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[rafesapple]

fuck you, bitch(PLEASE HOW COULD YOU WRITE THIS MASTERPIECE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH🙏🙏)

In Sheep's Clothing

Synopsis: in which you're alone in a cabin in the woods during a rough snow storm and an enigmatic, sexy wolf hybrid!Toji turns up at your door providing much more than his handyman service Warnings: plot with a side of porn, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, knotting, degradation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, praise kink, rough sex, manhandling, cowgirl, thigh fucking, hair pulling, slight anal play, biting, dom!toji, blowjob, allusion to shower sex, dirty talk, dry humping, pussyjob, fingering, panty sniffing, cum eating, spanking, titty slapping, pussy slapping, biting, dumbification, primal play to the extreme, !!dark themes!! beware cannot emphasise this enough people (dw there's no gore or noncon or anything, it's just the nature of the plot), acts of violence, angst, fem!reader, romance, barely proofread Word Count: 19.9k (it's a lot I know I know sowwy)

Perhaps running away to the mountains and hiding in the woods wasn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever had. But it was the only one you had at the time. Your grandmother’s cabin is a little run-down, though that was expected considering how many years it had been since she passed, still, it has solid bones and you can’t complain.

It’s a two bedroom bungalow — spacious enough for a family, what with its generous kitchen and hearty fireplace, but far too small for you. Dust has settled on all imaginable surface and it took hours to remove the coverings on every sofa, chair, table, and bed, and even longer to wash everything that could be washed by hand, since the washing machine and dryer in the back room have long since given up on themselves. 

Most of your days since whisking yourself away here is spent dusting, washing, wiping, and cooking. You’ve yet to feel the dent you’ve been chipping away at. There’s still a draught coming from the front door, the main heating system isn’t working, and somewhere, in every corner, is an odd creaking that keeps you up at night. 

Sighing, you glance out of the window, curled up underneath a mountain of blankets, and watch the snow fall. It’s always snowing here. It was barely possible to trek up here as a snowstorm was creeping in; the townspeople were less than eager to even hear you out until you flashed an extortionate amount of money. 

A nice, elderly man took pity, though, upon discovering your last name. He knew your granny. Said she was a sweet soul with a real talent for baking. Having ordered one of his sons to drive you up, he gave you his telephone number, insisting that if you ever needed anything, anything at all, they would come at the drop of a hat. 

That warmed your heart a little. The kindness of a stranger is not something you’re familiar with and thought you’d never get to experience, but there he was, smiling, and waving the cash away like it was the silliest thing in the world and it had no real consequence. 

It had been four days since and you won’t lie, you have considered phoning in that favour. You’re way out of your depth here. With a sigh, you pull a blanket, red and knitted by your grandmother, up to your chin and continue to watch the snow fall. Even though you’re at your wits end with all the scrubbing this cabin needs, you couldn’t possibly call it quits now and beg the man to come up just to take you down. How embarrassing would that be?

You hear knocking. 

There’s someone at the door, pounding. Your heart begins to beat fast. You must have mistaken the sound of the wind howling for a knock at the door. After all, you are miles away from the town and the snow is far too thick for anyone to have gotten up here. Would it be wise to get up from the warmth of your sofa to be sure?

The knocking gets louder, more adamant. Okay, so you weren’t, in fact, mistaken. Something about that noise, unyielding and firm, pierces your heart. You can’t imagine being out in this weather. You’re at the door faster than you can even process the speed at which your feet moved. 

When you fling the door open, the freezing wind attacks, stinging your cheeks and nipping at your skin. Arms rushing to hug the blanket you thoughtfully to drag with you tighter around your body, you squint up through the blinding white of the snow at a hulking beast. 

Broad shouldered and glaring, he watches you cower beneath his gaze. He’s dressed in a simple, fitted t-shirt and baggy joggers, and you feel impossibly colder just by looking at him. His face is hidden behind a disheveled beard, rough and scratchy. He’s a very hairy man. 

“H-hello. Can I help you?”

His nose twitches. He jerks his chin to something behind you. “You’re cooking. I’m hungry.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pushes past you. Pressing yourself close to the door frame, you just about avoid the graze of his arm against you. This turn of events has your head spinning. Who does this man think he is? 

The wind howls harder. You slam the door shut. “Excuse me! You can’t just walk in as you please. This is my home. Get out.”

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even register what you say. Instead, he crosses into the kitchen and lifts the lid of the pot of stew you’ve been working on for hours and grunts. When he fixes himself a bowl, you’re left speechless at how he seems to move on autopilot, opening cabinets and drawers for what he needs without so much as a glance. 

Now he’s sitting at the table, scarfing down your stew and you’re bewildered, spluttering. You’re being Punk’d. 

“Who do you think you are? I told you to get out. I’m gonna call the police if you don’t within the next five seconds!”

He snorts. 

“The police?” His voice is gravelly, seemingly from lack of use. “Ain’t nobody getting up ‘ere in this state.”

That’s what every serial killer says, and you should be afraid, should be running for help. But there’s no hint of malice or cruel intent in his words, only amusement, the way one responds to a child’s whims. 

“Well, you should still afford me the decency of leaving my home when asked.”

“Your home? Didn’t know the old lady gave it away.”

You gulp, clutching the thick blanket even tighter. “You knew my grandmother?”

He grunts. 

Well aware you really ought to kick him out, you’re ashamed at the realisation that you can’t bring yourself to. It’s awfully terrible outside and there’s no doubt the elements would claim him if he he’s left out with no shelter. Though, that really shouldn’t be your responsibility and there is still, of course, the glaring concern of his ability to kill you. One sweep of his figure and you know this towering man, tall and muscular, could snap your neck with one hand. 

Or worse.

Not to mention, he’s a hybrid. You can tell by the twitching of his ears and his nose, like he’s hearing and smelling things inscrutable by the human senses. You wonder what he is. He has no triangular ears or fluffy tail like a dog, he doesn’t have eyes like a cat, no scales that you can see, but his teeth, when he scrapes them along the spoon, you know they’re much sharper than you’d like to ever find out. 

If he wanted to kill you, he could have done that before. And at any rate, it’s too late to do anything about it now. He knows you’re alone and there’s nowhere you can run to before the snow freezes your limbs. 

Settling back down onto the sofa, you just watch him eat. He’s grabbed a second helping, enjoying the meat more than the potatoes and carrots in there but that’s expected of a man. It does mean, though, that he’s not a herbivore hybrid. You wonder if he likes the taste of a woman’s flesh. 

“Is it good?” You ponder. 

There’s something oddly peaceful about observing him — the way he only chews once and twice before swallowing and shoving another spoonful, the way his throat contracts, how his huge hands grasps the bowl and spoon like they could be ripped away from him before he’s finished, and even the way his foot taps, impatient and tense. 

He throws you a cursory glance. “It’s good.”

A second helping disappears. So does a third.

“It seems like you haven’t eaten in days. Or showered. Or rested.”

Huffing, he leans back in the chair, full perhaps. He scratches his stomach under his shirt and you look away at the flash of skin. In a drawl, he concedes, “Y’r right on the money.”

You note how he doesn’t offer more. And you know by the way he’s observing you in return that he’s expecting you to ask for more. You don’t. It’s stupid. Suicidal even. But a little company to weather this snow storm might not be so bad. 

“I’ll allow you to stay here until the snow passes but no longer than that. There’s a second bedroom in the back, you can use that. The boiler’s broken or something so the radiators aren’t working, neither is the hot water in the shower. So, unfortunately, this isn’t going to be a stay at a five star hotel but we’ll both get along just fine if we maintain boundaries and do our part.”

He grunts. That seems to be his preferred way of communicating. Fine by you. You never liked talkative people anyways. “I want a hot shower. So do you by the looks of it. I’ll go down and check the boiler out.”

Startled, you laugh. “You know how to fix things?”

The look he gives you is answer enough and with no further words exchanged, he marches down the hall, obviously all too familiar with the layout of the cabin — did he stay here after she died, when the house was empty and unused? 

Or maybe he stayed with your grandmother and that was how she got along just fine on her own after your grandfather died.

After thirty minutes or so, he emerges, some grease smeared on his face, and he presses the back of his hand to the radiator by where you sit. He’s standing very close. And from your position, hugging your knees under all these blankets, he looks so much bigger and stronger. 

“It’s fixed. For now. Shit’s old so might need regular maintenance,” he explains. “Ya wanna shower first or what?”

Considering he fixed the damn thing, he should have the first go, shouldn’t he? Especially as he’s been out in the cold for goodness how long.

“I’ll shower first,” you say. 

He nods. 

Unfurling yourself from your cocoon, you stumble to a stand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give you space. Your chest brushes against his. Tingling rushes down your spine at the graze of your nipples. You hastily move past him, embarrassed and suddenly nervous. 

“I’ll be quick. Um, feel free to have more stew and I don’t know if you have any clothes or anything, but my grandmother kept some of her husband’s clothes, you’ll find them in your room — the second bedroom, I mean. Just down the hall, by the bathroom.”

He doesn’t reply and you don’t wait for him to . 

In your rush to save face, you just miss the way his lips twitch in one corner. 

You had forgotten how wonderful a hot shower is. The way you’re enveloped by warmth and your tense muscles loosen and relax under the barrage of water. You take much longer than you usually do, intent on thoroughly enjoying the water like it could grow legs and make a run for it. Eventually, you’re bathed and fresh. Much fresher than you’ve been in the last couple days since you didn’t have to hurry through your routine or curse under your breath at the burning chill of the water, mocking your ineptitude and foolish spontaneity. 

When you come out, dressed in a sweater and joggers, you’re pleased to find the house much warmer than before. The fireplace is even lit, the orange and red flames dancing with as much joy as you feel. More cozy and welcoming, the cabin has completely transformed in what feels like a blink of an eye. Before, the clinical white lights overhead flickered on its last legs, completely and utterly useless, now only the fireplace sheds light, covering the living room and kitchen in a snug ember. 

It feels reminiscent of Christmas evenings you never had. 

Your guest doesn’t look surprised when you approach — he probably heard you every step of the way — but he does push off the sofa and give you a look over, nodding as if satisfied to see you out of the blankets you wore like a second skin. 

Just as he brushes past you, you grasp his arm. Nerves light up. You drop it like it burns. “Sorry. I, um, just wanted to say thanks. And uh, I guess we should introduce each other. Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. I’m not really sure why I didn’t. Maybe I was just mentally prepared to not speak to another person for a while or something.” 

Tilting his head at you, he releases a huff of air through his nose and says, “Name’s Toji. You’re y/n; the old lady talked about you.”

“Oh.”

Likely sensing that’s as much as you’re going to say, he disappears into the bathroom with a pile of clothes and a towel in hand that you didn’t even notice — maybe because you were far too distracted by how handsome he looks under the glow of the fire or how his skin felt nice, all hard and soft and heated the way only a man could be. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because the first thing you really noticed upon entering the living room was not the way it had been transformed or how normal it looked for such a big man to be taking up space here, but rather how this ‘Toji’ was sitting in the exact same spot you’d been making your little home when he came. 

When you awake the next day, you’re surprised he’s still asleep. It was almost midday and there’s no sign of him having walked through the cabin before you. There’s no way you’ll knock on his door. Truthfully, you were surprised, pleasantly so it must be said, to find yourself alive and untouched. You don’t guilty for thinking the worst and you’re not naive enough to think better of him for not being a serial killer, that’s simply the bare minimum. 

But it does mean he’s a man of his word and you can let down a little of your guard. 

Instead of worrying more about what he’s doing in his room, you busy yourself  with breakfast. Toji had finished the stew when you came out of the shower and you were impressed by his appetite, albeit also concerned for your stock; at this rate, your food will run out much faster than you had planned and there’s no telling when the weather will get well enough to call out the old man for help.  

You bake a sourdough, fry up some eggs and sausages and put the kettle on for some coffee — instant, unlike the ones you’re used to in the big city but it’ll have to do. You’re careful not to make too much noise, although you feel a little embarrassed at how thoughtful you’re being. 

Just as you put the plate down, he emerges, shirtless, hand scratching the trail of hair low on his stomach. His hair is mussed up, sticking at all angles, and the plaid pyjama bottoms he must gotten from your grandfather’s box of old clothes hang low on his hips, distinct v-lines peeking in a terrifyingly sinful way. He has fairly thick hair on his arms and chest, the very definition of unkept and wild. 

You clear your throat. 

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

He throws you a look, full of amusement, before he sits down at the table. He must have smelt the food and known somehow you were meaning to share. How presumptuous of him. “Slept fine.”

You serve him his portion, larger than your own, and pour him coffee to which he doesn’t say no. “Not going to ask me how I slept?”

He snorts. “Don’t hafta. You tossed and turned the whole night.”

“You have really good hearing, don’t you? What kind of hybrid are you?”

He eats much slower than yesterday, mulling the taste over rather than scarfing it down, and he seems pleased enough with your cooking skills. For reasons you don’t want to think too much about, you’re feeling pretty proud of yourself. 

“Wolf,” he replies. 

You’ve never met a wolf before. But they are an infamous breed — they needed constant medication to keep their animal instincts at bay, they stuck by their own kind, were aggressive to outsiders, and are known for being fiercely loyal and protective. Toji doesn’t seem to match the description. He’s alone for one and he moves with grace like a deer and not like a clunky predator. 

“How did you know my grandmother, if I may?” You ponder. In all of the letters she’s written to you, she had never mentioned knowing a hybrid like Toji, or any hybrids for that matter. 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and shared, “Helped her around during winters just like these. She was too old to get down by herself and there were always things needing fixing.”

“She gave you warm food in return?”

He grunts. 

“How did you know she died?” Raising a brow at your question, you explain, “You said she ‘was’ too old.”

Barking a sudden laugh, you find the noise tickling your skin and you can’t stop staring at the way his face softens for just the quickest second and ever so lightly. You’re ashamed to admit the noise makes you warmer inside than it should. 

“I come sniffing around soon as snow starts to fall. It’s routine. A habit. I was the one who found her. Notified the townspeople and went on my way.” He takes a sip of the coffee, green eyes never leaving yours. “Haven’t been back in years.”

His voice is gruff and now that you’re sat face-to-face with him, it’s clear as day that he’s not used to the sound of his own voice; he furrows his brows and stumbles upon certain words like they’re foreign, as if he’s struggling to reconcile the reality that those words are coming from him. 

“So what made you come here?”

No answer. 

The rest of breakfast passes by in relative silence, the distant moan of the wind outside providing enough noise to wash away the awkwardness of eating with a stranger. You want to tell him you’d prefer if he didn’t walk around so bare but that seemed too big of an ask since it’s likely he runs hotter as a wolf than you do. Eyes falling to your neck and your chest unashamedly, he doesn’t shy away from eye contact. 

You do though.

Then he stands, taking both your and his plate over to the sink. He begins washing up. That actually takes you by surprise. This Toji fella didn’t strike you as the type to partake in house chores. Rather, he seems like the type to firmly believe the kitchen is a woman’s domain. Interestingly enough, his back is marked up, full of scars, and they ripple with his muscles. You want to ask about them but he’s not a man who offers answers and you’re not the kind of woman who should poke and prod. 

“Right, well.” You stand too. “I was wondering if you know how to fix a washing machine. And a dryer. Neither are working and washing my sheets and panties in the bath is a pain. 

His eyes flick to you as you wipe away at a spot on the counter dirtied by flour. You probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘panties’ in front of a man like him but you thought it would be funny. He doesn’t seem to think so. He gives you a half-nod and you feel satisfied enough from that interaction to pad over to the sofa to read a book. 

Toji begins working around the cabin — he heads over to the laundry room and you hear the clatter of metal and thumping against the floor. Upon emerging and giving you the look that says ‘it’s done’, he also starts looking for something in the basement. He carries up a box of lightbulbs in one arm and a ladder in another. 

When you jolt up, to offer help, he cuts you another look that says ‘don’t you dare’, and you sit back down. He seems to have his own way of doing things and he knows you’ll only get in the way. Maybe he noticed that your nails are long and clean and he can somehow, with his wolfy powers, sense your hands have never touched dirt.

Still working on this and that around the house, you serve him his lunch and you eat separately. If this becomes your routine then that’ll be ideal. He does all the cleaning and fixing and you cook. Sure, it might be setting back the feminist movement just a little but things like that don’t matter up here, where it’s freezing and you have no idea how you managed for days without him.

Much more quickly than you could have ever expected, the day ends and night falls.

“Thanks for the help,” you say, handing him a glass of your grandmother’s moonshine. You remember where she kept it from your childhood and now, soon after dinner, just sat by the fireplace, feels as good a time as any to bust it out. 

You’re both leaning against the sofa, right by the fireplace, choosing to be on the rug rather than on the soft couch. You can’t remember who followed who, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. In just one day he had solved most of the problems you’ve nearly cried over. 

Toji grunts. 

He’s wearing a shirt now, thin and plain. Your grandfather was a much smaller man so this shirt is practically bursting at the seams on his huge bicep but he doesn’t seem to mind. You do, though. It’s rather distracting actually. His skin brushes against yours and neither of you move away. 

The flames are the only light here and you feel its warmth settling on your face, lulling you to comfort. Stronger than any alcohol you’ve ever had, the moonshine burns your throat, lighting you up inside. Your companion appears to be unimpressed with the concoction, downing the cup in one gulp. 

Slightly embarrassed by your inexperience, despite being an adult, you ask, “Where were you staying before? You said you come here for winter so where do you stay for the rest of the year? Same place you’ve been staying at since my grandmother died? Or somewhere different?”

Throwing an arm on the sofa, right behind your head, he admits, “Nowhere. Everywhere. Just moved around a lot.”

“Why didn’t you just stay here? If you talked to her enough to know about me, then surely she must have told you no one ever visits since everyone in the family hates the cold. You would have had the place all to yourself.”

“I never stay in one place for too long.”

You skim the rim of your glass, watching the clear liquid swirl with the glow of the fireplace. “Why not?”

He waits until you can’t bear the silence, until you feel that itch to look up, to meet his gaze. And when you do, there’s some intensity in his eyes that seems to make the alcohol in your stomach burn just a little more. A finger of his twirls a lock of your hair and he murmurs, “Never had a reason to.”

Nodding, you settle for watching the fire. 

And when the bottle of moonshine was depleted, you left to sleep and he stayed, a scalding brand marking your back and you couldn’t bear to look back to know if it was from the fireplace or from him. 

That was how your first day went. 

On the second day, you repeat more or less the same routine: you make breakfast, you eat together, he goes and fixes something else, you make lunch, you eat separately, he fixes some more things, you make dinner, and you share a drink or two, and sleep. 

Occasionally, you’ll run into each other and you still struggle to meet his eyes, having to crane your head so far back to get a good look. Sometimes when you do gather the courage to look up at him, he’s already looking at your chest, green eyes slowly rising up to your face. His brow rises in challenge just as hip lip twitches. He doesn’t care at all. The man had no manners. 

But he washes the dishes after every mealtime and he doesn’t really make a mess, so you can’t complain when he takes his visual fill of your body. There’s no harm in looking, only a priest would ever know that you do the same thing; there’s always a sizeable bulge in his trousers that you can’t keep your eye off, totally only out of curiosity. 

The day starts off with an exchange of ‘g’morning’ and a ‘g’night’.

The third day tells the same story. 

On the fourth day, however, only one thing out of the ordinary happens and it isn’t anything to write home about but you can’t get it out of your mind, as you lay in bed wide awake. The wolf hybrid had needed to get past you to get something from the fridge and on his way, he gripped your hips, lightly and barely a whisper, but his finger had brushed a sliver of skin where your shirt had risen up. 

His touch was startling, petrifying, making the hairs along your body stand on edge, but more than anything, it was completely and utterly exhilarating. 

When your hand wandered down into your panties that night, you tried your best to stifle your moans with your pillow, chasing the high that followed you the entire day. You fell asleep sticky, sweaty and unrepentant.

The fifth day goes by just fine too. Appreciative of the little song and dance you two have choreographed, you find yourself less and less anxious about the snow and the world beyond. There’s just something about this Toji fella — he’s quiet in a way that would be off-putting from anyone else, but you find it comforting. It’s different from the way everything worked in the city, where silences are this obscene monstrosity that must be filled with the clattering of a busybody. 

Here, with him, you can just breathe in the hot cocoa and the smoky ash burning in the fireplace as you sit by him, shoulder to shoulder, on the rug and not on the sofa. He doesn’t ask questions about why you never visited your grandmother, why you haven’t talked about your family or your friends, or why you don’t ask him questions. 

You like to think too that he appreciates you keeping your curiosity at bay. 

Maybe that’s why he lets you rest your head on his shoulder, why he doesn’t nudge you off when your breath begins to even out and your lashes flutters shut, and maybe, just maybe, it’s why he carries you to bed and lays you down so gently you dream of solid arms, green sparkles in the snow, and fluffy clouds that brush your hair back. 

What you weren’t prepared for, however, is the sixth day. It started off just like any other day: breakfast, reading on the sofa whilst he fixes something or the other, and then lunch eaten separately. 

But, the hybrid must have gotten oil spilled on him when he was tinkering with something in the cellar because he went to shower during the day, instead of at night like you both do. This fact wasn’t known to you. It really wasn’t even on your mind. And that’s why disaster struck. 

Walking into the bathroom to grab something — you can’t even remember what it was and why you were so focused on retrieving it, you hadn’t registered the sound of running water and the fact that the room was steamier than usual — you were met with a sight no HR training could ever prepare you for. Because, there, right in front of you, was your roommate, buck naked with water dripping down his chiseled body, catching on the curly hairs on his chest and lower abdomen. He was leaning with one arm on the glass of the shower stall, forehead pressed onto his forearm whilst the other made slow, leisurely strokes somewhere low, somewhere the steam gravitated towards. 

Forward and back, forward and back, forward...and…back. 

All while his eyes, like freshly cut grass, stayed unmoving, watching you watch him. Feet sinking deeper into the tiles, you were stuck where you are, heaving chest matching his as he let out a grunt, wrist jerking faster, splashing so much water everywhere you could almost feel them land on your skin through the glass. 

Your phone pinged from your hand. You didn’t realise you were holding it. That was just about enough to break the trance he had you under. Wordlessly, you turned back and left, the door clicking shut behind you, and you busied yourself with preparing for dinner. 

When he walked out, dressed, you could see from your peripheral, you grunted in acknowledgement after he let you know he was going to get some wood from outside. 

Dinner was eaten separately too. 

Instead of watching the fireplace, side by side, sharing whatever drink you’ve prepared, you’re settled comfortably under your blankets, hand rubbing furiously in your panties and eyes shut tightly, chasing flashing images of something sinful, delicious, the very source of your delirium. 

Your orgasm is shallow. It’s why you’re conscious enough to notice, through the gap between your door and the floor, that the hallway light is still on and just as you exhale your last lust-induced moan, it disappears, leaving your senses focused solely on the sound of feet padding away.

You don’t get any sleep. 

“G’morning,” you chirp. 

The kettle is boiling and you’re serving the last of the eggs and bacon onto pancakes you made from scratch. There are still some meat frozen but the vegetables and fruits are almost gone and there’s no other way about it — you’re going to have to go down to get some more food. What had supposed to last you comfortably, at least two weeks, is now on its last crumbs before the first seven days had reached its end.

His green eyes flick to yours and with a small smirk, beard twitching, he asks, “Sleep well?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to ignore the burning of your face and the sudden shake in your hands. Of course he had heard. Of course! Because, lost in the haze of the shallow pleasure, you had forgotten that you’re living with a man that is far from ordinary. 

So is his hearing. 

“Oh, great,” you grit out. “And you?”

A snort of what you can only guess to be amusement is released from him and when he brushes past you, his heat only sets those embers ablaze again. He doesn’t answer. 

Once sat down and eating, it’s your roommate who suggests more food is needed — as he should, considering it’s because of his insane appetite that things have turned out so hopeless so quickly. 

“How could we possibly get more food in this weather? No one can get up here and walking down is not an option. I mean, just looking at all that snow makes me feel like death is creeping in.”

“Don’t gotta leave,” he says with a grunt. “I’ll go.”

Spluttering, you practically shriek, “You? Are you insane? You’ll die.”

His green eyes glint. “Will the pretty little city girl be sad if I do?”

“Will the big, bad wolf listen and stay if I say yes?”

Toji barks out a laugh. Breakfast ends soon after. 

An hour passes and, as you read a book, you think that that’s the last of that. But of course it isn’t. Just as you finish a chapter, the wolf in question comes out of his room in a worn out coat too small for him and a firm look on his face. He can’t possibly be serious. 

Ignoring your protests, he heads over to the door and doesn’t spare you a glance. It’s only when you tell him he needs money that he does pause. Typical macho men, thinking with their muscles and not their heads, you grumble in your mind. He waits for you to grab your purse and shove it in his hand. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Your question is met with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, quit worrying. I’ll be back before you know it.” He sounds so sure. You’re inclined to believe him. Something about how sturdy he looks makes him sound convincing enough; Toji’s built like an oak tree, with deep-reaching roots and a thick trunk that could withstand the harshest storms and mightiest blows. But all trees can be felled, if one tries hard enough. 

He must have smelt the doubt pouring out of every pore because then he’s making a sound of pure exasperation. “Alright, listen. I’m a wolf, yeah? I’ve been through worse.”

Eyes darting from the snow and to his deadpan face, you mutter, “Just because you’ve been through worse doesn’t mean you should go through more. You can just stay and keep warm. With me. I can’t help you if you’re out there.”

There’s a silence, like a sudden gust. And then a sigh. 

In less than a second, you find your jaw being gripped with one large hand and your head is pushed to the side just as his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, the rough hairs of his beard tickling your skin. The growl that escapes him pulls a gasp out of you and then he’s gone. 

With the speed at which the door flies open and closes, you barely feel the sharp sting of the cold. Or maybe you do feel the full brunt of it, but it’s overshadowed by the envigorating rush that came from that big man inhaling your scent before he left. 

You wonder if he liked what he smelt. 

Before, it felt like time was passing at a snail’s pace, but now it’s like time isn’t passing at all — you’re stuck in some sort of pathetic limbo where you spend every meaningless second switching tasks. From brushing the floor to rearranging the books on the shelves in the corner to dusting every surface to lying in bed and so on and so forth. It feels somewhat akin to engraving tallies into the walls with a paperclip.

Alone, truly alone, you can do nothing but focus on the feeling of ice creeping into your bloodstream. The heaters are on and you can very easily set the wood burning in the fireplace if need be since he taught you. But you don’t want to; you’re lazy. That’s the excuse you’d tell Toji if he asks, biting down the real reason and never spitting it out.

The shivers wracking your body is what you deserve for letting that man go to get food on your behalf. The quivering of your lips is due to the fact that you could have — should have— gone with him, should have bundled him up in something thicker and warmer, and yourself maybe, so you two could trek together to the town. At least, if one of you were to be injured, there’s someone there to pick you back up. 

Who will pick him up?

Gnawing on a nail, your eyes dart, for the millionth time, outside the window, fuzzy socks rubbing against each other as you shuffle on the floor. Night is falling and he still isn’t here. You’re beyond worried. 

How long does it take to hike down and up anyways? It took about an hour by car, so surely it wouldn’t take longer than a day at the very most, right?

But spending even just an hour in this snow, wearing just a coat, would be fatal for anyone, wolf hybrid or not, right? And he’s attempting to bring up groceries? 

Oh, God. 

You’ve allowed that man to walk right into his death. No, you’ve sent him off to die. You’re a killer. Or maybe he’s not coming back. Maybe this was just a ploy to leave without an awkward goodbye. He got what he wanted — roof over his head, a bed, food, warm shower and even a stupid girl to tease. Now that he’s exhausted the supplies, maybe he’s off to try his luck at another cabin. 

Is this what it was like with your grandmother? 

Did she make sure to stock up as much as possible for the winter to ensure he’d stay the entire time so she can have someone to look after her?

Is that what you’re going to turn into?

A food bank?

You shouldn’t have come up here. You should have stayed in the loud, stifling city in your miserable office job, with your stuffy pantsuits and your overbearing boss. You should have accepted your family’s manufactured smiles and cold hugs. You should never, ever have dared to want more. There is nothing in your entire life you have done, or could have ever done, to deserve more. 

A knock comes on the door. 

You jerk up. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders. Stumbling to a stand, you wipe your hands down your front, trying to steady them, and without waiting for a second knock, you twist the knob that had just been above your head and you flung it open. 

“Could hear ya sniffling from miles. You good?”

In front of you is a very hairy man, broad shouldered, coat darkening with the dampness that weighs him down and flakes of snow litter his beard like an upside down tree. He’s scary, hulking and tense, like a wound up toy, ready to explode at any given moment. An ear twitches when you sniffle, just as he said. This man could kill you. He’s strong enough to have been carrying two big, heavy bags, one in each hand, up the mountain. And he knows the exact layout of the cabin, knows there are no hiding spots, no locks in the basement, knows where the axe is, and that the stoker is leaning against the fireplace, too far to get to in time from where you’re standing.

You jump onto him. “Oh my god! I thought you died. Or that you left me!”

He grunts with the force of your body meeting his, but he doesn’t stumble. Bearing the burden of the bags of groceries and your entire weight as you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, he walks in with ease, kicking the door shut. He saunters over to the kitchen where he deposits the bags on the counter and leaves just enough room to sit you down, untangling your awkward limbs from his torso. 

“Ya think too much.”

He pats the wetness, that had transferred from his clothes onto you, down with a tea towel. Your shaky hands reach up, threading your fingers through his beard and his hair, and you brush the snow away. He’s still here. And he’s warm. 

“I was so worried something happened to you, Toji,” you whisper. 

Stilling, his green eyes flick up to yours, searching, and when he finds the tears threatening to fall he sighs, and presses his forehead against yours, letting you feel the firmness of his presence. He smells like burnt cedar, the musk of the earth, and the saltiness of sea air. With a gravelly voice, he reassures you, “I’m here. Got enough food to last us another week, and by then the snow will stop falling. We’ll be fine”

Your ‘thank you’ stays in your throat when he pulls away and falls on a chair by the dinner table with a grunt so deep and loud you’re snapped back into action — he must be starving and exhausted. Toji did his part and now you must do yours. 

Sneaking glances at him, you work as fast as you can, cutting this and boiling that. You know as soon as the onions and garlic hit the pan with the sizzle his nose will start twitching. If it smells delicious to you, you wonder how it must smell to him. Maybe the anticipation of a warm meal was what pulled him home. 

You won’t disappoint. 

Every second or so, your eyes drift to him, mostly to make sure he’s still breathing, but also because you can’t help it. He’s snoozing, you surmise, when his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm and his eyes are closed. You move around as quietly as you can. 

Plated, you set the steaming soup, fried meat and loaf of bread he had brought down on the table. It’s not the most appealing of all appearances but you know the recipes like the back of your hand so you know he’ll love every thing. Or at least, you hope he will. 

Checking all the necessary silverware are on the table, you try to gently coax him awake with a call of his name. He doesn’t answer. You look up with a sigh, ready to jostle him from whatever dream is so beautiful he’s in deep sleep, only to find those frustratingly alluring eyes already on you. 

“Smells delicious,” he says, making no effort to gesture to the food. 

You gulp and with a weak smile, you sit down and allow him to serve you. “So, how was it? Is the situation bad?”

Toji rolls a shoulder back. He answers, “Snow’s definitely too thick for a car, but the town hasn’t been too badly affected. No one can get in or out but they’re all making do.”

“And you? Was it a difficult journey?”

There’s a pause as he swallows the spoonful he’s shovelled in his mouth and then he’s shrugging, remarking, “Ya think so little of me? Told you, I’m a wolf hybrid. Wasn’t easy but was hardly difficult, ma.”

Warmth pools in your stomach. 

“Good.” You sip some water. “But you definitely need to get some rest. That’s a non-negotiable, I’m afraid. No manual labour of any kind tomorrow. I’ll handle everything. So, just let me know what I can do for you. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

He snorts. “Yeah? Y’r gonna take care of me?”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

His fork and spoon clatter on his frighteningly empty plate and when you meet his gaze once more, you’re knocked back by the sheer challenge in them. There’s a glint, like light off a knife’s edge, and it slices from your heart down your body, leaving you open and electrified. 

“Careful, little girl,” he taunts, jaw snapping with a laugh, “when I take you up on that, y’r gonna be whining for days about how sore you are.”

There’s no way you’re going to argue with him, not when he sounds so certain, like you’re missing out on some inside joke. So you finish up dinner, with him having three servings, and after, with the dishes in need of cleaning up, you practically have to shove him in his room when he insisted he’s fine enough to stay up. 

He rolls his eyes and lets you slam the door shut in his face.

As you tidy up in the kitchen, you’re pleased to find the fridge full. There’s a lot of fruit and vegetables and all the possibilities are getting you giddy. You suppose you were a little afraid Toji, being a man, would only buy junk and red meat, but he hadn’t. In fact, he had gotten things beyond food, he had bought toiletries and sanitary products for you. Sure it was a little presumptive, maybe you didn’t have periods, maybe you’re on birth control, maybe you’ve just had it and won’t have to worry until after the snow calms enough for you to deal with your personal bodily functions. 

But, you find the act endearing, if the smile creeping on your face is anything to go by. 

Eventually, you retire to bed, feeling much lighter. There’s lots of food and he came back. He hadn’t left. He had gone through so much trouble — life-risking trouble — that it must mean something, right? 

You fall asleep very quickly. 

Sometime around two in the morning, however, you’re awoken by some dull noise outside. Blinking through the sleep in your eyes, you pad out of your room and into the living room, where the fireplace is burning and casting dancing shadows over your roommate’s body. 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he grouses. “Go back to sleep.”

Finding the spark to laugh, you muse, “I think that’s my line, no?”

He looks wide awake sitting in his usual spot, on the floor with an arm on the sofa and a leg bent. Shirtless, the fire makes him look like he’s glowing, and you’re mesmerised. Clearing your throat, you retrieve two bottles of beer he had cheekily gotten, and sit criss-crossed by him. He takes the beer with a grunt of gratitude.

There’s something different in the air; silence isn’t enough tonight. All the things that have so far been left unspoken, locked away, are climbing over, ready to be shared — at least from your side. You may never know what he’s truly thinking.

Brows furrowed, you begin, “Did you ever wonder how I ended up here? Well, there’s not really a special or interesting story — I just got tired and bored of the same old thing. It felt like my life was missing substance, y’know?”

Grunt. 

“I hated the city,” you confess. “It’s awful there. Everyone treats you like their enemy even as you’re just walking down the street. No one ever smiles or even looks at each other.”

Huff.

“It’s a good thing I was a workaholic and lived frugally; I can afford to camp out here until…well, till forever, I guess. It’s also great luck that you came by ‘cause I can’t fix a boiler or anything of the sort, so I would have likely died by now.”

For a second you think he’s dozed off, as he should have been doing after dinner considering the strenuous journey he underwent to get some food, but one glance to the side up has you gulping when you find his eyes on you once more, like they never left, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather look at. What a dangerous thought. 

The eye contact has you, or him, or both of you, drawing closer, gazes flickering down and then up and back down again. With the warm glow of the fire blanketing you in the night, you feel so safe and secure; it’s you and him in this cabin and no one else matters. No one else has a say, can interrupt, can ruin this. 

Whatever this is. 

The arm he has behind you shifts and then you feel fingers skimming a lock of hair, following it down from the temple of your head, curving around the shell of your ear, and into the slope of your neck, brushing your hair back and exposing  skin to the sizzling air. 

You shiver.

“I’ve always been the kind of girl who stayed in one place. I like the security, the familiarity. But recently things have started feeling tough, like I’m stuck in quicksand, as dramatic as it is to say.”

Your voice is weak and low; you never knew you could sound like that. 

When you were brushing the snow out of his beard, you weren’t surprised to find it rough, you often catch him scratching there so you know it’s uncomfortable for him too, and yet, you find a bubbling desire within you to feel it on your skin, the way you had briefly felt it on your neck and in your hands. How would it feel in other places? 

“I just needed to get out, y’know?” You’re leaning impossibly close — close enough to see the question in his eyes. “Do something new, something exciting, something…” 

“Wild?”

Toji’s eyes flashes and at your dazed nod, he dives forward, swallowing your gasp in his rough, unforgiving mouth. He shoves his tongue in, licking and tasting, and that arm that laid at the back of your head curls around it, pulling you close by your neck. You’re left with no choice but to cling to him and try to keep up with his merciless pace. 

He tastes like alcohol with something deeper running, like an undercurrent, a ferocity only a beast could achieve. You feel intoxicated. Carrying you onto his lap, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of something hard jutting up into your core. A growl pierces your ears when you don’t hesitate to grind down onto that hard length. He’s leaking heat hotter than the fireplace, he’s hard and firm everywhere your hands can reach, and his clutch is frightening, gripping you like you could never escape even if you fought against him. 

You’ve never been wetter. 

“I can smell ya,” he rasps. “Been smelling this sweetness every day. You taste as good as you look or what?”

Coarse and prickly, this beard is rubbing deliciously against your skin, reminding you from all angles that he’s kissing you, that he wants you just as bad as you want him, and he can’t get enough. 

Burying your fingers in his thick hair, you moan when he licks a stripe up your neck, sniffing at your pulse point. “Find out for yourself.”

His laugh is sudden and gravelly and it’s the last thing you think about before you’re being thrown on your back, legs spreading to accommodate his girth as he kneels above you, shirt going up and over before he throws it somewhere. With the fireplace highlighting the sharp contours of his face and his rippled chest, his beastly grin spikes your pulse and then he’s pinning you down with his body. 

“I don’t think you understand the position y’r in, little girl,” he taunts. 

Using his claws, he rips up your top, exposing your tits to the air for just a second before he swallows one in his mouth, flicking a nipple with his tongue, all while he’s rolling his hips into yours creating a delicious friction that has your back arching and your jaw dropping. 

“Been dreaming about these pretty tits.” He pinches the other, grinding his cock especially hard against your clit. The revelation falls on deaf ears when he smacks one. “Fuuuuck, look at the way they bounce.”

You pull at his hair and he lets you drag him back up to your lips, your nipples sore and tickled by the hairs on his chest whilst he rises up your body. “Kiss me.”

And he does, swallowing your moans he continues squeezing and groping your tits, but he leaves your lips swollen quickly after as he begins his descent, peppering a trail of kisses. 

Pressing a nose right up at the apex of your thighs, he takes a looooong inhale, a satisfied growl echoing in the darkness. Your face heats up, legs threatening to close around his head but his big paws holds them open, nails digging with the promise of pain if you dare shut them away from him. 

“You been flaunting a scent that’s got my mouth watering more than any of your baked goods,” he huffs, eyes narrowing at the wet spot leaking through. He thumbs at it, pressing down as if he could force everything you’ve got to give out. “’S not fair, ma. Waited so long for you to give in to me, heh, gonna make you regret that.”

“Toji!” 

He rips up your pyjama bottoms too and hooks his fingers into the gusset of your panties before those are flying away, shredded beyond hope, and cool air grazes your sloppy slit. 

Not a single second is wasted before he digs in, lapping up your pussy with a fearsome snarl. The tip of his long, slobbery tongue circles your pulsing clit, tweaking it when you whine. “Fuck, you taste this good and ya been holding out on me? Selfish little cunt, hmm?”

Hands flying up to grip his hair for purchase, you fall victim to his incessant licking and sucking and slurping as he flattens your thighs open, the scraggly hairs of his beard tickling your sensitive skin which grows clammier and clammier with the heat of his mouth, his body, and the fireplace. 

When he curls two thick fingers in, stretching your walls further than you could with your own, your eyes fly open. “No! Ngh, too much.”

Still sucking at your clit, he shoves those fingers in and out, dragging them on his way to really take in the squishiness of your insides, forcing out those loud squelches. You tug at his scalp and he lifts up just a little to snap his maw, missing your clit by a hair’s breadth. 

“Don’t get in the way of my meal, ‘cause this?” He slaps your pussy, juices splashing and he barks a mean laugh. “This is mine now.”

Your orgasm washes over you when his lips sucks your clit with a tongue flicking the little button at the exact same time those long digits curls up and lays successive presses against that smooth part inside of you. 

Toji’s entire mouth engulfs your pussy, sharp teeth grazing your skin whilst he suckles on your sweet essence, drinking like a man lost in a desert, his personal oasis. “Ah, y’r no good for me, ma. Gonna get me addicted on this sloppy fucking cunt.”

Panting desperately, you writhe on the floor, feverish and crazed. He doesn’t give you a break, doesn’t let you catch your breath, before he shoves his pants down and lets his cock spring out. 

Just the like rest of him, his cock is huge — long, thick, and throbbing with veins running up the length, carving a path up to his leaking cockhead which flushes a sinful dark red, promising a painful stretch. At the base, there’s coarse hair, wild and untamed like any other part of his body, and oh, God, those balls, they hang heavy, too heavy. 

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and chuckles before he orders simply, “Suck.”

As if entranced, you scramble onto all fours, crawling forward so you can nudge his length with your cheek, his slit leaving a wet trail. He smells like a beast of the earth and it has your pussy drooling, a fat droplet sliding down your thigh and you shut your legs tight in a pathetic attempt to quell that ache. After all, you are much too preoccupied with this monstrous thing in front of you. 

You peer up at him and stick your tongue out, licking from the very base, catching a little bit of his ball sac, and tilting back to reach his tip where you skim the underside. A large hand slides into your hair softly before it bundles up your hair in its angry grip pulling your head back into an uncomfortable angle so you can face his savage scowl. 

“I know y’r not deaf. Fuck did I say? Huh?” He pushes your face into his balls, smothering you. “Be a good girl and suck, yeah?”

So you do. 

Suckling on his balls, much like how he did with your tits, you try to take as much of him as you can before you can’t bear it any longer and you wrap your lips around his cock head, savouring the salty drops that coat your tongue. Everything about him is strong, from his grip to his scent and especially his taste. It’s as if he was built to dominate, to fill up every senses until you can think of and feel nothing but him.

You gag, overwhelmed by the intrusion. 

He tuts, thoroughly scolding when he drawls, “If ya can’t take me properly with y’r mouth, then there’s no way you can take me with y’r pussy. Wanna prove me wrong, kid?”

You push past the painful stretch of your jaw, gliding as much as of his length into your throat as you can, thumb being pinched by your fist. Not even halfway down, you go back up again, not letting go of his tip before you slide back down, and you repeat that motion, taking more and more of him as you go. 

When you hollow your cheeks to suck him in deeper, you see him throw his head back, his abs tensing and becoming prominent, you scrape your nails down that trail of hair before it finds his balls, massaging in the way you know not even he could resist. 

“Fuck. Tryna -ha- make me cum so soon? Naughty,” he says. 

In a flash, you’re being pulled off his cock and pushed back onto the rug once more. Your ankles are clasped in one of his hand, extending your legs high up in the air. “W-what are you doing?”

Cracking his neck slowly, the flames of the fireplace still as virile as ever, Toji looks downright sadistic with the way he grins at you.

“Just enjoying my meal to the fullest.” He pushes his cock through your thighs, right on top of your slit, lathering the underside with your overflowing juices. He groans, sharp teeth catching on his bottom lip. “We’re both gonna cum like this and then I’m putting you to bed.”

Slightly distracted by the way his cock is catching on your clit with every slide back and forth, you ask with a frown, “But why can’t you just fuck me now?”

He laughs. He fucking laughs. And then he’s bending your legs back towards your chest as he leans in close, placing your calves on his shoulders so you can see his face far too clearly. Rubbing the bristles on his jaw on your skin, he lays a soft kiss on your ankle before he scrapes the bone with a canine. 

“Because I fuck rough, city girl. Y’r gonna be bruised, sore and all chewed up and you can’t complain if you hopped on my dick willingly, no?” You can’t answer. “Yeah, glad we agree. So don’t open that pretty mouth of y’rs unless it’s to moan my name, and keep y’r legs tight for me; no one wants to fuck something loose and limp.”

“Hurry up and get it over with!”

Doing just that, he thrusts like a madman, using you like a rag doll to chase his pleasure. You’re being jostled on the floor, the rug burning your skin and your hair so close to being singed by the embers of that fire he’s been tending to, setting alight and snuffing like clockwork every day.

His balls slap against your ass, as if pounding you too. 

It’s all so dirty, so obscene, so wet any rational thought you should have been having about letting someone who’s practically a stranger fuck your thighs like you’re nothing but a slippery hole fly out the window. 

The slight sheen of sweat on his chest is making you restless — you can’t focus on one thing, not the way he’s holding your legs tight, hugging them to his torso like you might run away, the way the friction of his cock rubbing against your clit is bringing you closer to orgasm, and not how your wetness is making embarrassing squelches that you know his hybrid ears can hear in even greater clarity than you can.

“Oh! T-toji! I think I’m -ngh- gonna -ha- cum.”

He bites down hard on your calf just as his hips stutter and his scalding spurts splash onto your chest, even reaching your chin and cheeks. A drop falls into your mouth which is stuck in an O-shape as you orgasm at the same time, digging your nails into the carpet and thrashing your head around as the euphoric feeling wash over you from inside and out. 

Panting, you manage to breathe out, “Y-you made me all sticky.”

“Not fucking sorry.” Toji licks the red mark on your leg away and presses a kiss right in the centre of the two half moon crescents made by his teeth marks. Your heart beats faster. When his green eyes rove over your body, you both see and feel the deep rumble of satisfaction bubbling from his chest. He runs two fingers down your chest and your stomach, collecting his cum before he smears it on your lips. “Not fucking sorry at all.”

Your eyes threaten to shut and he grunts, realising he must have exhausted you despite the fact that it was he who pushed themselves through the elements for hours and not you.

“Alright, up and at ‘em. Let’s get ya cleaned up, kid.”

Hauling you onto your feet, the rest of the night goes by in a blur — you’re taken to the bathroom and wiped down by a wet cloth, redressed in new pyjamas, and tucked in all nice and warm in your own bed. He leaves. Even half-asleep, you find that act ever so slightly disheartening. 

It feels like you’ve been used, like the act wasn’t as intimate as you might have thought. It leaves you biting your nail and groaning inwardly. Of course he didn’t think much about it. The man looks older than you, he’s probably fucked the thighs of many girls and you’re no one special, right?

Maybe the best thing to do is to take a page out of his book and just be casual, so at least you won’t humiliate yourself by asking something absolutely ridiculous like ‘what are we?’

God, the thought makes you grimace. 

You make a promise to yourself to swear off Toji until the snow thaws enough to get down and up this cursed mountain. The mental fortitude you’ve erected seems so solid, so reliable and firm, you actually believe you’ll have a more than easy time keeping your hands, and your heart, to yourself.

That is until he returns smelling of soap and he slides right in behind you, tucking an arm under your back and pulling you into place with your head resting on his hairy chest.

“Had to cut my shower short ‘cause you’re gnawing y’r fucking fingernail off. Cut it out, will ya?”

Your bedmate swats at your hand, pulling it away from your anxious mouth and playfully bites your wrist. That hand stays in his grip. Heart ceasing its painful clenching, you make yourself comfortable in his embrace, enjoying the heat enveloping you, hotter than any fire.

Clearing your throat, you mutter, “Thanks for today, Toji. Really. I couldn’t have ever done that without you.”

He huffs a laugh, thoroughly amused.

“Wouldn’t hafta if I wasn’t eating up all y’r food.” His voice booms under your cheek, the vibrations lulling you to sleep. You’ve only just noticed how nice he sounds, it’s a captivating timbre, rough and scratchy like bark but comforting and unyielding in a way you’ve never known anyone to sound. “Ya would’ve been fine without me, anyways. Don’t sell y’rself short.”

“I think it’s you who’s selling yourself short.”

Those are the last words exchanged between you before you two fall asleep.

—————————

“Fuck you up to?” Toji grouses. 

His voice is laced with sleep and he’s rubbing his eyes, all bleary and confused. He has every right to be considering you’re under the covers, mouthing at his dick and stroking the morning wood that woke up before him. The duvet gets pulled up, revealing your less than innocent smile. 

Kissing his slit, which prompts a heavy hand to lay on your head, you ask, “Waking you up?”

An arm folds under his head, getting him into a great angle to see you much more clearly. His brow rises up, challenging, and he teases, “Yeah? Well, I’m up, ma, so what now?”

The radiators have yet to be turned on this morning so the air is chilly in your room, but still you push those covers back, showing him how you’re completely bare in the bottom, wearing only your shirt to bed. His spare hand falls on your plump thigh, squeezing and kneading. 

“Last night,” you begin, raising your hip so you can seat yourself down on his hard length, “you told me you’d only fuck me if I hopped on your dick willingly. So here I am.”

You’re rubbing your already soaked pussy up and down on his cock, coating him with your wetness just as he did last night. You feel every delectable ridge catching your clit and you grind down on him with shameless abandon. How could you ever possibly feel shame when it feels so good and he’s not even inside you yet? When he’s looking at you like that? Like you’re the tastiest prey who’s ever walked into his trap?

He pushes a thumb into your mouth, watching your lips wrap around it like you did the night before and this morning, before he drops his hand to the apex of your thighs, massaging tight circles into that bundle of nerves, forcing breathless moans out of you. “Ya gonna ride me, doll? Gonna show me just how willing you are?”

“Uhuh.” Grinning, you let him pull the shirt up and over your head, nipples pebbling immediately. He flicks one, palming the fatty globe to soothe the dull pain.

Steadying yourself with your hands on his abs, you lean forward and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be a peck, just a polite, cursory smooch but then he stops groping your tit to use that hand to keep your faced pressed to his. Toji deepens the kiss, shoving his tongue inside and exploring your mouth. He’s stealing air from you and the longer he keeps you submerged, the more you moan. 

In the haze of the heat he’s growling into you, you fail to realise he’s let go of your head and is now slotting his cock into your pussy. 

“W-wait, Toji!”

The stretch is overwhelming; you hadn’t prepped yourself enough but neither of you seem to care. It’s hard to when his cock head is already pushing through that tight ring of muscle and is worming its way deeper inside you. 

He hisses. “So fucking tight! Fuck, gotta relax, ma.”

“I’m -ngh- trying!”

Down and down, your cunt swallows as much of him as it can. You’ve pushed yourself upright, using gravity to aid the descent. Nothing else in the room has his attention. Nothing could ever take his attention. “Oh fuck, would you look at that? Greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she? Dirty girl heh.”

You bottom out, lips tickled by the hairs at his base. 

“You’re so big, Toji.”

Both of his arms reach for you, gripping your ass and lifting you up just a little only to let go and let you drop down. You screech. He’s reaching every part of you inside, and when you look down, you’re so certain you can see the outline of him pushing through your stomach. You clench.

“Ah, fuck! Don’t do that,” he scolds you. “Start moving before I get bored.”

The threat makes you frown but you do as he says anyways. Mustering all the strength you have, you start riding him, rising higher and higher each time until you get comfortable with his size. You can’t imagine any amount of prep would ever get you to take him with ease, but the overflowing juices coming from you is certainly helping; it leaves his hairs dewy. 

Years past, or so it feels, as you grind and slide down on his length, and he doesn’t seem the least bit affected. That only fuels you harder. With a vendetta, you get up on your knees, keeping just his tip in, before you slam down. 

You both moan. 

“Fuck!”

His hands dig into your slippery flesh, careful of his sharp claws, but threatening to leave bruises just as he promised. The way he’s poking that sensitive spot inside you has you whimpering with every grind at just the right angle. You can’t imagine ever wanting to stop. Squelches after squelches echo in the room but there’s no shame you can muster, not when he feels so incredible.

The pain is quickly spiralling into pleasure and every part of him is pushing you to the edge— his strength, his length and girth, his low groans and hisses, the hairs that tickle your skin, and those eyes, scouring your features and not missing a single thing. 

Embarrassing sloshes and splats! are reverberating against the walls, just as the creaking of the bed frame, and the slapping of skin reach your ears. You’ve never heard yourself sound so dirty, so reckless, so downright pornographic. All of it is pulling you under even as the ache in your thighs from the overuse of them is making your rhythm irregular and jerky.

“Gorgeous -ha- gorgeous girl,” he says through gritted teeth.

His point is emphasised by a slap against your ass cheek, the sting makes you fall over, back onto his chest which is sticky with both of your sweat mixing and mingling. The hairs on his chest brush against your nipples, still sensitive from his rough sucking and biting last night, and you whimper. 

Growling in your ear, he plants his feet onto the bed, and oh god, he’s grabbing your ass in both hands and you know without even having to look at him that he’s grown tired of your amateurish performance; Toji is taking matters into his own hand. 

“Guess I still gotta do the -hah fuck- work ‘round here. Always such a —ngh— princess. Hold on tight, ma, ’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” His laugh rumbles under your body and an eye roll is all you can manage before you’re being pummelled into from underneath, jostling you in all sorts of directions. 

Plunging his cock at an incredible speed, you feel him in your stomach, in your lungs, God it’s like he’s in your head, filling every fold and crevice with his beastly intensity. “Toji! No! Ngh, s-stop! I can’t, fuck it’s so good! Yes! Oh! Oh! Nooooooooo.”

“No, yes, no? Make up your mind, ma. Use that city girl head for me,” he growls out, punctuating his mean question with a cruel laugh. 

Bundling your hair into a careless fist, he yanks you back from his chest, forcing you to confront him. He’s not flushed, his face isn’t crumpled in desperation, he isn’t even out of breath. In fact, there would be no sign he’s enjoying this —you, being inside you, holding you — except for the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, drawing your attention to the way those jade beads are flickering between your eyes and your swollen lips. 

“Kiss?” You ask, breathlessly. 

Toji furrows his brows, something flashing in his gaze, something that resembles confusion, conflict, or hesitation. It’s so quick you wonder if you imagined it but there’s no time to ponder longer because he continues his incessant assault on your poor pussy, kissing your cervix with every thrust, practically rummaging your insides with the way he’s using you like a toy once again. 

It’s filthy, it’s carnal, animalistic and oh so good.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips, pearly white row of knives for teeth on perfect display. “Give me a big wet kiss, baby. Make it worth my -hngh fuck!- t-time.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to stretch forward, he slams his face to yours, smacking his plump lips, gobbling you up despite your moans of surprise. He shoves his tongue in with as much ferocity as he’s thrusting his cock inside your poor battered pussy. That tongue licks and explores like he can’t get enough, like he wants to memorise every curve and edge.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

A huge hand lays consecutive slaps against your ass again, the flesh rippling and burning. He times it with every thrust, heavy balls smacking your skin too. It’s all too much too soon and you feel an orgasm bubbling from your throat and your cunt. 

“W-what is that? Oh my god!” Something thick is attempting to enter your sloppy pussy, round and threatening. You squeal when it pushes in after a particularly merciless thrust and grind from Toji. The extra stretch brings about a sharp pain. You tear up. 

A hand that’s clutching an ass cheek ventures deeper, trailing a finger to a hole you’ve never touched. Smothered in his chest, the onslaught of stimulation from all angles is killing you. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe, no one to turn to for help from the man making good on his promise to leave you bruised, sore, and all chewed up. 

“’s my knot, babygirl. Fuck, you really don’t know shit about hybrids, huh? Well, y’r gonna be educated soon.”

The dark, sadistic tone of his is making you dizzy. In a panic, you hastily say, “N-no! I can’t. Really, Toji! I r-really can’t. Pleaseeee.”

With your hair still in his grasp, your head’s tilted back once again, but this time to bare your slender neck. In one fell swoop, that bulge gets shoved inside your cunt, plugging you up, and his maw clamps down on your neck, so close to puncturing you with his savage teeth.

“Oh! I’m gonna cuummmm! Toji! T-Toji! Stop!” Your jaw drops, eyes rolling back, and your nails dig into his meaty pecs for purchase. It’s like electricity is wracking your body, sizzling every hair strand, tickling your nipples from inside. Grinding against his pelvis, your oversensitive clit is caught in his hairs, creating a remarkable friction you can’t escape. “Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck!”

Broken chuckles emerge from his sinful mouth, “Go on, ma. Cum on my cock, milk me, just like that, oh shit, such a good girl, fuck!”

His brutal pace splutters as he follows suit, balls clenching whilst your walls attempt to push out the invasion of his cock and his knot. A crazed laugh echoes right by your ear, you don’t know what’s so funny but stuttered moans are the only sounds you can make as you chase your high. 

“Ah, fuck, y’r so fucking tight. Practically -ha- choking me heh.”

You feel hot cum paint your insides, drizzling down your walls with nowhere to go. He’s thoroughly filled you and when you attempt to lift your hips to get up, you realise, he’s not letting you go any time soon. 

“Nice try, ma. Unfortunately for you, y’r stuck with me for about twenty minutes or so till it goes down. Probably should’ve bought condoms heh.”

“You should have given me a warning, Toji,” you mumble, pouting. 

Goosebumps litter your arms; the chill of the morning air is settling reminding you just how bare you really are. Thankfully you don’t have to suffer for too long because he’s shuffling so he can throw the covers over the both of you. With his natural body heat, you’re more than warm and cozy, especially as his burning cock is still inside you. 

He licks a dried trail of tears on your cheek. “Sorry. Thought you knew.”

“Well, I didn’t. This is my first time with a hybrid.”

Grunt. 

A beat or two passes, a comfortable silence humming between you. He’s so big and meaty it feels like you’re going to melt into him. Now that you’re not so distracted by cock and cum, and the morning light is shining through the curtains, you can see his scars much more clearly. He’s littered in them, some like slashes and others just scarred-over holes.

You have so many questions, none of them leave the tip of your tongue. 

“Ask.”

You pause. “Can I?”

Huff. 

“Okay,” you trail off. “Why do you have so many scars?”

Tickling your spine with his callouses fingers, he skims your back absentmindedly. You lay your chin on his chest, watching him look at somewhere in the corner of the room, clearly falling fast in an endless hole of memories. This is a rare opportunity to more about the enigmatic wolf-man who showed up at your doorstep in the middle of a snow-storm, claiming to have known your late grandmother. 

More silence fills the air. His fingers have stopped.

You nuzzle his jaw with your nose, burying it in his beard. It seems to snap him out of his daze. He grunts once more, licking your cheek, not to taste the salt on your skin, but as if to say ‘thanks’. 

“Been on my own for a while. For as long as I can remember, actually. It’s…tough out there. Not everyone is as nice as you and your gran.”

Carefully, you hazard a guess. “Were these from people? Hybrids or normies?”

He gropes your ass like a stress ball. 

“Both.”

“I mean, I’ve heard stories of the kind of abuse and discrimination hybrids face from normies, it’s quite prevalent in the city despite recent equality laws but why would your own kid hurt you? Aren’t you all in the same boat? Isn’t there some kind of…camaraderie? Sorry, is that insulting to assume?”

Spanking your ass, he huffs a laugh. “You’re adorable. No, don’t look at me like that, kid. It’s cute of you to think that’s how it works.”

“It isn’t?”

You don’t take offence to his patronising tone; you had expected to be wrong about aspects of hybrid life. Normal, average humans outnumber hybrids at a ratio of four to one. Some hybrids are lucky enough to be passing, kinda like Toji, but others carry visible signs of their anthropomorphic genes. The latter are rarely treated well despite the fact that they’ve existed just as long as normies have. They used to live in their own continents, building large civilisations far more expansive than humans have achieved at that time. 

But war is a cruel mistress.

For many reasons, humans and hybrids stayed away from each other. It was only relatively recently they’ve begin co-existing, even inter-mixing. The change has been hard for many people. Perhaps not most of society, but enough to make the idea of living as a hybrid make you grimace. 

“Nah,” he says, almost finishing his reply there until he sees your inquisitive eyes and he continues, “there’s lots of different kinds of hybrids. We don’t all like each other. And not all of us running the same race. There’s a lot of competition, suspicion and hatred. ’s always been the case.”

Nodding, you prod further. “And your scars? Did they come from bar brawls or something?”

“Some, yeah. Others from professional fights.”

You perk up. 

“Professional fights?”

In a flash, the cover is falling onto the floor and you’re upright once more. Toji’s pushed the both of you up and off the bed, holding you in his arms with his softening cock slipping out of your pussy. You scramble to gain better grip of him.

“Oh my god! Give a girl a little warning. God, Toji! It’s cold.”

He licks your ear. 

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. With ease, he carries you out of your room and into the bathroom. “Let’s wash up and start the day. ‘m starved.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him have this one chance at evading your question; you’re just pleased to have learnt a little more about him. It feels like he’s letting you in, presenting himself openly just for you. For a wild man like him, whose solitary despite his nature, this is the greatest gift he could give you.

Toji’s a thorough washer — he shampoos your hair better than you ever have and not a single crook or cranny gets overlooked. But as soon as you get clean, the so-called day doesn’t get started anytime soon when he falls to his knees and shoves his face into the apex of your thighs, making a loud sniifffff before he growls and laps up the mixed juices of his and your cum. 

In next three days that pass, you notice the dynamic between you shifts. 

For one, he no longer sleeps in his own room but rather in yours. He follows suit after dinner and removes his shirt, freshly showered and completely bare, and hands it to you wordlessly. You wear his shirt, and only his shirt, to bed. 

Lunch is no longer eaten separately. He joins you wherever you are, whether that’s in your room, all warm and cozy under a mountain of blankets, or on the sofa, also all warm and cozy under a mountain of blankets. You watch movies on your laptop and he never argues with your choices. Sometimes he just eats in silence, right beside you, as you read a book or stare out the window. 

Toji’s much more touchy now. Before, he was sneaking in grazes and quick gropes, now he’s lost all reservation and politeness. When you’re cooking, stirring something as you hum to music, he creeps up behind you, pinning your body to the counter with his hips and he wraps an arm around your torso to weigh a breast in his palm, squeezing and massaging for his own pleasure. 

He’ll tweak a nipple, pushing your hair back to skim his nose against the length of your neck, inhaling deeply and stopping to mouth wet kisses on that bruising around the teeth marks he’s left there.  Most times he’ll let you be after he’s had a fill of your softness, but sometimes he kneels behind you and tears apart your pants with a resounding SSSSSNAP! Before he laps up your pussy from behind, food coming out just a little more cooked than you’d like, though he never seems to mind. 

And it must be worth mentioning that the sex is constant. 

Every night and every morning. It isn’t a stretch to say that you eat, sleep and breathe sex with Toji. Which you honestly can’t complain about. It’s always so rough and so good every time. 

However, his insatiable appetite is making it ever so slightly hard for you after — there’s a perpetual soreness in your joints and in your pussy, you find yourself looking behind you to make sure that when you bend down to pick up whatever it is you’ve dropped he won’t be there playing with your cunt with his fingers and/or mouth. 

His hearing is incredible. 

Sometimes you hide just to time how long it takes for him to find your hiding spot. Longest time was three minutes. The cabin isn’t the biggest in the world but there are plenty of places to hide, like closets, under the bed, behind sofas and doors. 

Still hard at work fixing bits and pieces around the cabin, Toji somehow always knows when you’re up to some mischief. Maybe it’s because your heart starts beating faster or because you let out some giggles, envisioning that glint in his eyes and in his teeth when he grins at your pathetic attempts to escape him. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because your panties get soaked with anticipation for his rough, calloused hands throwing you over his shoulder and onto a bed, his or yours he doesn’t care, and fucking you into a drooling mess. Sometimes he even gets so impatient, so riled up, he just takes you wherever you are, your face smothered in a pile of folded clothes or against the wall with your panties dangling from an ankle. 

Everything has been great. So great in a way you’ve never known greatness to manifest. It’s somewhat akin to, what you can only imagine to be, the completely liberating sensation of flapping your wings and cruising high up in the sky or running through a stream, chasing a fish with no end in sight. It’s the kind of greatness men strive for all their lives but never reach because it’s a greatness they were already born into and never realise. 

The routine, the mundane, the ordinariness. 

It’s all so great. 

At night, you trace nonsensical words and shapes into his skin, smiling at the soft snores that vibrate under your head. You’ve always thought living every day the same as the day before and the day before that as a labyrinth you’ve been sentenced to die in, a cage or a prison of your own making. But now, you can’t imagine ever wanting more. 

Of course, it hasn’t been perfect.  

You still find some moments a little too boring but those are usually when he’s busy fixing a wobbly chair or grouting the tiles in the bathroom. And you do crave the feeling of driving through a long, empty road, or eating fast food. Those moments, thankfully, are hastily washed away once you feel his calloused hands tethering you back to him.

One other problem you’re having is his beard. As attractive as it is, it’s scratching up your thighs a little too much. You’ve noticed the rash forming between your legs; he has a penchant for eating you out at the drop of a hat and he’s not gentlemanly about it. At. All. You don’t ever want him to stop and the threatening snarl he makes every time you attempt to push him away from your swollen and overstimulated pussy never fails to halt your movements. 

So there’s only one solution.

“Toji?” He lazily drags his gaze up your bare legs, stopping by the hard nipples poking through shirt, and then he meets your gaze with a brow raised. “Would you ever consider shaving your beard?”

The growl of ‘no’ comes before you could even finish the word ‘shaving’. His jaw clenches and a muscle ticks. 

“But I can shave it for you. Being a woman, it’s kinda part of my existence. I’ll do you up real nice.”

“Hell will sooner freeze over before I let anyone put something sharp against my neck again. Even if they’re you.”

You drop it for now. 

At night, after hours of mind-blowing sex, you lay all sweaty and sleepy on his chest once more with a heavy arm slung over your waist. You twist the hairs on his face, rolling a couple strands between your fingers. They’re quite long and thick. You wonder when the last time he had shaved was. 

“Please?”

“No.”

You sigh. 

The next morning, you’re in the bathroom, sitting on the bathtub and attempting to rub some soothing ointment meant for your face onto the irritated skin of your inner thighs. It’s getting worse and you’re at a loss. Making it hard to walk, you’re cursing every god out there for doing this to you. 

Is his aversion to sharp objects near his head because of some trauma or an animalistic instinct? It’s hard to tell with hybrids, as the internet forums you’ve explored lecture — hybrids are both governed by human complexity and base biological instincts. Studies that have been done on them over the year have put forth some credible results but people are quick to put a disclaimer that animals in captivity rarely behave the way they would in the wild.

You sigh again.

Maybe you’ll have to tell him to stop eating you out. You cringe. That won’t go down well, pun intended, and you don’t want him to. Frowning, you carefully massage in the ointment, hissing at particularly sensitive spots. 

“Fine. You can shave it off,” he grumbles. 

You hadn’t even realised he was standing in the doorway, watching, and scratching his beard like he’s noticing, really noticing, the hairs on his face. One glance at the mirror across the room and he’s furrowing his brows, perhaps baffled at the man staring back at him. 

His tone is hostile, but his acquiescence makes you smile. 

About ten minutes later, you’ve sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, right where you were before, and you’ve assembled everything you need: razors, scissors, a comb, shaving cream, towels, and a tub of aloe vera to soothe any razor burns. Everything but the aloe vera is pretty pink, and you can’t help but giggle a little as you take a step back to admire this big, burly man surrounded by utterly feminine products. 

“Alright, I’ll start by trimming it, okay? I don’t want to come at it straight away and spook you, so let’s take it nice and slow.”

He huffs. “Don’t gotta talk to me like I’m a kid. Do what you gotta do.”

With the scissors and the comb, you cut away at his beard, snipping here and there and trying to get it all even. It’s not an easy job — he growls when you venture too low, past his jawline and closer to his Adam’s apple and when he makes that throaty sound, you’re met with images of him biting into your throat, the way a dog does when you step on its tail.

Terrible as it is to compare a biological human male like Toji to an animal, it’s a fair comparison considering his reliance on his animal instincts. It’s been abundantly clear in the way he uses his senses to gain his bearings, how he never expresses a desire beyond eating, sleeping and fucking. There’s no vanity coursing through his blood, he doesn’t stare at himself in reflections, doesn’t fix up his hair or put on clothes that fit or match, and even how he doesn’t ever say pretty words, only what he means, no more and no less. 

It’s nice. 

So used to the way people sugarcoated their complaints or hid ulterior motives in every sickly sweet words, adjusting to Toji’s matter-of-fact way of speaking had been somewhat difficult. 

But change is necessary. Just as the seasons change, so do animals, even humans. With how they adapt to the change in the wind, the drop in the temperature, the quake in the earth, you know without needing to ask questions or to have more time with him, the hybrid in front of you, part wolf and part man, has never had the luxury of being stagnant. 

It was clear when he showed up at your door with no bag, just the clothes on his back and the muddy, worn down boots on his feet. Even fully fed, lounging on the sofa by the fire with his feet and torso bare, you sense the tension freezing his body; he’s always ready to run. 

He snarls and flinches when he feels the cold blade of your scissors touch his skin. And then his hand grips your thigh, both in warning and to tether himself, perhaps to remind him you’re not a monster thirsting for blood, his blood, but rather just a woman. A woman he’s seen completely bare, a woman who’s crawled on all fours and nuzzled her face against the seam of his jeans when he returns from fixing a tile on the roof, and a woman who’s laid it all out for him, starting from what led you here and ending to where you want to be. 

Uncomfortable and on edge, you already know you’re not going to get very far with the way he’s being. He needs a distraction. 

You kiss him. He growls for a different reason this time. Fingers threading in your hair, he holds you down to him, tasting the sweetness you’re offering. He laps it up. “Toji, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Face burying into your neck, he takes a long inhale there. “I know.”

“I’m gonna get started on the shaving cream, okay?”

His grip on you tightens and you know he’s aware that razors are sharper than scissors, much like how his teeth are sharper than yours. You don’t want to know what events he’s lived through to be so hostile against the act of shaving but he isn’t an animal, not fully, anyways. 

He’s also a man. 

And men conquer. 

Even when they shouldn’t. 

You slide your panties down, dangling it in the air for a second, hesitating but you see the appraisal in his eyes, always so suspicious like he’s thinking of all the ways one could be killed with a scrap of lace. Dropping it on his face, you tell him, “I don’t see why only one of should be vulnerable here.”

Rumbling a pure sense of bliss, his eyes flutter shut and he sniffs at your panties. His hand flies up to your slit just as you’re smearing shaving cream all over his jaw, pulling the panties away from him for a second. 

“Seeing me all tense is getting you soaked?” His lip twitches. 

“Hey, now, let’s not even get started on that seeing as you’re pretty hard for someone suffering some internal battle.”

He gives you a rare grin. 

The rest of the torture goes on in relative peace — you shave him bit by bit, going slowly and keeping your touch gentle especially as you near the softness of his neck and when you go over it with the razor, he takes a deep inhale of your panties, trying to shake off that unnatural acceptance of something so dangerous, so compromising, so utterly unlike him. After every slither of skin you’ve rid of hair, you give him a kiss which he insists on deepening, shoving fingers into your cunt just to feel you clench down on him. 

Soon, he’s completely smooth and it’s only when you step back that you take it all in. He was handsome with the beard and he’s just as handsome now. He also looks more youthful, more boyish, and free. 

Toji comes to a stand, staring at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t say a word, neither do you. A barrage of thoughts pass through his mind, flashing and flickering. His fingers feel his skin, jerking at the complete bareness of it all. You can’t tell if he likes it, if he regrets his choice, and if he even recognises the man under all that wild and untamed hair. He had been running so long as a wolf, perhaps he’s forgotten how to walk as a man. 

That’s what you think, until he makes some gesture with his hand and he says, “Got no reason to push me away now, so spread those legs, ma. Let’s go for a test drive.”

You don’t leave that bathroom until hours later, sore, wet, sticky and thoroughly blissed out.

The next day, just before lunchtime, Toji goes to chop up some more wood for the fireplace whilst the snow has stopped falling just for today. You’re watching him through a window, bundled up in a blanket holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and not at all envious of him, what with the chilling weather and his lack of a coat. 

You really have to buy him one. He doesn’t look the least bit cold, which you don’t really understand, but still, something about the picture looks off. It’s not fair you get to be all comfortable, lazing around, and he’s hard at work. 

The phone rings. 

Your head snaps to the coffee table which your phone lies on, vibrating against the wood. A new number. When you answer, you’re surprised to recognise the voice immediately. 

“Hi. Yes, I’m managing quite fine.”

The old man sighs. “How glad am I to hear that. The storm has made it rather hard to get a hold of you and I certainly couldn’t make the journey up.”

“That’s quite alright. I really appreciate the thought, it’s very sweet of you.”

Exchanging pleasantries and talks about the various favours he owed your grandmother, over five minutes pass, and you’re itching to urge Toji back inside, fearing that he could drop dead at any second from the chill.

Eventually, and thankfully, the conversation nears an end with him insisting that as soon as the snow thaws enough you come on down for dinner at his home. He says his sons and their wives all love a good, hearty meal as a family. There are even grandchildren for you to play with should adults not be your speed. “Yes, yes, of course. That sounds great, thank you.”

“Alright, bye, dear. I’ll call back again to check up on you and please remember you can always call on me and my kids for help.”

Humming, you’re about to end the call when his tone changes. 

“Speaking of help,” he begins, clearing his throat. “How have you been managing to get on so well?”

Toji’s still chopping wood, swinging that heavy axe back behind his head and down in one smooth strike, cutting the log in a perfect half. You press your legs together, unable to take your eyes off his bulging biceps. You love when he shows off his strength, it comes so effortlessly to him, unlike the men where you’re from whose muscles are all for show, satisfying their own vanity and quelling their insecurities momentarily before they’re inhaling steroids like air. 

“Oh, you know, this man my grandmother befriended over the years came by and has been helping me out since. He’s quite familiar with the ins and outs of the cabin so I really couldn’t have done any of this without him. I’d like to bring him along to dinn—“

“A man?”

You frown. “Yeah, Toji. Surely you must have met him at some point since he and my grandmother were quite close.”

“I knew it! I knew I saw him here days ago. Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry you ran into him, but please don’t stay away.”

“N-no, it’s Toji, he helped my granny during the winter months. He fixed things up for her and helped her get around. He was like a friend to her in ways me and my siblings should have been. He’s really nice, you’ll like him.”

The man in question is scratching his jaw, still getting used to being so bare, and he’s rolling his head around as if bothered by some crick in his neck. He’s got an impressive pile of logs waiting to be fed to the fireplace and you know he’s going to head back in any second now. For some reason, you feel guilty, like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, talking to someone you shouldn’t talk to. 

“Y/n, listen to me. Please!” The urgency, the insistence, and desperation in the old man’s voice is palpable, a hand reaching through the screen and choking air right out from your lungs. Your heart begins galloping. “That man is a criminal. He’s wanted, a fugitive! H-he’s a killer.”

Confused and somewhat exasperated, you argue, “No, you’ve got the wrong man. I’m telling you, we’re talking about different people here.”

You can’t shake off the abrupt shift in his voice. From caring old man with a shaky baritone to a firm, military like precision. It’s as if you were talking to a completely different man.

A beat passes and you think he’s hung up, that this odd conversation is over and done with but one glance at the screen tells you differently. He doesn’t say a thing, and all you can hear is the rushing of the wind and grunts and thuds outside. 

Irritated by this entire farce, your thumb moves to press the end-call button but then you hear him on the other line.

“Does he have a scar on the corner of his mouth?”

The blood drains from your face.

“H-how did you know that?”

A noise of death and despair reaches your ears. He’s shouting something to someone else, you can hear their alarm, can feel the anxiety, the dread and terror in their voices, muffled as they are. “Get away from him. Get away from him now! Do whatever you can. You mustn’t let him get his hands on you. H-he’s one of them. One of those abominations. A hybrid, a dangerous kind.”

“What are you talking about? Just tell me what’s happening, please, you’re not making sense right now.”

“He killed your grandmother!”

You drop your mug. It shatters by your feet. The creamy chocolate milk pools into a puddle, soaking your socks. There’s ceramic chipping littering the floor and you can’t move, can’t go anywhere without taking a big leap. 

Slowly, you look up from your phone screen, hearing subdued questions of fear and panic on the other end. Through the window, you meet Toji’s eyes. 

You hang up. 

It takes three seconds for him to get to the door, pushing it open. He shakes off the snow off his boots, banging them against the doorframe, and the axe he had been holding is set down by the shoe rack, the metal clinking, as he enters. Light from the ceiling bulb reflects directly off the sharpest point, shining in your eyes. 

“Ya alright?”

Plastering a cheerful smile, you nod. 

He doesn’t look convinced. 

In a blink, he’s in front of you, cradling your face in one cold hand. He tilts your chin back and searches your eyes. He doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for so he sniffs the air and his eyes darken. Slowly, like you’re a deer, he asks, “What are you so afraid of?”

“Oh, nothing. Really. I was just reading the news online and stumbled across articles about the war in that country in the East, y’know, the one with the hospital bombing. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t read it,” he says. “Show me.”

Your heart beats impossibly faster. You know he can hear it. There’s no way he can’t with his wolfish hearing and with a finger on your pulse. Maybe that’s why his other hand, just as cold, wraps around your wrist and he tugs it towards him. His nails scrape against your skin and his hand eats up your wrist entirely, middle finger folding over his thumb. At any given second, he can snap the bone there and not bat an eye. 

Laughing nervously, you tug your hand back, to no avail. With a forced nonchalant tone, you inform him, “I wanna get all cleaned up. I feel a little icky, and all sweaty and sticky from this morning so I’m just gonna take a nice long bath.”

He lets you shake him off but only after he’s taken the phone out of your death grip. He can’t unlock it, he doesn’t the password. But that was never his intention. He doesn’t even look down on the screen. As fast as you can without looking panicked, you stumble away from his reach and towards the door. 

“Y/n.”

Your smile shakes.

“What did they tell you?”

Your smile falls off altogether. 

“Toji,” you begin, “p-please, let’s not do this.”

His scar twitches and when he makes a step towards you, you step back. There. You almost missed it, almost blinked and lost your footing. But his eyes unmistakably flicker from you and to the side, by the door, at the shoe rack. You don’t need to turn back to know what exactly he’s eyeing. Calmly, he asserts, “You won’t last an hour outside. You won’t even reach the forest’s edge before I get to you. You don’t know your way down. And if it ain’t me, it’ll be the elements that’ll kill ya. Be wise, kid.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

With the scarlet blanket still hanging off you, you dash towards the door, pulling the shoe rack behind you and the sound of clattering and a thud forces your legs pumping. 

You run. 

You run and you don’t look back, you don’t stop, not even for a second, not even when your socks are soaked with snow and not melted chocolate. The trees welcome you as you dash in between trunks, lunging over thick roots and dodging low hanging branches. You don’t know where you’re going, where you can go. 

A sob rises from your throat, clawing its way out. 

He was right. You don’t know your way down and the freeze is creeping in, frosting over your veins and seeping into your bones. The movies show the power of adrenaline all the time, how it’ll wash away any and all feelings that aren’t helpful for survival, but it’s not enough. 

Your muscles are aching, your cheeks are burning and your fingers are beginning to itch and tingle. You weren’t meant for survival. You weren’t meant to put up a fight. 

When he gets to you, he’ll snuff the light right out of your eyes with one swipe of his arm. You’ve seen what he can do with those hands, you’ve felt the way they wrangled you into position, hell you’ve drooled over the bruises he’s left on you. And you never once thought you’d be running from the hands that dragged you over a cliff of pleasure, that carried you around, and touched you so soothingly.

Without needing to hear heavy footfall, you know he’s after you. You have animalistic instincts too. 

A dead woman running is what you are. You were dead as soon as you picked up that phone call. 

No. 

You were dead the moment you opened the door. 

“Fuck!” You scream. Ignoring the ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles, you sprint as fast as you can. Your body’s being pushed to its limits; you’ve never ran like this before. Granted, you’ve never been chased by a murderer either. 

The absurd turn of event make you laugh, deranged and broken, and it echoes around the forest. As far as you can see, there’s only trees and snow, perfectly white, pristine snow. There are no roads, no houses, no people. No one to help. No one that can hear you scream. 

You should have stayed in the city, should have never left, should have never gotten bored. Spontaneity isn’t your thing and you’re learning it the hard way. There’ll never be an opportunity to put into practice the moral of the story that’s being engraved into your DNA right now. No one will even notice you’re gone — you aren’t close with your family, and you don’t have friends, not really anyways.

There will be no mourning, no grieving, there won’t even be a goddamn funeral. 

Heart threatening to tear through your body, you collapse against a tree. You’re panting, chest heaving as you gulp down as much air as possible. The bark scratches your forehead but you can’t muster a shred of care, not when every limb is shaking both from the cold and the effort.

There are an array of shallow cuts all over your arms and face from where low hanging branches have whipped against your skin, attempting to get you in their clutches, to slow you down. The forest isn’t your friend. This isn’t your domain, It’s his.

“Y/n!”

You smother the startled cry with the palm of your hand.

He’s near.

Tears stream down your face, falling onto the snow beneath you. Numb, you briefly worry you’ve lost your feet altogether. One glance down disproves that but you’re still not convinced. You hug the blanket closer around you; it does absolutely nothing to keep the warmth in and the cold out. And yet, you can’t bear to let it go. 

“I can hear you.”

Lips quivering, you bite down hard. Iron lays on your tongue. There’s nowhere to go. He had found you so quickly and he knows the forest better than you. How many times had he made the trip to that cabin? How many times had he sought out your grandmother? Had smiled at her, chopped up wood for her, had collected groceries and medicines? How many times had she let him in every time he knocked, every time he emerged from the shadows and soaked up the warmth of her kindness?

What were her last words? 

No, please, don’t! Spare me?

Or why, Toji, why?

What will be yours?

A flash of movement catches your eye. He’s not panting like you, he’s not even sweating. When he steps forward, brushing his hair back, you don’t fail to notice he didn’t come empty handed. 

His eyes glint, sharper than the axe he carries, and he’s roving over your features, watching you tremble. One sniff and his scar is stretching. 

“Y’r afraid.”

“Yeah, no f-fucking kidding!”

Even as he keeps his voice deceptively soft, much like how it is when he’s lulling you to sleep, you can’t stop staring at the axe. That stupid fucking axe he just had to bring with him. You sob. 

“Just leave me alone, please.”

Scoffing, he steps closer once more. “Not even gonna ask if I did or didn’t?”

You shake your head. 

“Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.”

He lunges, pinning you to a tree with a forearm to your throat. Radiating heat, your body betrays you and presses closer to him, desperate to envelope yourself in that warmth. You want nothing more than to be back in bed with him, oblivious to the rest of the world. You want to go back to before that phone call and make it so that you never found out, so that you never picked up the damn phone. 

Teeth snapping a hair’s breadth away from your nose, he demands, “Ask.”

“Did you?” You scream at him. “Did you kill my fucking grandmother? After everything she did for you? After she showed you kindness and hospitality and gave you friendship? Did you kill her even after she begged? Did you watch the life fade from her eyes knowing she never got to say goodbye to me? To any of us?”

His glare softens. There’s a tenderness swirling in those green eyes, a fervour and understanding that thaws your heart. He looks like the Toji you know, or rather, knew. He looks like the Toji that had pushed himself to trek in the snow for hours so you can be fed, the Toji that kept you company every day, that fixed things without needing to be asked, the one that made you coffee and knew just how you liked it, the one that traced patterns you had drawn him on your skin when he thought you weren’t awake. 

“Did you kill her?”

Scar grazing your lips as he inhales the shampoo from your hair, you feel his answer just as well as you hear it. 

“Yes.”

A gunshot resounds in the air. It’s sharp and startling, cutting through the crisp silence with a violent roar. The sound lingers in the air, echoing and rattling your bones like it had been fired inside you. 

“Get the fuck away from her, beast!”

You turn to the side. A man you don’t recognise is standing metres away holding a shotgun. His face is contorted in rage, creating deep shadows and wrinkles that make him look infinitely older than he likely is. Smoke wisps away from the barrel of his fun, pointed at the sky. A warning shot. 

Toji pushes you behind him as he growls. 

“Fuck off. She’s mine.”

You trip over your blanket. Through his legs, you see that man lower the gun till it points in your direction. You’re frozen in place. 

“Let her go and turn yourself in. An animal like you needs to be muzzled and put down,” the man spits, venom flooding his words. He looks at you. “Come here. My father sent me. You know him.” 

Stumbling to a stand on shaky knees, you back away from Toji, going around the tree and making your way to the other side. He doesn’t stop you, just watches every move you make as if you’re standing in a field of landmines. His grip on the axe doesn’t loosen and he makes no sign he’s going to give himself up. 

“T-Toji, don’t fight, please just come with us. If you give yourself up, maybe they’ll go easy on you,” you plead. 

He growls, grimacing. He’s contemplating it. That means everything to you. In some sick, pathetic joke, you actually pity him. There’s still a huge part of you that cares, that wants what’s best for him, that loves him. But that part needs to be extinguished because he’s a cold blooded killer and he’ll turn those murderous hands on you. 

Leg jerking, he makes a step towards you. It feels so right, you mirror his movement, like this one act, one sacrifice makes up for everything, like it erases the sins of his past and washes away the blood on his hands. 

“Ahh!” You’re yanked back by your hair. 

“Don’t get near him, you stupid bitch! He’s a fucking mongrel.”

The snarl that ripples from Toji’s throat pierces through haze, rustling the branches up above and forcing a flock of birds up and away. He charges towards you, axe raised up high and you shake yourself from the man’s clutches, jumping out of the way just in time before bodies collide and they both fall. 

Rolling away, you bundle up the blanket you’re shielding yourself with and cry into it. The sound of bodies being beaten, arms bent, stomachs kicked and necks bitten into make you cringe. You cry harder. You don’t dare look at who’s winning, you can’t bring yourself to look. It’s because you don’t want to see the violence, don’t want to see blood, but there’s a voice screaming that it’s because you’ll die if the one who walks away from this isn’t Toji. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

“Get the fuck off me! You filthy mutt!”

You’re digging your nails into the bark of a tree, flinching with every blow. You hear fists slamming into flesh, each punch a blunt weapon bruising and breaking, bone-crushing swings whistling through air followed by sharp exhales of pain and vomit-inducing cracks and pops. The struggle is relentless, blow after blow, and you hear the gun clatter as it’s kicked to the side. 

SNAP!

“You should have never come back! You should have died on the side of the street after what you did to that woman”

POP!

“Ahhh! Fuck!”

SMACK! 

“Ya don’t know shit!”

The trees are spectators, moaning and whistling in protest at the unholy sight, at the splatters of blood contaminating their ranks. The branches shake in warning but no one is listening.

Whimpering, you hum a song, trying to block out the repulsive sounds of senseless violence. You should have never been here. You never visited because you couldn’t stand the isolation of a cabin in the mountains, couldn’t stand the unconditional love your grandmother gave you, of which you knew then and you know now, you were never deserving of.

If you had been dutiful and even had a fraction of her selflessness, you would have taken care of her so that she never relied on a man with sharp senses and a dangerous smile.

If you had been a good granddaughter, that man would be roaming the world, unburdened by material possession and human attachments. He wouldn’t be beating a man black and blue, wouldn’t be tearing flesh from bone, wouldn’t be debasing himself for your sake, or his. You don’t know anymore.

You turn to yell at him to stop, for him to run instead. But your words are swallowed by a gunshot. 

A body falls to the floor in a dull thud. Crimson dyes the snow, puddling into a shade so dark you could always persuade yourself it’s not what you think it is. Time slows. You can see every flake of snow pause in the air, you can count them, can collect them in your hands. The wind has disappeared, leaving behind a stillness in the air that’s suffocating, choking you from inside. Even the trees have stopped their moaning.

Your heart stops beating.

Someone stands over the body, holding a smoking gun, and it isn’t who you wanted it to be.

“Toji!” You scramble over, hands shaking harder than ever before. 

He’s clutching his chest. Hot liquid drenches your pants. You didn’t realise fresh blood would be so warm and you wish so badly it wasn’t because it means that the warmth that should be inside him is leaving, being absorbed by the ground, by you.

Green eyes, dulling, meet yours. He smiles. “She asked me to. She was in pain. Couldn’t make it down through the snow. She asked me.”

“N-no, stop it. Save your breath, please.” Through your sobs, you turn to the nameless man, pale under the cuts all over his face as the snow and shuddering from the shock of what he had done. “Call the ambulance! Call somebody! Please!”

“C-car. I-it’s in my car.” Staggering back, he drops the gun and fishes out his keys, muttering frenzied apologies under his breath. He limps his way back, weaving through the trees.  

Despite having less cuts and bruises, he’s in much worser state. His chest heaves and you’re trying to press down on the wound like you’ve seen in the movies but you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know whether you’re supposed to be smothering the hole with a dirty blanket or if you should be performing CPR. No one had ever trained you for this. This wasn’t covered in any of those HR meetings. “Oh, god, Toji. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Oh. God. I’m so so sorry.”

Lifting a limp hand, he brushes a tear away only for it to be replaced by a hundred more. He huffs a weak laugh at the blood he smears on your face and he tries to brush that away too.

“I’d always wanted to meet you. She spoke of how beautiful, how kind and generous you are. Her favourite. Didn’t believe her, y’know? I thought, no one could possibly be that nice if they never even visit their gran. But I’d always wanted to know for myself.”

You shake your head. He shouldn’t be speaking. He should be saving his breath, should be focusing on keeping awake until help arrives. “Stop. Please, just stop. Don’t waste your energy on me. I-I don’t deserve it. I should have listened, should have heard you out. Oh, god, Toji.”

He huffs an amused laugh. He sounds so clear, so loud, so alive you could actually convince yourself he doesn’t have a bleeding hole in his chest. But you can’t because you can feel the blood flowing out, it’s caking your legs and your hands. 

“You wanna know what I think, ma?” Pulling you close, you don’t fight his grip. Through your whimpers, you press your ear to his lips, holding him close like you could will your own warmth to him, like you could jostle you both back to consciousness. “I think y’r even more beautiful than she said. My gorgeous gorgeous girl. Mine.”

It’s unclear if he said anything else after that; you could only hear your own pleadings and sobbing as his arms fall limp and his body grows cold. There came rustling from all over the forest like they heard a tree fell, a mighty and sturdy tree. They warned you. There are consequences to dirtying the snow’s purity, to upsetting the balance. That’s a lesson all animals know. But the battle that had gone on here wasn’t committed by preys and predators. Just men. 

And men never learn their lesson until it’s far too late. 

The trees cry with you.

For you.

When the marching of people came some time later, all yelling and barking orders to each other, they found you lying on his chest, just as you had for many nights and had imagined you would every night after, with a red blanket pulled over the both of you. 

There, silent as a lamb, you slept. 

A tear-stricken city girl and her big, bad wolf. 

Neither of which would ever live again. 

[rafesapple]

Brat

[rafesapple]

something stupid

art donaldson x 365 party girl reader

warnings

smoking,cursing,c0ke mention,light smut(reader getting off), bitchy reader?

You’d met art originally after winning the junior when you were eighteen(going onto nineteen that same year) though only briefly. By that time Tashi and him were already engaged, in their early twenties. You were young, getting ready to go into college..of course, you thought he was a bit attractive but he was too old for you and engaged. September 12, 2010 During the afterparty for your win, you smile while taking a picture with your trophy for the press, and you notice art and Tashi together. You were surprised they stayed, well..thinking he had to practice or they had to prepare for their wedding or something.

You come over to greet them, after all, Tashi was a promising young player..before her accident. Art was a well-known player now and won his junior open around this age. Of course, you wanted… communication..with them. “hi…Art donaldson..and Tashi Duncan correct?” you asked coming closer to them. They both replied at the same time with a yes, then Tashi spoke up first after “Congratulations on your win for the junior open.” you smiled “Oh thank you, um congratulations on your engagement?” you laughed nervously, they both laughed for a moment then he spoke up “so you know of us well I take?” “well you won so many tournaments..and Tashi by your side..but also back then amazing on her own.” He looked at you while tilting his head “So you must do your research for tennis?” you laugh “Well yes. I like to know of others' strategies..also if I’m playing against someone I watch theirs also.” Your coach calls you before you can speak to them “Oh I should..” they both tell you, you should go and that was the last time you’d talk to them, rarely ever see them in person.

You lay in the hotel bedroom late at night(thankfully your parents had a separate room) you log onto your computer going onto the web browser. You bite your lip, deciding to search for his name. It wasn’t..wrong was it? He was attractive… you go through a couple of his plays quietly watching. You were getting wet. Your fingers end up in your lace panties gently running over your clit as you watch him play, you’d slow down every time it went to his opponent and sped up once he came on screen. You’d whine and moan quietly as you’d get that fuzzy feeling every few moments. After he’d won they’d set up an interview “f-fuck!” you’d whine out going faster as he spoke, your breaths became heavier and it was so wet now, your finger even slipping every few moments.

2019

Before you walk into a sports store you take a quick moment to smoke, then stepping on it after throwing it on the ground. You stepped in needing a new racket, you’d been using the same one for the past year and needed a new one for the season. As you shove the cigarette pack in your back pocket you walk over to the aisle filled with tennis rackets. After a moment you look over seeing a young girl looking up at the rackets, she looked familiar but whatever… “you into tennis?” you asked her raspily, you were still a little tired

“yea! my dad plays!” “Mmm so you wanna play..?” she nodded her head, you had a slight soft spot for kids. You look around for a guardian or parent before she asks if you played “Yeah…I don’t care for it much but I’m still playing..” “Oh.. my dad won a bunchh of tournaments!” you hum trying to think of someone who her dad could’ve been, and there you see him.

Art Donaldson, the one you’d been a little obsessed with almost 10 years ago. “Lily- you can’t run off like that.” he spoke gently to her, grabbing her hand “Yeah but I wanted the racket now!” she argued back, and he looked back up at you, he likely wouldn’t recognize you, your body and face matured. Probably wouldn’t help with the eye bags underneath your eyes “Oh uh sorry, I hope she didn’t bother you too much.” you clear your throat “It’s fine..she was just telling me about you.” “oh-was she?” An awkward silence falls, “you uh- look familiar.” you scoffed out a laugh “You sure do..art Donaldson, correct?” He lets go of Lily’s hand letting her look back at the tennis rackets, though you speak up before he can “I won the female 2011 junior open..you might not remember.”

“oh..oh! Yes…I remember vaguely..” he smiled so prettily like he wasn’t going through a fucking divorce. “How is Tashi?” you asked while looking at the tennis rackets “Oh..we’re not going to be together soon..” he spoke quietly “Oh,” you spoke dryly, you felt a bit bad but why should you care? You grab the racket you’d already picked out beforehand “i’ll see you around.” You felt a little bad being a bit..mean but you had things to get done..meaning practice then go drink likely.

a week later You’d been warming up after you’d stepped onto the court, being a bit lazily with it for this tournament. It wasn’t like this was a well known player whatever… you look up in the seeing fucking art Donaldson. What.the.hell. You were playing this tournament mainly for the money, after this you started seriously stretching and warming up. The announcer calls out for you to serve.

For the first time in a while, you played..seriously. It was only because Art Donaldson was watching. That’s why..whatever…You hold the medal up as they take the picture, then going off to pack your bags up. You jump hearing his voice behind you. “Jesus fucking chr…art.” you spoke turning around to see him “You did good out there.” he congratulated you “Oh um..thanks.” you spoke choked up

“Can I ask why your here..?” he paused for a moment “I wanted..well to see you play.” “why.” you speak blatantly while staring at him with dead eyes.“I’m bored.” he mutters for only you to hear. “I mean… I just think you're a good player.. 'm..obviously retired so..” Art felt like his teenage self again, just like with Tashi…what? He thought to himself. You cleared your throat speaking up again “So has Lily started playing?” you asked “Yeah.. I’ve been teaching her..but I don’t wanna do it for long if I have to..not all the time at least.” he spoke looking over your shoulder.

After a few more weeks, you swore that man came for every game, unfortunately after this game, you’d lost you of course went to go..well. You sit outside the locker room pulling out the baggie about to sniff on it, but you scream hearing Art call your name “shit.. I didn’t mean to scare y..” he spoke softly then seeing the baggie “fucking christ art! you scared me!” “Oh. Oh..” he realized but then he just continued,like he didn’t see it.

“Do you wanna uh..get dinner..together,” he asked while messing with his fingernails. you put the baggie in your purse “What..?” you choke out, thank god you weren’t high. “do you want to get dinner with me.” “oh..uh..you paying?” he laughed “Yeah. yeah I’ll pay.” he smiled while staring at you for a moment. “I’ll go change right quick,” you speak dryly once more. “alright.” Art hated feeling like this, that hormonal teenager who jerked off with Patrick or got so hard when he saw Tashi. He waited so nervously picking at his nails and skin, a bad habit.

After about an hour you sit in a fast food restaurant eating a burger and fries with slightly damp hair “What?” you ask as Art stares at you sipping on his drink “Are you embarrassed that you're what like..thirty something eating at a fast food restaurant with a twenty eight year old?” “Your twenty eight?” he asked “I'm twenty seven turning twenty eight soon,so practically twenty eight.” “so.. twenty seven?” he teased “Shut up! Go get me a refill,” you spoke handing him your empty plastic cup. As he comes back he hands you the cup back, seeing the tattoo on your wrist “You have a tattoo?” he asks continuing to eat “Oh.yeah… I have a couple..” he nods “Did it hurt?” you swallow your food clearing your throat “not really, it was one of my first ones.” then you continue sipping on your drink, you watch him take his phone out, holding it out with a blank contact on the screen. “what?” you asked while staring and sipping “can I have your number.” he’d asked while looking at your wrist to avoid eye contact.

You grab it typing your contact in and name in. You go to his camera taking a picture, and then setting it as the contact photo. He stared once more in a daze while you did this. “-did you hear me? Here.” you spoke while getting up and snapping him out of it. “oh uh-than-“ you cut him off grabbing your purse “Later.” you said as you walked off Thankfully your lift got here as you stepped out of the restaurant, you got in messing with your nails at first. You look down at your phone, you just gave him your phone number and you already wanted his text. Never mind that you should focus on something else “I wanna go clubbing..” you mutter to yourself.

The next weekend you had gotten off, deciding to go clubbing with a couple of friends..though they had all either left or went off with some dude or girl. You sit at the bus stop drunk while you smoke a cigarette. “oh.” you realized buses don’t run this late, you didn’t wanna call a lift, and you hated getting into a stranger's car late..you don’t know who to call. You lay your head on the bus wall but your body falls onto the bench. You pull out your phone lazily, you don’t even focus on the contact.

Art’s voice comes through groggily “Hello?” he groaned out before recognizing your name and clearing his throat. You whine loudly “Come pick me up..” you rasped out still not recognizing his voice “I..is everything alright?” he’d asked while spoke a bit worried as you heard him shuffling out of bed. “oh..it’s art..” you spoke holding your head as you sat up “art-! come pick me up..” you whined out drunkly. After 20 minutes you're laying back on the bench once more as Art pulls to the side of the road. “hey..” he rushed over watching you start to fall over, he holds you in his arms “shit..why’d you get so drunk..” he murmured to himself as he pushed your hair out your face. “take me home..” you whined in his ear…Art got..just a bit hard, he just wanted to put it in your sopping wet, tight cun-

“art!!” “alright…I’m getting you home..” he muttered trying to pick you up, though you started to gag he quickly led you away, letting you throw up. After you finished he settled you into the passenger seat then got into the driver's side. He looked at you for a moment making sure you were okay..though you’d taken his water bottle and started drinking it. He wondered why the hell you got yourself so drunk.

Fuck. He didn’t know where you lived…

“Art..art! Art..” you repeat over and over, he looks over at you you grab his thigh tightly while looking at him drunkenly. He muttered a “fuck.” while keeping eye contact with you “We..should get you home..can you give me your-“ he quiets down watching how close you get to him, leaning in to kiss him.

He turns to face the front of the car clearing his throat, he removed your hand “Let’s..um get you home.” he rejected you. he took away the moment. He..he embarrassed you. You furrow your eyebrows, looking out the other window, holding back your tears. Stupid bastard, you thought while holding it in. As he drives into your neighborhood, he pulls on the side of the road in front of your house “Hey..get some re-“ You cut off Art, slamming his car door roughly as you walk up to the front door. He licks his lips while holding his jaw as he watches you slam your front door. He fucked up.

[rafesapple]

it’s here!say hello it’s you..the purest you.

sola/solar • the marias . she/her • challengers . Rafe cameron • hyperfixtator . twenty• imaginal disk .

rules

masterlist;

!cherry reader

!sensitive peony reader

!365 party girl reader

!vampirenun reader

death and romance,fear sex (mermaid reader)

trying to post in between 1-3 fics/one shots during the week

[rafesapple]

vampire nun reader

it’s time to meet the monsters inside you ・i did it all for you!

warnings

possible smut, lots of blood mentions(ur reading a vampire fic??) cursing likely, religious references likely, contradicting her religion

if you are offended by this or i’ve gotten something wrong please reach out to me as i wouldn’t want to have incorrect information. I am going to research the topic. Things such as rules, scriptures, customs, etc..

p.s i am an atheist and i do not want to upset anybody so please lmk<3

vampire nun reader who yet kills humans still will go deeply into teachings and verses. She usually absolutely hates men and that’s why she eats them! who could blame her? she occasionally eats a woman(though only if they’ve done wrong) she’ll sit in class for hours and hours, believing her practice but.. herself..?she’s quite the contradiction.

vampire nun reader who met art once he started attending church after his divorce, in remembrance of his late grandmother. He had met a certain nun captivated by her beauty though she’d been kind to him church..he felt it was..faux when they were alone together. And yes..she did try to kill him at first..how couldn’t she? she smelt his blood and she had to taste it. Once he had started whining she pulled away

“are..you whining in pleasure.” she’d asked dumbfounded with blood all over her face, he’d turn away flustered.

vampire nun reader who sucks his blood every week, she can’t help it as he tasted so sweet plus he was offering. she’d look at him with her fox eyes, though from his point of view they looked only gentle and hungry. She’d push him down further as she sucked harder, though it was painful for art he couldn’t tell her to not stop..

coming soon…

p.s again, i’ll likely only do a few fics for this reader!<3

[rafesapple]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in the shower

pairing: stepdad!art x shy!reader synopsis: reader seeing her stepdad pleasuring himself in the shower makes her unable to resist touching herself. warnings/tags: smut, stepcest, masturbation (f, m), voyeurism, reader is lowkey a FREAK MDNI!!! wc: 1k a/n; talking about stepcest with my girl jay turned into me pulling up my laptop and immediately writing this. this one's for you @gibson-g1rl ♡ i need to get so nasty with him he breaks his hip.

art masterlist ♡

you knew that borderline obsessively writing your stepdad's name down in your diary and circling it with a little heart wasn't anywhere near normal. in fact, if anyone in your life knew the nasty little diary entries you wrote about him, they'd probably call you insane.

but really, how normal could you be over your stepdad when it was someone as dreamy as art donaldson?

you honestly couldn't recount how many times you'd slipped your hand into your pajama shorts, watching a porn video on twitter of a blond man who looked even slightly similar to him, secretly looking through art's old tennis matches while your small bullet vibrator was pressed against your clit, even going as far as to flirting and exchanging pictures and videos with strangers on twitter just because they looked like him.

and all the times he walked around the house shirtless... when he'd get done with a workout, his chiseled chest covered in a sheen of sweat. how you'd made him one of his disgusting smoothies while he was working out, giving it to him with the most bashful smile on your lips and running off after he thanked you and offered you one of his award-winning grins. whenever you tried to say a word to him, you got absolutely tongue-tied so usually, you tended to try and avoid him, except when it was to do some kind of favor for him, whether it'd be to make him a snack or one of his gross smoothies.

but the worst thing, the worst time? that time you heard small groans coming from the master bathroom.

you swore you weren't snooping when you went into the bedroom he shared with your mom; you were just looking for the charger your mom had borrowed from you the day before. it wasn't your fault that you happened to hear the shower running, accompanied by the sound of grunting and panting.

i mean, anyone would check that whoever was in the shower was alright, wouldn't they? even though you knew that it was only art and you, but he could've injured himself somehow, right? and, he even left the door slightly ajar. it would've been totally irresponsible if you hadn't checked.

you took a few more silent steps towards the door, pushing it just so it was open a tiny bit more, just enough to give you a view of the shower through the slightly fogged-up bathroom mirror.

art's head was thrown back, his hand jerking on his crotch. you needed to get on your tiptoes to see his long, pretty fingers wrapped around his cock.

your breath got stuck in your throat. he was so pretty, the blissed-out expression that decorated his face, pretty pink nipples hard and perky. art's abs were glistening from the soap he had lathered all over himself, the suds slowly running down his body, leading to where his hand was jerking himself off, the tip of his long cock angry and pink.

you didn't even realize that you'd started palming your hard nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top until art let out a breathy "fuck..." making you tug on it almost out of instinct, biting down on your lower lip.

honestly... it would be such a shame to let a sight that pretty go to waste, right?

you licked the tips of your fingers, sliding your hand into your leggings until your hand met the lacy waistband of your panties. you didn't know how long you had until art would be done, so you had to be quick.

you slipped your fingers into your panties, your head lulling back when your fingers met with your core, your folds already getting slick. when you pressed your fingers against your clit, a small gasp escaped your lips, covered up by the falling water.

you watched as art jerked himself off in the shower, all the small noises you could make out going straight to your cunt. you increased the speed that you were using to draw circles on your clit as you leaned against the doorway, your breathing getting more out of control.

bringing your hand to cover your mouth, you watched as art increased the pace of his hand, feeling the knot in your lower abdomen get tighter and tighter as you closed your eyes and thought about what it'd feel like to be the one to jerk his pretty cock, to have him in your mouth, to have him come all the way down your throat, to get to finally know how his release would taste, if his gross health foods actually made him taste good.

you were in your own world, tuning out almost everything until you heard someone let out a moan, and when you managed to crack your eyes open, white, thick ropes of cum were spurtinig from art's cock. you couldn't help but wish that it was you he was coming for. that you were in that shower, kneeling in front of him while he painted your face with his release.

finally, the band in your stomach snapped, and you couldn't help it, the hand that had previously been covering your mouth almost automatically gripping the doorway as a choked moan left your lips, your orgasm crashing over you.

you didn't have time to come down, though; almost as soon as you realized how loud the noise you'd let out had been, the shower was turned off.

"hello?" art's voice rang out in the echo of the bathroom, making you let out a gasp. you ducked your head out of the doorway, your fingers covered in your own arousal as you sprinted out of the room he shared with your mom.

art stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist; he could've sworn he heard something. the blond frowned as he combed his fingers through his wet hair, his feet padding against the damp floor.

but the moment he stepped out of the bathroom, his bare foot was met with something sharp, causing art to take a sharp inhale of breath. he furrowed his brows as he lifted his foot; the culprit behind his minor injury had been a necklace with a broken clasp.

and he knew exactly who the necklace belonged to.

[rafesapple]

vampire nun reader

it’s time to meet the monsters inside you ・i did it all for you!

warnings

possible smut, lots of blood mentions(ur reading a vampire fic??) cursing likely, religious references likely, contradicting her religion

if you are offended by this or i’ve gotten something wrong please reach out to me as i wouldn’t want to have incorrect information. I am going to research the topic. Things such as rules, scriptures, customs, etc..

p.s i am an atheist and i do not want to upset anybody so please lmk<3

vampire nun reader who yet kills humans still will go deeply into teachings and verses. She usually absolutely hates men and that’s why she eats them! who could blame her? she occasionally eats a woman(though only if they’ve done wrong) she’ll sit in class for hours and hours, believing her practice but.. herself..?she’s quite the contradiction.

vampire nun reader who met art once he started attending church after his divorce, in remembrance of his late grandmother. He had met a certain nun captivated by her beauty though she’d been kind to him church..he felt it was..faux when they were alone together. And yes..she did try to kill him at first..how couldn’t she? she smelt his blood and she had to taste it. Once he had started whining she pulled away

“are..you whining in pleasure.” she’d asked dumbfounded with blood all over her face, he’d turn away flustered.

vampire nun reader who sucks his blood every week, she can’t help it as he tasted so sweet plus he was offering. she’d look at him with her fox eyes, though from his point of view they looked only gentle and hungry. She’d push him down further as she sucked harder, though it was painful for art he couldn’t tell her to not stop..

coming soon…

p.s again, i’ll likely only do a few fics for this reader!<3

[rafesapple]

LOVE A LOVER

PAIRING: Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x Art Donaldson x Reader  WORD COUNT: 3167 CONTENT TAGS: Open marriage, age gap, club scene, intoxication, alcohol, moral dilemma/guilt, gay people, sexual tension + mentions of sex but no smut because I’m a pussy SUMMARY: You meet Tashi Duncan at a club. Then you meet her husband. Then you meet her husband’s boyfriend.

The bass is a pulse beneath your skin. You can feel the music vibrating through your body and suddenly the club isn’t as fun anymore. You’re tipsy— not drunk, not wasted, just tipsy— the kind of warm buzz that mutes the shouting dialogue and the press of bodies that come with it. You’ve already lost your friends to the outrageous lights and all you want to do is take a breath of something that isn’t sweat. You need air.

Pushing people out of the way, you manage to squeeze out to a slightly less crowded space by the bar. You exhale hard, clutching onto the bar table and bending to put your forehead against it. Everything is too loud, too severe. You turn your head left to see a couple tangled in some half-drunken kiss. Gross. You turn your head right instead— 

And you see her. 

A woman leaning against the bar, fingers wrapped around a whiskey glass, eyes meeting yours with a tilt of her head. She looks something out of a magazine spread, with her stylish golden-brown bob and a rather elegant blue dress. She’s slightly older than the usual age market in places like this but she doesn’t look out of place at all. She’s tall, gorgeous, with some form of sophistication that someone your age could never have. 

And on her left hand, catching the flicker of the neon club lights, is a wedding ring.

Shit. 

You get your head off of the counter and stare at her quite openly, and you realize that you might be a bit more drunk than you originally thought. You search for her husband, or wife, whatever— but she seems to be alone. 

And somehow, amidst all this chaos, she is slow. Deliberate, in the way she looks at you, up and down. Like she’s amused by your wide-eyed, entranced state. But her lips eventually curve up and that’s enough for you to walk closer, completely lured in.

“Hi.” 

She blinks at your opening line— hi— and taps a single finger against the rim of her glass. Okay. She’ll bite. 

“Hi.” 

You grin. “I’m (Y/N).” 

“Okay.” She nods, like she knew that already. “I’m Tashi.” 

Then you start talking. Well, she talks. You flirt. Or try to. Which is hard, because Tashi is one of those people who speaks in a way that makes you forget your own thoughts. You’re not even sure what you’re saying as she runs her hand through her hair and it teases out more volume— God, she’s enticing. 

Up closer you realize her features are softer than her first impression, although her eyes still hold the same intensity. You just ramble and she listens, occasionally throwing questions that feel deeper than they should be, watching you in a way that makes your skin feel tight. Ugh. It’s not fair. You can’t quite make out whether she actually enjoys your company or she simply likes the way you stumble over your thoughts and words. You try to focus on what you’re saying but your eyes constantly return to the piece of jewelry on her finger. 

“You keep looking at my hand,” she says, catching you. “You worried about something?"

Yes. 

“No.” 

I don’t know. 

“Should I be?” 

She smiles. The ring glints against her skin. 

“Don’t think too hard about it, baby,” she whispers. 

She brings the half-empty glass towards your lips and tilts it— and you have no choice but to swallow the liquid, letting some of the alcohol trickle down your chin and neck. You reach up to hold her wrist— she’s warm— as it gets harder to swallow. 

She pulls the glass away and you work through the burn in your throat, choking for a second before gulping everything down. You blink past the sting and Tashi’s still staring, her gaze fixed on your wet lips. 

She drags a thumb over the corner of your lips, wiping away the last drop, and your mouth opens as if it was a command— as if to prove that you drank every last bit of that bitter alcohol she pushed into you. 

Tashi smiles in a proud sort of way before pulling you closer, and meets your open lips with her own. The taste of her is— fucking spiritual. You shut your eyes as your hand moves to her waist, getting close enough for her perfume to fog your head. You don’t see her hand as it reaches for your face, but you feel the hard brush of the ring against your cheek. 

You’re fucked up for doing this, you think, but you deepen the kiss anyway. 

Tashi’s place is huge. Of course it is. It’s stupidly nice— the kind of house that doesn’t look lived-in at all— white walls, moody lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek furniture that probably costs more than your rent. But none of that feeling of— envy? admiration?— lingers, because the second the door closes from behind, Tashi is on you. 

It’s not rushed, like the usual drunken one night stand. No, Tashi kisses like she has all the time in the world, pressing your back against the nearest surface— you’re unsure if it’s a wall or some expensive art piece, who cares. Her hands are warm, deliberate, sliding up your top like she knows exactly how the night is going to go. 

You barely register being led to the bedroom until you feel the cool material of the bedsheet on your back, Tashi hovering above you with lidded eyes. Her fingers tease the waistband of your pants, as her lips trail down the side of your throat. Your shirt and bra is thrown away to the floor and you don’t even care that you’re the only one undressing right now. The only thing you’re aware of is Tashi, Tashi, Tashi— 

Then the door swings open. 

“Oh my god—” You jump so hard you almost fall off the bed. Your fingers scramble for the sheets, yanking them up to your chest in a hurry. 

The man in the doorway— tall, soft-looking, damp blonde hair curling at the edges— does not react like a man who just walked in on two women getting hot and heavy in the bedroom. There is no shock nor anger in his expression as he stands there, eyes flicking between you and Tashi. 

Just a slow blink, as if this is maybe the third most interesting thing to happen to him today. 

Tashi doesn’t move from her spot.

“You’re back late,” she says, unbothered. 

Is that…? 

You search the man with your eyes— and a matching gold ring blinks at you from his left hand. Holy fuck. 

“I– uh– should I—?” You stutter, looking between Tashi and her husband. 

“Relax, baby,” Tashi instructs, stroking a hand down your back. 

You do not relax. You can’t relax. 

You’re rigid as the man walks to the bathroom, grabbing something from the cabinet. Tashi takes the moment to kiss your bare shoulders, like nothing is weird about this situation at all. 

“I– your husband just walked in on us,” You hiss, pulling back from the kiss. 

Tashi hums. 

“Your husband.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Shouldn’t,” You glance at the man leaving the bathroom. “Shouldn’t he— be mad?”

You catch the way his gaze lingers at your petrified, naked form, pink and slick with sweat, the edges of your body peeking from under the sheet. His eyes flicker to Tashi, like he’s waiting for something— maybe an excuse, or a permission. Tashi’s hand snakes towards your waist and you flinch at the contact— and her voice cuts through, harsh. 

“Out.” 

His jaw tightens, like he wants to say something but is holding back, before he turns his heels and walks out, as if it’s not his own bedroom and his own wife touching your body. 

And that’s it. The door clicks shut, and you finally breathe. The decision of trying to fuck a married woman is catching up to you, and honestly you wish you had some more alcohol to erase this embarrasment from your memory. 

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Tashi interrupts, tugging on the sheets and exposing your burning skin. The cool air hits you and you shiver, and Tashi just studies the way your body has reacted to the sudden introduction of her husband.  

You want to protest, cover yourself up, and say something— but Tashi’s hand is slipping lower and her lips are crashing onto yours— and whatever words you had in your mouth are lost on her tongue, mixing between saliva before it completely dissolves. 

Just like that, you’re gone. 

You wake up alone.

You almost forget what had happened when you’re greeted with a huge, comfortable bed, but then you look down at your nude body with all sorts of marks left on it and the memories flood back to you. 

But the spot beside you is empty, the sheets rumpled in a way that suggests Tashi had been there once. A yellow sticky note is left on the pillow, a short message scribbled in ink.

‘Had to leave for work. Didn’t want to wake you. There’s food downstairs. Stay if you can.’

You stare at it for a long moment. 

Stay if you can. Not, if you want. 

You groan, flopping onto your back, covering your face with your hands. You just slept with a married woman. 

A part of you is screaming at you for breaking your morals, guilty at the fact that you were fine with being a homewrecker just for some pussy. But the other part of you remembers the nonchalant husband, and logically deduces that an agreement, like an open marriage, has already been established and there’s nothing you should worry about. 

Still. You didn’t know about any of that when you met her at the club. 

You pull yourself out of bed, finding your scattered clothes and putting them on as quickly as you can. Even if Tashi and her husband have an agreement, what kind of a person sleeps with a married woman and then just lounges around her house? It was a one-night stand. A weird, expensive, complicated one-night stand. Nothing more. 

You carefully head out the door and find your way through the unfamiliar hallway, your finger scrambling to order an Uber to pick you up as soon as possible. You hurry down the stairs, head locked to your phone— and you nearly collide with a man. 

Your heart drops as you stop abruptly, thinking it must be Tashi’s husband. But when the man laughs, you realize it’s not the same one as yesterday. 

Tall. Shirtless. Dark curly hair and light stubble. Boxers slung low on his hips. Eating toast. 

His green eyes check out your body— the same way Tashi did when you first met her— and he gives a lazy, knowing smile at your messy hair and rumpled clothes. 

“Morning,” he says through his bite of bread.

You blink. “Morning.” 

He swallows and offers you a hand— then seems to remember the crumbs, wiping his palm on the side of his boxers before extending it again. “Patrick.” 

You pause, staring at the hand before hesitantly shaking it. “...(Y/N).” 

“You want breakfast?” 

“Uh, actually, I was just going to head out—” 

“No, stay for a bit.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Art’s not up yet, and I’m getting bored.” 

…Art?

Patrick takes your silence as confusion. “Tashi’s husband.” 

“Ah.” You nod. 

There is a humiliating silence as you become hyper-aware of your disheveled condition– hastily dressed, makeup smudged, and a guilt-ridden expression. He’s studying you, and you know it. 

“You know, when Art called me last night, I thought he missed me.” His eyes focus on the red mark by your collarbone. “But I guess he was just jealous.” 

You’re unsure of how to respond to that. Then it’s your turn to realize that his body isn’t exactly clean, either, covered in hickies and scratches and— you gawk at him. “You…?”

He looks back at you with a raised eyebrow as if expecting you to have enough courage to finish the sentence, but you just stare back at him with your lips pursed. 

“Yeah, I’m fucking him.” He smiles, proud. 

You almost laugh. So, you’re talking to your hook-up’s husband’s hook-up. Boytoy? Boyfriend? 

Patrick walks to the kitchen and you follow him like a lost puppy, eyeing the enormous house. She must make a lot of money, based on the size and the design— how did you manage to sleep with someone so… put together?

You shuffle to the kitchen counter as Patrick pours some water into a glass— as if he owns the place. He passes it to you, then gets straight to fulfilling the promise of breakfast. You sit down on a stool and watch him as he pushes some slices of bread into the toaster. He grabs some plates from the cupboard and the lack of hesitation as he moves through the space is enough to tell you that he’s been doing this for a long time.

“So, what’s your ranking?”

You pull back from your cup. “Hm?”

“You haven’t gone pro yet?” 

There’s a silence as you try to interpret his words— pro? Pro what? 

Patrick stops what he's doing and looks directly at you. 

“Tennis.” 

You stare back. 

“We’re talking about tennis?” 

The corner of Patrick’s mouth lifts, subtle– yeah, we’re talking about tennis. We’re always talking about tennis.

“Do you— are you a journalist? Or something?” 

You shake your head. 

Patrick is stumped. “Where did you even meet Tashi?” 

“At a club.” 

“You pulled Tashi Duncan at a club?” He looks surprised. And fascinated. “Damn.” 

As if seeing you in a new light, Patrick sizes you up in a way that feels less like curiosity and more like calculation. As if he’s trying to figure out exactly how you fit into this odd little puzzle of people he’s so used to. Honestly, you wish you understood your position too.

You ignore his gaze and pull out your phone, searching up the name ‘Tashi Duncan.’ To your surprise, articles after articles pop up, mostly about Art— Art Donaldson, a recently retired tennis player— and his wife and coach, Tashi Duncan… who has recently started coaching Patrick Zweig. 

You quickly scroll through the pages, each headline making her seem like someone important, someone distant— not someone who rocked your world on a random night. The articles keep coming— Tashi Duncan’s past, Tashi Duncan’s rise in the tennis world, Tashi Duncan’s impact on players like Donaldson and now Zweig…

Patrick hands you your breakfast toast on a plate, and it’s hard for you to picture this man— half-dressed and rather detached— as a pro tennis player who, you glance at your phone, ‘is climbing the ranks at an incredible speed.’ So, what, he’s just, casually fucking his coach’s husband? 

“Are you okay with this?” 

“With breakfast?”

“No— with them. With being in the middle of their… thing,” you mumble. “Their marriage.” 

Patrick tilts his head, as if to insinuate that he’s thinking for a moment, but he just as soon shrugs. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You open your mouth, but you shut it because, yeah, you have a list of reasons why, but clearly, he’s not a man full of reasons. 

Instead, you silently watch as he leans against the counter, fidgeting with the bottles and jars of condiments on the surface. 

“You should really use this time to your advantage. Their fridge is loaded with top-tier breakfast options.”

Well. This guy is so unserious. You can’t even imagine him and Tashi’s husband together— they seem like they belong in two different worlds. You try not to wonder if that’s how you and Tashi look, too. Two women who belong in different worlds. 

Before you can think of something to say, soft footsteps sound from the hallway, and Tashi’s husband— Art— enters the kitchen area. He looks freshly showered while buttoning up his sleeves, and he notices you with Patrick. You’re instantly stiff under his sight. 

“You’re still here.” His voice is as mild as it was last night. 

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” He smiles. “You can stay. Tashi will be back soon.” 

“No, I should go.” 

“No, please stay?” Patrick begs with a smirk. “I want to know what kind of girl Tashi’s into.” 

“Come on, man…” Art gives a look, stern. 

“She doesn’t even play tennis!” There’s delight laced in his tone, as if not being a tennis player is the most absurd thing in the world. “Tell me, what’s the most you know about tennis?”

“...it’s like ping pong?” 

Patrick cackles. It seems to have gotten Art’s attention, too, because he chuckles at your reply as he works on the coffee machine. You think it elevates some tension but Art looks at you one more time, as if he wasn’t expecting you to give an answer like that. 

“Now I have to know what you said to Tashi to bring you back here.” 

You shrink a little under his scrutiny. The idea that Tashi brought you from a club, of all places, seems to amuse the two men, but it only makes you feel left out— like you don’t understand why they’re so eager to know more about the woman who slept with Tashi Duncan. The woman who slept with his wife. 

“How are you okay with this?” Your face burns, unable to keep your disbelief inside. “I mean, I fucked your wife.” 

Patrick whistles. “Welcome to the club.” 

Patrick laughs at his own joke but Art just studies your anxious expression, stirring his coffee with a spoon. Your skin crawls at his gaze— it’s interesting how he has such a pretty, docile face, and yet. And yet. He can look rather cold sometimes. 

He puts the spoon down and takes a sip. He swallows. He lowers the mug. 

“You didn’t fuck my wife. She fucked you.” 

Something in your chest pulls. 

The two men stare at you, and you’re suddenly very aware of how little space there is between you and them. They all seem to revolve around the one person who isn’t even here. Patrick leans back slightly, watching Art watching you, whose eyes are steady, like he’s waiting for you to catch up to something you haven’t fully grasped yet.

Then your phone vibrates. Your eyes fall to the counter, and an Uber notification flashes on your screen. 

Art tips his head, bringing the mug to his lips. “If you leave, she’ll want to see you again.” 

Your mouth is dry. “And if I don’t?” 

He shrugs. “She’ll find you.” 

With that, you breathe out, before standing up with your phone shoved into your pocket. You mumble a thank-you and a goodbye to no one in particular— anything to get out of the moment. Art lets you go, but Patrick’s lazy grin remains. 

“See you around.” 

All you can do is return a pointed smile. 

NOTE: First post yeaaahhhh!!! I love these three so much. Patrick deflects, Art dissects, and the reader is left destabilized. And Tashi is so UGRRGHHHHH !!! Love being bisexual it can't get any better than this !!!

[rafesapple]

Rules

i would prefer not to be involved in any drama-unless it pertains to me, such as mine or your fics being similar

do not steal or translate my work(unless asked and discussed before)

my layouts are inspired by rafesangelita and i have asked for perm beforehand.

discrimination, hate, etc.. is not allowed. if you have a personal problem please send a dm or through my ask.

Reqs

i will only take a few reqs at a time, i want to be able to write for my readers and what i want to. If you do req,it will be on hold and i will try to get to it between that month. But i won’t force myself to write a fic<3

p.s i want these rules in place to set boundaries and not overwhelm me. I would not want to have to archive/quit writing over hate

[rafesapple]

365 party girl reader (rewriting for both rafe cameron and art donaldson)

warnings!

toxic rafe, alcohol mentions, dr-g mentions, cursing, smut probably

should we do a little key? should we have little line? wanna go real wild when i’m bumpin that.

i think about it all the time

365 party girl reader(standing alone) who might seem like she doesn’t give a fuck, deep down she really does.Even if half the time she’s selfish, she really fucking cares about you if your close to her.

Rafe’s version

365 party girl reader who is mostly a self sufficent business woman(aka selling alcohol for cheap), even though she was a bit spoiled growing up. She goes to party once a week usually, sometimes even four times. Doesn’t help that rafe half the time can be high on whatever he’s on

She might be quite the wild card, partying all the time, getting into random shit again and again.

365 party girl reader) who thinks she knows everything about rafe but not really, which can lead to arguments. They might be toxic but they can’t leave each other, one needs the other. Rafe just says she’s paranoid, he’s so naive. Most of the time when she’s around rafe she’s sensible, unless she’s drunk which at that point rafe isn’t high. But if he is, then she wouldn’t get drunk.

art’s version

365 party girl reader who met art amidst his divorce with tashi, another young burnt out tennis player. She doesn’t even care for tennis anymore, she just wants to go party and hear club classics. Though art wanted to enjoy retirement after the divorce, he couldn’t help but watch her play. But she didn’t want that, his sympathy. maybe it was something else, but likely sympathy, after all sympathy is a knife.She might be a bit burnt out, but that doesn’t mean she won’t win. She can’t take it not to win.

365 party girl reader who originally just wanted to fuck art and make quick buck off of, god how wrong she was. She felt so bad she couldn’t even do that to him. Through the talking stage..she might’ve been a little mean to him, using him as a “lapdog” so to speak. But the moment she saw how he interacted with lily…her knees possibly buckled a little.

Art sees himself a little in her, on his bad days of course. He might like her just a little..it’s wrong isn’t it? He’s in early to mid thirties and she’s in her mid to late twenties. Plus since she’s at that point in life, she doesn’t want more than a quick fuck or fuck buddy,right? He can’t do that to himself after his mess of a marriage.

i think about it-rafe cameron

this sympathy-art donaldson

bad tattoos on leather skin, jesus christ on a plastic sign

[rafesapple]

me after finishing challengers but they didn’t confirm who won

[rafesapple]

[rafesapple]

hii every1, i probably won’t post another fic till next week, i’ve been sick this week(´ω`) it’ll be 365 party girlx art donaldson likely. I’ll have to watch challengers(i have to analyze characters badly or it won’t work well) during this im gonna update the mood board for 365 party girl(for art and rafe) and work on fics)but have a good week♥︎

p.s everyone go listen to imaginal disk it’s so good+thinking of when i write a new reader w/one of the songs.

[rafesapple]

i think about it

inspired by (i think about it all the time)

!365partygirl reader

warnings!

kinda toxic rafe, mentions of iud’s and birth control, cursing, c0ke and alcohol mentions

You sit in one of your friend's living room. He had gotten her pregnant over a year ago, and you were obviously by her side because you couldn’t fuck her over during pregnancy. After the first few weeks(wanting to give them time) finally meet their baby. She’s now a radiant mother and he’s a beautiful father, maybe you wanted a child. Rafe probably wouldn’t one probably.

Either way, they couldn’t, they’d have to be sober first.

You smile as you hold him, though he does hit at your chest making you laugh a little. After a few hours of helping around the house, you head out going to your car (that both you and Rafe bought together) As you drive you keep thinking about having a child. You start thinking about your future, this is why you hated being sober. You are both already in your late 20s, would it give you both a new purpose? Would it make you miss your freedom? What if he becomes a deadbeat..no Rafe wouldn’t leave you with a child to yourself.

As you pull into the side street of the condo you’d both lived in you lazily get up the steps. You couldn’t keep these thoughts anymore, you needed something to drink. You step in seeing Topper and Kelce with their girlfriends sitting with Rafe in the living room. Great. The one time you don’t wanna deal with people Rafe had them over.

He smiles coked out as he sees you “mm hey baby..come sit down.” You look at him annoyedly going off to the fridge. They’d drank the cold alcohol, you’d put in there. You hear them laugh at something and Rafe speaks up “You looking for that alcohol? mm we drank some of it babe..you should stay sober..” he speaks drunk and high.

You come over, your heels tapping on the wood “Get out.” you speak to the others they all laugh high and drunk “Get the fuck out! jesus christ!” you scream making them slightly jump, topper and kelce help their girlfriends up. You felt like..you were running out of time. Like it could end in a second. You watch them close the door, locking the bottom lock before doing so.

Rafe looks at you high, but sober enough to "What’s wrong. sum’s up if you kicking company out..” he groans out “I wanted that alcohol.” “told you I'm sorry.” “you didn’t put it in there, I did.” you choke out raising your voice “Stop being selfish.” “I’m not being selfish!” you watch him hand you one of those damn baggies. Pushing it on the floor “I don’t want it. I want you sober and I want to talk.”

He laughs. Of course he does. “yeah well-“You drag him by his hair to the bathroom, and next thing cold waters splash in his face. Due that you care too much, so you wipe his face gently, you both stay quiet as you lead him to the living room. “did something happen when you went to that friend's house.” he asks watching you grab a trash bag “throw up.” he laughs “what.” you hold it out still “throw up Rafe.”

After a good 25-30 minutes he starts to throw up and you throw it away, wiping his mouth. “I wanna talk still.” “about..? and you never answered my question from earlier. “should I stop my birth control after I finish my last few pills.” you mutter out. “what.” you stay silent for a moment “Should I-“ “I heard you but, why.” “why not.” “you’ve always taken it. If not we use condoms. Are you getting an IUD or whatever that shit is called.” “No. I'm not.”

“then why do you want to stop? I ain’t stopping you but if we ain’t using condoms or birth control then we ain’t taking a chance.”

“what if we had a kid? Not like we’re getting younger.” you murmur again “Jesus fucking Christ, baby. a fucking kid? you fucking party every day and you want a kid.” “and why not?” “babe, you know how hard it’s to get away from that? And get fucking sober. You're not gonna raise a damn kid drunk. I’m sure not while I’m high.”

“Then get off it!” you scream at him, and he grasps your chin tightly “Don’t yell at me.” you end up pushing his arm away “Get off me. I can be sober,” you speak lower with a certain tone. “Rafe. It..it feels like my life is so small in..the scheme of it all. What..what if it gave me a new purpose. “so you saying you feel like crap with me?”

“no! I'm not saying that, Rafe! God if I have a baby I’d want it to be with you. but you don’t want one. Not now. do you?”

“I might be shit filled with coke but that doesn’t mean that. It doesn’t mean i- fuck i..don’t wanna talk about something like this like.. this.” he groans out rubbing his face.

After this you hadn’t brought it up for the next 3 months. It never felt right to bring it up between late-night parties and getting in the clouds or drunk.

[rafesapple]

working on 365 party girl reader while listening to brat, might switch her for both rafe and art donaldson but i would have to rewrite her a little

[rafesapple]

taking rafe w/ u on makeup restock

rafe cam x reader

!sensitive peony reader

As Rafe parks the car, you unbuckle and grab your purse, before you can even open the door Rafe’s already on the other side “Come on..make it a quick trip.” he spoke as he pulled you out of the seat by your hand. You walk next to him to the store speaking up “Can you hold my purse so I can hold the basket?” you asked softly “Mmm give it here..” he spoke gently as you handed it over.

You grabbed a shopping basket as you both stepped in, one of the workers greeting you both “I think I need some more blush..” you muttered softly to yourself. Rafe followed behind admiring as you shopped “Hand me your wrist.” you asked holding up a blush, he held it out confused “For what..” he quieted down watching you blend the blush onto his skin “Oh..”

You looked up at him with your pretty small smile as he spoke up again “Want that one?” “mhm.” You put it in the basket going off to the dior section “I saw a new pink palette..wanted to see if it was pretty in person.” “Mmm I’ll buy it if you like it.” he groveled out following behind you like a guard dog..or maybe a puppy? You didn’t know.

You look over the eye shadow palette quietly with your hand behind your back, “you like it?” Rafe asked while running his gaze over you. “mhm...but I don’t know if it’ll go well with my undertones..” “Let me see..” you hand over the sampler to him, and he holds it up to you for not even giving you five seconds “It’s pretty with you.”

You smile and start to laugh “You didn’t even look at me with it..” “ion need to.. I know you’ll be pretty with it.” he grunted out, getting two of the pallets and putting them in the basket. You smile up at him as you walk with him “Are you sur-“ “I know I am.”

After another twenty minutes of shopping and putting random stuff on Rafe’s wrist, you both walk back to the car (with him holding your bags which he had made you give to him) he helps you get into the car, placing the bag of makeup into your lap. Rafe buckled you up and headed to the other side “Ready?” he asked looking over at you “Mhm..thank you for buying..!” He smiled then chuckled “It’s alright... I like spoiling ‘ya..” you continue smiling to yourself.

As he drove focused on the road, you saw a bag of white powder hanging out..wasn’t surprising as he did..well what he did. You try to ignore it as you both drive back to his house You hopped out of the car following behind him to the front door, you slipped off your shoes as you stepped in. “I'm gonna go use the bathroom right quick.” he spoke “mm I’ll be in your room.” You run off upstairs to his room, sitting down in front of the floor mirror as you tip the stuff you bought out.

You start testing it out while humming to yourself, Rafe steps in sitting down next to you “mm so fuckin pretty, baby..” he smiled as he kissed your neck. You continue to think about the baggie from earlier while smiling with an underlying..feeling so to say. “mm..” Rafe pulls away “What’s wrong.. sounds like sum bothering you.” “nothing’s wrong.”

You smile a bit fakely and it fades off “Just..you still dealing with..your business..?” “I’ve told you, you don’t need to worry about it, okay baby doll?” “But..rafe I just want to know..you never tell me and I-“ he cuts you off “I told you, I’m not getting you involved in that shit. your always going on and on about it. I know you wanna know but I’m not letting you near it,” he spoke pissed off with his tone raised at you.

Tears started to spill with a soft whine “babe..no come on... I ain’t meant it like that..” he spoke gently bringing you into his arm “‘m sorry..” you choked out “Nah...no...it’s alright..here.. I'm gonna tell you once I got some shit sorted out..kay? I’ll let you know what ‘m doing.”

You look up at him with flushed cheeks, tears, and red eyes “Really..?” you groaned out “Mhm.” he spoke kissing your forehead “Really, really?” you asked again, and he laughed in your head “Really really..”

[rafesapple]

working on sensitive peony reader and 365 party girl reader figs currently<3

wanna make a playlist for sensitive peony reader but idk what songs to add..