the diner in search of something to do.

more coffee? a glance. a grunt. yeah, love. I'll have some more.

So you ignore it. Him. Keep your head down and pour cup after cup to the other regulars who congregate and pretend you aren't living in a motel to escape a man who seems to prefer you bruised up and bloody. Who—

Knocked you up.

Your hand goes there. To your belly. Nauseous, suddenly, with the thought of it. This.

When you glance up, unease prickling across your nape, you catch him staring at you. At the hand still splayed over your stomach. Something frisson across his expression—whiplike: ripples over a lake—but it's too fast, fleeting, for you to catch. Tucked back inside the folds of his patented frown, the ever present crease between his thick, umbre brows.

John lifts his eyes from your ringless hand, the swollen index finger from when you made the mistake of pointing to the door, trying to stand firm with your luggage hidden in the bushes, and meets your gaze. Stares at you head-on. Implacable as always. Blank.

But—and it's so silly, really—for a moment, you thought it was hunger. Something heavy and dark. Possessive.

Then his head dips. A shallow nod. John looks away, eyes slanting towards the window as if he didn't have to tear his gaze away from your belly. From you.

Your heart is in your throat. This too thick, fragile thing thudding against your jugular. Hard to breathe, hard to swallow around it. In the way—

Outside, tires squeal against the pavement.

John tenses. A shadow falling over his brow, a tug on his lips hidden under thick, wry curls.

You don't know what it is until the familiar gurgle of an engine cuts through the silent diner.

He looks back at you as a door slams. A shout erupts.

Fear is a thick, oily sludge filling your lungs. Tarlike. Sticky molasses. It burns, corrosive, and eats away at your tissue until a hole forms, letting spill out inside of you. To your belly where it hardens into a ferric ball of panic.

You thought you had time. One last shift. Collect your paycheck and then run—

But he found you.

He bellows out your name, angry and a little slurred. Drunk. High. Like the passive, maltreated dog he turned you into, you follow the sound, cowing a little when you see him stumble into the diner, face collapsed into fury.

There's a clatter. The hollow echo of wood hitting linoleum. Screams, his yells. It's all muted in your head. Panic throbbing against your ears, stuffing them full of cotton.

His bruised, marled fist reaches for you—

But John gets there first. His broad stretch of his back filling your vision as he pushes himself into the empty space between you and this man, hands raised, catching his mangled fist in one and grabbing a handful of his shirt, tugging him closer. It's all raw, untameable anger as he huffs into the man's face, grinding the words out on a rough, animalistic snarl—

"Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do."

Stress like this ain't good for the baby, the paramedic tells you, brown eyes dampening with a thick ring of sympathy as she turns over your wrist, and dabs cool, wet cotton over the welts on your skin.

She's pushing for you to press charges. Keeps swiping at your skin to unveil more of your hidden hurts to the police officer that holds an old kodak in his hands and snaps, snaps, snaps at every weakness, each vulnerability she offers up.

It'd be the smart thing to do. He's already being booked on assault, threats. Battery for hitting John on the shoulder, the only place he could reach, with the shovel left by the cooks to scrape the snow away from the spot they usually gather around to smoke. No one brings up the fact that John was choking the life out of him at the time, and the bruises around his neck—ugly red fingerprints—are easily ignored.

Adding domestic violence to the list of charges, she mutters, will keep him locked up. Away from you. Can file for a restraining order, the cop adds, scratching the back of his neck as the camera sits, poised and intrusive, in his other hand.

The problem is that you've been through this before.

Like mother, like daughter.

The knife twists a little deeper. Gouges out another pound of flesh lost to a broken home. Another cog in a ruinous system. Poor kid, below the poverty line, with a dad who sold drugs and mother who did them. Dime a dozen.

And with that comes the knowledge that his sentence will be lighter than they're alluding to—if he has one at all. Upstanding citizen before he got shackled in with the wrong crowd, the runaway. Trouble who breezed through and picked the son of an attorney in the big city some three hours away from this town, this dilapidated diner. Sinking claws in.

My son never drank or did drugs before, your honour—

He'll get off with a slap on the wrist because he's never been in trouble before.

Your dad, too—in jail for the weekend when your mother relented to the impassioned beseeches given to her by rookie cops who just wanted that arrest notch on their belt. Saw a judge on Monday. Prison too crowded for such a paltry offense.

The hurt, after, was always worse than what he went to jail for.

So. No. You won't press charges even though you know you should. It'll take too long and you don't plan on staying much longer. Not with your luggage packed in the trunk. The cheque shoved clumsily into your hands when the manager came out to make a fuss, angling a purpling finger in your direction—nothin' but trouble since the day you were hired—only to be stopped by the wall that is John Price, a snarl pulling up at his lips as he barked call the fuckin' police and, low, as if he didn't want you to hear, adding: you ever point your finger at her again like that, and I'll hang you from the goddamn rafters.

You're not sure why he's still here, standing watch. On guard. His bloodied, bruised hands shoved into his armpits as he paces back and forth like a caged tiger unaware the door has been open the whole time. Stalking. Taking measured, meaningful steps towards anyone who tries to come over—badge or not. Barking out orders. Lancing people with his glare when they tread too closely.

Good fucking samaritan, you think, eyes riveted on the blood drying over the gravel. Your head looping, weaving in arching circles as you try to contend with the fact that it somehow isn't yours, but his.

Maybe that's why he stays. Obligation. Civic duty. It makes you snort, and the paramedic glances at you sharply, assessing in that too thick, too kind, way of hers.

"You doin' okay, mama?"

And you wish she wouldn't call you that. Make it real. Mama. Your idea of motherhood, of mothers and moms and mamas, is a woman slumped on the couch, passed out after staying up all night talking to ghosts. Nails caked with the dust of percocets and restoril and oxycodone (oxycotton, she's always called it). Popping mouthful of pills in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night. An assortment to keep her functional—and asleep.

Nodding off in the middle of conversations. Or fighting it to stay high. Irritated and combative whenever she ran out, supply gone dry.

Toxic.

Neglectful—at best.

You can't think about what you'll end up doing to this kid with her blood in your veins. Her ghosts in your head.

John moves. A shadow in the corner of your eye. "'bout enough of that, don't you think?"

She backs up, startled by the aggression in his voice. "I just—"

You think you hate them both. "I'm fine."

She looks back at you, searching. Wanting that assurance, but whatever she's looking to find, it isn't there. You won't give it, and eventually she nods. Peels back. "Okay. If you feel any soreness at all, if anything changes, come to the hospital."

The nod is for her benefit only, and she takes it with a deep inhale.

It thins out after that. The cop and his camera leave, too, after making you take the paperwork needed to file charges. If you change your mind. His number in smeared blue ink on the back. The paramedics go after another futile round of are you sure you don't want to get checked out at the hospital that's decline with a shake of your head.

It's just you and Price now. Your beatup Saturn three spots away from his truck—an old Ford you hadn't been expecting a man like him to drive, with his thick Levi jacket and his steel-toed boots. Standing there with an armful of paper that's going to go in the trash, you're not sure what to do. How to untangle yourself from the claws of this vicious bear that seems content to loom over you like an unasked for cloud, glaring down at you from the bridge of his nose. Expression pinched, like he's displeased. Mad.

You've had enough of angry men, though, and you turn, offering a hollow smile that works it's way around your mouth like a grimace. "Guess I should head home—"

"Running, mm?"

You blink. "Sorry?"

He leans down, all grit and blunt teeth. "That your plan? Runnin' away from all'a this? Find another town. Another motel."

Another man.

He doesn't say it, but it's there. The implication. The idea. It rankles down your spine, a whitehot ooze of shame. Of anger.

"You don't know me," you spit, all anger and indignation. Embarrassment so sharp, it cuts. "You don't know anything about me."

He rocks back on his heel, mouth flattening into an even line. "No, I don't. But I know your type."

"You—"

The indignity is increased tenfold when he meets your ire with an impassive stare, so firm in his assessment of you that he doesn't even bulk when you glare at him. When you rage in quiet fury, shoulders shaking.

"You'll run," he continues, bulling over the vitriol that stutters out in broken squeals of anger. "You'll find a new place. And it'll be fine for a little while but then you'll end up in the same situation because that's all you know, isn't it? S'why you're not pressing charges. Why you got your bag in your back seat. The slightest pressure and you bolt—straight into the same predicament you're in now."

"It's not my fault—"

"No," he grinds the word, firm and sure, and it snatches you by the throat because no one has ever agreed with you on that. It's not your fault. It's just—

"—all you know."

"What am I supposed to do differently, huh? Stay and press charges that won't stick? Wait for him to get out, frothing at the mouth for revenge? Yeah, right," you scoff, rolling your eyes up towards the stale sky. "End up as another statistic? Or—"

Like your mother. It quiets you. Snuffs the flames. All you feel is scraped raw. Hollowed out. Empty and hitting and—

"So you'll just run your whole life? Until it catches up to you, mm? What happens when someone finds you in a place you can't run? When you're all alone, and cornered?"

It tastes like defeat. Resignation. "You think I haven't thought of that before?"

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. "Got yourself into a little mess, but it ain't the end of the world. Jus' got to fix it. Can't do that when you run."

"And what's your solution? Find another job, hope that his charges stick? He—"

Drained you financially. Beat you bloody.

You shake your head. "The best thing to do is to leave. I'll be smarter, I'll—"

He scoffs. You ignore it, hands shaking.

"I can't. I just—I can't."

"Come stay with me," he says. Just like that. Stay with me. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Come stay with me. "Got a spare room."

"I don't even know you—"

"People rent to strangers all the time."

"I don't have a job. Money. I can't pay you—"

"Been needin' a receptionist for some time. Pay is fair. Hourly."

You blink, eyes hot. Wet. You feel the sharp edge of hope digging in, that deadly, terrible thing that only ever falls apart when you finally relax.

"Just like that?"

He nods, sharp and firm. "Jus' like that."

"I have a kid," you blurt out, panicked. This conversation is getting away from you. Slipping through your fingers. And the worst is that it sounds so good. Too good. "I'm—I'm pregnant," you add like he doesn't already know. Hadn't heard you mutter it to the paramedic hours ago.

The look he levels you with is an incendiary thing. You feel it in your chest. Deadcentre. "I know," he rasps, head bending down closer to you. "Doesn't change anythin'."

"How could it not?"

"How should it?" He counters.

"In a few months, when the baby is here—"

"I won't change my mind."

"You say that now," you breathe, pulse thudding in your ears. "But when it's screaming in the middle of the night, and—"

His hand reaches out slowly, like he's trying not to startle a horse. Fingers grazing your arm, warm and rough, before closing around your wrist. The one that's bruised and sore. Swollen in his hand. Its done with measured purpose, confidence, that the panic doesn't have time to surge. Instincts too incipient to keep up with the sure, steady way he winds around you.

With his hand on your wrist, fingers folding over the hurt—hiding them—he leans down, thumb stroking along your skittish, unraveling pulse, and makes you meet his stare. Open, maybe, for the first time since you met him. All raw want, naked truth. The bare, fractured look is enough to steal the air in your lungs, snuffing out the innate protests that spume whenever someone offers any sort of help or charity. The no crushed under his heel.

"m'a man of my word," he low, drawing the words out. "I'll be there for the cryin' and the dirty diapers and the sleepless nights."

"And when I can't work for you?"

His lips quirk. "I offer better MAT leave than most places. Reckon you could even do the bloody job from bed."

"Price, that's—this is insane—"

"John," he grunts, giving another shrug before peeling away from you. "Savin' me the trouble of talking to these idiots. Ain't nothin' crazy about that."

"I could be a horrible person. A murderer. Rob you blind, and leave you with you nothing."

It has the opposite effect of scaring him off. If anything, he looks amused. Squares his shoulders, stands to his full—intimidating, impressive—height. Stares down at you with a brow quirked and strange gleam in his eyes.

"Think I can handle myself, love. And if you wanna rob me, bite the hand, so to speak, then I promise you, you won't like the consequences."

You swallow. His tone sparks against your sense of self-preservation, and you fight the urge to take a step back. To put distance between yourself and this grizzly-like man with blunt teeth and sharp claws.

He senses your hesitation. Must because he quiets, shoulders sinking. Hand warm on your skin, giving a slight squeeze before he lets go. You ignore the urge to chase that heat again, and hide a shiver behind a shift.

"How 'bout a test ride, mm? A trial. Stay for a few weeks and then decide if you still want to leave."

Too good to be true. You know this deep down in your marrow. Every instinct inside of you rebelling against this, screaming trap, it's a trap. But there's a truth to what he says, and maybe if you weren't pregnant, you would have flipped him off and ran because men like him aren't kind to girls like you unless they have a reason to be.

You're just not sure what he has to gain in all of this. Why he put himself between you and harm without so much as a sparing glance. Stayed, too, and barked at everyone who got too close. A thunderous shadow full of teeth.

And maybe it's that. The blood concealing into a thick, pulpy plum over the split of his knuckles, the blood on the gravel that isn't yours, the goosebumps rising over the spot he touched, colder than the rest of your skin, that makes you quieten under his heavy stare. Softening into something agreeable. Unreasonable. Instincts shoved into a box.

So you nod and let him place his hand over the small of your back, guiding you to his truck with a firm nudge. Say anything when he helps you in, hands fastening the seatbelt with a clipped I'll be back when he finishes, keeping his wary eyes on you even as he moves quickly towards your car, grabbing your suitcase from the back. Promises to get your car later, too. Bring it back to his house.

And yours, too, he adds, glancing your way after he tosses the suitcase in the backseat, searching for something you're not sure he'll find. So you look away, staring at the dust on the dashboard as he rounds the truck, and slips into the front seat. It smells like him. Fresh leather and the wild. Cedar and moss. Tobacco. Something heady. Masculine. Soaked sage. Loam. Gasoline.

You lean back on the headrest, breathing it in. Trying not to think.

You'll keep your luggage packed. The keys in the ignition. When whatever it is he's planning comes to the forefront, you'll be ready to run.

But right now—

You just want to sleep. Your jaw aches. Your wrist. There's a knot in your stomach—not good for the baby—and it thickens each time you look at his bloodied knuckles curled loosely over the steering wheel, the other on the stick. Close enough that you can feel the heat bleeding into your knee. All fire and spite, and—

Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do.

"Get some rest," he grunts, eyes slanting towards you in a brief, heavy flick. "I'll stop and get some food soon, too, but it's a two hour drive to mine. And you look dead on your feet, sweetheart."

Love. Sweetheart. I won't change my mind.

You swallow down the protest that swells, the lingering residuum of self-preservation that won't let you bear your neck just yet, and offer a slow nod, blaming the easy submission on fatigue. These aches and pains that weep, tender to the touch.

Your eyes slip shut against your better judgement, the warm interior of the truck, his smell, bleeding a sense of soporific comfort you can't remember the last time you ever felt. Just a quick nap, you think. Long enough to rest your eyes—

It's swallowed under the deluge of exhaustion that rushes through when your shoulders drop, lax. He mutters something, but it's awash under the seafoam that fills your ears, lapping waves dragging you further and further away from shore. Something that sounds like girl good but you can't be sure. Hypnagogia is a terrible a thing that likes to spin dreams, play pretend in the cradle of your subconsciousness until the lines between reality and fantasy blur. Ignoring it is easier than admitting that it floods you with a warmth so deep, sweat gathers along your hairline. Feverish and sickly sweet.

Fingers dance along the edge of your brow, rough and coarse, and it's a devastating thing, isn't it? All this tenderness along the broken edges of yourself, nails grazing the fractures like they can be fixed, pushed back into place, and not as if they're about to shatter. It makes you want to lash out even though you can't feel your body anymore, stuck between worlds of wake and rest. Later, maybe, when the phantom press doesn't feel so sweet you'll snap—broken jaw and brittle teeth—at his hand until he remembers to never touch you again. A risk he won't take.

But with the knot in your belly, a baby there, too, and a body more contusion than flesh, you let it happen. Mewl, maybe, a quiet little slip of a thing, and curve into the palm resting over your cheek. Small and docile, leaching comfort as fast as you can before you remember yourself.

in the moonglade, you murmur thank you and swallow down a rough, painful sound when he scoffs under his breath, and says ain't got nothin' to thank me for, sweetheart.

#this is rough and messy but i woke up with this idea burning in my head and couldn't write it out fast enough #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #wips #fic: prairie wolf

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uchispeach · 5 months ago

Text

Killer

Dark! Bully! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NON CON, SMUT, rough sex, manhandling & degradation, choking, breeding kink, bullying, violent & abusive behavior, Mean! Rafe, Bully! Rafe…

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I’ve just had a shit ton of family problems. I hope I can update a bit faster from now on! ALSO lmk if you want this to become a series! 💕

A laugh, dripping with mockery, echoed through the vast room, sparking a ripple of chuckles and whispered insults from the nearby group of boys.

Rafe Cameron’s body stretched lazily in the chair, making it seem almost comically small under his heavy frame. Even with his limbs sprawled out in complete relaxation, the outline of his hard muscles pressed against his shirt, as if daring to break free at any moment. You couldn't deny he looked attractive, exuding an undeniable magnetism in that confident, almost predatory pose, his new buzz cut only amplifying the arrogance that oozed from him. But that ugly, smug smirk? It made your bones ache and your throat dry up in ways you couldn’t explain.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, lingered on yours with a deliberate intensity, delighting in your discomfort, relishing in every flinch and subtle shift of your gaze. You turned away, hoping your disinterest would bore him eventually, but you knew it wouldn’t.

No matter how hard you focused on the lecture, his presence was like an intrusive, constant drill on your brain—his burning gaze a distraction that gnawed at your senses. How naive had you been to think he'd ever leave you alone? Every time you raised your hand in class, you could count on him to whisper some stupid joke under his breath. How foolish had you been to think he would ever stop tormenting you? This sick dynamic between you two had been a game since childhood, and if anything, he seemed to thrive on it.

His once-small fingers had grown long and strong -now covered in silver rings. Those same digits that used to tangle on your hair and pull from it until your scalp burned in pain. His legs were now far longer, but they had always been longer than yours, outpacing you as they chased you through the school halls in all infant and adolescent years, always with the aim of making you stumble and fall to your knees. But his mouth had never changed. It had only sharpened, evolving into something far more dangerous.

You’d convinced yourself you were above all of it. Charleston had felt like a fresh start, and you’d thought the Pogue curse might finally be something you could outrun. But when Rafe Cameron showed up once more, everything you’d built: your confidence, your peace of mind—began to crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, unresolved tension between you.

You were studying to be a teacher, the first in your family to receive a scholarship that promised a brighter future. Your days were filled with lesson plans, textbooks, and the weight of academic expectation. Every second of your time was accounted for as you worked tirelessly to carve out a new path for yourself, one that didn't involve being brought back to the past or the memories of him. You didn’t have time for distractions, certainly not for him. But here he was, always lurking just at the edges of your life, a dark cloud you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was studying for an MBA, the complete opposite of you, and yet fate had forced you into a shared class. You would’ve done anything to avoid him, but trapped in between those fours walls, mere meters away from him - it just seemed impossible.

And there he was, at your left, staring with a look of sick pleasure every time he found you trying to focus. His presence was suffocating, like the air itself became dense with his attention. His words, the snide remarks whispered under his breath, were like a weight on your chest, making every breath harder to take.

He harassed you constantly in that class—every. single. time. Without fail. No matter how much you tried to bury yourself in your notes, no matter how hard you tried to ignore his mocking chuckles, his eyes always found you, always zeroed in on your every move. He’d challenge you with pointless questions, make stupid comments about your work, his voice dripping with condescension. But it didn’t stop there. His reach extended beyond the classroom, following you into the hallways, his tall frame casting a shadow that would make your stomach turn. He would appear out of nowhere, as though drawn to you by some sick fixation, and make his presence known with a smirk or a taunt, forcing you to look up from your books, to meet those stormy eyes full of wickedness.

He would ‘accidentally’ bump into you, making your school supplies fall over. He licked his lower lip when you bent over to pick the mess up. His front would get dangerously close to your back in any queue, sometimes getting bold enough to grind slightly against you. He would move you around like a rag doll, always putting his huge palm on your ass to push you to the side. Still, there was nothing as uncomfortable as having his dirty eyes scanning you from head to toe at any given time - he licked his lower lip in amusement, making your cheeks grow hotter.

You’d always hoped, prayed, that once the class ended, he’d disappear—vanish into his own world and leave you to yours. But you were wrong. Every time the teacher dismissed you, and you gathered your things to leave, he’d be right there, waiting. It was like clockwork. His long, strong fingers would slide into the pockets of navy trousers, the scent of his manly cologne wafting over you in an intoxicating way. His gaze would follow you as you tried to make a clumsy exit, his footsteps closing the distance between you with every passing second. You hated that you could never outrun him. Hated how he always found a way to corner you.

And just as you thought you might make it out of the door, safe, free—he’d appear at the threshold, standing in your way with that damn smirk of his, a look that seemed to promise nothing but trouble.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice would slither through the air like poison.

Your heart would pound in your chest, but you’d force your eyes to look anywhere but at him, hoping and praying, that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he’d leave you alone. But you knew better. You always knew better.

And now, you could feel it again; the familiar pressure of his presence, creeping closer, dark and inevitable.

“What’s that I’ve heard?” He scratched his head while pressing his brows together, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Oh, right” Now, enlightened; he stepped forward. Your almost wobbly legs did their best on distancing themselves -though, they weren’t allowed much movement after hitting a desk.

The back of your knees stung against the protruding piece of wood. “You tryna leave��study abroad, right?” Your eyes peeled in horror, and you hid in yourself as much as you could when his tall frame overpowered yours. “No, no. Look me right in the eye.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. Without any hesitation, his cold rings found their place under your chin, burying in your skin when lifting up your face. “How-how do you know?” Your stuttering made him smile -predatory grin adorning his harsh features. “Everyone thinks you’re smart…” The pain on your neck amplified at the uncomfortable position.

“…But I think you’re just a dumb bitch.” He spat at you. Tone as rough as the domineering grip on your jaw. “…Bragging left and right - you really thought I wouldn’t find out?” He shook you with erratic movement. The pain you felt under his digits distracted you from a perverted knee slowly opening its way between your legs.

His unruly eyes took a break from tormenting yours as he admired your skirt’s fabric draping over your thighs. The blond snob flashed you his hungry canines while biting into his lower lip.

The horror only amplified when a sharp thrust attacked your clothed sex. His impatient knee continued to roughly rub against the cotton underwear, cruelty reflected on the fast pace. “Ha. Would you look at that? The dirty slut is getting wet!” You whined in disgust when Rafe pressed harder on the soaked circle.

The scarce dignity you thought you held was harshly stripped from you. On his arms you were nothing but a squeaky toy he got to bite and squeeze whenever he desired, and little by little you felt victim to a raw resignation.

The next thing you sensed was his palm abandoning your neck and moving onto your meaty thighs. He gave the flesh a squeeze, followed by a lusty groan leaving his pinkish lips.

Your mind tried to wander away, but the situation was just too much; too much stimulation everywhere, too much heat coming from his larger body, too much degradation directed your way in mean words and touches, too much torturous pressure applied to your virgin cunt and too much pawing at your unexplored parts.

The next thing your brain registered was a rip. The sound of something being torn apart, and if you didn’t see the light fabric pooling around your feet, you could’ve almost swear it was the noise your spirit made when breaking in half. “And I was thinking about making it nice for you…fucking you on a bed of roses or some corny shit.” He talked with nothing but mockery, while leaning onto your chest. “But I guess you prefer it when I treat you like a cheap whore.” The Cameron boy finished it off with a chuckle, his muscles flexing hard under the rumbling laugh.

You wanted to contradict him, defend your honor and pull him off of you, but all protests got stuck in your throat when he took you by it and slammed your upper body against the desk. The rigid wood wasn’t welcoming. Your head spinned uncontrollably at the beast-like hit.

The lack of oxygen didn’t stop you from hearing him unbuckling his pants. Panic grew louder as you heard his clothes falling to the Classroom’s floor. Worries clouded you in a tumultuous storm, and you did your best to cover yourself up when the only layer covering your vulnerable hole was pushed to the side. “Open your fucking legs or I’ll break your useless skull!” He demanded in a crazied tone, ripping your limbs apart and throwing them over his shoulders.

“Please, don’t.” Your eyelids squeezed together, shielding your irises from looking at the violating scene. “That’s right, beg me” Warm breath imposed itself above your slit, followed by a warmer liquid dripping down your folds. “Gotta make it wetter…I don’t want you breaking at the first use.” Even though your sight was all black, you could imagine his satisfied grin decorating that diabolically handsome face.

You tried pulling away when a foreign limb rubbed against your sex, desperate to be let in. “Rafe, no-” You were cut short by your own screams, eyes peeled open at the feeling of his cock entering all at once.

“Fuck! Tight ass pussy.” He sounded in heaven, palms manhandling your knees to your chest while pounding ruthlessly into you.

The rest of your body went numb, being rocked up and down at the bestiality of the boy’s attack. His groans and moans overpowered your miserable sobs. Your withering form contrasted his blessed expressions, pure passion exuding from his now sweaty body.

“Your whorish cunt is squeezing the shit out of me…she doesn’t want me to leave!” He continued to talk while creating some deeply loud wet noises.

Your neck and waist’s skin burned under his cutting rings and the unsolicited friction of his grip that kept you still. Your ears got lost at the multiple pet names he called you, as well as the dirty sentences of encouragement he occasionally threw your way.

After almost an hour of feeling him impale you on his dick, you grew tired of screaming and crying, now reduced to quiet whimpers and even quieter pleas. “Stop-” He did the opposite to that, toned pelvis slapping hard against you as his tip bruised your cervix in persistent thrusts.

The cries that left your esophagus were now primal and raw, long nails holding onto his huge back. “That’s right, cry for me. You fucking deserve it!” That only made the tears fall faster down your cheeks, reaching your mouth on a salty taste.

And when his movements finally went sloppy and his member felt softer, your suffering only sharpened. “Tell me you love me” He barked at your face, drops of unintentional spit hitting your distressed face.

You thought you heard wrong, that between his chocking, and suffocating weight your brain had imagined the unimaginable. “Tell me you love me!” His features tensed, making a vein pop on his front.

Was Rafe Cameron asking for words of affirmation from you? Was the same guy who just butchered your purity asking you for your heart? Or was it just another inhumane prank? Another limit of yours he wanted to cross?

Clearly you took to much time thinking and not acting because the next thing you felt was the blond burying impossibly deeper into your core and making you know a new level of uncomfortability. “Tell me you fucking love or I’ll come inside you.” The light on the room was vast, you were sure of it. Such an elite university could only have the best illumination for its elitist students; still, his burly body completely covered yours.

His sharp jaw and eyes were enhanced by the darkness found in his stare. “I-” He trembled lightly in excitement at your shaky voice. “I love you.” You finally decreed, unknowingly sealing your fate.

His smile was like nothing you saw before, too devilish and twisted you actually doubted smiling was ever a nice gesture. And when you felt a dense liquid flooding your womb in overwhelming warmth, you swore you could see the devil in his eyes.

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