#slutty!reader

sugardaddy!rafe x slutty!reader

warnings: he’s a killer

Come Home and Stay Home

The blood wasn’t his.

But it was still on his hands.

He walked through the front door like he always did—casual, quiet, like he hadn’t been gone four days without a text. Like he hadn’t just come back from somewhere dark, somewhere only people like him returned from. She didn’t ask for details anymore. Not because she didn’t care. Because she knew if she did, he’d give her just enough truth to haunt her and just enough lie to protect himself.

He dropped his duffel bag near the door. His eyes landed on her first, then the small socks tucked under the edge of the couch, then the sippy cup on the kitchen counter.

Their daughter was already asleep.

She didn’t say anything. Just stood at the sink, hands braced on the counter, knuckles white.

“Hey,” he said, soft like he hadn’t missed a thing. “Missed you.”

Her mouth tightened.

He stepped closer, arms already reaching for her waist. She didn’t move. Didn’t let him touch her.

“Take a shower,” she said. Her voice was even, quiet, but something in it cracked.

Rafe’s brow furrowed. “Baby—”

“You smell like someone else’s death.”

The silence that fell between them was sharp. Cold.

He sighed through his nose, stepped back, but didn’t argue. Just turned and disappeared down the hall.

She didn’t cry.

Not until she heard the water turn on.

By the time he came out, towel low on his hips, blood gone, skin warm from steam, she was sitting on the couch—arms crossed, face unreadable. Her legs were curled beneath her, blanket across her lap, but her spine was stiff and her eyes didn’t soften.

He moved toward her again, but slower this time. Cautious.

“What happened to I don’t ask, you don’t lie?” he said gently, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“This isn’t about your secrets, Rafe,” she said, her voice low. “This is about your daughter.”

He stilled.

“She asked where you were.”

His jaw flexed.

“She said she heard the front door open last night. That she thought it was you. She stayed up for two hours waiting.” Her voice broke there, just slightly. “You promised her you’d be home this week.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

She stood, throwing the blanket aside. Her hands were shaking.

“You think I married a ghost?” she snapped. “You think I want to raise a child with someone who disappears for days and comes back smelling like death? I don’t care how much you love us if you can’t even be here.”

“I am here,” he growled, stepping forward. “I came home.”

“But for how long?” she shot back. “Until the next call? The next job? The next body?”

He stared at her, chest rising and falling hard.

Then, quieter: “You knew what I was.”

“I thought I could live with it,” she said. “I thought maybe it would change once she was born. That maybe you’d look at her and realize she’s worth staying alive for.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, Rafe. What’s not fair is having to explain to a three-year-old why her father vanishes. What’s not fair is me lying awake every night wondering if the next time you leave, you won’t come back.”

Her voice cracked again. And this time, he couldn’t ignore it.

He stepped closer.

She let him touch her now.

Just barely.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her T-shirt like he needed to ground himself there.

“I don’t do it for fun,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

“I don’t care why you do it,” she whispered. “I just care that it keeps taking you away.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. Breathed her in. She still smelled like home. Lavender lotion, vanilla lip balm, baby powder. Safety. Warmth

“You want me to stop?”

“I want you alive,” she whispered. “I want you home. I want our daughter to have a dad she can count on. I don’t want her growing up with the same sick feeling in her chest every time a man walks out the door.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“I want you to stay,” she said. “Really stay. For good.”

He closed his eyes. Rested his hands low on her back.

“I can’t undo what I’ve done,” he said. “But if you want me to stop—if you mean that—then I will.”

Her heart thudded. “You’d walk away from all of it?”

“I’d burn it down,” he said, voice steady. “If it means you stop looking at me like I’m not going to make it home next time.”

She blinked. Slowly.

And then her hands were in his hair, her mouth pressing into his like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

“You don’t get to leave us,” she whispered against his lips. “Not ever again.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

And this time, he meant it.

dividers: @/anitalenia

𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘠 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰𝘬 @v4mpyrf4e! 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 <3 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴: 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘵𝘰𝘫𝘪, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴), 𝘳𝘶𝘵/𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬!𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘶, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘫𝘪, 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘫𝘪, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘶.

8k word count!

𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯! 𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐!

The forest was clear-kept for the sake of lumberjack!Shiu, who was always cutting wood and selling it for good money. Most expected him to move into some fatass mansion down in the cute countryside of the mountains, but instead he stayed in the misty forest, his little cabin tucked between thick cedar trunks and wild ferns. It wasn’t loneliness that made him stay — it was peace. Out here, he could breathe. His heart and mind seated into the small forest home.

Each morning, Shiu rose before the sun, shrugging on his heavy flannel shirt and tying his hair back with that worn cloth scrap he pretended not to care about. The cold bit at his skin, but he welcomed it; the sting meant the day was starting. And with every swing of his axe, he settled deeper into the rhythm that had long ago become his comfort.

The people down in town called him “the quiet mountain shadow,” partly because he never said more than a few words, partly because he always appeared and disappeared on silent steps. Shiu never bothered to correct them. Silence wasn’t a burden for him — it was simply where his thoughts could stretch, curl up, and rest.

Yet, despite his rugged exterior and calloused hands, Shiu was gentle in ways most never saw. When a wandering animal got caught in a snare or a storm broke branches near a nest, he always fixed things. He didn’t announce it, didn’t boast about it — he just cared. A quiet guardian of a quiet forest.

His cabin reflected him too: neat, simple, sturdy. A small stack of books by the window, clean tools lined up on the wall, blankets folded with oddly precise corners. He never said it aloud, but he kept everything tidy because he wanted it to feel safe — not for himself, but for the soft little creature who had entered his life unexpectedly.

Because ever since bunny!reader had hopped (quite literally) into his world, Shiu found himself doing small things he never imagined he’d do — sweeping the porch twice a day, buying extra fruit, carving little wooden trinkets he always pretended weren't meant for them. You made his forest brighter, his cabin warmer, and his life… less silent. Especially, knowing how much of a freaky little rabbit you were.

You’ve been with other hybrids and trust me, Shiu heard about it. He could hear the wet squelch of your pussy echo around his house whenever you brought another hybrid over, your sweet noises echoing throughout the nature you lived through. He remembers catching you with your legs spread open, ankles resting on mountain-lion!Gojo’s shoulders, your cute floppy, soft ears, binging at each thrust,

Shiu didn’t say anything that morning, but you could tell he was thinking too loud again. His brows were drawn, shoulders tight, the kind of posture he only slipped into when something about you had crawled under his skin — which, to be fair, was often. You had a talent for that. Being a bold little bunny around a stoic, quiet man was… fun. And Shiu? He made your fun even better by pretending nothing affected him.

He hefted the axe over his shoulder and walked toward the stump he used as a chopping block, boots pressing into the mossy ground. You trailed after him, your steps light and inconsistent — half bouncing, half stalking him. Your ears twitched with every crunch of wood under his heel.

“You’re following me,” he muttered, not looking back.

You flashed a grin, flashing your teeth just to see if he’d react. “I always follow the prettiest thing in the forest.”

He paused mid-step. His back tensed. Then, like he had carefully practiced the art of ignoring you, he continued to the stump without a word. But the tips of his ears were pink. Shiu always underestimated how much color he showed when you teased him.

You hopped up onto a fallen log nearby, crossing your legs and leaning an elbow against your knee. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t like the attention,” you said, sing-song. “Your tail flicks every time I compliment you.”

“It doesn’t,” he replied simply.

It did. It definitely did. But you let him cling to his pride.

He set a chunk of cedar onto the block, positioned it, and lifted his axe. It came down with a clean, sharp crack that echoed through the trees. You watched, openly admiring the strength in his arms, the steadiness in his posture. Shiu wasn’t flashy like some hybrids; he didn’t strut or roar or stretch just to show off. He simply existed, sturdy and grounded — and somehow that made him even more magnetic.

Another swing. Another satisfying crack. You kicked your feet idly, eyes locked on him like he was the only thing worth watching. “You know,” you said casually, “most people would brag about being able to chop wood as fast as you.”

“I’m not most people.”

“That’s why I like you.”

This time, his swing faltered for half a second — barely noticeable, but enough for you to catch. The corner of your mouth curled. You loved finding the little cracks in his calm exterior.

He set another log on the block. “You should help stack these instead of sitting there causing problems.”

“I only cause good problems,” you shot back, hopping off the log and landing beside him. “Besides, I like watching you work. It’s very…” You let your eyes drag down his silhouette and back up again. “…pleasing.”

Shiu inhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. “You’re going to get hurt standing that close.”

You stepped even closer. “You’ll catch me.”

That earned you a brief glance — dark eyes, steady, irritated in the soft way that meant he wasn’t really irritated. Just flustered. Or maybe more affected by you than he wanted to show. You liked testing that boundary; he liked pretending you couldn’t move it.

With a quiet sigh, he shifted just enough to make room for you beside the pile of split wood. “Fine. Stay. But don’t get in the way.”

You gave him a salute. “Yes, sir.”

He ignored that too — or pretended to — and kept chopping. You hummed under your breath, stacking the wood neatly like he preferred. Every time your fingers brushed a log, you caught a faint whiff of cedar and the earthy scent that always lingered on Shiu’s clothes. It made your chest warm in a way you never admitted aloud.

Finally, when the pile grew as tall as your waist, Shiu set his axe down and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “That’s enough for today.”

“For you or for me?” you teased.

“For both of us,” he said quietly, but the softness in his voice made something flutter low in your stomach. It wasn’t shyness — you weren’t capable of that. It was… fondness. A different kind of warmth.

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You know, Shiu… you don’t have to be so quiet all the time. I won’t bite.”

He gave you a long, steady look. “You absolutely would.”

You grinned wide. Because he was right — and because hearing him admit it felt better than it should.

Shiu didn’t say anything at first—he rarely did—but the way he glanced toward the cabin told you everything. A subtle tilt of his head, an unspoken come on. You knew his language by now; he spoke in gestures, in silence, in the shift of his shoulders. So you followed, brushing stray bits of bark off your palms as you walked beside him.

The forest air was cool, a crisp bite that nipped pleasantly at your nose. But Shiu kept close, deliberately not striding ahead like he usually did. His pace matched yours, slow and steady, as if he didn’t want you falling behind. Or maybe he just liked the sound of your footsteps next to his.

“You’re being thoughtful,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his. “Careful, Shiu. I might think you like having me around.”

He didn’t look at you, but his hand twitched, almost like he wanted to reach for you and thought better of it. “You’re cold,” he said simply. “Your ears are stiff.”

You reached up and felt them. They were stiff. “Hmm. Maybe I am cold. Maybe I need someone to warm me up.”

Shiu exhaled hard through his nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a laugh. Somewhere between you’re impossible and I care more than I want to admit.

The cabin appeared through the trees, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Shiu always kept the fire going on days he knew you’d wander off after him. He said it was just habit. You didn’t believe him for a second.

When he opened the door, warmth spilled out like a blanket. You stepped inside first, letting the cozy air envelop you, your ears slowly softening again. Shiu followed, shutting the door with his usual precise care—never a slam, never a rush.

“You should sit,” he murmured.

“That an order?” you asked, raising a brow.

“A recommendation.”

You chose the chair closest to the fire, flopping into it without grace. Shiu made a faint sound at the back of his throat—you suspected it was disapproval at how roughly you treated his furniture. You flopped harder just to test him. His eye twitched. It was delightful.

He grabbed a blanket from the shelf, shaking it out with practiced ease. When he draped it over your shoulders, his fingers brushed your neck. Warm hands, rough palms, careful movements. It sent a soft shiver down your spine in a way that wasn’t about temperature.

“You’re always taking care of me,” you said lightly. “Do you enjoy it?”

“It’s necessary,” he replied.

“So that’s a yes.”

Shiu paused. The fire crackled. He pressed his lips together, clearly regretting answering at all. “You… get yourself into trouble. Someone has to look after you.”

You reached up and caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Shiu,” you said softly, “you don’t have to be the one to take care of me.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

That answer hit deeper than you expected. A warmth that wasn’t from the fire settled under your ribs. You released his wrist gently, and he didn’t step far—only enough to kneel beside the small storage box he kept by the hearth.

He opened it and pulled out a tin container. You knew that tin. He’d filled it with herbal salve last week, muttering that you “don’t watch where you hop” and “come home with scrapes like a feral child.” You pretended to be offended. He pretended not to smile.

“Did you get scratched again?” he asked without looking up.

“Maybe.”

“Where?”

You stuck your leg out dramatically. “Right here. I tripped over a root.”

He studied the faint scrape with the seriousness of a medic assessing a grave wound. “You should pay more attention.”

“I was paying attention,” you protested. “Just… not to the ground.”

Shiu’s hand stilled for a moment. “…To me?”

You grinned. “Maybe.”

His ears turned bright red this time. You felt victorious.

Still, he dipped his fingers into the salve and spread it gently across the scrape. His touches were always surprisingly soft—like he handled wood and steel one moment and then remembered he needed to be gentle with you the next. You watched him closely, noticing the line of concentration in his brow, the way he moved with steady certainty.

“You’re good at this,” you murmured.

“I’ve had practice,” he replied, finishing the last stroke of salve.

“With me?”

“Mostly.”

You laughed quietly. “I’m a lot of work, huh?”

Shiu sat back on his heels and met your eyes for once, steady and unflinching. “You’re worth it.”

The room felt warmer. Your heartbeat did something strange and fluttery—annoyingly bunny-like. Shiu seemed to sense it because he looked away quickly, suddenly busying himself with putting the salve away.

Before he could retreat fully into his quiet shell again, you tugged lightly on the end of his flannel sleeve. “Hey.”

He paused.

“Stay here for a bit,” you said. “Just sit with me.”

Shiu hesitated. Then—slowly, carefully—he did.

The three knocks hit the door like hammer blows.

Not polite. Not patient. Not human.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The entire cabin shuddered. Dust trembled off the rafters. Your ears snapped straight up at the sound, instincts flaring so sharply you nearly toppled out of your chair. Shiu was already moving — not fast, but alert, every muscle coiled like steel wire pulled tight.

A low growl filtered through the wood of the front door. Deep. Weighted. Something feral hiding behind the edges of restraint.

Shiu’s eyes narrowed the way they only did when danger—or annoyance—visited. “…Of course it’s him.”

“Him?” you asked, rising to your feet.

Before he could answer, another fist slammed into the door, harder than before, making the hinges groan in protest.

BOOM.

“Shiu,” a voice rasped, strained and raw, “open the damn door.”

The tone alone made your heart drop to your stomach. You’d heard it before—never directed at you, but always around stories told by other hybrids. That rough, gravel-deep voice belonged to only one man.

Shiu moved to the door, but he paused with his hand on the handle. His jaw flexed. “He’s in rut.”

You blinked—ears twitching. Not out of innocence, but calculation. A hybrid rut wasn’t sexual unless someone made it that way. At its core, it was a burning, painful hormonal surge, an overwhelming biological pressure that left hybrids overheated, hypersensitive, and desperate for relief of any kind—rest, cold water, grounding presence, medical care.

Toji Fushiguro in that condition would be… dangerous.

“Is he hurt?” you asked, stepping closer to Shiu’s side.

“He better be,” Shiu muttered under his breath. “Or I’m sending him back into the woods.”

That was the closest thing Shiu ever had to a frenemy tone — sharp annoyance laced with reluctant responsibility.

He pulled the door open.

And there he stood.

Wolf!Toji.

Massive.

Broad-shouldered.

Built like the sculptor who carved him forgot the meaning of restraint. His black hair hung in ragged tufts, wild and damp with sweat, sticking to the sides of his face. His wolf ears—thick-furred, pointed, and pitch-black—were pinned flat against his head, trembling faintly with agitation. A thick, heavy tail hung behind him, the fur bristling in agitation, each hair on end like a warning banner.

His chest rose and fell in harsh, ragged breaths, muscles rippling beneath a shirt that looked one wrong inhale away from tearing. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the color of his eyes until only a thin ring of toxic green rimmed the darkness.

His scent hit you a second later—forest soil, cold steel, storm-wet fur, and under it all a sharp edge of something volatile, like ozone right before lightning strikes. Not seductive. Not pretty. Predatory. Overwhelming enough to make your instincts flicker nervously, even though you refused to step back.

Toji’s gaze snapped to you instantly.

For one heartbeat, he froze… then his nostrils flared sharply, pupils dilating even more.

Shiu immediately stepped into his line of sight, blocking Toji’s view like a living shield. “Eyes on me,” he ordered flatly.

Toji bared a hint of fang. “Move, rabbit-boy.”

“You’re thinking of someone else,” Shiu deadpanned. "Not even damn near related to a rabbit, jackass."

Despite the tension, your lips twitched.

Toji dragged in a rough breath, a shudder rolling visibly through him as his knees buckled for half a moment. He caught himself on the doorframe, claws scraping grooves into the wood.

Shiu’s expression didn’t change, but the tiniest flicker of concern crossed his eyes. “…Sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine,” Toji growled, lying so badly it was almost funny.

“You smell like you’re dying,” you said bluntly.

Toji’s head snapped toward your voice again, but this time you didn’t flinch. You stared right back at him, ears high, posture steady. You’d faced mountain-lion hybrids, bear hybrids, even a mutated buck hybrid once. Toji may have been the biggest wolf you’d ever seen — but you weren’t fragile unless you chose to be.

He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. More like a wolf fighting instinct than a man thinking clearly.

Shiu pressed a hand firmly to Toji’s shoulder. “Inside. Now.”

Toji snarled—weakly.

Shiu pushed harder.

And Toji finally stepped in, the weight of his presence practically dragging the temperature of the cabin down with him. You could almost feel the tension rolling off him: heat, discomfort, pain, frustration, and a wild, instinctive agitation that made your own fur in your ears and bushy little tail prickle in sympathy.

Shiu closed the door behind him with a final, deliberate click.

And you realized, in that moment, that the cabin suddenly felt too small for two hybrids and a lanky human—with one of them barely holding onto control.

Toji staggered two steps into the cabin before Shiu caught him by the forearm. The contrast between them was striking: Shiu steady as a cedar trunk, Toji broad and trembling like a storm barely restrained. You watched Toji’s fingers flex, claws retracting and extending anxiously as he fought to keep control of himself.

“Sit,” Shiu ordered again, sharper this time. Toji snarled, but his legs gave out anyway, sending him dropping heavily onto the bench by the wall. The wood creaked beneath his weight, protesting loudly against the mass of wolf muscle now slouched on it.

You approached slowly—not fearful, but cautious. Wolf hybrids in rut were unpredictable. And Toji wasn’t just any wolf hybrid; he was one whose existence blurred the line between man and beast even on his best days.

His eyes tracked you, pupils huge, unfocused, yet locked onto your shape like your very presence was a beacon in a fog he couldn’t fight through. His ears twitched once, twice, then flattened again, a low groan escaping him as if the noise in the room was too much.

Shiu stepped directly into your path, blocking Toji’s view for the second time. “Don’t crowd him,” he warned, tightening his grip on Toji’s shoulder. “His senses are on overdrive. He doesn’t need you poking at him.”

You shrugged lightly, though your gaze flickered toward Toji again. “I wasn’t poking. I was observing.”

“Same thing,” Shiu muttered.

Toji exhaled through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You two are loud,” he growled, voice gravelly and strained. “Too loud.”

“We haven’t even said anything,” you protested.

Toji’s lip curled. “You breathe loud.”

Shiu’s mouth twitched downward in something like annoyance. “You here for help or to complain?”

Toji glared at him, fangs barely visible. “Both.”

The atmosphere tightened, thick with tension and thick with Toji’s heavy, heated scent. You fanned your ears back slightly. It wasn’t seductive—just overwhelming, like sitting too close to a bonfire.

Shiu knelt in front of Toji and pressed a cool hand to his forehead. You watched the movement closely, knowing Shiu only touched people when necessary. “You’re burning up. Worse than last time,” he murmured.

Toji scoffed, but even that small sound hitched weakly. “Didn’t… ask your opinion.”

“Too bad,” Shiu replied dryly. “You walked to my door, not a hospital’s.”

Toji tried pushing his hand away, but Shiu’s grip only tightened. The wolf hybrid growled—a low, frustrated rumble—but Shiu didn’t budge an inch. The sheer difference between Toji’s untamable strength and Shiu’s immovable calm was startling, even to you.

You stepped to the side, getting a clear look at Toji’s face now that he wasn’t blocking it. His features were as sharp and devastating as in the stories—high cheekbones, strong jaw, a mouth shaped in a permanent scowl. But the wolf features softened nothing; if anything, they amplified the raw, feral beauty of him.

His ears flicked at the sound of your footsteps, the thick fur trembling. His tail twitched against the floor, betraying agitation. His gaze dragged to you again, slow and deliberate, like instinct forced him to track movement automatically.

Shiu snapped his fingers beside Toji’s face. “Hey. Over here.”

Toji growled again. “Stop doing that.”

“Then stop staring at her.”

“She moves too much.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She does to me.”

You raised your brows. “Big bad wolf can’t handle a bunny hopping around?”

Toji’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “…Watch yourself, you fucking rabbit.”

The warning wasn’t cruel or threatening—just the tired, irritated snarl of a hybrid pushed beyond his comfort zone. You didn’t take it personally. Shiu, however, sighed deeply, as if mothering a wolf the size of a small tree was the most exhausting chore imaginable.

He pushed Toji’s hair back from his forehead, checking his temperature again. “You need cooling packs, medicine, and rest. Preferably all three.”

Toji grumbled, “Just… fix it.”

“If I could ‘fix’ rut, I’d be rich,” Shiu said flatly. “All I can do is keep you from making it worse.”

“Then do it faster.”

Shiu rolled his eyes. Actually rolled them. “Holy fucking shit, you’re irritating like this.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, finding this odd bond between the two quite amusing.

Toji snapped his gaze toward you again, but you held eye contact—even leaned a little closer with a dangerous smile. His ears jerked upright before flattening again, like he didn’t know what reaction to settle on.

“Stop provoking him,” Shiu said.

“I’m not!”  you replied.

Toji gave a low huff. “She is.”

Your lips pressed against each other in a small frown, your cheeks growing slightly red at the assumption.

Shiu stood up, pressing his palms into his lower back. “I need to get supplies.”

“You have supplies,” you pointed out.

Shiu gave you a long, silent stare.

You blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Oh.”

He opened a cabinet and began searching through it—only to grimace. “I used the last of the cooling herbs last week.”

Then he checked another drawer. “No spare compress cloths.”

Then another. “…Out of pain tablets.”

You leaned against the wall, ears flicking. “What about blankets?”

Shiu opened the cedar chest and groaned. “All in the wash.”

He turned slowly, exasperation flickering over his usually unreadable face. “I’m out of everything.”

Toji smirked weakly. “You getting sloppy, lumberjack.”

“Shut up, mutt.” Shiu replied instantly.

With a resigned sigh, Shiu grabbed his coat from the hook by the door. “I’ll be gone in an hour or two. Maybe less if the store isn’t packed.”

“You’re leaving me with him?” you asked, pointing at the giant wolf melting into Shiu’s furniture.

“He’s too exhausted to cause problems,” Shiu said confidently—though he gave Toji a warning look anyway. “Both of you behave. Don’t touch anything. Don’t touch each other.”

The door closed behind Shiu with a decisive thud.

You waited exactly one second, then slowly turned toward Toji with a playful smile, raising your fingers in a lazy, flirty little wave.maybe he was too tired, but you sure damn weren’t.

“Hi, big guy.”

Toji blinked once when you waved. Not slow, not lazy—more like his brain had stalled for a second. His pupils blew wide again, tail giving a single sharp flick against the floorboards before settling into a stiff, bristled line.

“Don’t,” he rasped.

You ignored that entirely.

Without the slightest pause, without the faintest second thought, you stepped toward him. One step. Two. Light, deliberate movements, like you were approaching a skittish animal but also fully aware you weren’t the one who needed to be afraid.

His eyes tracked every shift of your body—your ears, your hips, the bounce of your steps—his instincts wired to movement even when he clearly didn’t want to pay attention.

“I said—” he tried again.

You took another step.

Toji’s jaw tightened. His claws dug faintly into the wooden bench, not enough to splinter it but enough to leave shallow grooves. A shiver rolled up his spine, visible from the tips of his ears to the base of his tail.

“You’re not listening,” he growled.

You smiled. “I rarely do.”

Toji’s breath hitched—not the charming, flustered kind, but the irritated, overstimulated, too many senses hitting him at once kind. He leaned back against the wall, shoulders tense, as if trying to put more distance between you and the heat burning under his skin.

“You shouldn’t… come closer,” he muttered, voice dropping low.

You kept coming.

Now you were close enough to see every fine detail: The wild, uneven texture of his black hair. The sharp cut of his cheekbones. The faint sheen of sweat that clung to his temple. The thick wolf ears trembling with sensitivity. The strain in his breathing, every inhale too hot, every exhale too heavy.

And, fuuuuckkkk, was it hot.

You stopped only when you were standing directly in front of him, close enough that the warmth rolling off him brushed against your skin.

He glared up at you.

It should’ve been intimidating.

It wasn’t.

“You’re brave,” he said, voice low, more observational than threatening. “Or stupid.”

“You can pick whichever you like,” you replied cheerfully.

His nostrils flared slightly as he drew in your scent—a subconscious, instinctive reaction he probably didn’t even realize he did. His tail twitched again, thumping once against the floor before he forced it still.

You tilted your head, ears flicking. “You’re trying very hard to pretend you don’t notice me.”

“I notice everything,” he snapped back, irritation edging into his tone.

“Good,” you said lightly. “Then keep noticing.”

Toji’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes darted away for the first time, not out of shyness but because looking at you seemed to make something in him strain even harder.

“You’re… loud,” he muttered again, softer this time.

You leaned in just slightly, hands resting casually on your hips. “You said that already.”

“And it’s still true.”

You didn’t budge. In fact, you took half a step closer, invading the last bit of space he’d tried to carve out for himself. The scent of cedar from the cabin mixed with his storm-wolf musk, creating a heady, electric atmosphere.

He pressed the back of his head weakly against the wall—the closest thing to retreat he could manage without actually moving away.

“Why’re you this close?” he asked quietly.

You smiled, straightforward and unbothered. “Because you’re interesting.”

A low, rough exhale left him. His ears flicked, tail twitching again, the heat radiating off his skin so strong you could almost feel it pulsing.

“You’re a bad bunny, huh?” Toji muttered.

You grinned wider. “You’re a needy wolf.”

He gave you a tired, narrow-eyed stare. “…I don’t need this right now.”

“And yet,” you said playfully, “here I am.”

Toji sucked in a breath through his teeth, jaw clenching tight. “You’re making it worse.”

“Am I?” you asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes,” he said bluntly, shoulders tensing again. “You’re… too close. Too much. Too—”

He cut himself off, teeth grinding.

You leaned even closer, your shadow falling over his knees, eyes bright and bold.

“Too what, Toji?”

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Not without losing whatever thin line of control he was fighting to maintain.

So he just stared at you, breath uneven, wolf ears pinned back, tail twitching nervously—and you stayed right where you were, refusing to give him a single inch of space he didn’t explicitly ask for.

Which, so far, he hadn’t.

His control finally snapped. Not with a roar or a snarl, but with a quiet, guttural sound that vibrated up from his chest—a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender to instinct. One of his large, calloused hands shot out, not to push you away, but to wrap around your wrist. His grip was iron-hot, a brand against your skin, and he pulled you down. You didn’t fight it; you let him, stumbling forward until you were straddling his powerful thighs on the bench. The wood groaned under the combined weight, a sound of protest that was utterly drowned out by the frantic beating of your own heart. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his hot, ragged breaths fanning over your pulse point as he inhaled your scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The sheer, overwhelming heat of him seeped through your clothes, a furnace of desperate need that made your own body respond in kind, a slick warmth pooling between your thighs.

You shifted your hips, a deliberate, slow grind against the considerable bulge straining against his worn trousers. The friction was electric, sending a jolt of pure pleasure straight through you. Toji’s entire body went rigid, a choked gasp tearing from his throat. His grip on your wrist tightened, a warning and a plea all at once. “Don’t,” he growled, the word muffled against your skin, but it lacked any real conviction. It was the last, dying ember of his rational mind, and you were more than happy to extinguish it. You did it again, rolling your hips in a tight circle, and this time, a low, guttural moan escaped him. His other hand came up to grip your hip, claws digging into the fabric of your pants, holding you in place as he instinctively pushed up to meet your movements.

That was all the encouragement you needed. You fumbled with the button of his trousers, your fingers clumsy with haste. Toji made a sound of protest, but his hands were already moving to help you, shoving the offending fabric down his hips with impatient desperation. His cock sprang free, thick, heavy, and flushed a deep, angry red with arousal. It curved up against his stomach, the tip already beading with precum. The sheer size of him was breathtaking, a testament to his primal, wolfish nature. Your own breath hitched, a wave of intense, almost feral desire washing over you. You wanted him. You wanted to feel that desperate, burning heat inside you, to be the one to soothe the ache of his rut, to take everything he had to give.

You stood just long enough to shuck your own pants and underwear, kicking them aside without a second thought. The cool air of the cabin kissed your heated skin, but the chill was fleeting. Toji watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He was a predator cornered, but you were the one holding all the power. You climbed back onto his lap, this time positioning yourself directly over his throbbing length. His hands flew to your waist, gripping you so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. You liked the thought of it, a physical reminder of this moment, of this wild, untamed wolf at your mercy. You reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and giving him a slow, deliberate pump. He bucked into your hand, a hoarse cry tearing from his lips.

“Look at me, Toji

Toji’s breath hitched, his hips jerking erratically into your grip. His eyes, blown wide and dark, were locked onto the sight of your hand stroking him, his mouth slightly agape as if he couldn’t quite believe the sensation. The control he’d been fighting so hard to maintain was completely shattered, replaced by a raw, unfiltered need that was both terrifying and intoxicating. He was a powerful, dangerous hybrid, but right now, he was putty in your hands, driven by a biological imperative so strong it eclipsed everything else.

“Please,” he choked out, the word ragged and broken. It was the first time you’d ever heard him beg, and the sound sent a fresh gush of slick heat to your core. You could have drawn this out, could have teased him until he was completely mindless, but the desperation in his voice, the sheer, unadulterated need in his eyes, was too potent to resist. You wanted to see him fall apart completely.

You released his cock, much to his audible dismay, and instead gripped his shoulders, pushing him back against the wall. He went without a fight, his body pliant beneath yours. You slid down his lap, your knees hitting the rough wooden floorboards with a soft thud. You looked up at him from between his powerful thighs, a predatory smirk playing on your lips. His gaze was heavy, laden with confusion and a desperate, aching hope. He didn’t know what you were doing, but he was willing to let you do anything.

You leaned in and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh. His whole body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping him. You did it again, higher this time, your tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat on his skin. His hands flew to your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, not to guide you, but simply to hold on, to anchor himself in the storm of sensation you were creating. You could feel the tremors running through him, the fine vibrations of a body pushed to its absolute limit.

Finally, you reached your destination. You looked up at him one last time, your eyes locking with his as you slowly, deliberately, took the tip of his cock into your mouth. The sound he made was inhuman—a strangled whimper that was half pain, half pleasure. His hips bucked sharply, driving himself deeper into your mouth, and you took it, relaxing your throat to accommodate his impressive girth. You began to move, your head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm, your tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of his shaft.

Toji was a mess above you. His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent scream. The sounds he was making were utterly obscene—a litany of choked whimpers, ragged moans, and desperate, pleading cries. His grip on your hair tightened, his claws scraping lightly against your scalp, a silent plea for more. You gave it to him, taking him deeper, faster, until he was a quivering, sobbing wreck on the edge of oblivion.

Just as you felt his balls begin to tighten, a sure sign of his impending release, you pulled back, releasing him with a wet pop. He cried out in protest, a raw, frustrated sound that was music to your ears. His eyes flew open, wide and wild with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Why?” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

You just smirked, rising to your knees and crawling back into his lap. This time, however, you didn’t straddle him. Instead, you turned around, presenting your glistening, wet folds to him. “Your turn,” you purred, looking over your shoulder at him.

He stared at you, his mind clearly struggling to process the command. For a moment, he just looked, his gaze hungry and uncertain. Then, with a low growl, he surged forward. He buried his face in your cunt, his tongue darting out to lap at your slick folds with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm. He was clearly inexperienced, his movements uncoordinated and rough, but his sheer, unbridled eagerness more than made up for his lack of technique. He ate you out like a man starving, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy, his nose nudging against your clit as he tried to get closer, to taste more, to consume you whole.

You ground your hips against his face, your head falling back as waves of pleasure washed over you. He was a natural, his instincts guiding him, his tongue finding all the right spots by sheer, dumb luck. You could feel his moans vibrating against your skin, the sound muffled by your flesh. He was lost in the taste of you, in the scent of you, in the feel of you writhing against his face.

He slid a finger into your tight heat, then another, his thick digits stretching you deliciously. He curled them just right, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out, your body arching as a powerful orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your juices flooding his mouth as you came hard and fast.

Toji drank you down like a man dying of thirst, his tongue lapping at your release until you were spent and trembling. Only then did he pull back, his face glistening with your essence, his eyes dark with a primal hunger that took your breath away. He was done waiting.

He grabbed your hips, flipping you over onto your hands and knees on the bench in one fluid, powerful motion. You gasped, your hands flying out to steady yourself against the wall. He was behind you in an instant, his heavy body blanketing yours, his cock nudging at your entrance. He was so big, so hot, so hard, and you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anything.

“Please,” he whimpered, his voice a broken, desperate plea. “Please, let me… let me in…”

You didn’t have to answer. You pushed back against him, a silent invitation, and he took it. He thrust into you in one smooth, deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sensation was overwhelming, a dizzying blend of pleasure and pain as your body stretched to accommodate him. You cried out, your fingers digging into the rough wood of the wall as he filled you completely.

Toji froze, his body trembling violently against yours. He was inside you. He was finally inside you, and the reality of it was so much more intense than he could have ever imagined. The tight, wet heat of your pussy enveloping him was a sensory overload, a white-hot pleasure that short-circuited his brain. He let out a strangled sob, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he fought to regain some semblance of control.

He was a whining, whimpering mess, just as you’d hoped. His hips began to move, but his thrusts were clumsy and erratic, driven by pure instinct rather than any conscious thought. He was like a young pup, awkward and uncertain, but his need was palpable, a desperate, aching hunger that was impossible to resist. He moved with a single-minded purpose, chasing the pleasure that was just out of reach, his whimpers and moans a constant, desperate soundtrack to your frantic coupling.

You met his thrusts, pushing back against him, taking him deeper, harder. You wanted to break him, to shatter him into a million pieces, to see him completely undone by the pleasure you were giving him. You reached back and gripped his hip, pulling him into you, urging him on. “That’s it, big guy,” you panted, your voice thick with desire. “Fuck me. Show me how much you want it.”

His response was a choked sob, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He was a fast learner, his movements becoming more confident, more purposeful, as he found a rhythm that had you both seeing stars. The cabin was filled with the sounds of your frantic coupling—the slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bench, the ragged sound of your breathing, and Toji’s constant, desperate whimpers.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his movements became more frantic, in the way his grip on your hips tightened, in the way his whimpers became more high-pitched, more desperate. He was teetering on the edge, and you were more than happy to push him over.

“Come for me, Toji,” you commanded, your voice a husky whisper. “Come inside me. Fill me up.”

That was all it took. With a final, guttural cry, he slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside you. The feeling of his hot release flooding your womb sent you over the edge, and you came with a loud, shuddering cry, your walls clamping down around him as your own orgasm ripped through you.

He collapsed against you, his heavy body pinning you to the bench, his face buried in your hair as he struggled to catch his breath. For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together in the aftermath of your passion, the only sound in the quiet cabin your ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

He was still inside you, his cock softening but not yet slipping out. You could feel his heart hammering against your back, a frantic, wild rhythm that was slowly beginning to calm. He was quiet now, his whimpers and moans replaced by a soft, contented sigh.

You shifted slightly, and he stirred, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you might try to leave. “Don’t move…” he pleaded, his sensitive cock throbbing into the crook of your cervix before realizing how good sex really was. “Fuuuckk…”

“Don’t,” he repeated, the word a raw, broken sound against your ear. His arms, which had been lax in post-coital bliss, tightened around you like steel bands. The soft, contented sigh was a lie. It was the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge. A low growl started in his chest, a vibration that you felt more than heard, traveling from his body straight into yours. It wasn’t a sound of anger; it was a sound of possession, of a rut that hadn’t been sated but merely whetted.

Before you could even process the shift, he was moving. In a display of raw, hybrid strength that stole the air from your lungs, he lifted you. He didn’t pull out; he simply rose from the bench, his powerful legs flexing, with you still impaled on his cock. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your hands flying to his broad shoulders for purchase as he stood, turning you both until your back was pressed firmly against the cool, rough logs of the cabin wall. The new angle made him impossibly deeper, and you gasped, your head falling back against the wood as a jolt of sharp, piercing pleasure shot through you.

“Mine,” he snarled, the word a harsh declaration right next to your face. His eyes were open now, and they were terrifying. The thin ring of green had been swallowed completely by black, his pupils vast pools of feral hunger. The wolf was fully in charge. He began to move, not with the clumsy desperation of before, but with a new, aggressive purpose. His hips snapped up, driving into you with brutal, punishing force. Each thrust was a claim, a statement of ownership that left you breathless and trembling.

“T-Toji,” you stammered, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders. “S-slow… slow down…”

He ignored you completely. His mouth crashed down on yours, a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, a dominating, messy brand. It wasn’t about pleasure; it was about conquest. He devoured you, his tongue invading your mouth, his sharp canines nipping at your lips hard enough to sting. His hands gripped your ass, claws pricking the skin as he held you aloft, using your body like a toy to fuck himself into. The sounds he made were no longer just whimpers of pleasure; they were aggressive, guttural grunts and growls, the sounds of a predator claiming its prey. Yet, threaded through the aggression was that same desperate edge, a high-pitched whine that escaped him with every particularly deep thrust, a tell-tale sign of the overwhelmed virgin still riding the wave of his first rut.

He pulled you away from the wall, staggering toward the sturdy wooden table in the center of the room. He slammed you down onto it, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs and sending a small stack of books tumbling to the floor. He finally pulled out, and the sudden emptiness made you whimper. But it was only for a second. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over effortlessly, dragging your body until your knees were on the floor and your chest was pressed against the cold, hard surface of the table. Your floppy bunny ears splayed out on either side of your head, twitching with every jolt.

He kicked your legs apart with his own, not gently, and slammed back into you. The angle was devastating, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you with every brutal thrust. You cried out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth wood, finding none. You were completely at his mercy, and the thought sent a thrill so potent through you that your vision swam.

“You… you feel… so good,” you whimpered, the words broken and slurred as he fucked you mercilessly. “So… so f-full…”

“Gonna take it all,” he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. He leaned over you, his heavy chest pressing your back into the table. One of his hands snaked around to your front, his fingers finding your clit with unerring, instinctual accuracy. He began to rub, his movements rough and uncoordinated, but the pressure was exactly what you needed. “Gonna make you a mess. Gonna make you scream.”

He was true to his word. The dual stimulation of his thick cock pounding into you and his calloused fingers circling your clit was too much. Your body tensed, your back arching as a powerful orgasm ripped through you, so intense it was almost painful. You screamed his name, your voice cracking as your walls clenched around him like a vise. The pleasure was blinding, a white-hot explosion that left you shaking and sobbing against the table.

But Toji didn’t stop. If anything, your orgasm spurred him on. He straightened up, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew you’d have finger-shaped bruises in the morning. He watched his cock disappear into your dripping cunt, his black wolf ears pinned flat against his head, his thick tail lashing back and forth behind him like a whip. The whimpers were back, louder now, more desperate, a constant, high-pitched counterpoint to the aggressive slap of his skin against yours.

“Again,” he demanded, his voice strained, on the verge of breaking. “Come for me again. Now.”

He shifted his stance, changing the angle just enough to hit that spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. You sobbed, overwhelmed, overstimulated, but your body betrayed you, responding to his command. The pleasure built again, a terrifying, inevitable tidal wave. He could feel it, feel your walls fluttering around him, and he let out a choked, desperate whine.

“Please,” he whimpered, his aggression crumbling for a moment into pure, unadulterated need. “Please, baby… please…”

The plea was your undoing. You came again, a shattering, convulsive orgasm that left you boneless and gasping. Your legs gave out, and you would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn’t been holding you up. He followed you over the edge with a hoarse, ragged cry, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into you for the second time, his hot release flooding your already sensitive channel.

He collapsed on top of you, his full weight crushing you against the table, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His body was trembling uncontrollably, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. For a long moment, the only sounds were his frantic heartbeat against your back and the crackle of the fire. He was a dead weight, a sated, exhausted wolf, and you were a thoroughly wrecked, whimpering bunny, both of you completely and utterly undone by the storm of his rut.

What a good puppy he was for you. Filling you up like the good boy he is, cum leaking from meet between your thighs, your legs quivering in pain yet relief.

Suddenly the door unlocked, and shiu had came back with arms full of bags of necessities, his eyes tired and exhausted as he threw half of the bags on the couch, his head hanging low as he closed the door. “Hey, sorry it took so long, I had just—“ He began before freezing, wondering why his house felt so muggy before looking up, seeing half his couch drenched, the floors wet and two of the hybrids he was taking care of against the table naked, sweaty and cum-coated.

“Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good time that you were in heat either was it?

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Terms & Conditions

She stared at the envelope for three hours.

Five grand. Cash. Crisp bills. No note this time—just a name at the front desk and a key card to a hotel suite with the kind of view you didn’t get without money or secrets.

She told herself she wouldn’t go.

She told herself that four times. Then put on the dress she said she wouldn’t wear again and took the cab she said she couldn’t afford. Her heels clicked across the marble floor of the Grand Horizon like she belonged there. She didn’t. But she was here anyway.

Suite 1701.

Penthouse. Of course it was.

She knocked once.

The door opened before she could lift her hand a second time.

He stood there barefoot, shirtless, drink in hand. That same amused smirk on his lips, like he’d known all along she’d come crawling.

“Changed your mind,” he said simply.

“I came to talk,” she lied.

He stepped aside. “Then talk.”

The suite was obnoxious. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Liquor cart stocked with things she couldn’t pronounce. A private balcony overlooking the city like he owned it. She walked in like she wasn’t impressed. Sat on the edge of the couch like she wasn’t nervous.

“I have rules,” she said.

He shut the door. Clicked the lock. “I figured,” he murmured. “Lay ’em on me.”

She swallowed. “No kissing.”

His brow lifted, amused. “Cute. What else?”

“No sleepovers. I leave after.”

He shrugged. “You think I want to cuddle?”

She ignored that. “No trying to change me. No asking about my past. And no… feelings. Ever.”

He poured himself another drink, then moved toward her slowly, deliberately, like a lion circling prey it already owns.

“And in exchange,” she added, “you’ll give me five grand a week. No more. No less.” He stared at her. Quiet. Calm.

Then took a sip and said, “Done.”

Just like that.

No hesitation. No questions. Like her body was worth every dollar and every rule. She should’ve left right then. She should’ve walked out proud and smug and untouchable.

But instead—

“You look good in red,” he said, eyes dragging over her cherry slip dress like it was edible. “Bet you look better out of it.” And fuck. That tone. That voice. That look.

So she stood. Let the straps slide down her shoulders. Let the dress pool at her feet in silence. She didn’t rush. Didn’t ask. Just stepped toward him in nothing but heels and sin. His eyes darkened, fingers twitching like restraint was costing him.

“You touching?” she teased.

He didn’t answer. He just reached out—slow, reverent—and dragged his knuckles from her neck to her hip like he was claiming territory.

And then, in a low voice that made her shiver:

“I’m not touching, sweetheart. I’m taking.”

Later

She lay tangled in silk sheets, bare skin slick with sweat and sin. Her throat was sore from moaning. Her thighs ached from being spread. His fingerprints were a map all over her hips, her waist, her ass.

He sat at the edge of the bed, back to her, smoking. The city lit up the windows behind him, gold and silver stars in a man-made sky.She rolled to her side, the sheet slipping low on her back.

“I still don’t know your name,” she whispered.He glanced back, slow and smirking.

“You don’t need it,” he said. And for once, she didn’t argue. Because somehow, it already felt like he owned her anyway.

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☾⋆⁺₊⋆⛧⋆₊⁺⋆☽

sugardaddy!rafe x slutty!reader

Part One: The Devil in a Dress

Part Two: Champagne & Cigarettes

Part Three: Terms & Conditions

Part Four: Silk Sheets & Dirty Lies

Part Five: Pretty Little Problem

Part Six: Red Flags and Jealous Hands

Part Seven: The Price of Freedom

Part Eight: Stay

Part Nine: Belonging, Brutally.

Part Ten: Ours Again

sugar!daddy!rafe x slutty!reader

The Devil in a Dress

The club smelled like stale liquor and desperation.

Sweaty palms clutched sticky glasses, bills already burning in wallets before a single song started. Laughter echoed in the dim haze of neon red, bouncing off velvet walls and mirrored ceilings. The music throbbed low and dirty, bassline pulsing like a heartbeat through the floor.

And she—

She was the goddamn reason half the men in the building forgot they had wives waiting at home.

They called her Lola onstage. Not her real name—hell, she barely remembered that anymore. Lola was who she became when the lights hit her skin and the money hit the floor. A version of herself built from six-inch heels, fake lashes, and lies.

The dress tonight was black. Tight enough to strangle, short enough to tease. It clung to her like a second skin, dipped low in the back and cut high in the thigh. Glitter clung to her collarbones, and her lips were blood-red perfection.

She was a devil in stilettos, and she knew it.

Sliding behind the velvet curtain, she peeked past it just long enough to scan the crowd. The same: drunk frat bros, aging businessmen, trust fund boys pretending they had edge. Easy money. No names. No contact. No real risk.

But something stopped her. A man. Not just any man.

He was lounging like sin itself in the back booth, fingers wrapped lazily around a glass of bourbon, gaze trained straight on her like he’d been waiting all night.

Sharp jawline. Platinum watch. Blue dress shirt undone just enough to hint at trouble. His legs were spread wide, owning the booth like he owned the building. Like he owned her.

She didn’t blink. Just smirked and stepped out onto the stage like a challenge. The lights dimmed. The beat dropped. The room hushed.

She rolled her hips to the rhythm, slow and deliberate, dragging her fingers up her thighs, catching the hem of her dress and teasing the edge of scandal. The spotlight loved her—clinging to every curve, kissing every inch of skin she offered. She moved like smoke, like hunger, like something no one could afford to touch.

But that man in the back booth? He didn’t just look. He watched.

Eyes locked, unmoving, unblinking. Like he could peel her open with just a glance. She’d danced for hundreds of men before. Thousands of eyes had followed her ass across that stage. But this was different. This was intimate.

He didn’t throw a single dollar. Didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. And still, she felt more naked under his stare than she ever had on the pole.

By the time her set ended, she was slick with sweat and adrenaline. Cheers echoed, bills littered the floor, and her heart wouldn’t slow down. She caught one last look at him before she disappeared backstage.

He was still staring. Still smirking. And beside his drink was a platinum card. VIP. Private room. Her name was written in red on the receipt: Lola. And beneath it, a tip so big it made her stop breathing for a second.

“Fucking hell,” she whispered, eyes widening.

“Who is that?” one of the other girls asked, peeking over her shoulder.

She didn’t answer.

Because she already knew—

Whoever he was, he wasn’t just another customer.

He was a problem.

And something in her gut told her:

She’d be in his bed by the end of the week.

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Stay

୨୧𓆩༺☆༻𓆪୨୧

The test was still on the counter when she backed away like it might bite her.

Two pink lines. Faint, but clear. The kind of clarity that kicked you in the stomach and didn’t stop swinging.

She sat down on the cold tile floor of her bathroom, her knees drawn to her chest, the world suddenly too quiet. No music. No traffic. Just the sound of her own breathing—too fast, too shallow—and the blood rushing in her ears.

Pregnant.

It didn’t even feel real. Not yet. Her hands were shaking too hard, her thoughts jumping in too many directions to land on anything solid. She hadn’t even cried. Not yet. Not because it didn’t hurt. But because the fear was still too big to make room for anything else.

She didn’t plan for this.

She never once let herself think about what it would be like to slow down, to stay, to belong anywhere for longer than a week. Everything in her life had been built to survive the next paycheck, the next threat, the next man who thought he owned her time. But now—now there was a second heartbeat. Fragile. Quiet. Real.

And the only name that crashed through her mind louder than the fear was Rafe.

She didn’t go to the penthouse that night.

She didn’t answer when he texted. Didn’t call back when he rang. She needed time. Space. Sanity.

She needed to think without the weight of his hands on her waist or his voice in her ear whispering all the reasons she should give in. Because Rafe wasn’t built for things like this. He liked control. He liked power. He liked her in his bed and out of sight until he was ready to want her again.

He didn’t want messy. He didn’t want this.

But when she woke up the next morning, her phone lit up again. Not a message. Not a threat. A picture.

Her favorite coffee. Her favorite pastry. Her name on the side of the cup in his messy scrawl. And beneath it, just four words:

“Still not done waiting.”

And fuck him for that.

Because she was already crying before she even realized it.

She didn’t tell him that night either.

She couldn’t.

Not when he looked at her like that—like she was still the same girl in red silk he found on a stage with her debt wrapped around her like a chain. Not when his hands still knew her body better than she did. Not when her heart was already betraying every promise she made to herself.

He kissed her soft that night. Like he knew something was coming. Like he could already feel her slipping, one foot out the door, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

She didn’t sleep.

Not because she was scared of what he’d do. But because she wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say.

She couldn’t sleep.

His arm was slung over her waist, his chest against her back, the slow rise and fall of his breathing pressed into her spine like a lullaby she didn’t deserve. Every inch of her felt hot under his touch, too aware of every heartbeat, every inch of skin, every soft inhale that proved this wasn’t just a game anymore.

He didn’t know.

And he should.

But she couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not with his mouth so close to her ear and his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles into her hip like he was calming a storm he hadn’t even seen coming. She closed her eyes, tried to will the panic down, but her mind wouldn’t shut up. It kept flashing images — the test, the bathroom floor, the way her stomach had twisted when she saw those lines and realized her whole life had already changed.

She shifted slowly, turning onto her back, his arm falling away.

He stirred but didn’t wake. Just made a low sound, half-sigh, half-grunt, and turned his face toward her on the pillow.

The soft light from the window lit the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow even in sleep, like he never fully let his guard down. She used to think it was attractive — that edge, that tension always lurking under his calm exterior. But now it scared her. Not because she thought he’d hurt her. But because she didn’t know how far he’d go to keep her.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

She wasn’t supposed to stay this long. Wasn’t supposed to feel safe in his arms. Wasn’t supposed to want to kiss his scars and ask about the things he never said. And she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to let herself imagine what kind of father he’d be.

Would he soften? Would he stay like this — quiet and calm and watchful? Or would something sharper slip through once he realized what she’d brought into his world?

She ran her palm over her stomach, flat and silent, like maybe she could press it all back in, tuck the secret away and pretend it didn’t exist.

But it did. It was real. And it wasn’t going anywhere. She turned toward him again, just enough to brush her knuckles against his collarbone. He didn’t open his eyes, but he spoke.

“I know something’s wrong.”

Her heart stopped. She tried to school her face, but it was too late.

“I don’t want to push,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to stop looking at me like I’m going to break.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he cut in gently. “You look like you’re waiting for me to throw you out.”

She swallowed.

“I’m not.”

“Then tell me what’s in your head.”

The room was too quiet. The space between them too small. The air felt heavy, like it was waiting too.

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again—and this time, the words came out before she could stop them.

“I’m pregnant.”

The silence afterward wasn’t violent. It wasn’t loud. It was… still.

He didn’t sit up. Didn’t move. Just stared at her, expression unreadable. One beat. Two. Three. She thought he might stop breathing entirely.

Then, finally—he exhaled.

And said, “Okay.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Okay,” he repeated. “It’s yours. It’s mine. It’s real.”

That was it. No panic. No denial. Just fact. Steady and calm in the middle of her chaos.

“You’re not… mad?”

He reached for her then, hand cradling her jaw, thumb brushing beneath her eye like he was chasing down a tear before it could fall.

“No,” he said softly. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“How fast I can get you out of that apartment and into someplace safe.”

Her lips parted. “Rafe—”

“No,” he said firmly, but not unkind. “This changes everything. And I’m not letting you do it alone. Not a single second.”

She stared at him, heart in her throat, and for the first time since the test, the fear didn’t crush her. It was still there, sure, wrapped around her ribs like wire. But beneath it, something else bloomed.

Warm. Steady. Dangerous in a way that didn’t make her want to run.

Because this wasn’t just about her anymore. It wasn’t even just about the baby. It was about him. And the terrifying truth that maybe, just maybe, she’d already started to fall.