pretty n pink

You’d been married to Toji for four years now, falling in love the moment he approached you in the streets of Tokyo, Japan. You were studying abroad in grad school, telling him that you’d been working on your masters degree within Administration, to which he replied that he shared a business with his partner—a contractor, he was. 

You would never forget that initial interaction. The onyx of his hair tousled in a flawless way, matching the natural frown of his full eyebrows each time he watched you speak. 

He allowed you to ramble off with low hums of ’Mmm’, even with it being the first conversation between the two of you. And to be honest, it made you nervous. From the warm ivory of his complexion that was coated with tattoos, being so many that they traveled beneath the white tee he wore, to his frame that was tall, lean, and built—the cadence of his deep voice, a gruffness to his tone as a cigarette sunk between the side of his full lips—He was like no other. 

But you feigned an innocence he couldn’t pull from. The deep ginger curls draping around your freckled cheeks flushed as he spoke to you, round eyes beaming from beneath your lashes—you wore a cherry blossom within your tresses, pale pink mini dress clad around your curvy figure as you held textbooks beneath your arms. Your giggles, your smile, all those things made you like no other even more so. 

He wanted you. 

You both resided in New Orleans as his business was the most successful there, receiving a multitude of clients after Hurricane Katrina hit the city years before. Behind that scary demeanor was a man with wholehearted compassion—He helped others create their new homes after losing their old ones, becoming known as the most popular contractor along the West Bank. But of course, he had a little help along the way. 

He offered you a job as his business’ consultant manager, able to give feedback on their personal brand as contractors, as well as answering emails and phone calls—but here’s where the issue began. 

Onyankopon.

The first time meeting him was entirely friendly, even when his looks might’ve had your stomach do a flip. To the heavy New Orleans twang that slipped between a few creole words as he spoke to you, to the strength of his hand when he shook yours. The sepia of his smooth skin complexion shined in cocoa butter, strident jaw clenching as he shook the small frame of your palm.

You’ little as hell, you remember him telling you. 

He was an extreme contrast to Toji—open faced grills within his mouth, teeth straight and white each time he smiled or laughed. His lips were a deep pink, full, kissabl—

Teeth. His teeth were nice.

Your eyes ran across the neatly braided cornrows, broad frame covered in tattoos that moved when he flexed his muscles. In that moment, he’d lifted his shirt to wipe the moisture of sweat from his forehead, goatee wafting a shea butter scent from the follicles—but you couldn’t even finish reading his body over, as your eyes fell right at the sculpt of his abs, Bible scriptures thumping across the flesh as he grunted from the heat of outside. And like an idiot, your reply was—

You have big hands. 

Yeah, you were fucked. 

Well, at first you weren’t. Onyankopon had been the best man in your wedding, constantly coming over to the house, even dozing off on the sofa as you laid a blanket over him. You and him had a good enough rapport with Toji being the common denominator—so the question was, why did you have the inkling to fuck him? 

This wasn’t cheating, right? 

Regardless of Toji and Onyankopon growing up together, they were extremely different—Toji was more aggressive, outspoken, able to soften his hard corners the minute he was with you. On the other hand, Onyankopon was sweet, observant, quiet, and stoic—he was the action, while Toji was the mouth piece. 

So back to the point—this definitely wasn’t cheating, right? 

Okay, but you loved your husband. He was there for you throughout all your highs and lows—He was patient, affectionate, hard-working, all the things you wanted within a man. He was the only man you’d ever been with—sexually, romantically—so you couldn’t understand why your brain was thinking about how big Onyankopon’s hands were—

Anyway, this was your husband’s fault. You couldn’t blame him for loving Onyankopon like a brother, but you could blame him for bringing him around more than he should have. He was like a villain to your origin story. Working out with the both of you at the gym, going out with you late at night, hanging around you just as much as your husband did. To make things worse? He was so. Damn. Nice. Opening the door for you, taking your hand as you needed to walk up the stairs, always asking how you felt throughout the day when your husband wasn’t able to do so. 

It’s not that you wanted him, per se. It was the mixture of both your husband and him within the same room, deep voices talking shit to one another, laughing, eyeing you as you walked past, made dinner, giggled shyly when they both called for your attention—you weren’t trying to make it obvious that he made you a little fuzzy, but the narrow of your husband's eyes might’ve said otherwise. 

Now? You were fucked. 

Here you were now, sitting along your miniature desk as you did emails during the business’ new project. Both men were working on a house within Uptown, a two story home where the family wanted an all white kitchen. You were in between phone calls and looking over shop drawings to make sure the infrastructure was to the family’s desires, claw clip within your curls as they draped in between your fingers, sighing as the paper work had you a bit tired. 

Your eyes wandered over to your husband standing on the opposite side of the room, ear leaning into the screen of his phone as he tugged construction gloves from his large palms—Onyankopon on the opposite side of him, plummeting his hammer into the wall above. You watched both men for a brief moment, as they both wore forest green long sleeves, tugging to the muscular frame of their shoulders and abdomen. 

When you heard the click of Toji’s lighter, your eyes rolled.

“Please don’t smoke in someone else’s house, Fushiguro.”

Of course, that natural frown appeared seconds later. Your husband’s eyebrows lowered, wrist knocking down as he shook off the ash collecting at the tip of his cigar. 

“‘Bout to go outside” he grunts to you, “The wife said she wants white oak instead of maple for the counter.” 

Onyankopon hadn’t turned towards either of you, but he did stop his hammering, a low breath huffing from his lips as he grunted in return, “Why she ain’t say that shit earlier? I’m finna’ get started on the window.” 

Toji releases a puff of smoke, “Husband said he’ll pay double.”

“That don’t’ make it any less work.”

Your husband’s grey eyes peered over his slightly irritated friend, a glint within them as he leaned forward, blowing smoke towards Onyankopon.

He now fully turned from where he stood, brown eyes stabbing every inch of Toji’s body—his low voice warns, “Chill out, nigga. You see I’m tryna’ figure out what I need to do.” 

Both men always had an interesting dynamic—one could be playful, while the other couldn’t be at all. It was always easy for Toji to rile up Onyankopon. 

“You’re mad ‘cause more money ‘bout to go in your pocket?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “Quit whinin’.”

Onyankopop turns to face the wall, hand holding onto the hammer, “Ain’t nobody whinin’. Stop talkin’ to me.” 

Toji glances back at you from the other side of the room, a wink being sent in your direction.

You roll your eyes at the both of them, “And where does she think we’re gonna find White Oak at nearly six in the afternoon?”

“She’s tryna’ change everything to white oak,” Toji clarified, “Countertops to white granite, cabinets to off white.”

That’s when Onyankopon tosses the hammer beside his boot. He crosses his arms to lean his back along the wall, face hard from this conversation. 

“She might as well do a whole new renovation,” he mutters. 

“You’ the only one complaining.”

“Don’t mean I ain’t right,” Onyankopon counters, “Shit don’t’ make sense. We got three more days before the contract is up, and now she on some’ HGTV bullshit.”

“‘Can’t complain if that’s what they want.” 

Onyankopon turns towards you. 

“How’ you feelin’ about this?”

You blink at the question, not wanting to be in the middle of one of their usual disputes. You tug a ginger curl behind your ear, scrunching your nose to adjust the tip of your glasses. 

Your voice is soft, “Onyankopon’s right, baby. I think it’s a little late for changes in renovations when you’re already halfway done with the kitchen.”

You see your husband's jaw tighten at your confirmation, his back straightening as he glances between the two of you. Even if he didn’t agree, he had to understand his partner's point of view. 

“I hear both of you,” Toji glances at Onyankopon, “What you wanna’ tell them?” 

“Finish the current cabinet set up, make the kitchen white, and she can set another appointment if she wanna add other shit.”

You glance down to the paper beneath you, pen flicking beneath your fingers, “We still need more maple—think you can make it to Home Depot before they close?”

Toji gives a nod of approval, stomping on the butt of the cigar he was trying to finish, “I got it. Gonna’ head that way.” 

Onyankopon's eyebrows raise in surprise, “You goin’ by yo’self?”

“Why? You gonna’ kiss and make up with me now?”

Onyankopons’ eyes narrow, “Ain’t nobody kissin’ yo’ overgrown ass, nigga.” 

“You sound like a damn teenager.” 

“‘Cause I’m arguin’ with one.”

“Can you tell me you love me and stop arguing, please?” you tilt your head, “Come gimme’ some love.” 

The smallest smile might’ve found Toji’s mouth. 

“You want love?” His footsteps approach your desk, heavy on the wooden floor, “You want some love, huh?” 

His large hand runs up the length of your shoulder, fingers finding your neck as he pushes your chin up, “You hearin’ me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling him lower by the bicep of his arm, “Don’t be long,” You rub your nose against his, “You love me?”

Toji brings his other hand to the other side of your neck, thumbs grazing your cheeks with that signature smirk on his lips, “You know I do.” 

He pulls your face towards his, gruff as he questions, “You like when I tell you that?” 

You’re met with the familiar taste of his mouth, tongue exploring yours as he sighs through his nose, hushing your small giggle through the kiss. 

“Aight,” Onyankopon interrupts, “Y’all know Home Depot finna’ close, huh?” 

Toji raises his middle finger in the direction of the other man, giving you a couple more pecks—his hand lingers along your neck when he turns back to his friend, “You’re still over there cryin’? Let me kiss my woman.”

He then stands to his full height, “‘Need anything from me before I leave, wifey?”  he sarcastically questions Onyankopon. 

Onyankopons’ eyes roll up in the direction of the ceiling, hand moving to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just gon’ head, Fushiguro.” 

“Have those emails ready for me,” He gives a kiss to your forehead, “Behave.”

He then extends back up once more, “Watch my woman for me, bastard.”

“I always do,” Onyankopon murmurs, “She’ good with me.”

And with that, the door closed.

You didn’t expect your husband to be gone for almost two hours. He wasn’t answering the phone, and the heat seeping into the home had you ready to call it quits. Your fingers were lazily typing across the keyboard, flickering up to Onyankopon every once in a while. 

You softly ask, “Did he text you back?”

Onyankopons’ brown eyes glance up from his own set of papers. 

“Nah,” he replies, “I called him, ain’t answer.” 

You pout your lips at the news, now knowing Toji was really taking his time. 

Onyankopon notices your face.

“He ain’t dead, shawty. Nigga prolly’ searchin’ for the best maple wood in all of New Orleans. He’d overwork himself before givin’ a bad service.”

The words make you smile a bit, knowing your husband just as much as he did.

You say, “I’m sorry. I just hate when he goes awol—I probably sound annoying.”

Onyankopon lets out a low chuckle, one that rumbles through the release of his chest. His attention was now on you instead of those papers, leaned forward in his chair. His shoulders seemed to expand in size. 

“Youn’ sound annoying, just worried,” He leans forward more, “He ain’t good at checkin’ the time when he be runnin’ errands.“

He looks back down at his work, a moment of silence passing before he glances up again,

“You ain’t hungry, are you?”

Your eyes find themselves back to his face, realizing how long you’d glance over his muscular frame.

“Hm?” You process the question, “Um—no, I’m fine. I don’t like to bother you guys about food while you’re working and I’m just sitting, y’know?” 

You adjust your glasses once more, “I’m fine, really.”

Onyankopon squinted his eyes in the direction of you, eyebrows cocking up when he asked, “You ain’t eat nothin’ today?” 

His voice was like honey. Sweet, with a deep rumble, and it didn’t help the fact that he was giving you his full attention. 

“You know you ain’t no bother to me. I can go grab you sum’.”

The thing was, you were hungry. Toji was sweet enough to have pack you a lunch earlier, one that you’d already scarfed down and hadn’t thought about until this moment. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t just say all that, but maybe it had to do with the way he looked at you.

Something him and your husband had in common—it was that damn glare they kept upon their faces, whether they were happy, upset, or just fixated on something. You hated to say that the sight had you shifting within your chair.

Your face flushes a bit, “I’m okay, Ony. Thank you.”

You might’ve been crazy. You swear you saw the corner of his mouth lifting at the nickname, but it happened too fast— it had to be a trick of the sunlight. 

“You sure?” 

The concern he displayed was always so pure, it made you wanna kill him.

You nod, “Promise. I’m just gonna finish my emails,” you nearly fumbled your words, “I have a couple more to do.”

“Youn’ gotta overwork yo’self, Mama. You can stop if you’ exhausted,” he gently adds, “Toji gon’ be out for a minute.” 

There was that look again, the one that felt deep within your body, like you were entirely naked in front of him. 

There was also the fact that your heart was pounding. It was either a heart attack, or you were going to spontaneously combust—

“You’ warm?” He questions, “You sweatin’.”

You quickly glance down your body, noticing the sheen of your skin. The soft yellow halter dress you wore hugged along your wide hips with the mixture of sweat—but nothing was worse when you realized your nipples seeping through the fabric up top. You weren’t even cold. 

You run your fingers through your hair, pulling your curls farther away from the back of your neck. You awkwardly giggle, “‘S just really hot in here.”

The corner of his mouth definitely twitched up that time, like he had an idea of what was happening to you right now. He probably didn’t. You hoped he didn’t. 

You could see the muscles of his arms flex when he shifted in his chair, fingers of his left hand scratching along his facial hair.

“It is,” he agrees, “Imma’ finish up this window.“

When he stands from his seat, you then hear, “You need me?” 

You blink, eyes flickering over him as your mouth goes dry, “Huh?”

“I said, you lemme’ know if you need anything, aight?”

You were losing it.

“Okay,” you force the most normal smile, “Got it.”

This had to be your personal hell. It might’ve been enjoyable for anyone else, but this was the worst thing you could’ve witnessed. You were trying to finish your work, but you found yourself…glancing above your computer.

Onyankopons’ hands were rough, strong with large palms as he held up the thick glass window, the muscles within his arms flexing from the power of it. A few beads of sweat fell within the crevasses of his chest, dripping down and soaking into his shirt, tight from how it stretched across his body. His dark brows were focused, tongue running across his lips as his jaw was set, feet were slightly spread apart, like a soldier, stance strong—God, he was so strong. 

His hair was braided back, sweat beading and traveling down his temples, face focused on the work in front of him. He gave a loud huff as he nailed in the window frame, face scowling as his biceps flexed. 

Lord Jesus. 

But oh, you must’ve been in the seventh ring of hell when he tugged that shirt off of his body. He’d begun playing music to keep himself distracted, but if only he knew. 

The tattoos that lined his arms and chest were now on full display, shiny with the sweat. His chest and abs flexed from the work of lifting heavy objects, the thick length of his tatted neck and shoulders flexing from the movements. 

And then, so attractively, he rolled his neck back, grunting as he lifted the weight of the glass once more. 

You felt dizzy.

Your cheeks flushed as you watched him, eyes staring almost dreamily. There was nothing more attractive than a man working hard, sweat pouring down his body as he pushed his strength to the limits. It made you—imagine things. Your body throbbed at your thoughts, a small frown coming between your lips at the sight. 

But that frown quickly erased, as your heart nearly dropped into your ass the moment you heard the door unlock. You hiked your body up to the perfect sitting position, scattering your fingers for your pen as you scribbled random words along the bottom of your papers. 

You couldn’t even look in Toji’s direction.

Your husband could’ve called out your name, but you still wouldn’t have looked over. So when Toji appeared beside your desk, his strong arm draping over your shoulders, the weight nearly startled you.

“Babydoll,” he rasped, “What’s goin’ on? You need some water?”

Your eyes glanced at Onyankopon. 

Kissing Toji’s jaw, your face flushed as you deflected, “The Louisiana heat is dire—what took you so long, baby?”

Toji’s eyebrows quirked up at your sudden affection, catching the tense in your body. However, being your easily distracted husband, he loved when you wanted to be on him. His hands rubbed over your arms, attempting to soothe you a bit.

“The closest Home Depot didn’t have the wood in stock,” he murmured, “Damn near traveled the entire state.”

Your hips had always been your sensitive spot, lower body shivering a bit as he began to rub there. You found yourself wanting to hold his face, tugging his body to be closer as you told him, “‘Missed you, Toji.”

His grip was light, a thumb brushing along the curve of one of your eyebrows. 

“Yeah?” he murmured back. 

He noticed the way you tried to look elsewhere. 

His fingers came to grip beneath your chin, gently forcing your attention back to him. 

“Eyes,” he reminded, “Need em’ here.” 

Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.

“I’m just a little tired,” you found something to say, your hands rubbing at the smoothness of his jaw, rubbing his neck, rubbing everywhere to distract him.

Toji leaned into your touch, but not much. It made your heart beat more. 

“You sure that’s the only thing?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

His frown flickers your face once more, but the warmth of your palms was all too soothing. His mouth grunted along your throat, “Missed you too,” kissing pecks along the warm flesh. Your fingers sunk into his hair as you giggled a bit, leaning your head back for him to keep his affection going. But in that moment, your eyes might’ve glanced at Onyankopon once more. 

If only you’d realized that your husband noticed.

Finishing off the night was another hour later, as you’d both said your goodbyes to Onyankopon, quickly making it home to wash off the heat of the day. You sat in the vanity your husband had built for you, angles carved within the gold trim of the mirror, lights attached to the surface below to do your skincare or makeup. 

As your husband was within the shower, your mind wandered. You’d hoped today’s little hiccup was a spur of the moment, and that you’d become a bit delirious from the heat. However, you still thought about the way Onyankopon looked at you, and something in that still had your thighs squeezing together.

“Pretty girl,” you hear your husband call, the bathroom door opening to reveal him within a towel—it hangs low on his muscular hips, abs sweltering in water, upper body flexing as he dries the damp of his hair. 

“You finished up those emails earlier?”

Shit. 

The tips of your fingers swiped along your cheek with oil, your eyes briefly finding his as you replied, “Um—No, I didn’t.”

Toji raised an eyebrow in your direction, not used to hearing your denial of finished work.

“What happened?”

Your body shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the heat of the shower steam slowly crawling into the room. 

“Got distracted with a couple of phone calls,” was your lie, “Want me to finish them before bed?”

“You seem distracted now,” he points out, “‘Can barely make eye contact with me.”

“You’re the most handsome man in the world,” you hum, “What can I say?”

Toji huffs a chuckle.

His gaze still hardened on you, studying you with those all-seeing eyes of his. You kept your head turned, face flushing again, fingers moving along your facial products as you pretended not to feel it. That’s when you hear him again.  

“Let me ask you somethin’.”

Your heart immediately started beating, turning towards him with raised eyebrows. 

You tug a curl behind your ear, “Yeah?” 

Toji leaned his hip along the edge of the sink, towering over you even with feet away.

“How you feelin’ ‘bout Onyankopon?” he flatly questions, “You like him?” 

Your eyes blink at the question. You tilt your head, “You’ve been friends for years. Why wouldn’t I?”

Toji lets a low hum escape his chest while his thumbs hooked at the hips of his towel. His biceps flexed from the position. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

You tried to keep your expression neutral. 

“What are you asking, then?”

“To be honest with me.” 

Onyankopon wasn’t a topic he treaded lightly on, especially when it concerned you. He wasn’t a possessive man by any means, but any question he asked, he wanted the truth. 

He repeats, “You like him?” 

“I don’t—“ you went to argue, but his eyes stopped you.

So you try again. 

“That’s a bit of a weird question to ask, Fushiguro.”

The corner of Toji’s mouth twitched with a frown at you dodging the question. His eyes, however, kept you in a hold. 

“Nah,” he disagreed, “It ain’t.” 

You sat there quietly, thinking about lying like you’d been doing all day. But the guilt of lying to him felt heavy in your chest.  

So, with the slightest of hesitance, you softly admitted, “I do.” 

You then follow up with, “But it’s not…like that.”

“Make me understand.”

You shifted in your chair, legs crossing as you attempted to keep your gaze from drifting. 

You replied, “I don’t like him in a romantic way. I just—“

Your teeth scrape at your lip a bit, “It’s just a little fantasy, you know? That’s all. I would never act on any of my emotions, Toji. You know that.” 

His expression was unreadable. 

“Right?” 

You wanted that confirmation, swallowing hard. Toji studied you, jaw shifting in the silence that fell. 

You then added, “You’re the one I married.” 

He replied, “That don’t’ answer my next question.” 

“What question?” 

His next words had the silence in the room deafening. 

“Your fantasy. Talk me through it.” 

Your mouth parts to speak, but no words escape you. 

“What?”

“Tell me about your fantasy,” Toji repeated, “Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m askin’ you.”

You felt heat creep back up your body, your cheeks practically on fire. 

“There’s nothing to tell, baby. It’s—silly.” 

Toji’s jaw ticked. 

“You think I’m mad at you?”

You question, “Are you?” 

“I’m not. Shit ain’t silly if you’re flustered like this.”

He then repeats, “Tell me.” 

You swallowed, fiddling with your manicured fingers. 

“Promise you won’t be mad?” 

He huffs, “I just told you I wasn’t, babydoll. C’mon.” 

Your legs moved together awkwardly, fingers still fiddling, “When I see the two of you being together, working, just—doing stuff, I imagine…”

Toji waited, watching you fidget. 

“Sexual stuff, Y’know? My mind just gets a little dirty.”

“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you?”

“Toji.”

“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you while I watch?”

“Fushiguro!” you squeaked, “Jesus, no. I think about the both of you,” you clarify, “That’s all!” 

You stand from the chair, going over to lightly wrap your arms around his neck—you’re breathless as you whimper, “Please stop asking me this. It’s a stupid thing, okay? I love you. I’d never do anything with anyone else.” 

“Is that somethin’ you want?”

“What?” you frown, “What do you mean?”

“You want me and him? You wanna take that?” 

You knock your head into his chest, throwing your hands over your face as you squeak again, “Baby!”

The corner of Toji’s mouth lifted with amusement, “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You felt mortified.

You were stubborn in keeping your face covered, muttering out, “No, Fushiguro. Please. Stop.”

You could feel his chuckle against your head, deep within his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“You’re so shy, woman.” 

“You’re insane,” you murmur, heart thumping in your chest, “Why aren’t you mad? How aren’t you mad?”

“Don’t really have anythin’ to be mad ‘bout,” Toji murmured, squeezing at your waist, “You like the idea of it; ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” 

“I feel insane,” You reply.

“Shit is kinda’ cute, honestly.” 

“Toji,” You smack his bicep, “Stop.”

“Ouch.”

 His hands gripped at the full flesh of your ass, forcing you to hold around his neck as you sat on the sink countertop.

“You done with your lil’ tantrum?” 

You roll your eyes, “My husband is tryna’ have me admit to wanting to fuck his best friend. I think my reaction is pretty valid.”

His lips brushed up your neck, voice deep, gruff with his reply, “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ‘bout all that, huh?” Your legs hooking at either side of his hips, holding him between the warmth of your thighs.

“Can we stop talking about this?” you question, “Why can’t you just say I’m pretty and that you love me? Why do you have to make my life harder?”

He smirked at your complaint. He then responded with, “I think you’re the prettiest thing in the South; you know that.”

His strong hands were already tugging the fabric of your night gown, palming at the soft flesh up your thigh. You grip at his hair, fingers twisting within it.

“You know I love you so damn much,” he grunts, nose running along the curve of your neck, “You’re mine.” 

You pucker your lips out, awaiting a kiss.

Toji gives you what you want, of course. He groaned from the sensation of you tugging down on his bottom lip, sucking on it with a pop as he pulled away.

You run your tongue along your lips as you giggle, “Mkay.” 

You then sigh, “Wanna go to bed? Get a little—freaky?” you playfully wiggle your brows. 

“Yeah. Lemme’ call up Onyankopon first—“

You smack his chest again.

The next couple of days were better than you imagined. It was a resting period, both you and Toji spending most of your time sleeping, cuddling, watching shows, and overall rejuvenating one another in preparation for work the next week. 

Your time off had gotten infinitely better when your husband received a phone call from a client within the Garden District—who he thought wasn’t interested in his services—but when he offered triple Toji and Onyankopon’s pay rate, it seemed otherwise. You whisper screamed as you jumped on the bed above him, your feet thumping on either side of his legs as he talked business, watching as he tried to hold off his chuckle. 

Here’s when things got weird. Later that morning, Onyankopon planned to come over for a football game, as you’d also agreed to cook in celebration of your big contract coming up. It was a usual routine—football, gym, coming back home to cook. 

But something about today’s routine felt…different. 

Toji and Onyankopon. The combination of the two was something you could usually handle, but when you came downstairs that morning for coffee, you felt an energy coming off of them. You were usually comfortable in their company. Toji was his rough, crass self, but nonetheless a loving husband. And then there was Onyankapon, who was usually the sweetheart. 

But now, you felt as if their attitudes had shifted. They’d been quiet and watchful since you’d entered the kitchen, eyes following your every single move. That’s when you realize—they were watching you like you were their prey.

“Good morning?” 

Your voice was sweet, nervous. You waved as if they weren’t ten feet away.

Both men replied with their own version of a greeting, their eyes locked on your form as you moved to grab a cup of coffee. You could feel the heat of their stares. 

It was almost—too silent.

If that wasn’t weird, this definitely was. The energy picked up around the afternoon, both men gulping down a beer together as their low tones barked at the television, watching the game at its peak. You’d finished up with those emails you were supposed to finalize, snuggling yourself into your husband as you leaned your upper body into his, Onyankopon beside you while continuously watching the game. Your eyes were a bit droopy as you weren’t as interested, sinking your face deeper into Toji’s abdomen. And that’s when it happened—you felt Onyankopon graze his fingers along your hip as he spoke to your husband about the game. Your eyes went wide.

Onyankopon’s voice was gruff from football games and beers, but his fingers were steady as ever against your skin. Both men were locked onto the screen as if your reaction was nothing important—All the while, you felt your heart thumping under your rib cage. 

Your clit throbbed. 

Then, it was your husband's turn. Toji’s hand was a stark contrast to Onyankopon’s; rough, large, calloused, and much thicker. His fingers cladded onto your ass, pulling your body back so you were nestled further between the two. 

“You think LSU’s gonna’ make an upset today?”

“Ain’t no way them’ niggas beatin’ Georgia,” Onyankopon shook his head, “I’m reppin’ my state, but they’ be drawlin’.” 

“You always goin’ too hard for the opposition,” Toji countered, “Gotta’ be more confident in the home team.”

“You ain’t even from Louisiana,” Onyankopon sucked his teeth, “Why you defendin’ niggas like they’ payin’ you to say allat’?” 

“I ‘been here for sixteen years now. Chill.” 

They’re both touching. Again.

Your heart felt as if it was being squeezed between two giant fingers. You’d tried so hard to keep your focus on the game, but Onyankopon shifted forward in his seat, leaning more of his body closer to your ass. Toji shifted his legs apart, forcing you to lean a bit more onto Onyankopon.

Your heart palpitated. 

“You wanna’ go against this bet or not?”

Onyankopon was still rubbing at your hip. He grunted at Toji’s response, “Don’t get yo’ ass beat.” 

“Beat this bet, Pussy.” 

“Who’ the pussy?” 

“I’d say the man who’s ‘bouta lose fifty dollars.” 

Your ass was right on top of Onyankopon’s thigh at this point.

You inhaled a shaky breath, feeling a bit dizzy at the scent of them. Toji smelled like nature; earthy, woodsy. Onyankopon, however, smelled like musk and some type of cologne. You weren’t sure which one you liked more, their argument now completely muffled to your ears. 

They were trying to kill you.

Maybe it didn’t actually happen that way. Your mind fed on those delusions as you stood within the gym later that day, zoning out each time you waited to do your rep behind both men. You’d always worked out with them, learning different techniques that left your body sore afterwards—but once again, today was different. 

They were both rough with their work outs, grunting whenever they’d throw down a set of weights. Chests’ heaving, sweat collecting, they were hot. But today, the attention was on you.

To top it off, they were still touching. 

The way Onyankopons’ fingers would graze over your waist as he helped you with your sets, how Toji’s hand smacked your ass as you walked past them—You couldn’t handle them.

It all led into the night—once everyone was refreshed and showered, you were within the kitchen cooking one of their favorite meals—steak, loaded potatoes and broccoli. You were comforted by the candles lit along the house, a glass of wine easing your nerves from the entire day. Your ginger curls draped around your face and past your hips, pale yellow halter top and matching capris hugging the fat of your ass, frilly sock beneath your golden heels to match the jewelry on your caramel skin. You were currently seasoning your steak, eyes briefly flickering to the patio door halfway open as both men smoked a blunt together. You watched them.

Toji was dressed in those loose, dark cargos that hung off of his hips for dear life, a white muscle shirt stretched to its limit across his biceps and over the chest. Onyankopons’ pants were black, and his shirt was navy blue. They're both huge. 

A slight breeze drifted through the cracked patio door, blowing into the house and mixing with the scents of Toji’s—and now their—smoke.

Their shoulders flexed as they passed the blunt back and forth, laughter and low conversation heard through the glass. They were both so handsome, so attractive, so rough compared to you.

Your eyes briefly met theirs from the doorway, Toji’s eyes that dark grey, Onyankopons’ a lighter brown. 

They were looking at you. No other way to describe it. They were looking at you. 

The sight made you a bit wobbly. Nonetheless, you waved through the window at the two, dimple poking with the soft smile you gave them.

Your husbands’ fingers rubbed at his jaw while Onyankopon cracked a smirk, waving back at you in return. 

Okay.

When they made it back inside, you were in the middle of cutting your potatoes up—you hummed, “Everything okay?”

Toji’s gaze was focused on your hands as you chopped the vegetables, but it eventually flickered to your face as he replied, "Good, just missed you out there.”

Onyankopons’ head tilted your direction too, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “You look good,” He complimented, voice raspy. 

You blushed at his compliment. Accepting the kiss Toji gave along your cheek, you’re distracted as he tugs his finger through your curls—you giggle a bit, “Just wanted to look pretty for tonight—you guys look nice too,” you turn your face to kiss at your husbands lips, “You guys hungry?”

Toji leaned in for another kiss, sucking your lower lip between his teeth as he multiplied his pecks. You rubbed your fingers along his shoulder, turning your face up for his mouth to find your jaw. You weren’t used to your husband giving this kind of affection in front of his friend. 

“Starvin’,” Toji grunted. 

Onyankopons’ eyes stayed on you, tongue running along those large lips of his, “You always lookin’ pretty, Mama. You know that?” 

The pet name made your thighs want to clench.

“Um—“ you giggled once more, holding Toji’s jaw to keep him in place, “Thank you, Ony. I should be done with dinner soon, okay?”

“Don’t take too long,” Toji murmured along your neck, “Can’t keep my mouth off’ you.” 

His hand smacked the fuller portion of your ass, sending it jiggling beneath your capris. 

Onyankopons’ tongue ran along his lips, “Aight. I’m waitin’ on you, girl.”

That sentence weighed in your chest.

Toji went upstairs to find another lighter, leaving the two of you downstairs—alone. You hummed the low instrumentals of your music, beginning to slice the stems of your broccoli. You gave Onyankopon a small smile as his eyes found yours every so often, tugging your hair out of your face as a way to distract how anxious you felt.  

You softly ask, “How’d you spend your days off?”

Onyankopons’ eyes followed the movement of your fingers through your hair, watching the way your neck exposed when you threw it back. His arms folded over his chest, the veins within his forearms prominent from the action. 

“Shit was aight,” he replied evenly, “‘Nigga just caught up on some sleep. You?”

You hummed, attempting to look for another cutting board, “We caught up on a couple of shows, cuddled, mushy shit that married couples do,” you shake your head.

You then ask, “How ‘you feel about the contract in the Garden District?” 

The corner of Onyankopons’ mouth twitched with a small smile, eyes lingering on the way your hips shifted.

“Feels good to have contracts comin’ left and right,” he replied, “Blessed, essentially. Y’all’ been on my ass since the last project, so I’m ready to start sum’ new.”

You turn your head towards him, hair draping over your shoulder. You roll your eyes, musing, “Y’know it’s not like that, Onyankopon. Toji is just—despite the things clients ask for, he wants to go above and beyond that. Not saying you don’t, he’s just—particular, you know?”

Onyankopons’ eyes were practically glued to you as he replied, “Yeah, nah, I ain’t mean it like that. I know how Toji gets, that’s just part of the process,” His head cocked, “He just get’ too caught up sometimes.” 

Onyankopons’ eyebrows lifted, “How you’ be puttin’ up wit’ him?”

“The same way you do,” you softly giggle, “We both love him. It’s a thing we seem to have in common.”

He chuckled in return, your attention moving back to finish cutting your broccoli. After a few moments of silence, your eyes flick back up to him—you call, “Ony?”

You think on your words.

“I just wanted to say—thank you, for being such a good friend to him. He doesn’t have anyone in his life outside of me, and having such amazing emotional support, he’s happier when you’re around. It means the world.”

Onyankopons’ expression changed with the way your voice softened, something warm, comfortable, almost intimate coming from the way you talked about his friend, his best friend for that matter. 

His voice was softer in reply, “Of course, Mama. Toji’s family to me. Couldn’t ask a nigga for a better person to have in my corner.”

After a moment, he then questions, “What ‘bout you?” 

You blink at the question, “What about me?” 

“You’ happy to have me around?”

The question makes your heart thump. You sigh, “I’m always happy to have you around, Ony. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Ion’ make you feel no type of way?” 

You blink. 

“Of course not.”

There was something about his tone that made your nerves tighten. The way he looked at you was different from the way Toji did, but it had your heart thumping the same. 

“No,” You reply, “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me since day one.” 

He spread his legs a bit, abdomen flexing as he did so. 

Onyankopons’ head tilted, “Just sweet?”

You swallowed, nodding. 

“Yeah.” 

His fingers flexed as they rested in his lap. You turned your back to him, beginning to cut the remaining broccoli. 

“Nothin’ else?” 

Your neck prickled at the way his voice dropped. 

You shook your head, keeping your eyes locked below. But that’s when you hear—

“I see how you be lookin’ at me, girl.” 

Your hands clenched around the knife. 

When your eyes find his, that’s when your body tensed—your hands quickly dropping the knife as you feel a slice along your index finger. You held your hand towards your body, scrunching your face at the discomfort. 

Onyankopons’ chair made an obnoxious noise as he shot up from his seat—It seemed he was across the room in a second, towering over your body as he took hold of your injured hand. His hands were large, long fingers circling all the way to your wrist as he assessed the wound. 

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” You murmured, “I got distracted. You—“

And then, he’s sucking.

Your eyes widened as Onyankopons’ lips engulfed the wound on your index finger, tongue licking the area with zero hesitance. It was the last thing you expected him to do. 

“Ony—“

“‘Gotta be more careful, Mama.” 

His tongue runs across his mouth as he pulls back, as if savoring the taste of you. Your lips parted, your chest heaving as his lips hovered along yours. 

“You got a taste on you, girl.”

You could’ve died right there. That’s when you hear the heavy thumps of your husband coming downstairs, your face hot as he eyes the two of you in closer vicinity. 

He questions, “You good, baby? What happened?”

You felt dizzy under both of their heavy gazes. You swallowed again, nodding.

“She cut her finger,” Onyankopons’ replied evenly, “She wasn’t payin’ attention.” 

And as both men conversed normally after that, that’s when you realized—they were in fact trying to get you. 

Your mind was elsewhere during dinner. The wine had your brain fuzzy, keeping yourself quiet as you watched both men talk shit between one another, per usual. Everything up in this moment began to click—the day you watched Onyankopon, the conversation with Toji, the weird interactions between the two all day—at this point, you were just waiting for something to happen. 

“Yo’, you remember when we went into that adult store up on Bourbon street? Niggas was weird,” Onyankopon chuckle, “Never went back after that.” 

Toji huffed, nodding in agreement, “Dude was tellin’ us ‘bout wantin’ to be a dog. I’m not judgin’, but I didn’t wanna hear all that.” 

Both men laughed. Your fingers tapped against your glass nervously. 

Toji then turns, “We went to one a couple years ago, huh, babydoll?”

You blink at Toji’s words, snapping out of your thoughts when your husband addresses you. 

“Yeah,” you laugh a bit, “Yeah, we did.”

Toji chuckled once more, “We were in there for hours.” 

Your eyes widened, “We were not in there for that long!” 

Onyankopons’ head tilted, “What were y’all doin’ in there, applyin’ for the job?” 

You roll your eyes, “Funny, but no. I just wanted to find something—sorry, you don’t wanna hear all that,” you shook your head, “It’s a little TMI.” 

Onyankopon raised an eyebrow. 

“Try me, I ain’t gon’ freak out.”

You inhaled a deep breath, giving in. You sat up in your seat, clearing your throat as you fiddled with the stem of your glass. 

“I was just—browsing,” you giggle, “I was looking for a dildo, but the ones they had were a little too big for me. Like, seven or eight inches.” 

Toji and Onyankopons’ heads tilted, expressions staying the same, but you could see it within their eyes that there was a change. Toji’s eyes darkened, lips pressed together. Onyankopons’ jaw flexed a bit. 

And then, Onyankopon chuckles. 

It sends a chill through your spine, one where you didn’t understand what was exactly funny. Your eyes run across him the same way you did a couple days ago—cornrows, strident face, full goatee. You almost missed his next set of words as he looked at Toji.

“She ain’t gon’ be able to fit me.” 

You felt your entire body freeze. 

Toji’s jaw clicked in return, “Nah, she will. She be takin’ my shit real good now.” 

Were you going into shock?

You could’ve melted into the chair. Toji murmured, “My pretty ass woman. Always so shy.” 

“She’ more than shy,” Onyankopon murmured in return, his tone low, “Ain’t that right, pretty girl?” 

Your body felt like it was about to light on fire from the inside out. 

“I—“

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Onyankopon questions, “Youn’ want me no’ more?” 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Toji grunted, “Words, baby. We need to hear you.” 

And there it was. The arousal in your body ignited like a flame in that very second, becoming wet. You looked between the both of them, and suddenly, you were trying desperately not to break.

“Toji,”  you pouted, “I—“

“Nuh-uh,” Toji clicked his teeth, “We don’t pout. You gotta’ speak up, don’t you?” 

His gaze was intense, his lips slightly upturning as he watched you flounder around yourself. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life as both men’s eyes kept you locked on the chair—no escape. 

Onyankopon gave a low groan in return, “Use your words, Mama. I love hearin’ that voice.” 

Your chest rose and fell faster, feeling like you wanted to rip your skin off. 

Moral to the story? You were absolutely, positively fucked.

Your round eyes stared from above, fluttering between two looming frames that glared back down at you—the difference now? They were naked, and so were you. Your palms covered the swell of your nipples, ginger curls  draping over your curvy body in a way that almost made you look otherworldly. You chewed at your baby pink lips, horny, curious.

They were so big. 

Even within the bedroom, both men shared many differences—Onyankopons’ dick was massive, thick and veined at the top, long from the base. The complexion of his skin was beautiful and even, all the way down to his deep pink tip. Toji’s, however, was a bit more manageable—he wasn’t as wide, but was about a bit longer, his tip a softer pink as his chest rose and fell in a harsh manner, watching you. 

“Show how pretty your shit is, baby.”

Toji’s voice. It echoes in your mind, low, gruff, and rumbling. 

But that didn’t keep you from listening—even if you were a bit shy, you turn yourself to face the opposite of them—your back perfectly arches lower onto the bed, cheek pressed into the sheets as you spread your pussy open—your folds were in fact pretty, rougè, glistening beneath the dim lights of the room.

“There we go,” Onyankopons murmured, fingers moving to grip at the full bottom of one of your ass cheeks. When he spanked there, your body trembled in return, folds clenching around nothing, 

“Look how muhfuckin’ pretty you are.”

You whimpered into the sheets. Toji gave a low grunt of his own, hand coming up to grip at your other cheek harshly, spreading you open more for them to see, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

Your back arched a bit more at the feel of your husband, stomach pressed into the mattress as your body quivered. 

That’s when you felt a thick, heat prodding at your entrance. He’s slapping his tip on your folds.

You clenched once more—your nerves were on fire from just the sensation alone, feeling of his thick, slick head smacking down. 

“Which one’ you feelin’, huh?”

“Toji,” you whimpered quickly, “Feel you, baby.”

“Just me,” Toji rasped, “Always mine. Ain’t she?”

Onyankopons’ voice was behind you, “Yours entirely.” 

You felt your back stiffen to keep in the mewl you were about to let out—your eyes continuously fluttered, cheek still smashed against the sheets. 

“Now you listenin’,”  Toji murmured, “All good girls do that, huh?” 

Onyankopon chuckled behind you; the bed shifted as he spread you even further. 

“C’mere. Show me some love,”  your husband husked. 

That's why it was your favorite term—it was something you both used, as you either wanted the sweetest affection possible—or he was planning to rut his dick at the back of your throat. Your body was still shivering as you turned, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip as his hand found your chin. 

Your round eyes glaze up, “Lemme’ have a kiss, baby.” 

“Needy ass.” 

His thumb swiped over your mouth, pulling your bottom lip with him as he watched your lips pucker, waiting for him to meet you. 

“Just pretty as hell.” 

His lips touched yours for a second, his tongue sliding inside your mouth to taste you. You returned the kiss, sliding your tongue around his mouth messily, panting when you pulled back—it made you throb everywhere, your mouth then lowering itself to latch onto the edge of his tip. The scent of him, the flex of his pelvic bone, you moan against him, sliding your fingers across his muscular abdomen.

“I know you’re excited baby—watch them’ teeth,” He growled, his head tilting back as the grip in your hair yanked your head further down his length, “Careful.” 

You moaned around Toji’s dick once more, taking him just a little bit deeper into the confines of your mouth as he huffed. You could barely get halfway, your hands moving from his abdomen to rest on his muscular thighs, nails biting into his skin as his fingers kept you moving, the schluck of your mouth already creating a sound within the room. Your eyes cast to Onyankopon who watches, keeping his palm steady around his own dick, vision narrowing at the sight. 

A string of saliva follows your full lips, your mouth pulling halfway off as your fingers wrap at the base of him, rotating your palm. Your voice, it’s higher in this scenario—your curls drape your body as you mewled, “Didn’t mean to hurt you, Daddy.”

Toji’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his hands gripping at your hair as you ran your tongue across his slit, spreading pre-cum across his tip before your mouth sucks, “You’re fine, baby. ‘Know you ain’t mean it.”

Toji then grunts, his face twisted back in pure pleasure, “Wanna’ see that pretty face a lil’ more.” 

His other hand came down to grip along the side of your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw, “Tongue out at me. Show me how good my girl is.”

You didn’t hesitate to do as you were told, your mouth sliding backwards off of his length, tongue poking out to press just below his head. 

Toji groaned, “Shit.” 

 You moaned in return, the sound muffling around him as your eyes locked on his. Your husband wasn’t always the most vocal man, letting you do most of the talking in bed—but to see how elated you were to have an audience, Toji let out a deep moan once you began to take him again, sliding him all the way to the back of your throat. 

His hips pushed forward, slapping up against your chin as your mouth worked him—You looked up from beneath your eyelashes, eyes growing watery with the back of his tip hitting your throat. Your eyes found Onyankopon’s again, giving him a show.

Onyankopon’s jaw clicked at the sight.

 Toji’s hands grip onto you, his face almost viscous in the look he gave. His voice came out in a hiss, “She ain’t stoppin’ no time soon.” 

Onyankopon grunts at Toji’s words, the veins in his hands becoming more visible, “You’ doin’ a good job, girl—shit.”

“She’s doin’ a good job, huh?” Toji repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, “You see that? My baby givin’ her all right now.”

All you could do under his grip was moan, nodding your head through its back and forth.

“I’m watchin’,” Onyankopons replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, “I see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.” 

Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankopons’ while Toji continued to move your head with his strong, large hands. 

He grunted through his teeth, “She gettin’ better?” 

“Yeah. Her mouth’ good as hell—I’m tryna’ feel that shit.”

Onyankopon wags his dick beneath his palm, “You gon’ let me?” 

That’s when you slow your movements—your eyes peer back to the heft of his length, nearly the size of a monster you weren’t sure you could manage. At the same time, there was a slight hesitance in your eyes—simply because of who he was to you, and the last thing you wanted was to make your husband jealous. 

Your lips swelled as you ran your tongue against them, eyes flickering up to Toji—your voice is soft, “Can I?” 

Toji’s face flickered with something, but it quickly smoothed once he met Onyankopon’s dark eyes. A moment passed between them—a beat, or maybe two—your husband inhaled then exhaled, his features smirking slightly as he gave a single nod, “Go ‘head.”

“I love you,” you moan, sliding your tongue across Toji’s tip once more, “So much.” 

It was a reassurance for him. 

“I know you do,” Toji replied gruffly, his grip in your hair slackening once you move towards Onyankopons’ now exerted dick—it nearly slaps you in the face. You tugged at your lip once more, eyes eagerly facing up to him.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Your fingers didn’t even wrap around him all the way.

Your hands come up to grip at the flesh of his quads, fingers digging into his skin as you flattened your tongue over the sides of Onyankopons’ dick, “Gon’ make me feel good, Mama? This what you been wantin’?” 

You nod eagerly, feeling the way it twitched against your face. It jumped, too.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth was almost too small, or he was too thick. You moaned around his tip, sucking through the immediate fullness of your cheeks. Somehow, this felt rewarding.

You bobbed your head once, twice—He groans, his hands twitching against his thighs as he lets you try and take him, “There you go—that fuckin’ mouth.” 

Onyankopon gritted his teeth; your tongue continued to slide up and down his length, sucking and swirling at his tip, wanting all of him in your mouth. Toji watched you, and he noticed something—the way your eyes rolled, as if this was in fact all you wanted. You were nastier, sloppier with the man opposite of him.

You moaned around his head, loudly, and Toji’s jaw clicked. You were careless—filthier with Onyankopon. 

“Keep talkin’ to her,” Toji grunts, “That’s the shit she likes.”

Onyankopons’ hands finally settled on both sides of your throat, a rough grip on your chin with his thumbs—he moaned heavily, eyes flickering down towards you, “Pretty ass face, Mama. You suckin’ me up like a fuckin’ pro.” 

You moaned in response, “Tastes so good.” 

“Keep takin’ that shit, baby.” 

Toji’s voice was all around you. 

Onyankopon pushed his hips forward, a small shlupp was heard as you gagged. His fingers pressed against your cheek, feeling the curve of your stuffed mouth when he ran his thumb over the flesh, “Yeah? How it’ look?” 

Without a second to waste, you let his tip pop out of your mouth, tongue poking out as you moaned, “‘Look so good. So handsome, Papa.” 

You could hear him growl at the pet name, your face becoming more of a mess from how spit dripped over your chin. You were in a daze.

“Look in her eyes,” Toji instructs, “Look into them when you speak, too.” 

Onyankopons’ eyes flicker down to meet your own once more,  “Like that?” 

You nod eagerly, lips swollen and puffy as you nod, “Mhm.” 

“Always keep them’ eyes on her.” 

Onyankopons’ mouth twitched into a smirk. They were brown; dark, a color you could get lost in if you looked long enough. They were bright despite the dimness of the room, holding nothing else but you. 

His grip on your face got tighter as you slid your mouth back onto his length. You moaned again, feeling so full, “So big, Ony.” 

You were becoming confident, a point you hit when you were so horny that it made you delirious—here it was. The sight of you was blinding—your mouth was engorged with the space of his dick, cheeks bulging as your eyes rolled shut blissfully. That's when you tugged Onyankopon from your mouth, tongue lolling out as you mewled, “Spit on it.” 

And he did—he lowered his mouth, dropping saliva between your lips—he found himself kissing you seconds later, feigning to taste you. It was good, so good. Your body rose up to press against his as your fingers found his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as you moved forward on your knees to get closer to him, your head tilting further back so he could slide his tongue into your mouth. You sucked each other’s mouths. 

That’s when it happens—when you lower back down to find the fat of Onyankopon’s dick, you slap it on your tongue so loudly that it echoes—Toji grunts in an irritation, “Don’t be fuckin’ cute.” 

You giggled, running your tongue over Onyankopon’s length, sucking his balls into your mouth. 

“Just wanted to taste him, Daddy.” 

Onyankopon darkly chuckled. 

That's when you hear Toji’s, “Yeah?”

He grunts, “Quit playing. Lay on your back, miss your pussy in my mouth.”

Onyankopons’ voice cut through the room, “Lay that ass down.” 

At both of their commands, you listen. Your heart thumped within your chest as your back made contact with the bed—you hear Toji’s, “Come hold her legs—she be runnin’ from my mouth,” he grunts.

You whimper, “Sensitive, baby.”

Regardless, Onyankopon was behind your head—he hovered over to pull your legs back, holding you by your ankles as he spread you apart.

Your fingers were already sinking in your husband's hair below, clenching the tresses between your fingers—his tongue spread across your folds, sliding saliva all across the flesh. 

Toji groaned as he felt your legs already trembling, your eyes rolling as Onyankopon kept your legs open. You tug at your lower lip, voice high pitched, “F—fuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.”

He grunts, his mouth still pressed against your clit. Your legs squirmed, toes clenching as his tongue slid across your entrance, “Taste so good.” 

You moaned in response, writhing—you were more sensitive the more his tongue slipped against your clit, swirling around it in slow motions. Your chest rose and fell, feeling the heat of both men’s touch. You whimpered again, hips wriggling under the pressure of Toji’s hands over your pelvis, “Toji,” you moaned, “It—ooh.” 

He warned against your folds, “Stop movin’.” 

Onyankopons’ grip on your ankles was borderline bruising, his dark eyes flickering down to watch how Toji’s mouth lapped at you. Each time you moved, he spread your ankles even farther.

“Look at the way he just in yo’ pussy,” Onyankopon grunts in your ear, “Bouta’ have a nigga drownin’ in yo’ shit.”

Your thighs trembled like crazy at the sounds your pussy made, almost as if Toji were blowing bubbles across the flesh. You pouted beneath yourself, “Fuck,” you mewl, “That feels so good.”

Toji’s took one long, slow, lick over your clit. He grumbled in return, “Pussy messy as fuck, baby.”

Your back arches. You lift above to take a look—Onyankopons’ eyes were staring down, watching. You could see the veins in his arms throbbing as he gripped your ankles.

“God damn,” Onyankopon murmured, “Yo’ pussy finna’ get sucked up by my mouth. That shit lookin’ edible.” 

The combination of Toji’s mouth and Onyankopon’s words, your pout deepened on your face.

Toji didn’t hesitate to bury his face all into your folds. Your legs were trembling dangerously at this point, watching as he ate you like a starved man. To make matters worse, Onyankopons’ breath was hot in your ear as he continued to hold your ankles, eyes still locked on your husband between your legs—your chest rose and fell, the sensation of Toji’s mouth against you becoming almost too much to handle. You groaned, “Oooh,” legs trying to snap closed, head falling back against Onyankopon’s shoulder, just moaning within his ear.

“You smell so sweet,” Onyankopon murmured, “He eatin’ that pussy,” Onyankopons growled in your ear, “Shit look’ good as hell with his face in it.” 

You whimpered at his words. 

Onyankopons leaned forward just a bit, mouth almost pressed against your ear, “I’m missin’ yo’ mouth, babydoll.”

He tugs your hair from around your cheeks, looming above you as his dick slapped across your entire face—his tip is sliding between your mouth, making you whimper even deeper as Toji continued eating at you from below.

Onyankopons’ dick was bigger upside down. You moaned around it, making it hit the back of your throat with every quick thrust he made—he grunted, “You doin’ so good, pretty mama. Finna’ have a nigga put his shit in you.” 

Your hands reached back, digging into his hips so you could pull him all the way in, “Fuck, girl, Yo’ throat bulgin’.” 

Toji continued eating you from below; the mixture of him and Onyankopons had your eyes watery, legs shaking as if you’d been tased. Every other word out of your mouth was a moan that went directly onto Onyankopon’s dick. 

That’s when you pull him from your mouth, sliding your tongue on the sides of his length—you whimper below him, “Want it in me, Ony.”

He pulled you down to where your nose was pressed to his pelvis—he groaned within your mouth, “That ain’t how you beg,” he grunts. 

“Please, Ony. Please.” 

He growled from the sound of your begging, “You want it that bad?”

You whined onto his dick, “‘So bad.” 

A smirk appeared across Onyankopons’ face. You could hear Toji’s slurrpp between your legs, still tongue deep along your pussy. But the moment he heard you begging from below, his mouth pulled away, leaving you cold. It had you whimpering at the loss.

But then, Onyankopon’s mouth was on you. And it was nowhere near the same. 

He wasn’t as soft as Toji. His long tongue swirled around your clit—you moaned again, feeling it slide against the flesh harshly. 

You gripped at his cornrows, legs shaking in his grip again, “Oh, Ony.” 

He lapped at your clit, “Can’t hear you,” he muffled. 

Toji was behind you now, holding your legs in place of Onyankopon. He moaned in your ear, “You look so good, baby, spread all open like that.” 

“I can’t,” you whined, “Put it in me.”

Onyankopon’s head dipped lower, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You were practically vibrating. You lean your head on your husband's shoulder, accepting the kiss he gives you, whimpers muffling into his mouth. 

“I love you,” you kept whimpering, “Love you so much, Fushiguro.”

“I love you,” he murmured back onto your lips, “I know.”  

Your body tensed the moment you felt Onyankopon’s tip sliding across your folds—you’d wanted it so bad, but actually feeling him weigh against your lower body, you shivered. His upper body loomed above your own as Toji stayed behind, Onyankopon’s lips coming to slide his tongue into your mouth, both men close to your face now. 

His dick is sliding between your folds again, again, making them spread apart every few seconds. His forehead presses to yours in such a domineering way—the silence that falls between the two of you feels heavy as his tip begins nudging into your opening—it swallows itself inside, your mouth immediately frowning at the discomfort you feel. Onyankopon sucks the softest kiss on your mouth, grunting as he sinks even deeper. Your eyes rolled, body trembling as you pressed your forehead farther into his. Your fingers found his upper back, nails digging into the flesh as your body responds in all different ways—but it was so good, the tiniest whimper parts from your lips as you lightly squirt on his tip. You’d never done that before, as you creamed more than anything. 

“Pussy tryna’ push me out,” Onyankopon grunts on your lips, moaning into another kiss, “That’s how you cummin’?” 

“Baby,” Toji moaned, “That was so fuckin’ good.  Ain’t even started yet,” he tugs your hair from your face, sucking his mouth against your throat. Your body shakes, gasping as tears seeped from your eyes. You whimpered to Onyankopon, “Oh my god.” 

You could hear yourself—you were whiny, sensitive and too full. You mewled again, feeling your stomach clenching as your eyes rolled back. Onyankopons’ face was dark, “You tight as hell,” pressing his forehead more into yours, “You gon’ open up for me?” 

A weak, “Uh huh,” comes from your lips. 

You could feel him trying to be steady, not wanting to hurt you, but at the same time, his eyes were hooded, lust within them—“Tryin’,” he murmured. His hips stilled for a moment as he slowly, gently slid more of his length deeper into you. You moaned, loud enough to echo off of the wall, “Ugh, fuck.” 

Your mind was going blank. His head fell back, “You takin’ me so good,” Your back kept arching, legs quaking. Toji was right there, caressing your scalp to soothe you. You were releasing sounds you’d never made before, moaning deeper each time Onyankopon pulled out to slide himself in more—the slap of his hips against the back of your thighs has your eyes rolling, your face screwed up in pleasure, nodding against his forehead as all you could do was cry for him.

Your legs were shaking too much, to the point Toji gave Onyankopon a glare, “Slow down.” 

Onyankopon gritted his teeth as if to focus, trying to not give in to all of the sounds you were making.

“Can’t,” he grunted—Your body kept squirming, legs spreading themselves more open for him, “F—fuck,” he cursed. He was grunting and moaning just as much as you were now. 

“Talk to me, Mama. I’m hurtin’ you?” Onyankopon gruffs at you. You find your hand at the nape of his neck, lips closer together—you mewl to him, “Feels sooo good,” your voice was soft, “‘M okay,” you promised to both of them.

Toji was trying to spread some comfort for you, “Look at me, breathe,” his voice was low, his hand reaching forward to touch your cheek. He gave you what you wanted; he leaned his face against your own, “Look at me, pretty baby. Breathe.” 

Your entire body listened to your husband’s commands. You took in a deep breath in response, your body calming a bit as he murmured sweetly against your face, “That’s it, good girl.”

A little easier to process with your husbands’ fingers caressing your cheek, you whimpered, “Please,” you whispered on his lips, “Don’t stop him.”

You spread your legs wider—your eyes rolled at the sensation, reaching your hand up to Onyankopon’s face to pull him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth.

Onyankopon growled, holding onto your chin so he could suck on your bottom lip. Toji’s thumb was wiping at your cheek, swiping away tears that you didn’t even realize you were shedding. 

He pressed his forehead back to your own, mouth still connected in a sloppy kiss, “Don’t move,” Onyankopon murmured against your face. You felt both mouths kissing somewhere along your body, and that pleasure could’ve engulfed you into an explosion. 

But oh, they had so much more to give. 

Maybe you did too. Your shaken legs had found themselves crawling along the bed, doe eyes becoming a sultry slender as you crawled towards your husband— your curls evaded your entire body as you slid your hands across his chest, grinding yourself along his lap to gain his attention—you tell him, “I missed you, baby.”

“Missed you too,” Toji murmured in return, unable to keep his eyes off of you. His large palm slid across your hips, another palm reaching around to smack his tip between your folds from behind. You giggled, hair swinging to one side of your body as you circled your hips atop of him, “You wanna put it in me?” 

Your hands slide across your nipples, making sure to keep Onyankopon’s attention as your hand finds the tip of his dick beside your body—you whimper to your husband, “Want you so much, Toji. Talk to me.”

Onyankopons’ hands found their way to your arms and shoulders, squeezing the flesh there—One of your hands reached up onto Onyankopons’ face, running your fingers against his facial hair, moving to slide your index finger onto his lips. 

“You been’ havin’ fun,” Toji grunted to you, “Come fuck me.”

“Always thinkin’ ‘bout you,” you moaned, your hands leaving behind Onyankopons’ face to slide back onto Toji’s shoulders. Onyankopon grunted, “She need’ you—Drippin’ all over the sheets and shit.” 

You’re guiding yourself down, sinking onto his dick in a way that has your husband leaning his head back onto the bed, clutching your hips within his palms. Toji’s groaning through full lips, eyes narrowing up to you as you’re already bouncing your ass down onto his abdomen. You giggle through a moan, leaning towards Onyankopon with angelic eyes, sticking your tongue out to await for his mouth.

Toji growled from below, “Look at you,” while Onyankopons’ hand pushed a few of your curls aside with a low chuckle, “Cute as hell.” 

Onyankopon’s tongue slithered within the confines of your mouth, hand sliding behind your neck to keep your face close to his—your attention went onto your husband, your hips rotating, circling above him—you take one of his palms, sliding it up your body as you suck his index finger into your mouth, moaning around it.

“Jesus,” Toji growled, “‘Gonna’ have me bust early, baby,” He grunted out, “Keep it up.” 

You shake your head, “Don’t wanna cum without you,” you whimper—so you lean back to your side, finding Onyankopon’s dick between your lips—you’re sucking, keeping your hips moving for Toji, but your attention elsewhere. 

Onyankopons’ hand was resting atop of your forehead, his fingers buried into your hair. You moaned around him again, one hand wrapped around his length and the other caressing Toji’s chest. Your husband was becoming more aggressive below you, his hands finding themselves beneath your thighs to guide you. 

He takes one hand to find your throat, snatching your face in his direction. He grunts to you, “I know you’re hearin’ me. Come fuck me, girl. Bounce on my dick like you missed me.” 

You have your attention fully on him now—you whimper, “Sorry,” all while you press your feet flat along the bed, tossing your hair along one side of your body as your palms pressed against his chest—your ass trembles each time it claps along his abdomen, a wetness drenching his flesh, the sight of you like hell wrapped up in beauty. 

“I love your dick sooo much,” you promised to him, ass clapping at this point, “Love you, Fushiguro,” you whimper, spreading your cheeks from behind, wanting him deeper each time you dropped down.

“I know you fuckin’ do.”

His palm spanks against your asscheek. It jiggles beneath the impact, Toji’s hands finding your hips again to hold you in place. 

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

Your legs were shaking as Toji’s hips moved to meet your own, bouncing you up and down himself. 

Onyankopon was behind you, finding his palms along your hips as he helped you—your eyes rolled, mewling as you allowed him to guide your body down. 

Your fingers found your clit below, shoulder shivering as Onyankopon licked up the back of your neck, “O—Ooh,” you moaned, “Please.” 

You mewled at both men, your body quaking as your hands slid up behind you, fingers grazing over Onyankopon’s hair. You sloppily slow your tongue in and out his mouth, tugging his head back as you whimper to him, “Put it back in.” 

You lean down to find Toji’s

mouth within a deep kiss, hearing his murmur of, “‘Go head, wanna watch you cum.”

Your curls draped across his chest as you tugged his dick from your folds, back arching as you grind your lower body for Onyankopon to take you from behind—you whimper to him, “Want it. ‘Want it, Ony.”

“Been patient,” Onyankopons’ husked, “Come drop that shit on me.” 

His hands found both of your asscheeks again, spreading them open. You moaned over your shoulder, the taste of your own skin delicious as he slid himself between your folds, deeper than he’d been before. The giggle you give is elated, eyes rolling as you’re messily bouncing your ass back onto his dick, you’re groaning, “Fuckkk.” 

“Good fuckin’ girl,”  Toji groaned from below, watching you take it from behind, “Greedy as fuck.” 

Onyankopon collected your hair beneath his fist, tugging you back gently while allowing you to fuck yourself onto him—he glares down, “You’ loud.” 

“You feel so good,” you couldn’t stop repeating, your hands pressed into Toji’s shoulders to lean back more, arching as you continued to take Onyankopon as deep as you could, “Feelssogood.” 

“Givin’ you what you been wantin’,” Onyankopon growled behind you, "Look how good you look takin’ this dick, pretty mama.” 

You tried to keep your eyes open, but each time you moved with him, pleasure was rising from somewhere deep within you that had your vision becoming blurry. You were drunk at this point. 

“You feel so good in me,” you repeated one more time—it’s the softest you’ve ever spoken, squealing in a way that your body showed exhaustion. You were just taking him now, Onyankopon’s dick becoming drenched in your cream. You pouted, sobbing lowly through your sniffles.

Neither of them had ever seen a reaction out of you like this—you were so sensitive, too sensitive, too open. Onyankopon pounded into your messy, soaking wet pussy from behind, “You gone. Takin’ my dick without even askin’ for it.” 

His palm slides along your neck, gently tugging your face back to look into his eyes—you could hear Toji’s grunt of, “So proud of you, baby.”

You sob softly in return again, keeping your eyes against Onyankopon’s as he tugs you back and forth—you’re so full of him, you can barely feel it anymore. Your voice was deeper, an inhale shaky in your throat, exhaled as you cried real tears.

You were so far gone. Toji’s one hand fisted the tip of his dick, other fingers running through your hair, giving you a gentle pull to keep your face from hiding. 

“How you feelin’, baby?” he keeps his voice low, gentle. 

You could barely speak—you were so busy crying from pleasure, your hands found his face as you whimpered through tears, “I’m gonna cum,” you trembled, “Gonnacum.” 

You were so beautiful like this. Crying and whimpering for them in such an exhausted state, so full that they were ready to cum with you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You gon’ cum all on me, Mama?” 

Onyankopon’s voice. 

You nod again, breathless, “Mmm-hmm,” through tears. Toji presses his forehead against your own, allowing you to respond any way you needed to. 

Toji pressed a small kiss onto your face, “Good girl. Keep goin’. Almost,” he encouraged you in the most gentle tone possible. 

Onyankopons’ breathing was a lot rougher now, the sound of his pelvis smacking against your ass filling the room. He was holding onto your hip with one hand, while the other held the back of your neck, watching his dick being coated by your cream.

You moaned between your tears, voice hiccupping with every pound he delivered. He kept mumbling words from above you that couldn’t decipher, but Toji was still there to calm you.

 The room was a chorus of skin against skin, your mewls getting even higher in pitch with how full you felt at Toji’s hands on your face—the warmth of his own cum spurted on your stomach— you were babbling, your body wilder, your toes curling. You squirt again, gasping into a rough kiss with your husband. Onyankopon’s tongue is sliding across your lower back, moaning as you feel a warmth in your pussy—he cums with you. 

Your body feels sore, as if you’d just ran a marathon. You quiver when Onyankopon pulls himself out, feeling the cum dripping from your pussy—and somehow, through everything you’d just done, that makes you bury your face within Toji’s shoulder, cheeks flushed as you masked your face. 

When your brain sobered over the events of the past couple of days, you still couldn’t believe it—Would it happen again? Was this a one time thing? Only the future could tell. 

As your round eyes glanced between both men, the only answer you received was a deep, low, chuckle.

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 stay away from him.”

What the hell is this man talking about?

“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. 

He’s looking right at you.

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. Are necks harder to cut through than wood?

“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.