When did the world of fanfic become a money grab? Writers that hide behind paywall, beta readers that want to be paid. I've been here for 10+ years and it feels like everything is going too far down hill.
The amount of comments on fics are decreasing too. Writers don't have the motivation to write because people don't interact either.
I want to keep writing and posting, but it feels like no one wants to read or support.
Another thing that is discouraging is how fast people jump from topic to topic. If you're a week late to a fandom, well too bad cause everyone has already moved on.
↳ Warnings/Themes: Mature (🔞). Smut. PWP. Unprotected P in V. Spread Eagle. Not-proofread. Dry humping.
↳ Pairing: BND!Peter Parker x F!Reader
↳ Words: 2853
↳ Summary: Your boyfriend returns from patrol beaten and bloodied and with a new attitude.
☁️: Walked out of the movie wet as hell. The scene that this picture is from... yeahhhh. So, here we are. First time writing for Marvel / Spidey so be nice pleaseeee. There's no real spoiler warning, as the fic is based on the image from the trailer. ❤︎
General Masterlist here. Peter Masterlist here.
Through the noise of the New York night moving below, something hits your bedroom window hard enough to rattle the glass and drag you out of your sleep. Another loud tap follows before the room falls quiet again. The traffic outside carries on as though nothing happened, and the silence inside your room stretches on long enough that you being to wonder if you'd imagined it.
Still caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, you instinctively reach for your phone. It takes a couple of seconds of blinking against the harsh glare of the phone before the numbers come into focus. 03:17. No missed calls or texts.
You let your head fall back against the pillow, your eyes already drifting closed as sleep begins to pull you back under again. It's only then, just as you're comfortable, that the next sound tears through your bedroom.
Your bedroom window, old and creaky, is slid open. The curtains stir as something, a big something, slips past them. There are no footsteps or creaks of the floorboards to prove it happens, just the rustle of the curtains as more breeze flies through.
"...P–Peter."
The name slips from your mouth before your mind has even fully caught up. It has to be him, he's the only person reckless enough to slip in at three in the morning, and the only one who would consider your fourteenth story window as a perfectly reasonable front door, despite having a key.
There's no response, so you reach for the lamp. A soft, yellow glow fills the bedroom, your eyes taking another second to adjust before immediately settling on the wall.
Peter's halfway up your bedroom wall, crouched close to the ceiling with his weight resting on his feet. He has one hand on the opposite wall, as if he needs it to keep him balanced.
He's still not turned to look at you, opting to watch the city through the gap the wind creates in the curtains. One shoulder in his suit has been ripped almost clean off, exposing bruised skin beneath streaks of drying blood. There's more dried blood along the side of his face, disappearing beneath his jaw and into the collar of his suit. Fresh crimson still trickles from a cut above his eyebrow, his curls clinging damply to his forehead.
You chew your bottom lip as you take him in. It's become the norm for him to crawl through your window at night after patrol, but never this late and never looking this banged up. Dating Spider-Man has its perks but now it brings you an uncomfortable swirl in your stomach.
"Pete?"
When he finally looks over to you, the breath in your throat catches. His eyes, usually so soft and brown when they look at you, are gone, replaced by darkness. You blink a few times, as if that will reset your sight and give you something more familiar.
It doesn't and your brow furrows. You've spent enough time looking into Peter's eyes to know every shade of brown that they could be in a different light. This wasn't that. The colour has been swallowed whole, replaced by a black glossy enough to catch the light from your bedside lamp.
Over time, you've learnt to just roll with the things that happen to and around Peter. Now, for the first time really, he's beaten, he's bloody, his eyes are pitch black, and he just stares at you.
It's probably one of the most unsettling things you've ever seen, which makes it deeply irritating that your first coherent thought is still 'God, he's attractive'.
"That's... new," you finally say.
His head tilts ever so slightly, the movement smooth enough that it reminds you he isn't entirely human, as if him clinging on your wall without a regard for gravity wasn't reminder enough.
"What happened, handsome?" You ask softly.
One corner of his mouth twitches at the nickname, it's barely a smile, but it's enough to loosen the knot that has been tightening in your chest from since you turned the light on.
"Suit yourself," you say.
The silence feels wrong on him. Usually, Peter feels silence the way other people breathe. He apologises, makes terrible jokes, and talks himself into circles until you have to interrupt him just to get a word in. Even after the worst patrols, he somehow finds the energy to ramble on about the criminal who threw a microwave at him or complain about New York's pigeons' vendetta against him.
Tonight, he just watches you. His gaze follows you as you kneel beside the bed and pull out the first-aid kit you stashed there for times like this. It tracks the movement of your hands while you sort through gauze and antiseptic, placing them on the bed.
"Come here."
This, he obeys immediately. Usually there's some sort of protest, "I'm fine." "You don't need to fuss." "It's not even my blood."
But today, he walks down the wall, each step carrying him lower until both feet settle quietly onto the carpet. He walks the short distance over to you, stopping close enough that you can smell the rain and city dust beneath the metallic tang of blood.
There's tiny cuts scattered across his jaw, already looking like they're healing. "You really got beat up, huh?"
He nods in response.
"The other guy look worse than you?"
Another nod.
"Good."
It's your turn to watch him, your eyes trailing down from where his hair is still damp to the way his muscles bulge out of his suit. A hum of approval slips past your lips, and the corner of Peter's mouth lifts again.
"Missed you." His voice is rough, quieter than usual, as though he hasn't spoken in hours. Knowing Peter, that is unlikely.
"I missed you too." You reach for the antiseptic. "Suit off, sit down."
It's a routine you've done time and time again. He's out of the suit in no time, then on your bed in only his boxers. His chest and stomach is no better than his face, scrapes and bruises littered across him.
You kneel between his open legs, soaking a cotton pad with antiseptic before lifting it towards the cut above his eyebrow. "This is going to sting."
Normally, he'd flinch before you'd enough touched him, already complaining about your bedside manner despite being the one who'd shown up at your window and begging you to take care of him with those puppy-dog eyes.
But, the antiseptic touches raw skin without so much as a wince or bad joke about how it hurts worse than anything he fought as an Avenger.
The furrow in your brow deepens for the second time today as you carefully clean his face. "Peter."
His black eyes flick briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. "What?"
"You've been staring at me for the past... I don't know. Like five minutes."
"I know." Is his simple response.
There's something in his voice that somehow manages to sound not quite like Peter but also entirely like Peter at the same time. A hint of brown peaks through his eyes as you study him.
You find yourself looking away first, pretending to concentrate on cleaning the cut along his jaw even though you've already wiped it clean.
When your thumb accidentally brushes against the corner of his mouth, any hint of brown disappears, replaced by pitch black again as there's a faint hitch in his breath.
The effects of his reaction rolls through your body in a way that you're not sure you can admit out loud. Although he doesn't show it, he's probably in pain, and the worry you'd had initially is very quickly being replaced by a burning desire.
"I think we're done."
You stand to throw the used cotton aside. The moment you try to leave, warm fingers close around your wrist. It's not tight enough to bruise, but it's enough to stop you in your tracks, to stop you from even thinking of pulling away.
The tug on your arm is done with hardly any force at all, but it still has you tumbling forward. Your hands land on his shoulders to steady yourself, and he lets go of your wrist only to settle one hand against your waist.
Lifting you with ease, he puts you on his lap.
For a brief second, he looks almost puzzled by the contact, as though some part of him is only catching up to what the rest of him decided several seconds ago.
As your fingers trace down the lines of his chest, over the faint bruising, his eyes drop to your chest, watching how your chest begins to rise and fall faster as your heart thuds in your chest.
His nipples are already erect, so perky and tempting and you can't help but slide your thumbs over them. It's as if the touch sparks something within him, his hands tighten on your waist, drawing you closer until there's barely any space between your bodies.
The streets of New York sound even more distant as the sounds of ragged breathing fills the room, it's all consuming and desire pools in your stomach without even being touched.
"Pete," you moan, and the restraint snaps.
Peter's hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down to crash his lips to yours. It's not really a kiss, it's too messy and too desperate, and he groans in your mouth as your teeth accidentally catch the cut on his lip. Still, he doesn't pull away. In fact, he craves more.
His hands run over your back and then down to cup your ass, tilting your hips forward in an attempt to press you harder against him. He hums quietly against your mouth, the sound vibrating somewhere deep in his chest.
Somehow, he calms down enough that his lips move against yours in a way more resembling real kiss, his tongue sliding over yours. The motion has heat prickling under your skin and a throb blooming between your thighs. Your nails scratch at his back, adding to the collection of marks there.
Without breaking the kiss, Peter eases you both backwards. You barely notice you're being moved until you suddenly feel him, all of him, press against you. He arranges you so he's flat on his back, your knees on either side of his hips.
The thin fabric of your panties is damp in a way that you're sure he can feel through his boxers. He's done nothing so far to warrant that.
"Fuck," you groan against his mouth as you shift against him. The friction sending little sparks of pleasure through you, but not enough to satisfy the ache.
He pulls back just enough to look up at you. You could always tell what he was thinking through his eyes, but they're still black, probably darker than before if that's possible. But, the expression on his face gives you all the reassurances that his eyes can't.
"My senses are going crazy." It's the first sentence that was more than two words he's pulled together all night, so you sit up straight, looking down at him. He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep and ragged breath. "Fu-. You smell so..."
The praise went straight to your core, more wetness dampening your panties and Peter whimpered.
He didn't open his eyes immediately, taking another long, shuddering breath of air as if your scene was an intoxicant he couldn't get enough of.
Shifting in his lap, you grind down against him with as much pressure as you could manage. His hands on your hips twitched, his fingers digging into your skin with enough pressure that you knew it would bruise tomorrow. Good.
His eyes lock on to yours, the void in his gaze terrifying in a way that only made you ache more. "I can hear your blood rushing. I can feel... no, I can smell how warm and wet you are."
Leaning forward, you drag your chest against his bare skin until your noses almost brush.
"So, then you know I'm ready for you." You kissed the bottom of his jaw, where a bruise has formed. "I'm begging for it." Another kiss and shift against him. His full body tremors underneath you. "I need you."
Before you can blink, his hand flies up to wrap around the back of your neck, and then the room spins. Peter's over you in an instant, pressing his erection against your core.
There's a wet patch on his boxers where his precum has pooled and each roll of his hips coats his boxers as it glides over your damp panties.
"Fuck... Pete."
Your nails find their way to his back again, leaving him with marks that you know he'll appreciate in the mirror in the morning.
Peter whimpers, hair flopping over his face and eyes half-lidded as he moves faster against you. You reach up, thumb flicking over his nipples in time with his grinds against you. Electricity runs through his veins at every wipe.
"I-I'm not- I'm close already," he stutters, his dick twitching in his boxers.
"But I want you inside of me," you all but whined.
"Okay, yes."
If you weren't as aroused as you are now, you would have laughed at the unnecessary acrobatics as he jumps back to pull your panties off in one swoop. The cold air hits your soaked folds, and his throat bobs as he watches the way it glistens in the light.
"Hurry up," you begged, legs closing slightly. It was a silly thing to feel so self-conscious in front of the man who's been between your legs more times than you could count, but he's also not seen you this desperate before.
He stands to pull his boxers down, a soft moan escaping his lips as the fabric catches on his sensitive tip. He turns to look at you as you swallow hard. His dick is beautiful, slightly curved and thick in a way that fills you up completely every time. It's flushed a pretty pink at the tip. Your tongue moves in your throat, craving the feeling of how heavy it would feel on you.
Settling between your legs again, Peter spreads your legs wide. He rubs the tip of his length through your slick folds, his precum and your arousal mixing. He uses the tip to circle your clit with extra pressure, and you cannot help the grind of your hips.
Peter taps his dick on your clit once, then once again, running it through your folds again.
Your hands hook under the backs of your thighs, pulling them to your chest and exposing yourself to him. "Peter, please."
"I'm sorry, baby," he coos.
Just the tip is eased past your hole, and it's enough for your mouth to go slack, eyes rolling back as the stretch burns so well. He continues to push in slowly, face scrunched as your walls wrap around him like a specialised glove.
Every ridge, every vein, and every pulse drags hits against the walls of your pussy. He fills you up completely, thick and veiny, and neither of you move for a moment, too lost in the feeling.
"Won't last long," he grits out.
Sweat already beads at his forehead. Sex with Peter is usually a stamina war, he goes rounds and rounds before even tiring. But whatever's happened to him has heightened his senses in a way that he cannot yet control, the feelings overwhelming him to the point of almost overstimulation.
"That's okay, take what you need."
He begins to move, pulling out so just the tip is left in before pushing back forward. He finds the right angle immediately, hitting against your spot and making your toes curl.
Without missing a thrust, Peter grabs hold of your ankles, using them to spread your legs further. The new angle has you both sighing, moans mixing in the room with the sounds of his skin clapping against yours.
"Feels s'good, s'tight," he groans. "Touch... self."
Three of your fingers immediately find your clit, circling with the pressure that you know you like. It only takes a few tightly pressured circles for the first waves of your orgasm to shake through your body.
Peter watches your body arch as your orgasm hits you in full force. You clench around him and that combined with the pure ecstasy on your face has him burying himself deep inside of you, giving you a few more frantic thrusts before he's whimpering and groaning, his nerve endings going haywire.
Seconds later, he's shooting hot, ropey cum into you. He falls forward but keeps his body hovering over yours. Your hands cup his cheeks, pressing kisses to his face as you both come down from your highs. He mumbles praises to you between kisses, making your heart squeeze.
"Feeling better, Pete?" You ask.
"Yeah, thanks to you," he sighs. He sits back on his heels, still buried inside of you.
As you watch him, his eyes slowly clear of the black, his soft brown eyes finding yours.
If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc. it means a lot x
a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.
Posting two fics at the same time. But one is the past life of the character, the other is the reincarnated. There is only one character that knows them in both lives.
hello, where do I read the first chapter of the arranged marriage with toji? it said the first chapter was on ao3 but when I went to ao3 it said to go to tumblr. i was able to find the preview but not the full chapter
Hi! The first "chapter" on AO3 is the world building notes that I have posted on Tumblr. I am still working on the formatting so I can have it posted on both AO3 and Tumblr.
If you click on Chapter 2/3/4 on AO3 you'll see the fully written chapters!
Cold Love, Hot Blood (ArraingedMarriage!Saturo Gojo x Fem!Reader)
Are we ready for another ArrangedMarriage!Saturo Gojo story? (fem!reader)
Also, a little disclaimer before we start! I do not hate Gojo! I know I made him the bad guy in the last head cannon, and I will in this one too. There are certain AU's that I only see fitting Gojo as the love interest, and some of them he fits as the antagonist. Maybe I'll type up a few of those Gojo LI head cannons one day.
This story is more focused on the reader as an individual. Reader grew up in a well off family that was open minded enough to realize she isn't high on anyone's marriage list, and they want her to succeed (in the public's eye) in life.
Once reader graduated high school, reader started to further her education. Reader had gone to college and gotten a Bachelors in Environmental Science and a Masters in Limnology.
Reader has her arms tattoos in sleeves full of fish. Reader is a very free spirit.
Reader doesn't hesitate to make friends, but if someone wrongs her or the people she loves (being racist, homophobic, pedophilia, even if they joke about that stuff), she cuts them off. Reader keeps her peace by not letting those nasty people infiltrate her life. Reader is not a goodie two shoes, by any means. Like your average college kid, she dabbled in drinking and illegal substances, but she never got interested in the party scene.
The story starts when the reader just graduated with her Master's degree and was applying to PhD programs (She wanted to study how endocrine disruptors work through ecosystems). Her parents call and request her to come home. Apparently one of those marriage lists kept getting shorter and shorter as his (now) ex-wives kept divorcing him.
Since reader is in her late 20s (and since her parents worry about her image in the public eye), they already signed the contract to have reader marry Saturo Gojo.
They just need reader's signature– besides, who wouldn't want to be a Gojo!Reader is heart broken.
She had thought about marriage a lot, she even wants to have children some day. But she needs to find a man that is assertive and is caring. She needs a man that will take care of things because he wants to, not because he has to do them (or she asked him to do them). Reader wanted to find that person on her own.
Reader is very reluctant, but goes home to see this out. Who knows? Maybe this arranged marriage will be with her ideal man.
Still, reader called up her lawyer friend, Skylar, and had him read through her contract. Since her parents already signed as willing participants, the contract is binding. Reader just has to sign her name to make everything official.
The horrible part, is the Gojos changed the contract to legally bind reader to Saturo for five years. She cannot file for divorce, no one in the family can, except for Saturo Gojo, of course.
The cherry on the cake is a conversation she overheard between both sets of parents.
"Since your daughter is done with school and has nothing else planned for her life, this contract is the only thing going for her. "
"I suppose you're right. Two degrees is plenty, and I want grand-children."
The day of the wedding, reader didn't recognize herself. A pure white dress, her tattoos covered up to match the rest of her bare skin. A simple diamond necklace that will match her earrings and her wedding band.
Reader's nerves were through the roof. Not about the wedding itself, she can walk down to Saturo and say some meaningless vowels, slide a ring on his finger and call herself a wife.
Everyone's attitude from the Gojo side is sour. They have been through this process over 15 times, they are over it. No one has any hope that you're the one.
To try and relax, reader takes a walk through the venue, trying to enjoy the scenery outside when she heard a disturbing sound. Curiosity killed the cat- and satisfaction brought it back to a miserable life.
Through a glimpse of an open window, the reader sees her Fiance receiving some of the sloppiest head she had ever seen. Disgusted, reader walks away. The rumors were true, Saturo Gojo will not stay monogamous in this marriage, just like all of his previous ones.If he wants to see her distraught, reader doesn't give him the satisfaction.
She puts on a fantastic face and has the best party of her life. The few college friends and her one bridesmaid relive their college days and get fucked up by the end of the night.
By the early morning, someone brings reader to her new home. They help her out of her dress and get her into bed, where she promptly passes out, hair still in an egregious updo, make-up still caked on her entire body.
She wakes up to obnoxious sex noises from the room over, the sound of her husband's name being screamed loud enough to wake up a still drunk reader.
Reader grabs her night bag - one of the only things she was able to pack before coming back to her parents - and uses all of the make-up remover, shampoo, conditioner, and body soap to feel remotely sober again.
With her hair down, tattoos showing in their fishy glory, reader dresses in the only comfy clothes she has – a tank top and a pair of shorts that her ass likes to eat up. With her flip-flops and sunglasses on, reader goes down stairs (sex noises still loud and clear, an hour later) and looks for the kitchen.
She could kill for a morning burger and fries. As she enters the kitchen, the chef is ignoring her, focusing on making mochi and other sweet treats.
So reader calls up her friends that are still in town, and they will pick up reader and get her a burger and a pick me up.
As the reader sits on the steps of the mansion, trying to identify the native flora and fauna, in walks Suguru, completely ignoring her. He sent a brief look of disgust before entering the house.
Reader goes with her friends, and over a hangover and a hamburger, they try to form a plan to get Saturo Gojo to divorce her.
I literally have soooo many scenes written down for this one, very juicy, and a lot of prelude before the wedding too (a combined batchelor and batchelorette trip).
The story is set up so that you- the readers- will help me determine who reader will end up with. Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Geto, Gojo -- they're all on the table!
A/N: The full chapter is up on AO3! Please comment, it gives me the motivation to write!
Enjoy <3
You jolt awake in the rocking chair, Megumi fast asleep against your stomach.
He whimpers, bit the small noise is not what woke you.
There is much louder, much more violent retching coming from just across the hall.
The only alpha that resides in this house is violently sick.
You stay in your chair, subconsciously moving Megumi closer to your bosom.
If Megumi doesn't make any noise, then the alpha will have no reason to see his son - or to see you. If he ignores you and the child and goes back to bed, then everything will be okay.
No one will get hurt, no one will get punished.
Eventually the vomiting ends, the toilet flushes.
All you hear now are body racking sobs. In between the heaving there were low moans – filled with the same pain and grief you smelled on him earlier.
This is the gruesome result of losing a mate. The mourning, the purging of the mates pheromones, it take a toll on the survivor.
It often leads to death – within two weeks of the loss.
Here is how ABO universe works with explanations for my Ascensionism fic!! Everything is under the cut because it is A LOT
Enjoy pookies <3
AO3 Masterlist
Omegas
Very choosy with mates. Very expensive to go through a heat cycle.
Choose mates that are likely to have good parental care, good resource availability, and good habitat.
TLDR: The mate (alpha, beta, or omega) has to be a good parent (provide, protection, food, education) provide a good home/nest.
If an omega is malnourished, stressed, or in an unpredictable climate, then the chances of them going into heat is low.
To elaborate on heats being expensive: to produce eggs (ovulation), it requires ample amounts of energy and resources. Human females are born with a predetermined amount of eggs. Omegas will have the ability to produce one egg (on average) during her heat.
The physical exertion of going through a heat takes its toll as well. Omegas are likely to lose up to 10 pounds.
Because of this, omegas are often eating in excess right before their heat to ensure they have ample amounts of energy.
Because heats are seen as opportunity reproduction (when the right conditions are met) it is possible to force an omega into heat multiple times in a year. As an advanced society, it is considered unhealthy to have more than one heat in a year. Without the consent of the omega, forcing one into heat is considered abuse.
Omegas have 5 scent glands. One on their wrists, and two on their inner parts of their things. Any gland can be bitten to trigger the mate response.
MATE RESPONSE: The transference of pheromones when biting any scent gland of an alpha or an omega. The pheromones/scent of the mate will be ingrained in the receiving party’s mind as “safe/home/mate”. This affect encourages monogamy among mated individuals (a common practice). During the marking event, adrenaline, dopamine, and oxytocin flood both of the participant's bodies.
PURGING: The phenomenon that occurs post death of one mate. The body of the surviving mate will purge itself of the unknown pheromone (transferred during the mate response formation) hours after the death of the mate. The purging includes: excessive urination, excessive excretion of feces, excessive sweating, and vomiting.
Polygyny (one alpha, multiple omegas) is an old practice and is viewed as barbaric.
Omegas have three special traits:
Number 1: They can lactate (without giving birth). The cry/scent of a baby can cause an omega to lactate within 24 hours of being around the baby.
Side notes about babies born from alphas/omegas/betas: They unconsciously secrete the scent that triggers the omega’s lactation up until the baby has a means of other food (typically after teething) evolved to be this way.
Number 2: When they (or their young) are threatened, an omega can produce claws that come out of their nail beds (replacing the other nail). The omega will stay vigilant up to 72 hours after the treat leaves. This will include minimal to no meals and minimal to no sleep.
Number 3: Omegas can “purr” which is a resonance that comes from their chest. There is no tune or sound, just a feeling of calm that emits from the omega.
More often used with children than with mates.
The gestational period (or pregnancy) for an omega lasts the same as a human woman (9 months).
Omegas have yet to evolve to carry fetus till they can survive on their own (look up spotted hyenas, they’re pretty cool) without the death of the omega, so the omegas and human females evolved to expel the fetus before it gets too large to kill them.
Omega bodies are more likely to fluctuate during gestation.
The fetus is the priority
Similarly, post birth, the omega will be overpowered by their own biology and the pheromones released by the baby, and the omega will neglect their own health to tend to the baby.
Alphas (or the omega’s mate/community) need to prioritize taking care of the omega (food, sleep, bathing) while the omega’s body is overwhelmed by their biology.
Alphas
When it comes to attracting a mate, alphas tend to resource guard.
They prioritize getting a good job, securing a house in a good neighborhood, near a good school. A good alpha does what it takes to be a perfect mate before looking for a mate.
On the opposite side of that coin, an alpha can trick an omega into mating with them by making false promises.
Alphas go into rut as soon as they reach maturity. When in rut, an alpha is coursing with testosterone. To ensure the alpha survives a rut, they evolved to mature slower than omegas and betas (the average age of maturity is 16-20 years old)
High amounts of testosterone can affect growth development and weaken the immune system.
Ruts encourage alphas to mate. It does not ensure that an alpha mates with his own mate. Similar to white tail deer, when male deer are in rut, they smell for doe that are also in heat.
They will approach the closest, available omega.
In the modern society, there are businesses made to assist alphas and omegas through heats and ruts (providing secure room to stop roaming, available toys, and volunteers to assist through their reproductive bouts).
In the old days, it was frowned upon to roam during a rut, but it still happened (most roaming-rutting-alphas were turned a blind eye)
Alphas also have the mate response.
Alphas also have 5 mating glands, in the same locations as omegas.
Good alphas (or mates) will prioritize taking care of their omega during and post gestation.
The only special ability is to "push" their pheromones to affect the people around them. They can instill fear, pride, aggression, lust – all very powerful, innate emotions.
Betas
Betas are more biologically similar to humans than to omegas and betas
Betas are able to detect pheromones, but they cannot produce pheromones.
Betas do not have a mate response because they do not have mate glands (or any glands)
They can invoke a mate response in omegas and betas.
Children
Children that are alphas, betas, or omegas are able to sense pheromones.
All alpha, beta, and omega children secrete the lactation inducing pheromone
They can also secrete a fear pheromone that can trigger an aggressive response from only alphas or omegas to protect against the fear trigger.
A/N: The playlist is up, along with a link to Spotify if you want to listen to it! Please listen, if comment if you have any songs you would add or any song that reminds you of my fic!
PSA: Please comment! Any comments about the writing, if you enjoyed it, your favorite parts - literally anything is appreciated!!
Chapter 3 < Chapter 4 > Chapter 5
“Will you be joining me?” Shaken from your thoughts, you turn to see Baek standing in the hot tub. His shirt is off, his hand outstretched, waiting to assist you into the steaming water.
Heat rises to your face, internally scoffing at yourself for getting excited over the washboard abs of your boss.
The same torso and arms you’ve seen flex and shine millions of times. His body on display is nothing new to you. Maybe the alcohol was making you act this way.
“Of course,” you take his extended hand and gently step into the hot water.
You ease your body into the hot water. Baek shifts away from you, allowing a comfortable space between you both.
With the cold glass of wine in your hand, the jets kick on. The pressurized water hits your lower back.
You sigh and take a sip of your third glass, relaxing into the steaming water. The hum of the water pump resonates through the glass room. The interstate can be seen from your view. The headlights in the distance catch your gaze. You feel Baek shifting beside you, you’re too relaxed to be concerned.
This is what you needed. The peaceful serenity, the calming atmosphere, and the welcomed company.
Yoonho Baek’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since he asked you to join him at the restaurant. His heart continued to soar when you rid yourself of your coverup.
The black lace of your bikini looked eerily similar to lingerie. The back of his mind wondered if you wore that on purpose.
He sensed your distaste for the material after catching you frown at your reflection, Baek couldn’t understand why.
You were beautiful.
The sigh that you let out went straight to Baek’s cock. He curses his hot blood as he shifts to ease his discomfort.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way. She is my employee. I am her boss.
Baek watched your every move. The way you brought the glass to your plump lips and took generous sips. Your shoulders relaxed with every passing moment.
His eyes moved down to the slowing movement of your chest. He watched as the bubbles created by the jets comes to rest on your soft mounds.
Both of your heads snap to the door as it opens, two American men enter the room with a case of beer in hand.
“You two min if we join you?” You shake your head and take another sip from your dwindling glass.
“We don’t mind. You can join us!” You wave them over, shifting on your knees and turning to refill your glass.
Baek’s hand hovers over your ass, blocking the perfect view from the two men. He simply stares at the two approaching bodies, daring them to ogle at you.
I was enjoying the moment that we were sharing. As long as she is happy, I’ll tolerate them.
You turn to sit back down, this time pushing yourself closer to Baek.
Baek bumps his leg into yours and raises his arm to rest behind you on top of the hot tub.
Both men enter the hot tub across from you both, the water displacing from the added mass. Little waves rock over you and your boss.
Baek notices both of them staring at his arm placed behind you.
sukuna's convinced he'll never find a mate. he's tried it all, mate pairing programs, rehabilitation. no one wants him. who needs a bond anyway? he prefers the solitude. you're his last hope. an optimistic volunteer thrown at him by that pesky support program in hopes that he'll finally find a mate. will you be the one to show him that he doesn't really wanna be lonely? or will you throw him to the curb like everyone else? well, his rough exterior and unexpected rut truly puts you to the test.
♡ ﹕ 8.6k words
♡ ﹕ this was commissioned by @lycanqueen
꒰ 🍓 ⸰ ✦ 𝓒ws. hybrid au :: human!reader :: smut :: hurt/comfort :: mean!sukuna :: sweet!reader :: possessiveness :: pining :: hybrid ruts :: scenting :: marking :: oral ( f.receiving ) :: face-sitting :: p in v :: rough sex :: mating press :: multiple orgasms :: emotional sex :: overstimulation :: choking :: breeding :: talks of cubs :: creampie ꒱
"Maybe they were right about you. You are a lost cause."
So this rehabilitation agent had guts? Sukuna would give him that much.
The sun pierced his eyes and slitted his pupils as he stared at the man before him, unshaken. Bold, for someone with noting but a flimsy clipboard for a weapon if Sukuna let his temper get the better of him.
He never had an issue with it before. So where were his claws?
"That mean I can finally do my own damn thing now?" He gruffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he propped against his doorway. He ignored his tail that hung low.
The man furrowed his brows. Sucked in a breath. Looked like he was searching for patience in the late afternoon air. His hand with the clipboard dropped as he stood straight.
"You don't get it, do you Ryomen?"
"What's there to get? That I can't play housecat for your domesticity programs?"
"Behavioural programs."
"That've made shit progress."
"It's not as if you make it any easier."
"Your potential mates bore me."
"You scared them off. Every one of them."
The man didn't need to match Sukuna's tone to scathe him. His face never broke clinical aloofness, even with each word loaded. Baggage of the ugly truth: that Ryomen Sukuna was a lost cause.
Countless mates. Five? Six? He lost track. He pretended to forget their names but he remembered every one.
The first left quietly. Said he was too loud.
The second left loudly. Said he was too quiet.
The third claimed she was frightened. The fourth didn't even give him a reason. Fifth and sixth were some ugly variation of all of the above.
Sukuna stopped caring.
He did care, at one point. That's why he let his coworker convince him to join this stupid 'hybrid nature rehabilitation program' in the first place, right? Because maybe tigers were too bold. Too frightening. Too much.
Too much. That's what the last one said.
Well, if he was too much for anyone, maybe they weren't enough for him.
The agent sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose and probably contemplating why he chose to work for a facility that boasted a 100% rehabilitation record. Guess Sukuna was about to ruin that too. As he did most things.
"Look," the man said. His shoulders slumped. "We do not typically give up on our patients, but surely you understand that we've tried everything in the book for you, right?"
Sukuna didn't reply.
"Behavioural therapy. Group counselling. Mate pairings and courses. You've chased away every volunteer and potential mate. Somehow even frightened off your therapist last month."
"She was weak."
"She was doing her job. You act like. . ."
Sukuna grunted. His claws threatening to lash out and tear up his own shirt. "What?" He knew the answer. Knew that sickening word that they all used for him. "An animal?"
The man didn't answer. Didn't have to. He sighed again and checked his clipboard. "This is your last shot for clearance."
"And if I don't pass?"
"You'll be escorted to a private facility."
Hybrids were monitored under lock and key by the state. Sukuna guessed he couldn't really blame them. They were different. Unpredictable.
Animals.
Sukuna regretted ever approaching the program in the first place. If he knew what he knew now— that he was simply built to be on his own, he would have swallowed the furball and bit his own tail. Lived out the rest of his life without the feeling of being watched.
Now, they knew he was unstable. Now, they considered him a threat. Guess his claws really were clipped.
"Thanks to your last stunt, none of the volunteers stepped up for this," the man said, flipping through his clipboard.
Sukuna huffed. "What's the point then? Just ship me off already." At least he'd get to be alone, then.
"Because miraculously, one of our assistants offered to help." The man looked up. "She's new. And your last shot." He handed over the clipboard with a small picture clipped at the top right.
That's the first time Sukuna saw you.
The second time he saw you, you smiled at him. Stupid move, really. For someone so small, so frail— so breakable.
"It's nice to meet you," he's sure you lied as you stuck out your hand. Chirpier than a bird hybrid. Bright eyed as a squirrel. Were they sure that you were human?
"Yeah. Hi." He gruffed, not reaching for your hand. It looked too gentle for him.
You dropped your arm to your side, still smiling, but softer. Before you trotted off to lug the rest of your belongings into his home.
He helped you, of course. Tiny thing like you probably would sprain her spine if she did it all by herself. Pathetic.
This was his last hope? They might as well cage him and ship him off already.
Within a week, he was sharing his space again. The few days of blissful solitude had come to an end. Now, there was a canvas in his living room. Pink body wash and products littered across his bathroom counter. Books from authors he couldn't even pronounce occupying his empty shelves.
You were sweeter than the three spoons of sugar you dumped in your strawberry tea every morning. Softer than the dinner rolls you insisted on making every Wednesday and Friday. Shy. Gentle.
Too gentle for someone like him.
In the beginning, Sukuna had watched you. Like a tiger stalked its prey. Scouring for the first sign of discomfort. A hint of fear. Even those who started off strong couldn't keep up the act for long. Not with him.
Which was what made it so odd.
You were timid, sure. But not afraid of him. Guess he'd give it some time.
Because that's simply his fate now, right? Watch a new volunteer skip into his lair and run off with their tail between their legs once he got too much. No one stayed. Not like they did with everyone else.
Others made hybrid bonding look easy. They'd join circles and find mates in the same week. Same night, even. Claiming it all as 'the right timing'. The right person.
Sukuna was a wrong person. Therefore, no right person would fit. Like an unwanted puzzle piece.
Not that he cared. He didn't need to fit in with anyone. If he was too much for any twisted jigsaw of companionship then he'd simply be the missing piece. A corner piece no one looked for. The one that made no difference to the puzzle. The one that no one needed.
He preferred being alone, anyway.
If this last ditch effort blew up in smoke, he guessed he'd have his wish. Whatever facility they'd stuff him into— at least he would be alone. It was better that way.
By himself, he didn't have to soften his tongue. By himself, he didn't have to pretend that he did not have stripes, claws and canines. Didn't have to soften himself for someone who wouldn't soften for him.
Didn't have to watch anyone leave when he became too much.
You didn't leave.
A week went by. Then two. Three, before he knew it. You rooted yourself into his floorboards like a flourishing flower and offered him the same sunny smile every morning.
"How'd you sleep, Sukuna?" You'd ask, as if you cared.
"Fine." He'd grumble from the coffee machine. The bitter stain on his tongue refused to ever let him return the question.
Why should he bother with someone who was going to sign him off anyway? Might as well show her what she was getting herself into. His poor behaviour and slacking social skills, as his therapist put it.
You never flinched. Humans sure were resilient.
But he was hybrid. And everyone knew that tigers were ruthless.
He wouldn't shroud his nature to make himself more palatable for you. For anyone, ever again.
It's odd. You actually tried.
You adapted your body clock to him. Sukuna woke up drearily early. To catch the dawn on his ears during his morning run. He supposed you started waking up shortly after him. Giving you enough time to ready breakfast for him when he stepped back through the door.
Eggs. Bacon. Any raw protein you could think of. You were unfortunately, a good cook.
"This isn't necessary," he said from the counter, but still wolfed down your perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs.
"Waking up early has its perks." You mused, sipping your tea. Probably strawberry. Or rose. He hated that he now knew your favourites.
You made his bed whenever he wasn't looking. He scolded you for it, the first few times. You insisted it was fine. That you liked cleaning up.
You tried to watch movies with him. Plopped beside him on the sofa and struck him your signature smile.
"Wanna watch something?" You asked, soft. Already dangling the remote. Sukuna couldn't help but compare the size of your hand to his.
He scoffed. "What? Some romcom?"
"Or horror." You bashed.
His instincts told him that a gentle soul like you wouldn't last ten seconds with a horror movie. Still, he indulged you. The last thing he wanted was to endure some stupid hybrid hallmark film.
A slasher flick. He didn't pay attention to the name. All he knew was that you quivered halfway through it and that stirred an urge in his gut.
Urge to what? Now that, he once again had no answers to.
It was warm. Low. The same way he felt when kids dropped their ice creams and mothers tripped in grocery stores. He couldn't name it. But he did drape his arm over the back of the couch. Not grazing your shoulders but, there.
You'd probably have nightmares tonight. Silly girl. Now he would be obligated to return the favour.
Because you did, a few nights ago. When he tossed and turned. Creased his sheets and slashed his blankets. Sukuna wasn't one to dream— but he did have nightmares.
About the darkness. About the cold. About a void that for some, unfathomable reason, unsettled him.
"It's okay, shh." Your voice reached out to him through the shadow. Light against the darkness.
"It's okay. I'm here. Wake up, please."
You were luck he hadn't broken your arm.
His grip was too tight. Claws too wretched. Not lucid enough to realise that he snatched your wrist when he had woken up.
"Get out." His voice rumbled. Eyes bloodshot and pupils tight. Sweat burned his forehead.
It must have not sounded like a threat, or maybe it was your stupid human resilience. You leaned over him. One knee on his bed and your hand ghosting his shoulder.
"You're freezing," you whispered.
He jerked from you. Rolled over onto his side and refused to allow himself to be vulnerable under your gentle gaze.
"I'm fine." He said.
You insisted. Are you sure? — Can I get you anything? — All the things that people said to catch you off guard and then left anyway.
"I said I'm fine."
His voice boomed, final. It was the first time he'd seen you flinch. He did not bother calling out for you as you shuffled out of the room. Assumed your bags would be packed by the morning. Your pink body wash nowhere to be seen on his counters and your books vanished from his shelves.
You didn't leave. Here you were, a few days later, with shaky knees and a horror movie. But insisting that you were enjoying it for his sake.
You never turned tail. Never backed down. Maybe it was more than human resilience. Maybe it was stubbornness.
That's the only thing that made sense to him. Why else hadn't you disappeared regardless of how much steam he'd blown at you? Especially when he was too much.
"Let's get one thing straight."
You had said something stupid one day in the kitchen. Something about being there for him. Some empty promise he had heard mixed and minced several different ways until it lost all meaning.
As if his mood was not sour enough.
Your back pressed into the fridge. His strong forearm shoved above your head. Sukuna's hulking body shadowed yours. Perhaps this was it. Where you finally became apart of that void that haunted his dreams.
"You and I. Are not. Compatible." His ears pinned back to his head. Tail coiled tight. Like his jaw and teeth that clenched.
Still, you held his stare. Even when it burned.
"Not a thing. Not. Possible." He spat. "So stop acting like you aren't just gonna sign me off so I can be caged up."
"I'm not—"
"I want you to."
He cut you off. Sharp as his heave as he craned closer. Close enough to smell your cherry shampoo— but not a hint of fear.
What was wrong with you?
"I want you to sign me off. So that we can stop pretending like any of this is gonna work and that I'm anything but better off alone."
The fridge rattled as he shoved himself off. He expected your knees to shake. Expected you to clamber out of the kitchen and stuff whatever you could into a suitcase for the night.
Instead, you watched him storm off. With those same, achingly gentle eyes.
Why were you so gentle?
Why did you stay?
Why did he find himself being gentler, too?
Of course, Sukuna didn't want to snap at you. You were simply the closest thing. The softest thing. His hands weren't built to cherish the tender.
Yet, tender were his hands, as they cooked for you. If you handled breakfast, it was only fair that dinner was his responsibility. Even if all he exchanged with you were grunts and gruffs, as long as you went to bed full, he was content.
Content? Odd. That wasn't a word in his vocabulary anymore.
His voice dangered tender's territory on nights you'd be out. Work, friends, whatever he never bothered listening to but for some reason found himself worrying over when the street lights switched on.
"Do you need a lift back?" He asked into the phone. Taking note to look uninterested, even if you couldn't see him.
"I should be fine, Sukuna." You chirped.
"You sure? It's almost midnight."
"I'm sure! What's the worst that could happen?"
To a sweet thing like you? A lot. More than he'd like to imagine.
Morals, he told himself. He pulled up in the middle of the morning to pick you up because of his pesky morals.
"Sorry you had to come all this way," you said as you shut the passenger door.
Sukuna considered your dress. Hated himself for it.
"What?" His tongue clicked. "Were you expecting to walk all the way back?"
"What's the worst that could—"
"A lot."
It wasn't like the other times. His voice raised, but didn't roar. His brows narrowed, but didn't glare.
The car ride was silent.
Your smile was sickening.
Cute.
He watched you closer. Not as a tiger stalked prey. Not anymore. He couldn't name this.
He refused to call it gentle.
Even when he carefully observed the way you fixed your hair every morning. How he noted which of your curves that the sun bounced odd of. The soft plush of your body and how your thighs moulded into the couch cushions, or rounded perfectly in your shorts.
Never had he been one to appreciate art— though he stood in front of your canvases and stared at your paint patterns. Swirls of green and blotches of warmth. Illustrations of nature: jungles and wild flowers.
It called to something within him. He assumed his hybrid traits. A tiger yearned for jungle, that was his home.
Home.
Sukuna didn't have a home.
He had a house. He had you. Had pink body wash on his counters and books he'd learnt the names of on his shelves. Had a warm meal every morning and a warmer bed you still insisted on making.
He had movie nights. A running partner. Someone who finally rooted her heels to the floorboards and blossomed in his walls. Stubborn as she was shy.
But not a home.
It was only a matter of time. Until he said something that finally was the thing. Until he'd wake up to your paintings missing, and your shampoo gone. He'd come home to no protein, but a sheet of paper:
I've signed you off. Good riddance.
You told him that you wouldn't, after he insisted it that night in the kitchen.
You padded to doorway of his room, picking at your sleeves with a petal-soft voice.
"All we have to do is clear you for rehabilitation," you said.
Not once did your eyes meet his.
"Then what? I can finally be alone?" He asked, incredulous.
You nodded.
It's what he wanted. What he claimed to want. So why was your agreement a sharp pang between his ribs?
That was then. He assumed your plans hadn't changed much. A silent agreement that if he behaved, you'd leave him be by the end of it all.
That's why he was gentler, he told himself.
Just trying to ensure his goals, he insisted.
For now, he would take care of you as you did him. Whether conscious or not. If it meant that when it was through, he'd get what was best for him.
Solitude.
But if solitude was what he wanted, why did he hate seeing you in others' company?
It was late. Emergency work call. He missed his afternoon cat nap and only scuffed down half of his breakfast.
The sun peeped at him from its sprawl across the horizon. Glaring into the back of his head as he stalked home. Burning him hotter. Hot.
He felt so. Fucking. Hot.
It wasn't even summer yet. Spring had only perked its preppy head. The blossoms bloomed. Their nectar tickled his nose. Couples gifted their flowers.
Sukuna hated spring.
He hoped you hadn't cooked dinner yet. That was his job. His responsibility.
But no, you were outside. Prattling to a neighbour.
All smiles and soft. Cupping your hands in front of you as you listened to the man's stories. The irritable snow leopard that lived next door. With his baby blue eyes and boyish grin.
What were you even doing outside in the first place? Didn't he tell you it was dangerous once the street lights started switching on?
Sukuna did what he did best. He watched. Looming by the telephone wire. Feeling the sun stab into his head. His spine. Feeling the heat gurgle from his gut. Splutter up his lungs. Against the back of his teeth.
That spotted fucker touched your arm.
Sukuna scathed.
Blurred colours. A muffled yelp. His claw caught on your woolly sweater as he snatched your arm.
"Sukuna—!"
Your gasp drowned in the rumble of his growl. Grated from the back of his throat. The leopard backed off. Your muscles tensed under his calloused fingers.
"Inside. Now."
He didn't wait for you to agree nor disagree. Dragging you inside and rattling the walls as the door clattered! shut.
"Su—" he lodged your voice in your throat once more. Shoved your back into the nearest thing— the same splintering door.
Was it hotter inside? Or was that the anger?
A sweat drop sweltered between his brows.
"What the hell were you doing?" As if he had any right to ask. You weren't his mate.
Mate? Of course you weren't his mate.
Then why did his teeth crave to sink into your flesh? Mark you?
His stare hazed. Blinking rapidly. Heaving. The heat blistered into his nerves. Clenched his muscles. Suffocating. It was suffocating.
"Why were you. With him. Why—" he zeroed in. Mistake. Big mistake.
Your scent.
You weren't his mate. Why the hell did you smell like it, then?
Did you always smell this good?
Your gaped at him. Hands stiff on your sides and pressed flat into the wood. Your neck craned to account for the height difference. Were you watching him this time? Was he too much?
His eyes squeezed shut.
"Sukuna," you spoke. His name didn't deserve that gentleness. It ached him deeper today.
"I think you're. . ."
Snapping open his stare, he sucked in breath. Considered your words. The phrase your lips wrapped around.
Rut.
Shit.
He shoved himself away from the door. Away from you. The fire crawled up his throat. Thunked his heart. Thrummed a deep, dark chord in his gut.
The sweat slipping down his spine in the middle of spring confirmed it. He was in rut. With a poor, persistent, pretty human in claw's reach.
"Hey— hey it's okay," you attempted, stepping forward where he stumbled back.
"Don't."
He hissed.
You preserved.
Stubborn. Stubborn, sweet thing.
"Let me help." You offered.
"No."
He tried. Tried to stumble off. Lock himself in his room. He could hump the mattress for all he cared but he wasn't so much as touching—
You took him by the wrist. Might as well have taken his soul while you were at it.
Splintered his restraint.
The door rattled again. Creaked awfully with the weight of him. On you. The thickness of the air. The heat. Your wrists fit well in his big hands. Looked like they belonged there.
You looked like you belonged here. Pinned under him.
His chest heaved. Voice jagged, throaty.
"You don't know what you're getting into." He said.
You gulped. He paid too much attention to your throat. "I did when I signed up for this."
"Do you even know what a rut is?"
"I know you can't be alone right now."
Sukuna's breath hitched.
You relaxed your hips. Let them mould into his. Their plush softness drove him wild.
Lashes hung over deep maroons. The quiet thrummed with your heart beats. His, thundering and wanting. Yours, tender yet eager.
He craned closer. Tuffs of his pink hair tickled your forehead.
"I can do awful things to you." He whispered.
Still no flinches. You never did.
Your eyes batted at him.
"Is that so bad?"
"Yes."
"Show me."
Even the kiss, burned.
Your lips really were petal-soft. Softer than he had imagined. He hated himself for imagining this in the first place.
The knot in his gut wound tight. Urging him to flush you further into the wood. Flush further into you. Patience slipped into the simmer between your mouths. Sukuna kissed you with violence. Nothing contained. Nothing hidden.
He told you that he wouldn't placate himself for you.
Abandoning your wrists, his grip sought your plush. Squeezing your thighs between his fingers gaps. Lifting you into his arms so that your heels pressed into his back. So that he could consume you. Tongues tangling and teeth tackling.
Your hands smacked at his shoulder. Breaths huffed through your nose. A desperate sound that plunged him deeper into heat.
He let you breathe. Barely.
"I can be good for you." Was what you used the privilege to gasp.
His chest rumbled. "Yeah?"
The slope of your throat was so pretty when you gulped.
Sukuna slipped a hand to your cheek. Rough. He couldn't be gentle. Not with you. Not now.
"Gonna be good for me, pretty girl?"
Eyes blown out. Jaw tight. If you said anything other than your whined little yes as his hips ground into yours, he might have lost his mind entirely.
His mouth attacked yours again. Sucking on whatever was left of your lychee lipgloss. Surely bruising your lips in the process. He didn't care. Let him mark you. Everywhere. So that stupid snow leopards didn't get the wrong idea. So that everyone knew what you were.
His.
The home blurred into vertigo colours. The floors creaked under the weight of his footsteps. Sukuna hoisted you with him. Haphazardly avoiding furniture in the stagger to his bedroom. Hands palming at whatever part of your flesh he could reach.
He almost stumbled in the hallway. Caught you against the doorway, one of your hands gripped at it while the other clutched the back of his neck. Fisted his hair between your fingers.
"Sukuna, careful." You whined.
He didn't listen. Too busy humping on your thighs that squished perfectly between his hard body and the cold door. Nurturing his bulge. Tucking its hot curve into the smooth crux of your skin.
"Said you'd be good for me." His growl rumbled on your pulse. Teeth mapping out his new territory: your velvet flesh. "So shut up and take it. Like a good girl, yeah?"
The door swung open. You must have palmed the handle. Feet fumbled in a clumsy waltz. Hands clinging for dear life. He caught you. Kept you pressed against his blazing body as he mouthed down your throat. Latched onto a tender spot. Marked you.
Sukuna handled his ruts the way he handled everything else: alone. His hand, a pillow, and a grotesque amount of tissue boxes. When last had he felt the soft touch of a partner? Held their warmth beneath him while his mind drove him wild with fire?
He was always too much. Too much to handle. Too aggressive. Too big.
But you.
You seemed to want everything.
In the way your nails curled on his shirt. In the pitiful way your neck arched to give him more access. Offering yourself up to him. A pretty deer who craved a tiger's claws in her. His maw latched to your throat.
"You're so eager," he groaned.
You whimpered, "I'm yours."
Fuck.
The mattress sunk. Creaking in retort to the callousness of his shove. Your body moulded into his sheets. Into him, as he staggered over you. Knees digging into the bed. Teeth clamped on the base of your throat.
You jerked. A gasped cry vibrating against his teeth. Palms knocking into his shoulders. To push him off?
No— to grip. Cling. To him. To your mate.
After all, you were his now, weren't you?
Bites bloomed across your neck. Over your collarbone. Down your shoulders. Your clothes threading like ribbons under Sukuna's claws. The sound of fabric tearing accentuated the rough pants and pitched whines in the humid air.
He wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you what a good girl you were being for him. Wanted to grunt into your skin about how perfect you were. Tell you that you were everything he'd been waiting for.
The words lodged in his throat. Sticky on the back of his tongue that could only muster out wet pants and deep growls as he feasted on your flesh.
Every inch of your skin revealed to him was another blessing. Your curves. The dips. The soft slopes of your body. Salivated him all the more.
Your bra never stood a chance. Clawed away. Probably ruined at the wire. He didn't care. He'd buy you a new one. Buy you whatever you wanted if you were gonna carry his cubs.
Cubs.
The word slipped into his mind with ease, and ruined it.
Pupils blown out. Lungs clenching. He made the mistake of eyeing your tummy.
Perfect, round, soft. You'd be the perfect mate. The perfect mother for his young.
The thought spurred his hands rougher. Tearing away offensive fabrics until you were laid completely bare before him. With big, doe eyes batting up at him. So pretty. So his.
From the corner of his eye he spotted your hands slipping. To cover up. Cover what was his. Your wrists were snatched in his hard grip.
"Don't," he warned. Lips assaulting yours. Stealing your breath and tonguing on your whimpers.
"Don't hide what's mine."
Your tits were softer under his tastebuds. Delicate to the harsh swirls of his tongue. So small when compared to his mouth that sought to consume, to claim.
Sweet sounds sighed from your kiss-bitten lips. Your spine curved so that you pressed back into him. Squishing your plush breasts into his face. His groan rumbled into the flesh.
So tender it was maddening. So perfect it was addicting.
Kisses, sucks, bites. He littered your tits in more claims. Feasting on your silk flesh. Fantasising about the image of them larger. Fat and swollen with milk— just as you were round with his cubs.
His cock strained thick in his pants. Flushed hot on your inner thigh. He ground into your warmth. Rutting wildly. Like the animal he always was.
Your hands delving into his hair almost broke him. Almost. He withdrew from your chest. Eyes glowing through the dark as he found your face.
"Taste so good. So sweet." A hand roughed down your side. Cupped your thigh and strung it round his waist.
"Up."
Raw strength scooped you into his palms. Flesh spilling between the gaps of his fingers as he squeezed for good measure.
Your little squeaks were so cute.
Teeth dragged on your flesh. Callous over bites sunk into your gentle flesh. He lapped on the indents of his own canines as he wrest you over him. Shoved your thighs higher. Urging you. Demanding.
"Face. Now. Fucking sit on my face."
Senseless. Each word was a growl. It's a miracle you understood him at all. Maybe you always would. That's how mates were, right?
The cotton of your panties dragged on his collarbone. Frantic eyes darted to your face as your hips locked. Unmoving.
Stubborn little human.
"What?" He husked. Scuffling to shove you over his awaiting face. "I said sit."
Your lips pressed together. Hands scrambling for the headboard. "Wait are you— are you sure? I'm—"
"—driving me mad." He hissed through clenched teeth. The throbbing in his groin pulsed the sickening heat hotter. Seared into the back of his skull. To his hands that groped your ass. To his eyes that narrowed.
"Said I wanna taste you. So get. On."
Was that too much?
Was he too much for you?
No, course not. You wanted to be his good girl. He saw it in your doe eyes batting at him. In the quiver of your lip and the tremors of your thighs. You shuffled over him. Pressing the cusp of your panties against his chin.
"Like this?" You meeked.
"Like this."
Sukuna tugged you over him. Knocking your thighs. You stumbled. Caught yourself with shaky fingers in his hair and an adorable yelp.
The musked cotton scrunched into his nose, his mouth, the rest of his hard face. Stuffing his nostrils with the sweet, intoxicating aroma. His eyes threatened to roll back.
A muffled curse rumbled into your heat. First came his tongue. Abrasive like everything else about him. Lapping on your folds. Drenching the fabric. Trying to suck in your taste through it.
Then came his teeth. Impatient. Tearing into your panties. His head wrest, violent. Claws ripping away the cloth in a feral affair.
Your sweet heat was his reward. Slicking up his face with your clit pressed into his nose.
"Fuck," his groan thrummed. Straight into your velvet. Leaking your pussy into his agitated mouth. "Knew you'd taste s'fucking sweet."
Hands slipped up your thighs. Cupped your ass. Sukuna sought to press kisses to your quivering slit— but you dangled above him. Not pressed, not sat. Hovered.
"Said. Fucking sit."
He hauled you into him. Cramped your thighs into his head. Smothered your pussy into his face. Even with his ears muffled by your plush, he heard your stunned gasp.
The weight was perfect on his head. Your hands were perfect in his hair. Pussy pretty, pulsing, perfect, on his tongue that stroked over your slit. Lathered you in saliva. All the way to your clit.
He darted the muscle. Circled on your bud. Trying to commit to a rhythm. A pattern. It scathed into the heat of his rut. The heat to take, to claim. To make you his. Finally.
Even if you hated him after this.
Even if you signed him off and he finally got what he wanted. Solitude.
Right now, all he wanted was your pussy.
Filthy squirts and sloshes squelched through the room. Brimming the hazed air together with your whines. Moans. Gasps of his name.
He always hated how gently you said it. Like it meant something. Like it ever could mean something. Hearing it broken sounded better. Shaky and whimpered as he fucked you on his tongue.
"S-Suk— kuna, ah."
Sweet. So sweet. Sweeter than he ever deserved. But Sukuna was a greedy man. So he gripped on your thighs, bit his nails into your flesh, and feasted to his heart's content.
"There ya go. C'mon, pretty girl, ride my face."
Spank! went his hand. Clamouring your ass and fisting the jiggles. Pulling you down, harder, closer— till he was suffocating. Suckling on your clit. Guiding your hips into a sinful sway.
Your hips fell into rhythm. Atta girl. Always so sweet for him. Always so obedient. Yeah, if you stayed, you'd make the perfect mate.
He hoped you stayed.
He could make you stay.
Keep you in his bed. Make a den for you. Hold you down and fuck you into his sheets day-in-and-day-out. Fill you up until your tummy grew even rounder. Softer. Until you were swollen. Until you were his.
No. Fuck. That's the rut talking.
The rut talking.
It's the rut that had him palming your ass and squeezing you into his face. The rut that had his mouth kissing, sucking, licking and laving through your creamy mess. The rut that had him fucking you on his tongue and bucking his hip into the air just as yours ground down into his face. Smearing mess all over him.
Yeah. That's the rut. But fuck, if he wasn't drunk on your pathetic moans. Your messy pussy.
Your clit spasmed under the flat of his harassing tongue. Your thighs clamped around his head. Fingers dug into his skull. Even your pain was sweet.
"Shit— kuna." Your voice croaked. Called to him as a mate should. "I'm gonna, fuck. Think 'm gonna. . . gonna—"
His eyes fluttered. Throat rasped.
"Gonna cum? Yeah? Gonna cum, hah, all over my face?"
From between the small gap of your thigh, Sukuna witnessed your face. Eyes rolled back. Jaw slack. Tits bouncing as you rode his face as if he was yours.
He was.
In this moment. In these blurred lines of his rut. Where he pictured you as his mate. Entertained the thought of wanting. Of being wanted. Of not being alone.
He was yours. Even if for a moment.
You sung his name through the haze. Tender even when he ripped you apart at the seams. Delicate even in his claws that threatened to tear into you. Mark you with scars and blood.
Your hips clumsily rocked. Once—twice—locked up in feverish tremors. Your hands bunching his hair. Clinging. Your body hunched over his. Shattering.
Sukuna rode you through an orgasm with his lips latched around your clit. Sucking harsh on its throbs. Teething on its twitches.
You splattered his face in warmth. Sweet, sickening warmth that doused him deeper into his rut's clutches.
"That's it. There you go. Fuck. Prettiest fucking pussy," he slurred into your wetness. Tongue delving between your puffy folds. Lapping up your cum. Greedy.
You toppled over him. Breaths ragged. One hand clutched in his hair and the other on the headboard.
"Wanna— wanna help. Wanna." To his surprise you pulled on his hair. Interrupting his creamy kisses on your slit.
Stares met. His hot. Yours warm. Wanting.
"Wanna make you feel good too."
How pretty you were when you quivered. Lips glossed by drool and lashes soaked with tears. It ached a deep chamber in his heart.
"Wanna be good for me?" He panted.
Your nod was doeish. As everything else about you was. His delicate girl. So fragile in his hands.
He couldn't wait to break you.
The bed creaked again. You squeaked as he hauled you down into the wrinkled sheets. On your back with his hulking weight pressing down on you. His mouth fixed to yours. Magnetic. Addicted. Letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"That mean you gonna let me breed you too, baby?" Catching your lip between his teeth, he grunted. Pressing the swell of his cock between your legs. Staining his crotch in your slick. "Gonna let me breed this sweet pussy?"
Your response was sweet, shy, but oh so eager. A tepid nod, as your fingers slipped to his shoulders. So small. Smaller than him in every way. He took the moment to appreciate it.
You, spread and waiting for him. Your pussy, swollen and twitching. His bulge pressed on your glistening folds dwarfed you entirely.
Oh, how you'd squirm on his cock.
At last he shrugged his shirt off. Shivered when your touch feathered over his chest. He made the mistake of watching your eyes. How they mapped out scars that your fingers traced.
You didn't have to say anything. Your gaze spelt affection he wasn't ready to receive.
"Don't stare at me like that." He gruffed, kicking off his pants.
"Why not?" You asked.
"Makes me think you want me."
"I do want you, kuna."
Damn you.
Damn you and your tenderness. Damn you and that sweet nickname your sugar lips latched onto. Damn you and the way you made his cock throb hard in the strained fabric of his boxers.
He palmed your throat. Focused on your pulse. The control he held over you in the moment.
"Shut up." His hiss muffled with a kiss. Hot and open-mouthed on yours. As if he could suck the words from your tongue and swallow them into his gut that knew better.
Knew that he was better off alone. That this was only for the sake of his rut.
Bulging and angry, his tip nudged between your thighs. Soaking up your arousal. The slippery sensation of your pussy sent shivers down his spine. So wet. For him. Only him.
He let you pull away. Watching as your gaze lowered to his thick cock sandwiched between your folds. Sliding against your slit and dragging on your clit. Your wide eyes eased a chuckle from him.
"What?" He drawled. "Too big?"
"Well. . . yes."
"And every inch's gonna fucking breed you."
He pinned you back into the mattress. Flat on your back with your knees scooped into his big hands. Dwarfed you there too. He pressed them back into you so that they kissed your tits. Folding you in half and completely exposing you entirely to his hungry eyes.
Salivating. He was salivating. Your eyes were too kind for how lewd your pussy spread out for him. Leaking a string of mess. Calling for him. Wanting him.
"Keep your eyes on me, you got that?" Maroon burned into yours. Searching for hesitance. For fear. For something that could cut into this feverish rut and remind him that he didn't deserve you. But no.
You obeyed him.
You wanted him.
His cockhead slotted against your slit. Dipping in to feel the silky sin of your pussy. A deep groan rumbled from the depths of his chest. His brows furrowed. Fuck. When last had he had this?
Blunt nails dug into the backs of your thighs as he sunk in. One inch. Two inch. Three inch. Four— popping through the first tight ring of resistance. Eyes devouring yours the entire time.
He watched your face. How it scrunched up and your mouth parted. How tears clouded your eyes as he pushed past the halfway point.
He stopped.
"You good?" He huffed. Barely gentle.
Very. Gentle.
"Yeah it's— just. . . just a lot." You croaked.
"Too much?"
His face didn't falter, but his heart sure did. His grip loosening on your limbs. Ready to let you go. Free you from him.
But you shook your head. Teary eyed. Twitching smile.
"Not enough."
Hips possessed. Mind a mess. He slammed forward at those two, pretty little words. Till his tip smooched your cervix and his balls squished into your folds. Bottomed out. Filling you to the brim.
The sound you made was sin itself. A blessing. Heaven, hell, and everything in between.
"Oh fuck." You cried, head tossed back. Unable to see him gasping out the same exclaim.
Your syrupy cunt hugged around him. Tight, snug. Nursing on an underside vein and milking him around the tip. Every pulse was your heartbeat, and it devastated him.
Cussing, he pushed down onto you. His heart tugging itself towards yours. To press into your skin as his hips started rutting. Slow, eager.
"Fuck. Look at you take this cock. Like you were born for it," his words husked above you.
Your lashes fluttered. Brows knitting at the centre. He watched your tears threaten to slip as he humped on the sensitive ring that was your cervix.
His tongue clicked. Swapping out a hand on your thigh, he snatched you beneath the jaw instead. Wrenching your face to his hot one.
"Didn't I say keep your eyes on me?"
"M sorry."
"Don't apologise, just take it."
He withdrew. Halfway at first— then shoved back in. The second time was further. And further. Until his thrusts pulled to the tip and plunged back to your womb. Languid, but hard. Sure to make you feel every inch of him pressing into your pussy nerves.
You soaked up his thighs. Splashing his balls and leaking a puddle into the sheets already. The scent was intoxicating. Flared his nostrils and dizzied his head.
The mattress shook beneath the power of his thrusts. Your body bounced with it. He made sure to coil his tail tight around your waist. Held you down like a predator did prey as he fucked you open on his cock.
Pleasure built a knot in his gut. Hot, heavy. Urging his hips to snap harder and chase bruises on your jiggling ass.
Every sound was sin. Sweet. Cries, moans, a whimper than surged into a whine of his name when he removed his other hand from your thigh to instead hold them back with a steeled forearm. So that his palm could press on the bulge swelling up the base of your tummy.
"Fuuckkk," he growled. Ears pinned back to his hair. Jaw hung and canines glinting. "Look at that. See that, pretty girl? What's here?"
You hiccuped, "your— ah. Your cock!"
"Yeah? What's it doing?"
"It's—"
You couldn't answer. Slurred by moans and the delicious drive of his dick stretching you out. He watched your eyes go static.
Spank! his palm landed hot on your clit. Bulging your eyes and jerking your hips up into his frantic thrusts. He laid another. Two. Three— encouraging your pitiful whimpers.
"Asked you a fucking question. What's it doing?"
"It's— hah. B. . . Breeed—"
"Breeding you? Yeah?"
"Uhuh! Breeding. Breeding me s-so . . . s'goood."
Drool bubbled on your lips. Your hands that had tried to scramble on his shoulders and dig your mark into his flesh now fell flat on the pillow. Beside your head. Limp like the rest of your body that surrendered itself to him.
Heat surged down his spine as you clamped around him. Sucking the air from his scathing lungs. Staining his base in a thick, filthy ring of cream.
His hips rammed all the more faster. Harder. Imprinting you into his bed. Your slick. Your sweat. Your scent.
One of your weak hands slipped down. Meeking over to his larger one fixed on your stomach. Wrapping around two of his massive fingers. Or at least trying to.
It strung a deep chord in him. Thin and vulnerable. One he has thought he cut out long ago.
His half slipped over yours. Fingers laced. Pressing you against the bulge he plunged into your tummy. Holding your hand. Holding it tight.
"Sweet pussy's milking me," his grunt fanned your pulse as he swooped down. Mouthing on your neck. Searching for your pulse to feel it race beneath his lips. "Fuck. Wants my cum so bad. Wants my cubs."
"Please!" You slurred.
He swore he could do this for life.
Shoving all the way, Sukuna paused on your cervix. Sweat dripping from his hair. Cock drumming heavy. He clamped you down through your protesting whines.
"Yeah, yeah, shut it." It didn't sound harsh. Especially not with his firm squeeze on your hand.
Slipping out just enough, he watched your juices spray all over him. Mesmerising him. He worked on autopilot. Bundling you into his arms and manhandling you into a different position.
Tossing you to your side, Sukuna slotted behind you. Hips spooning your ass. One strong arm hooked around your neck, choking you on his bicep. While the other strung around your thigh. Wrenching you open for him and his massive cock, that bullied back into your cunt. Squelching your cum and sick in messy streams.
Your angelic cries resonated into his bicep. Making him squeeze it harder against your throat. Headlocking you into his greedy mouth that sucked hickies across your neck.
The angle was deeper. Filthier. Letting him feel so much more of you.
How much smaller you were than him. How you squeezed him just right. How perfect you were in his arms.
Like you belonged.
Shit. Don't go there.
Sukuna tried to drown it out. The returning thought of you. A permanent fixture in his life. Your pink body wash on his counter, that was now his. Your books on his shelves that he could read to you. You, in his living room, painting.
Painting the jungle. Painting home. Being his home.
His cock pulsed hard at the base and sweltered at the tip. The knot in his stomach wound tight. But that thought— that thought gutted him.
That you were here. That you had been here. Warm, and sweet, and soft and for the last few weeks. His.
You could be his.
"No," he wanted it to sound like a grunt. But he whimpered. Panting, heaving, mind dizzy and thrusts frantic—
Sukuna was whimpering.
Your face was pressed into his bicep. Head limp and hand still trying to hold his that clutched your thigh. Still calling his name so sweetly.
"N-No?" You breathed.
Still attuned to him even when he was fucking your brains out.
"Don't want you to leave."
Oh.
Oh.
He hadn't realised that it slipped from his lips. Hadn't realised that through his brutal thrusts— he was breaking. Lost in the burning bliss, the heat, and the warmth of what could be.
Sukuna lost his fucking mind.
"Don't wanna— fuck. Don't wanna be alone." His face fell into your neck. Arms squeezing your body into his. Trying to melt your skin into his. Tuck himself into your warm flesh and the selfish wish you gave him.
Hazed, and hot, and so heavenly yours.
Slick hair pressed into your cheek. His body collapsed onto yours. Pounding his cock up into your creamy cunt. Chasing his blazing nerves as his mouth rambled.
"Don't want you to leave. Don't. Shit. Don't leave me, please, please don't fucking leave me."
His thrusts lost rhythm. As frantic as his rushed whispers. Plunging into your cervix. Bruising your thighs. Clutching you closer. As close as he could muster. As close as it would take to keep you here forever.
"Say you won't— say you," he slurred. Eyes squeezed shut. Words melting into a clumsy splutter of curses. "Say. Say you won't. Say—"
"Won't. Won't. 'kuna I won't— hngahh. Promise!"
That single word. So raw. So true. Choked in a gasp as you tried to nudge your face closer to him.
It shattered whatever pride he had left.
"You promise?"
He croaked. Dangerously hopeful.
You nodded. Cried.
"Promise. I promise S'kuna. Breed me— please."
He should have known you'd be trouble from the moment you first smiled at him.
Heat trapped him. Seeped into every nerve and spasming muscle. Ears drooped. Tail clinging around your waist, as his arms did every inch of you.
He held your hand.
The ache in his hips nulled to the sound of your sweet voice. Tucking promises away in his heart and sealing them with attempted kisses, even when he was choking you.
He felt your orgasm shake through you. Your body locking up as you babbled his name into the humidity. And with that Sukuna finally— finally let go.
Ramming his cock up one, final time. He stilled. Deep and thrumming within you. Heat bursting from his gut and washing over him in a devastating wave of blissful carnage.
Loud and wrecked, his moan vibrated into your back. Hips rocking in small stutters as spluttering, white ropes creamed your cervix. Pouring his thick cum into every inch of your twitching cunt. Brimming you with him and his promise.
"Fucking. . . fuck. . . hah. Take it. Take all this cum in your pretty pussy." Slurs dragged up your throat, to your ear as you face limped into his arm. His voice husked, a vow.
"Just feel me breeding you full. Filling you with my cubs."
You whined, meekly rocking back into him. But he snatched your hips and pressed it down into the mattress with a soft hush.
The throbbing at his base thrummed into swelling. His knot bloomed until it lodged stiff in your cunt. Pulsing with your pathetic little twitches.
He watched your eyes widen and brows furrow. Your body locked up and a whimper strained from your swollen lips. "Mmm. That's your—"
"Mhhm. Just stay still."
Laving his tongue over one of the bites, Sukuna held you near. Savouring your warmth.
The silence finally didn't feel like a void. Even if it was heavy.
He held onto the moment. Clung to its peace as the warmth simmered into cooling sweat on your flesh.
You broke the quiet first.
"Did you mean that?"
He didn't answer you. But his hand cupped your tummy. Fingers still laced in yours as his face tucked against the back of your shoulder.
". . . Was it too much?"
He never thought his voice could ache.
You tried to shift again, and despite the lump in his throat, he clicked his tongue. Squeezed your thigh in warning. "I said stay still, didn't I?"
"You're never too much. Not for me, Sukuna."
There you went, saying his name like it meant something.
Nudging your face to his, Sukuna licked at the tears on your face. A tender act he never thought himself capable of. "Don't say shit like that."
"That I want you? Or that I love you?"
His breath hitched.
Once the knot settled, he pulled out. Hesitantly— especially with your heat still clinging to him.
"You love me?" He muttered, laying a kiss on your cheek. Then to your jaw. To your shoulder. Down your body until you were on your back.
Calloused thumbs swept your folds back. Eyeing the lewd streak of cum leaking out of you.
His eyes found yours as you spoke, tender.
"Do you want me to say it again?" One of your hands raked into his hair.
His face nudged between your thighs. His hummed approval followed the flat of his tongue. Laving up your slit. Licking away the mess and holding your thighs open amidst their intense shivers.
Even as you whined. With your eyes on the brink of tears. They were still soft for him.
"I love you."
You shouldn't.
He shouldn't.
But he still said it back.
"My mate."
Low, and grumbled, not those three words but something that spelt a deeper bond. One he finally had.
After licking you clean, Sukuna bundled you up into the sheets. Pushing himself from the bed and returning with a warm towel and a water bottle.
He cradled the back of your head as he gave you the water.
Worshipped your flesh as he wiped you down. Tracing over bruises and bites. His mark.
And when you were finally tucked into his arms. Dozing off with your head nestled on his heart that now beat for you. His tail curled around your leg and his claws soft on your curves. Sukuna understood.
PSA: Please leave comments! Not just on my posts, but on other fics as well! Us writers need more comments to stay motivated!!
ENJOY!! <3
Chapter 2 < Chapter 3 > Chapter 4
AO3
The car pulls up to the airport, the headlights shining bright against the dark night. The contrasting light hurting Yoonho Baek's eyes for a second before they adjusted.
“We are right on schedule, sir.” The pilot says from beside Baek. The chairman is dressed in grey sweats and a dark hoodie, a stark contrast to the uniform of the pilot. The chill in the air making both of them wish for a thicker coat.
“Good.” Baek steps towards the slowing car, eager to greet you. His eyes watch your form as you step out of the car, zipping up your hoodie. Yoonho Baek recognizes the bag you always have clutched in your hand, but his eyes quickly caught onto something more concerning.
Baek frowns slightly at your slouched form. You normally take pride with standing at your full height, not afraid to be taller than other men.
Yoonho remembers your sore feet earlier in the day, and Jean's silent warning to not push the issue.
Have you gotten sick? Why didn't you mention anything?
You grace him with a tired smile, your face looking too pale for his liking.
Yoonho guides you to walk towards the pilot, discretely checking you for any injury or signs of a fever. He determines that you are physically over exerted, way past exhausted. You could be sick, but that doesn't make sense with your feet being sore.
What is going on with her?
“Sir.” You greet the pilot who shakes your hand.
“Welcome aboard, ma’am.” Baek guides you up the stairs in front of him, his hand touching the small of your back for a moment. The hot feeling in your stomach returns from earlier. Your exhaustion immediately dissipates the feeling.
You enter the private jet, the interior design is almost too red. The carpet, walls, cabinets, and doors are all the same color of crimson red.
“Choi really likes his reds.” Your boss grunts from behind you, taking one of the many available seats.
“This isn’t yours?” You question, moving to sit opposite your boss. He smiles gently.
“I have the helicopter; Choi has the private jet. We play nice and share them sometimes.” You nod your head, not knowing this. Your hands run over the leather of your seat. The smooth material feels calming as you sit back in your seat.
The chair reclines as you lean back, the soft padding eases the ache in your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, you take in the rest of your surroundings.
The rest of the room that you are in contains a very nice couch and a minibar. The door facing you leads to the cabin where the pilot and flight attendant stay. Behind you is another door.
Two security guards take the couch to your left. The blonde one removes his sunglasses to reveal a nasty scar across his eyes. He has a lithe build with a piercing gaze as he scans the room. To his right is a much larger man, his black hair is slicked back. They both seem to relax as the door closes and the engine starts on the jet.
“Did you get much sleep?” Baek takes your attention. His legs are spread out, his grey sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. You blush, making sure to keep strict eye contact with your boss.
His hair looks fluffy and light. Maybe he blow dries his hair after he showers.
You shake your head from the shower thoughts, which start to drift downwards.
“Not really. Every time I close my eyes and drift off; something is bound to wake me up.” You clear your voice, shifting uncomfortably in your seat from the memories brought up by the question.
The feeling of the hands. The loud voices of your boyfriend and his friends.
“You live with your boyfriend, right?” Baek notices the glaze over your eyes as you hesitate on your answer. You're sat on your hands, looking anywhere but at Baek.
He’s the reason my assistant hasn’t been herself.
“Yeah, I do. He and his friends aren’t very considerate when I am trying to sleep.” It’s close to the truth at least. You hate to lie to your boss.
Baek refrains from rolling his eyes. Irritation immediately strikes Yoonho Baek.
Yoonho prefers to form opinions about people on his own. However, when someone acts horribly to someone that Yoonho cares about, Yoonho immediately forms an opinion.
He hates two faced people, epically when they are out to hurt other people and try to look innocent to everyone else.
He doesn’t sound like much of a boyfriend. Especially for one to be dating a beautiful-
She is my assistant. I am her boss.
“Maybe you can get some sleep on the flight over. It’s going to take about 13 hours.” He smiles at you, shifting a bit in his own seat.
“That sounds amazing.” Yoonho notices you ease further into your seat, getting comfortable at the thought of sleep.
A flight attendant steps out of the cabin, carrying a couple of blankets and bottles of water.
“As soon as we take off and are in the air, you are allowed to move around the room as you please until we land.” She addresses everyone as she hands out the items in her hands.
You smile in appreciation as you accept your blanket, immediately spreading it over your lap. You set your silent phone on the window beside you. Logan has yet to stop texting you after your abrupt departure.
The jet moves and is soon in the air. The hum of the engine lulls you into a deep sleep.
Baek accepts a drink from the flight attendant, pouring a cup of strong and clear liquor for the hunter. He sits and watches your breathing slow down.
His eyes catch your phone screen lighting up, a notification popping up every couple of minutes. The bright screen irritating his eyes to the point of Baek standing up to flip your phone over.
The name on the notification makes Baek hesitate. Logan <3 sends the 9th message in 10 minutes.
Baez goes against his gut and taps on the message to see what he sent you. The irritation from earlier blooms into a rage as Yoonho reads the messages.
Your fucking ignoring me??? Fucking bitch
Going back to America without me, better not try some shit. Listen to me for once.
That boss of yours, the hunter. You better not fuck him, for your own good
You left you’re card here. I’m using it. Don’t expect me to pay you back.
Maybe you should fuck him. Maybe it will get that stick out of your ass and be nicer to me
You’re prudish ass wouldn’t do that tho. I’m lucky I got a loyal woman. A boring one tho
When you get back, I’ll let Toji have you for a night. He says he knows how to fix your attitude.
Frank’s woman is still up his ass after they divorced. Maybe we should get a divorce.
We’re not married. Thank god. I could never marry a woman like you
Baek stairs in disbelief. Your boyfriend is truly a stupid little boy. Yoonho takes a few deep breaths before he can think too much into what he would do to your boyfriend.
Yoonho thinks back to when you were first hired. You were happy, a smile always gracing your face as you chat about your boyfriend with Jean. The smile slowly faded into something forced these recent months. You rarely talk about your boyfriend, and when you do, Jean is very adamant about her opinions of the man.
Before you confirmed it on the plane, Baek had though you two had broken up, hence your distress at the office.
Something worse must have happened.
Baek leaves your phone flipped upside down. He’ll have to get you to freeze your account tomorrow, so that dumb-ass leaves your money alone.
You shift in your seat, rolling on to your side. The blanket once sitting on your lap falls to the ground.
Baek grabs the material and lays it over your body. His hand lingers on your shoulder, his other brushing your hair off your neck. The pheromones that Baez can sense are calm, no distress in sight.
He sits back in his own chair, busy in his own thoughts.
You deserve better. You deserve a real man to treat you right.
If Baek can do anything for you this week, he can show you how a real man should treat a woman.
-
The plane landing on the tarmac rouses you from your sleep. You stretch with your hands above your head, a few pops come from your back. Your eyes lock with Baek’s across from you. His mouth hangs in a lazy smirk, his eyes glazing over your body.
“You snore in your sleep.” He snickers at your mouth dropping open at the accusation.
“No, I do not.” You sit up, shocked at the audacity.
“You really do. You sound like man and everything.” Baek stands from his seat and moves to grab your bag as the flight attendant and pilot exit the jet.
“Are you sure you weren’t hearing yourself?” You snatch your phone as you follow your boss out of the jet.
“Oh, 100 percent it was you. Almost had to wake you up from being so loud.” Baek guides you to a car, the blonde security guard opens the door for you.
You decided you’re going to call him Stanley. He just looks like a Stanley.
“Bullshit. I know I don’t snore.”
“How can you know? You’re asleep.” Baek slides in the car beside you, placing your bag at your feet.
“I’m not going to continue this conversation. I am exiting the narrative.” You cross your arms and look out your window.
The car maneuvers through the all-day traffic of Washington D.C. You take a scenic route, passing by the familiar monuments of your home country. Baek is sitting quietly by your side, taking in his surroundings.
“Have you ever been state side?” You question your boss. He shifts in his seat to face you, running a hand through his wild hair.
“Never. This trip is a first for me. Did you grow up around here?” You laugh at his question, remembering that most foreigners to the United States only knows New York, California, and maybe Washington D.C.
“No, I grew up in the Midwest. The most traffic we had was tractors holding up the roads.” Baek looks puzzled by your statement.
“You’re so well adjusted to Korea; I assumed that you also grew up in a city. I apologize.” He is quick to correct himself as you assure him there is no need to apologize.
“I adapt well to most situations. I’m proud to put it on my resume.” The car lurches to a stop, horns honking around you.
“Well, have you been to D.C. before?” Baek asks after looking out the window to the traffic. His full attention is now on you.
“Yeah, it was a day long field-trip in elementary school. Little me had no clue how to behave in a big city. I grew up with cornfields as neighbors.” You smile fondly at the memory. The loud excitement of the city intrigued you so much that you begged your parents to go to a city again.
You never got to visit a city with them.
A long sigh escapes you, turning your mood somber.
Yoonho watched your face turn from a light smile into a deep frown from what ever thoughts were running through your head.
“Do you like Karaoke?” Baek taps his hand on his knee, hoping to drag you out of your deep thoughts. You take a moment to process what he asked and replied;
“Yes? I do enjoy singing but I don’t make an effort to partake in karaoke.”
“Well, I figured we could go to one of those Karaoke bars I keep hearing about.” Baek runs his hand through his hair.
You fully shift in your seat to face your boss, noticing his change in demeanor. He looked almost nervous.
“What is your go to song then? To sing, I mean.” You lean in towards your boss, excited for his answer.
“Animal I Have Become by 3 Days Grace.” You laugh at the coincidence of your bosses powers and his song choice.
“What? It’s a good song!” Baek crosses his arms over his chest, leaning farther into your space.
“I just didn’t expect you to enjoy Divorced Dad Rock.” You giggle to yourself, enjoying the mental image painted in your head. Your boss in the shower, singing to Nickelback.
Your brain kept running with thought, wondering what is below the waist level steam. Maybe its-
“What is Divorced Dad Rock?” You look away from your boss and squeeze your legs together.
Yoonho notices, but dismisses the movements.
“It’s a music genre of rock, mostly listened to by divorced dads. Nickelback, Three Days Grace, and Metallica are a few bands. I grew up listening to it, so you better not mess up singing.” Thank god he interrupted your train of thought.
You’re both so close to each other, your knees are bumping together as the car runs over potholes. Baek looks over your face, tracing over your soft features. You look at his red eyes, entranced by the way they sparkle.
“Bump!” Your driver shouts just before your heads clang together. You laugh at the timing, rubbing your head as Baek moves your hands away from your cranium.
“Did I hurt you?” His hands hold your head as he examines your face for any injuries.
“Nah I’m good. Your skull might be tough, but not tough enough to crack mine.” You knock your fist against his head, Baek smiles at you.
“Good. Now tell me your karaoke song.”
“Well, if I have a partner to sing with, Bring Me to Life by Evanescence is always good. Solo I might try different things, but Jean got me on this song called Conceited by Lola Young. I can’t get it out of my head.” You answer after Baek drops his hands and shifts away from you slightly, your knees still touching.
“Sir, we have arrived.” The car pulls to a stop in the middle of conversation.
Your door is opened and you step out into the brisk air.
The sky is an overcast, the wind is high. You wrap your hoodie tighter around your figure as you look at the grand hotel towering above you.
The car is parked by the main entrance of the building, multiple people streaming in and out of the constantly open doors.
The building itself stands tall and proud, its walls a tan brick. The honking of the interstate carries to the hotel, drowning your thoughts as you walk around to the back of the car to grab your luggage.
Stanley beat you to it.
“Thank you,” you murmur, stepping in line with your boss as your group enters the building.
The chaos from outside does not stop once you transition inside. People are crowded around, chatting aimlessly, many wearing suits. Some heads turn your way and linger on your boss, recognizing him. They do not approach.
After Baek secures the room keys, you all make your way up to the 8th floor, all four rooms in a row.
You enter your room and take a deep breath. Stanley sets down your bag and closes your door, leaving you to yourself.
The room is dark. Immediate to your left is the bathroom, opposite it is the closet. Further into the room is one bed, stark white, with a TV sitting across from it. The microwave and mini-fridge sit under the TV stand. A grey chair next to the window and a small desk beside the bed finish the room.
You move your bags to your bed and lay down on it, soaking in the silence. The outside noise is barely noticeable, the walls of the hotel are essentially soundproof.
You laugh to yourself. Every other hotel you have been in, even your apartment, had thin walls. You could hear the bed squeaking or TV playing from the room next to yours.
How much does this place cost?
A chime from your phone wakes you from your daze.
At first, all that you saw was a text from Mr. Baek, saying to get ready for a fancy dinner.
Your eyes then caught the number of texts from Logan.
What could he bother me about here?
Reading through the messages leaves your heart weak. The degradation, the names, the things Logan says. Tears well up at the harsh words from your boyfriend.
He was supposed to love you. He wanted to marry you. He moved to another country for you. He loved you.
You loved him.
Your hand covers your mouth as you try to not cry. Maybe Jean was right.
Logan is toxic. The beginning of your relationship was amazing. You wanted to marry that man.
But this Logan? The drunk, unemployed, manipulative, angry child that lives in your apartment is not the man you gave your heart to.
I can’t keep crying over him. Jean told me he wasn’t worth my tears before I left.
I’ll make her proud.
Standing up, you grab a black cocktail dress and your makeup bag and move into the bathroom.
The white lights illuminate the navy-blue counter top and matching bathtub.
You look at the woman in the mirror. Lackluster hair, dull eyes, sunken cheeks, sickly skin.
The sight fuels you with rage.
He took this from you.
I don’t need a week to make up my mind. I’m doing it right now.
The phone rings, waiting for Logan to answer. Your hands shake with rage.
“Wa’ d’ ya want?” The words slur through the phone, you roll your eyes.
“I’m freezing my bank account. I am breaking up with you. I want you out of my apartment in the next week.” Your voice wavers.
I’m really doing it.
“Huh?” You hear laughter and cups clinking in the background.
“You heard me. I’m blocking your number too. Good-bye Logan.” You end the call. His number is promptly blocked.
I did it.
I did it.
I really did it.
You giggle. Weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
Laughter slowly escapes your lips, growing louder. Tears fall from your eyes, but they’re not from mirth.
You’re free.
You need to tell Jean.
The first phone call was to your bank, who immediately froze your account because of your lost card. They even disputed the charges from the last 24 hours.
The total amount charged by the fraudulent was over 50,000 USD.
A smile graces your lips as you wait for Jean to answer.
“Please don’t cry to me over the phone.” Her voice rings through the speaker as you brush your hair.
“I broke up with him.” You giggle as you pull your hair back to do your makeup.
Jean stays silent for a very pregnant pause.
“Girl, now is not the time to be joking.” Her tone is serious.
“I’m not. He took my card before I left and put a 50,000 USD charge on it within 24 hours. I froze my card, called him, and broke up with him.” The sink runs as you wash your face. Jean is quiet before she starts laughing. You join her with glee.
“So what made you do it? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back?” You apply your make up as you talk.
“I’ll send you screenshots of the texts, they’re nasty. But what made me mad was how pathetic I looked. I was a walking corpse!”
“Honey, he has been draining you since you moved to Korea. Like a damn vampire.” You giggle as you apply your eyeliner.
“Exactly! I can’t believe I was so stupid.” Jean sighs on her side of the phone.
“Sweetie, don’t be too harsh on yourself. You were in a toxic relationship, and you weren’t the toxic one. If someone has to be harsh on you, let it be me. You can hate me, not yourself.” You pause at her words.
You’ve always considered Jean one of your closest friends. Her words made you realize she shares the same sentiment.
“I love you, Jean.”
“I love you too, honey.” You sit in a comfortable silence as you finish up your face and move on to your hair.
Jean giggles to herself.
“What has you so happy?” Her giggles turn into a cackle.
“You- ha! You haven’t even been alone with Mr. Baek for 24 hours before breaking up with the dickhead!”
“Being near Mr. Baek has nothing to do with my decision to end my relationship!”
“Uh-huh. Sure, it does Hun. Anyways, you guys doing anything fun?”
“Just going out to dinner tonight.”
“Oh! What are you wearing? I need to approve it.” A request to face-time flashes on the phone screen.
You accept, Jeans face covering the screen.
Her blonde hair is down and lightly curled today, her clear glasses framing her face. Jean’s blue eyes glint with mischief.
The opaque black dress has thick straps on your shoulders, a heart neckline showing a bit of cleavage, and a simple skirt ending above your knees.
“Do you have your black pumps?” Jean nods her head in approval for your dress.
“I was thinking of flats for today. My feet still hurt from running on the concrete.” Jean glares at you through the phone, reluctantly agreeing with your choice.
“The heels will show off your long ass legs. Just saying.” You roll your eyes.
“I just got out of a relationship, no thanks.” You snap back, packing up your make-up bag and leaving the bathroom.
“I’m just saying that you deserve to get laid. You know, I heard a rumor that Mr. Baek has a massive-“
“Jean!” You scold your friend, shaking the nasty thoughts out of your head.
“You need it!” You roll your eyes as you throw on your black leather coat and slide on your black flats.
Moving to sit at the desk, you prop Jean up to continue the conversation.
“I’ll stick with my hand, thank you very much. Mr. Baek is my boss. You don’t shit where you eat.” Jean looks confused at your analogy.
“In simpler terms, you don’t date your coworkers, especially your boss. You should not have your income and your romance coming from the same place.” Jean rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. I’ll bet that you two fuck before the end of this week.”
“I’ll take your bet, because I’m not going to fuck my boss!”
A knock sounds at your door at the same time as a notification pings on your phone.
“It’s dinner time. I’ll talk to you later, Jean.” You stand up from the desk, thumb hovering over the end call button.
“Okay. Have fun! Remember what I said about Mr. Baek’s huge, massive-“You hang up on Jean.
A/N: Welcome back to chapter 2! Full warnings/tags in the tags or on Ao3
Chapter 1 < Chapter 2 > Chapter 3
Tears are streaming down your face as you race home, taking off your heels to run faster on the streets. The door to your apartment slams open, the cacophony ringing through the silent building.
Your chest is tight from holding in your tears and sobs. You take short, staggard breaths, trying to fill your chest with some air. You need to get out of here and find some place to decompress.
You grab your gym bag, a change of clothes for work, and your work bag and make your way to the gym. The soft glow of the lamps illuminate your broken face as you race off to the familiar gym building.
No one is at the desk to greet you in your distress. You run into the locker room, stripping your clothes and throwing them into the trash. You sob as you look in the mirror, you still feel the hands on your body. Your chest tightens painfully as you let the tears fall.
A shower will make me feel better.
It didn’t. The hot water running over your body just made you cry with more force, the stress of your relationship from the past several months finally crashes down on you. Even with the scalding water pounding down on your back, your body shakes from the adrenaline coursing through you.
Does Logan love me?
After your shower you feel restless. You change into your matching leggings and top, throwing on your white trainers, taking note of your raw feet from the concrete. Leaving your phone in the locker room on do not disturb. The only call you allow through is your boss, just in case he needs you. The distraction would be welcomed.
You start on the treadmill, then move onto the stair master, then onto the weight racks. You want to feel something other than the lingering hands on your body. You stay in the gym until the sun rises.
Your body is weak with hunger, but the rage and disgust in your mind removes your appetite and need to sleep. You change for work, a grey pantsuit with black pumps for today.
You leave everything but your work bag at the gym and make your way to the coffee shop. The first shift workers buzz around as you walk through the day light streets. The busy hum is only an ambiance to you as your sore feet carry you to your destination.
Your feet barely lift up to continue marching on, causing your black shoes to get scuffed up. Your shoulders get battered as people continuously bump into you.
After paying for your order, you find a booth in the back of the busy coffee shop.
A croissant sits in front of you. Your stomach churns as you stare at the pastry. The only thoughts that run through your head is the man touching you as Logan stares at you in disgust.
He acted like I was the person in the wrong.
He acted like I wanted that man to assault me.
Bile rises in your throat, but you resist the urge to throw up.
I need something else to think about.
You place Mr. Baek’s coffee order and watch other people come in and out of the shop.
No one knows what you went through, just as you don’t know what they are going through. The old man that just walked past you could have lost his child. The tall blonde man might be working an endless and life draining corporate job. The siblings that walked in, both with pink hair and a noticeable age difference could be have the best day of their lives.
No one knows what happened to you, and no one needs to know what happened to you.
You make your way to the office, two hours earlier than your required arrival time. Mr. Baek always gets to the office around this time, Jean arrives sometime between then and your arrival time.
Well not today.
You drop your bag off at your desk and sign in to your computer. Mr. Baek has yet to arrive.
You sit and run through emails inquiring about different weapons and armor conventions, new business connections to make, and other spam emails. The workload engrosses you, your mind finally forgetting about what happened.
The coffee cups lain forgotten in front of you as your busy hands clack against your keyboard.
You don't hear the door open, nor do you notice your boss standing in the doorway. His suit is crisp, freshly pressed before being put on. He quickly checks over you, working at your desk before double checking the time on his watch. He isn't late, you're early.
“Good morning.” Mr. Baek greets you, standing there shocked at your early arrival.
“Good morning, sir. I have your coffee.” Standing up, you grab the hot cup and walk over to your boss. His fingers graze your hand and you give him his coffee.
His eyes lock onto your feet, where you keep shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
“Thank you. May I ask why you’re here so early?” His voice is soft, slowly taking a sip from his coffee. A grin smooths across his face at the delicious drink.
No one needs to know.
“I had a rough night sleeping, decided to get a head start on today.” You smile, hoping your facade isn’t see through.
“I see. Do I still have that 10:30 meeting with the security company today?” You look up to your boss and smile. He can see you’re tired, your mask isn’t completely fool proof.
“Yes, Sir. It will be in the third conference room today at 10:30.”
“Good, make sure you are here after I get out of that meeting. If all goes as planned, we will be traveling to the United States.” He smiles down at you, guiding you to your desk.
You wince as your heels dig into a particular tender spot, Yoonho Baek immediately notices your discomfort.
At your desk, you stop and stand dumbstruck. He pulls out your chair and guides you to sit down. You turn in your seat to ask your boss a question about what he has just said, but the door to his office was already closing.
You shake your head and turn back to your computer.
Focus on your work.
Jean comes in about an hour later, her iced coffee shaking in her hand. She stands and looks at you for a moment, noting your shaking hands and messy hair.
“Hey girl. You’re here early.” You nod your head, engrossed in your work to pay attention to the woman sitting gingerly at her desk. Jean turns on her computer and takes the time to look at your tired eyes. They’re blood shot and seem to be staring at one spot on your monitor.
She sighs; your date didn’t go well. If it did go well, you would be chatting her ear off about your wonderful and amazing boyfriend.
Instead, you’re silent. The bags under your red eyes show you didn’t sleep at all.
Jean rolls her chair over to sit by yours. You don’t even flinch as she bumps into your chair.
“How did your date go?” Jean watches as your eyes shift left and right, trying to come up with an answer. You open your mouth to say something, but your memories keep you quiet.
No one needs to know.
“It was fine.” Your voice cracks, but you're too lost in your mind to notice.
“No it wasn’t.” Your throat constricts. Your chest feels tight again as you try to not cry.
All that you can feel are the hands sliding on your body. You can only hear Logan's accusatory voice, saying that what happened was your fault.
Jean notices how you freeze in your seat. Your breathing becomes rapid and short as your hands move to your neck, pulling the collar of your shirt away from your body.
Jean guides your body to stand and navigates you both to the restroom. Jean notes how your eyes gloss over, lost in thought. She easily moves your body along with hers as you stumble with her into the quiet restroom.
You lean against the counter, the events of last night play freshly in your mind. You’re unaware of Jean quietly fixing your hair, she wipes away the tears that run down your face.
She may talk a lot of shit about your relationship, but she cares about you. She considers you one of her close friends.
“It’s okay to cry, honey. You don’t deserve a man like him anyway.” You finally snap out of your haze at her words. Your chest constricts as a sob runs through your body. Your hands moved to twist into your hair, the sharp pain refreshing against the dull thud in your chest.
Jean eases your hands out of your hair and cradles them in her own. Her eyes well with unshed tears for her friend.
Jean holds you close to her as you cry, unaware of the actual reason for your distraught tears.
“Did he show up? Was he drunk? Did he even appreciate you?” Jean’s last question makes you freeze up. She pulls away from you to see your sullen face.
“You didn’t get laid, huh?” Jean’s knowing smirk is wiped from her face from your response.
“He let another man touch me.” Your voice is a horse whisper. Jean pulls you back into her embrace as you cry. She rubs your back and rocks you slowly, side to side as violent sobs rack your body.
You and Jean stay in the bathroom until you run out of tears. A numb feeling comes over you, exhaustion is quick to follow. You feel heavy, your feet hurting as you lean further against the counter.
“Honey, where did you go last night?” Jean help you fix your hair and clothes, making you presentable again. Her hands cradle your face as a mother would a distraught child.
“I stayed at the gym until I came in.”
“You slept at the gym?”
“No," a hiccup interrupts your answer. "I worked out until the sun rose. Then I got ready to come in.”
“You need to get some sleep, honey.” Jean guides you out of the bathroom.
“I don’t want to go back to the apartment.”
“Honey, you did nothing wrong. Besides, you own the place.” You sit down in your chair, Jean handing you a bottle of water.
“My name is on the lease.”
“You pay the rent.”
“You’re right.” You pause, taking a long drink of water. You set the bottle down beside your forgotten coffee and rub your face.
“I don’t want to see him, Jean. He was angry at me because the man touched me. He was drunk and- I don’t know.” Your hands cover your face in embarrassment. Your friend rests a hand on your shoulder before moving back to her own desk to start her work.
It’s 10:45. Mr. Baek is in his meeting. You just have to stay here until your boss talks to you.
Jean sits at her desk with a very mean look on her face. Her frustration is taken out on her poor keyboard.
Yoonho Baek enters the lobby to his office, observing his two employees. Jean is absolutely fuming, anger radiating off her body. You are sitting at your desk, your head in hand as you stair off into space. You are tired—no— exhausted.
He walks over to your desk, setting a fresh cup of coffee on your desk.
The movement makes you jump. You look up at him, your gazes locked. His voice is low and soft as he addresses you.
“The meeting with the security company went as planned. We will be leaving for the United States tomorrow morning. I’ll send a car to pick you up and take you to the airport.” Jean stops smashing her keyboard, waiting for your reaction.
Your shaking hand reaches for the coffee and you take a sip. You take a deep breath, the hot liquid burning down your throat.
“I’ll be ready. What time is the car coming for me?” Your stomach growls as the coffee enters your system.
“2:30.” You close your eyes and nod your head.
You sit at your desk, closing down your software. You’re not going to get any more work done. Might as well finish your coffee before leaving for your apartment.
Your chest tightens at the thought of seeing Logan again.
You miss the questioning look Yoonho sent to Jean, who simply shakes her head. A silent warning to not prod.
“I’m going to the gym. Your dismissed for the day.” You nod your head in acknowledgement.
Jean walks over to your desk as Mr. Baek leaves the building.
“Honey, do you want me to come with you? You don’t need to face him alone.” Jean leans over your desk.
You shake your head, setting down your new drink.
“I need to do this on my own. Logan is my boyfriend, I need to deal with what happened.”
“Honey, there is no coming back from what happened.” The little voice in the back of your head agrees with Jean.
I love my boyfriend.
“I-“ The words never leave your mouth.
I want to have faith in my boyfriend.
“You can keep me company until I get done with my work.” Jean grabs your new cup of coffee, sets it in your hands, and pushes your chair to be next to hers.
The rest of the day blurs by, Jean chatting your ears off about anything and everything. You sit and observe her. Her blonde hair was pin straight today. She is in a red skirt and a black top. Her blue eyes are behind her pair of clear glasses. Jean effortlessly breezes through emails, phone calls, and forms.
She is so pretty. Why doesn’t she date?
I bet she can stand up for herself when someone-
“Earth to hot ass woman? It’s time to go.” Jean already has her purse over her shoulder.
You nod your head and stand up, your legs shaking from the exertion you put on them last night. Step by step you follow Jean out of the building until your roads split.
“My offer still stands if you want me to come with.” Jean grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze.
You stand and look at your apartment building in the distance. The cold January air hits your already numb face.
“Thank you, Jean. But I can take it from here.” You squeeze her hand before dropping it. She nods her head before turning her back and walking away.
You follow her lead and make your way to your apartment.
When you open the door, the sight that greeted you was not one that you wanted to see. Your boyfriend was on the couch with Toji and Frank. All three heads turn towards you as you close the door.
Logan stands up and walks towards you, his face unreadable. You talk first.
“I’m going back to the states for a work trip in the morning. I’m getting picked up at 2:30 am.” You hold your bag close to your chest as Logan looks at you with disgust.
“Who are you going with?” He sneers.
“My boss, Mr. Baek.”
“You’re going with the S-Rank hunter?” Toji sneers. You hate the way he is looking at you. You hold a neutral face, preparing for anything that could be said next.
“You better not do anything funny on that trip.” Logan steps to get closer to you, but you hold up a hand to stop him.
“I could say the same thing.” You whisper, moving past your boyfriend and into the bathroom.
The three men in your living room proceed to get back to yelling at the TV, drinking or whatever they do at 3 in the afternoon.
You look at yourself for a while. Your clothes are stripped off your tall body. The person in the mirror looks nothing like yourself. Your eyes are sunken in and red from crying. Your skin is pale and flush, sickly looking.
Your toned stomach and waist look a bit too thin for your liking.
Probably from not eating.
You quickly shower, throw on your robe, and lock yourself in your bedroom to pack. You pack a minimum of a weeks worth of clothing, your boss not giving you the amount of time you’re going to spend in your home country.
Your suitcase and work bag are packed and waiting by the bedroom door. An alarm is set to go off at 2 so that you don’t keep the driver waiting.
You lay in your bed, mind racing too much to think of sleeping.
What gives him the right of telling you to not do any funny business when he acted like- like—
Like he didn’t care about you last night.
More tears fall from your eyes, the only sign of your emotions. The time slowly ticks by before your alarm signals.
You dress in sweatpants and a sweatshirt for the flight. You take your bags and walk out to your living room to see your boyfriend asleep on the couch, the TV blaring.
You look over the disaster of your apartment and boyfriend.
When you get back, you will have your mind made up on whether or not to break up with Logan.
A/N: For those of you that are getting a severe case of Deja Vu; This is that fic. I am finally back to finish this fic! The full version is posted on my Ao3 within a week from now!
For those of you that are new: Welcome! This fic is about 30K in total, full of thirst for one Yoonho Baek from Solo Leveling.
I also encourage you to check out my other fics (from Attack on Titan, to Gachiakuta, to Jujitsu Kaisen) also posted fully on my Ao3!!
Since this fic is going to be comepleted I will be posting the full chapters on my Tumblr (along with Ao3)! Enjoy!!
ALSO let me know if you want a playlist! I already have one on spotify that I can share the link to, but I can post a chapter with the playist so you can built it on what ever music platform you use!
Chapter 1 > Chapter 2
How does one become aware that they are in a toxic relationship? Is it when they don’t know what mood their significant other will be in at home? Is it when the constant yelling makes them numb? Is it when the thought of their partner cheating on them easier than whatever is happening in their relationship? What about when they start to slap around and beat up their partner?
After moving to Korea with your boyfriend Logan, you thought you were on track to get married.
Logan was a beautiful man. He had a kind face, dark brown hair, honey brown eyes. He didn’t have the most fit build, but neither did you. He was slightly taller than you, your height being at 6 feet tall. He was so kind to you, buying you flowers every week, taking you on dates where you can dress up, and making sweet love to you. You felt appreciated, respected, and confident with your relationship. But that was back when you still lived in the United States.
Back when you were young, when the gates first appeared, your family was killed when hunters couldn’t respond to your rural area in time. You hid, you survived, and until you met Logan, you wished you died along with your family.
He made your life worth living again. You both agreed that you wanted to move out of the states to start the rest of your lives together. The company that Logan worked for was international, and two years into your relationship there was an opening for his position in Korea. You both were excited about moving, you quit your job in the states and were on the next plane out.
You signed your name on the lease, as you had enough money for the down payment. Logan would pay you back. You got a job working as a personal assistant to an S rank hunter, Yoonho Baek. The pay was amazing and the hours were flexible. Logan was still waiting on the company to get back to him with his starting day.
The days of waiting turned into weeks. Weeks of waiting turned into months. After three months of no contact, Logan confronted the company, and they stated that they eliminated the position and the communication must not have reached Logan.
At first, he was reserved. Your boyfriend found comfort in you when you were home from work. Few words were shared between you both, a sense of understanding was enough.
Four months after moving to Korea, Logan said he would start to look for other jobs, but it just seemed like he used the computer setup you bought him for video games. You found yourself spending time at the gym, working off some steam and sexual frustration that has built up over the past month.
Five months after moving to Korea, Logan stopped buying you flowers, the lack of money in his own bank account was the culprit. He stopped holding you in his sleep. You started going to work early and staying late at the gym.
Six months after moving to Korea, you began to make friends with your boss’s secretary, Jean. She was a very passionate person, asking you all questions about your outside life. She is concerned about how your boyfriend is treating you, but you find excuses for him every time. You and Jean spend time outside of work, especially when you don’t want to go home yet. Jean has no romance life of her own, feeding off your own drama.
After 7 months of living in Korea, you start asking Logan if he found any job openings yet. He says he keeps applying for jobs, but they never seem to call him back. He starts talking back to you when you ask him to spend some time with you instead of playing video games constantly.
When you get home from the gym, you notice Logan is out of the apartment. You are relieved that he actually has a life and you take the time to clean the apartment, especially around his gaming desk which has become a pig stye. You are in bed when he comes stumbling into your shared bedroom.
“I need 500 dollars.” His words are slurred. You sit up in bed and turn on the lamp. The warm glow softly illuminates the room, barely shining on your boyfriend.
Logan sweating through his only white shirt and jeans. His face flushes as he walks around the bed towards you.
“Did you hear me? I said I need 500 dollars.” He says through clenched teeth, the smell of strong soju wafting into your nose. Your stomach churns from the stench.
“What did you buy that was 500 dollars?” You ask as you get out of bed, your legs still from sleep. Alas, you move towards your purse. You hear Logan mumble something.
“What did you say? I didn’t hear you?” You pull your check book out of your purse.
“Frank and I went gambling.” You recognize the name as one of the guy’s Logan plays video games with.
“Am I paying Frank’s debt, or your debt?” You hesitate before writing down the amount.
“It’s mine. Toji is covering Frank’s.” He hastily takes your money before kissing you on your forehead. “Thanks babe.”
“Of course, baby. Why don’t you shower up and come to bed?” You want to sleep good tonight, which requires the warmth of your boyfriend that you’ve grown used to over the years.
“I need to get this to the casino before I can come to bed sweetie. I promise I’ll come straight to bed after.” He goes to kiss your lips, but you’re repulsed by the smell of alcohol on breath and turn your head to the side. His hands cup your face, his heavy body stumbling it to your own. A chaste kiss is placed on your cheek.
He doesn’t come back to bed that night. Gambling and drinking gets worse by the day, Logan’s friends becoming a very bad influence on your already regressing relationship.
Frank and Toji start to live at your house, or at least it feels like it. You get home from work or the gym and the three amigos are in your living room, beer bottles, take out containers, and other trash surround them as horse racing is on the TV.
For a few days they ignore your exhausted presence. You walk past them, shower, and go to bed, not expecting your boyfriend to join you. When they stop ignoring you, your temper is challenged. You have very little patience for being demanded around like a slave.
“Hey ma, wanna come over here and sit on my lap? I need a good luck charm.”
“Yo bitch, get me another drink from the fridge.”
“Wanna suck me off ma? I’ll let your cuck boyfriend watch.”
“Your house is a mess. Why don’t you put on a pretty dress and clean it up for us.”
The list of comments can go on forever. Logan never fought against them. You stayed quiet and ignored them. Any retaliation against the comment could escalate them, and you don’t want to fight.
You hate that when you come home, you don’t even feel like you have a home anymore. You restrict yourself to staying in your bedroom when you own the entire flat.
Next comes a cold morning in January. You’re getting dressed in your pantsuit for work as Logan comes into the bathroom, either hungover from the night before or still drunk.
His eyes rake up and down your body as you hastily pull your shirt to cover your bra.
“What? No show for me?” You roll your eyes.
“No, especially with how you have been acting lately.” You huff out, fixing your hair and putting on earrings. The mirror blurs with unshed tears.
“How have I been acting lately?” Logan sounds genuinely confused; his hands touch your waist as he stands behind you in the mirror. You fight the shiver of disgust at the contact.
You take a second to look at yourself. Your face looks tired, your eyes look numb, your shoulders look heavy. You hate the look of Logan’s hands on your waist, but you catch yourself from going down that train of thought.
I love my boyfriend. I don’t hate him.
“The last time you took me on a date was back when we lived in the states. You can’t even buy me flowers any more. You don’t sleep in our bed, and you don’t fuck me any more either. You act like you’re not even in a relationship.” You attempt to step out of his hold, but his hands grip on to you like vice grips.
“I’m sorry baby. I didn’t notice.” You roll your eyes and throw his hands off of you. The tears are replaced with dry anger.
“I’m serious babe!” He grabs your jaw with force, making you look at him. “Why didn’t you say anything before? Here, I’ll take you on a date tonight. I’ll plan it and everything. Okay?” You look into the honey brown eyes that you fell in love with, the pleading look making your heartbeat faster.
I love my boyfriend.
“Okay.” You agree, hoping that this will turn your relationship back on to the right tracks.
“Okay, great. I’ll text you what time and where to meet me.” He kisses your cheek, leaving you shocked.
You were quiet at work, which made Jean suspicious.
The office is set up with your and Jean’s desks opposite each other, to the left of your desks is the door to your boss’s office. All guests that wish to talk to Mr. Beak need to get through you and Jean first.
It’s midday, your eyes have yet to leave your computer. You already sent Mr. Beak to his meeting with another S rank hunter. Your day’s tasks are done, so you are staying at your desk until your contracted end hour of 3 pm.
The good pay isn’t the hours of 9:00 am -3:00 pm of sitting at your desk and making phone calls and appointments for Mr. Baez. You are contractually available to Mr. Beak at all hours of the day. Of your 7 months working under Mr. Baez, you have only had one 4 am call, requesting you pick up Mr. Baek an extra suit and the back up armor from his penthouse and to bring it in to work with you.
Jean slides her chair across the room to bump it into your chair. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail today, her matching black skirt and jacket suit her pale skin complexion. Her blue eyes look at you before bumping her chair into yours with greater force.
You look up at her before saying what’s been on your mind the entire morning.
“Logan asked me out on a date tonight.” Jeans’ eyes grow with shock then slant with suspicion. She absolutely hates your boyfriend, saying that you are too hot for him, among other comment that you try to tune out; but the little voice in the back of your head agrees with her.
“And? Did he come up with this idea on his own?” Jean stares into your eyes, making you look back down at your desk.
“Kind of? I told him he hasn’t taken me on a date in 7 months. So, he said he would take me on one tonight.” Your manicured nails pick at your cuticles, waiting for Jean to speak.
“No, he didn’t do this on his own. You had to tell him what you wanted. I wouldn’t get your hopes up. He will disappoint you. Again.” Her voice draws to a sharp staccato, making her point. You sigh, not wanting to listen to Jean.
“Yeah, but what if it goes good tonight? I could finally get laid.” At that moment, with the luck of the gods looking down on you, your boss walks through the doors of his office.
“Afternoon ladies, care for lunch today?” Your face turns beat-red as you look down to your lap, fidgeting with your folded hands.
Jean looks up to your boss, a Cheshire grin is spread across her sharp face.
Mr. Baek stands with his suit black suit jacket in hand and his brief case in the other. His head tilts, wondering what his two employees are talking about, squished up beside each other like high school girls.
“Oh yes please Mr. Baek! Can we get something from the sandwich place across the street?” Jean rolls her chair back over to her side of the room, picking up her phone to make the call.
Your eyes watch your boss as he shuffles the items in his hands to reach in his pocket, pulling out the company credit card. He places the metal disk on Jean's desk before moving to stand in front of your desk.
“You know my order. You ladies get whatever you want. Can you deliver my sandwich at the training center?” Mr. Baek says your name and you nod your head.
“Yes sir. Do you need anything else?” You stand from your desk and make your way to Jean.
“No, I’m alright. Thank you.” He smiles before leaving the building.
You and Jean place your orders and walk over to the shop together. She is talking your ear off about the disappointment of a human that you call your boyfriend.
Her words, not yours.
“He has to see that he needs to change, girl. I’m telling you; you need to break up with him!” Jean throws up her hands, the patrons of the shop staring at her strange behavior.
“Shush, you don’t know him like I do. I’m telling you; everything will be okay. You need to stop obsessing over my relationship.” Your order name being called ends the conversation. You hand Jean her sandwich along with your own.
“I’m going to run this over to Mr. Baek, then I’ll be back at the office to eat my own. Don’t wait up on me.” You leave the shop before Jean can speak.
You love that woman, but she can be too much at times.
The walk to the gym is short, you know the way by heart. Mr. Baek often needs food or clothing delivered to the gym, either forgetting them or needing more than what he expected.
The security at the gym entrance nod their heads at your badge, letting you into the warm building. The bleak concrete floors and white walls hurt your eyes as you make your way to the high rank training center. You go down the stairs and look out the observation window at Mr. Baek training. He is in his usual gym attire, a pair of shorts and training shoes.
Your eyes focus on the sweat trickling down the valley of his back as he throws another punch. A large puff of dust falls over the area from the destroyed concrete. You then gaze down at his arm, his muscles flexing as he shakes off the pain. He then squares back up and throws another punch with his other arm. The building shakes as he repeats his destruction. You stand in awe at the raw power being displayed.
“You must be Baek’s assistant.” A voice from behind makes you jump, clutching your boss’s food to your chest. Your cheeks grow warm with the realization that you were caught ogling at your boss.
“Yeah, I am. Whose asking?” A man with deep red hair looks at you, a smile gracing his face, his eyes squinting. His red suit matches his shade of hair.
“He wasn’t exaggerating when you don’t know anything about hunters. My name is Choi Jong-In, member of the Hunter’s Guild.” He extends his hand to you. You move to shake his hand, but he quickly brings it to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. Your face cringes from the abrupt action.
#1, you have a boyfriend. #1, Choi is not your type.
“N-nice to meet you, sir. I apologize for not knowing who you are. I’m more familiar with the hunters back home in the states.” He gives you another smile, his hand still holding yours. You want to take your hand back, but you don't want to be impolite.
“No need to apologize, it is refreshing to not be recognized. I-“
“Am going to remove my hand from my assistant.” Mr. Baek’s growl enters your ear, and your hand is dropped. You let out a shaky breath and discretely wipe your sweaty hand on your pants.
Your boss moves to stand by your side, glaring at Choi.
Taking a deep breath, you relax at the familiar masculine scent of Mr. Baek.
“I was just getting acquainted with your personal assistant. Might I ask how personal-“ Your mouth drops open at the accusation.
“No." Mr. Baek cuts off Choi before turning towards you. His broad body shielding you from the other hunter. "Thank you for bringing my lunch. You are free the rest of the day.” Mr. Beak’s hand on the small of your back guides you out of the room.
You leave the building, your feet taking you back to the office headquarters on autopilot. Your mind was elsewhere.
Why is my heart beating so fast? Why am I so turned on by someone that isn’t Logan?
I really need to get laid tonight.
“Well, that took you long enough. Your food is in the fridge.” Jean’s voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your guilty haze.
“I’m going to take my food home with me. Mr. Baek gave me the rest of the day off and I need to get ready for my date.” You say, grabbing your food and your bag.
“Uh huh. Don’t call me crying when you are disappointed tonight. I’m not sharing my vibrator.” She blows you a kiss as you leave the office, waving goodbye to your friend.
You walk quickly back to your apartment, the 15 minute walk through cold wind is refreshing on your heated face.
Your mind keeps thinking of how Mr. Baek stopped Choi from saying something nasty to you, and even getting him to stop touching you. Your boss didn’t even hesitate to stand up for you when you lost your words.
You feel your core throb at the thought, the feeling not entirely unwelcome.
You shake your head, stopping that train of thought.
Mr. Baek is my boss. I love my boyfriend.
There is nothing else to say. You have a professional relationship with your boss, who doesn’t stand someone harassing you. You are loyal to your boyfriend who is taking you on a date tonight.
As you step inside your apartment, you note the lingering stench from the gaming pit, trash still laying on the ground. You huff through your nose, the pissed off spark lighting a fire of rage, completely killing your mood.
The trashcan is two steps away in the kitchen.
You stop yourself from picking up your boyfriend’s trash, Jean’s voice ringing through your head.
“If you keep cleaning up after that bastard, he will keep making a mess. He doesn’t clean up your messes do you? He doesn’t do the laundry, dishes, hell, he doesn’t even take the trash out! Stop cleaning up after that man child!”
A text from your boyfriend pings on your phone.
Hey baby! Meet me at the BBQ place by your office. Wear that white lace set you got a while back. I’ll make it worth your night ;)
You smile at your phone, sending a winky face back.
I’m finally getting laid.
You are excited as you take an everything shower. Your body is shaved, your breath is minty fresh, you are smooth where it counts. You curl your hair and leave it down, applying gold eye makeup along with a red lip to match your jewelry and outfit.
You cover yourself with your winter coat, throw on your nude heels, and make your way to the restaurant.
Your boyfriend is sitting at a booth at the window and he waves at you. His face is clean shaven, his clothes are nice.
He cleaned up nice for tonight. His attention to detail makes your heart melt.
You smile and sit in the booth opposite Logan. He leans over the table and kisses your lips.
“You look pretty.” You think you hear his words slur, but you know you taste alcohol on his lips.
“Thank you, baby. Did you get started without me?” The bottle of soju is almost empty in front of you. Logan smirks at you and takes your hand from across the table.“Had to give myself some confidence. My girlfriend is really hot.” You blush at his compliment.
You take off your coat and set it beside you in the booth. You look to Logan for approval and smirk as his eyes hungerly rake your body.
“You even wore that lace for me. You’re so pretty baby.” His hand cups your cheeks as the waiter arrives.
You both place your orders and he talks about his videos games, and his friends, and his gambling.
You have no room to talk as he keeps rambling on and on about himself. But you sit and listen, sipping on your cocktail while Logan downs shot after shot of soju.
Your food comes and goes. The conversation keeps droning on and on, Logan gets louder and louder with his one-sided conversation. The bill lands on your lap to pay. You quickly hand over the money and drag Logan out of the restaurant.
He is leaning heavily on you as you essentially drag him back to your apartment. He keeps whispering in your ear, his bad breath making your stomach churn. Your patience is tested as Logan presses you up against the wall of a random alley and begins to slide his hands up your skirt.
“Logan, what are you doing?” Your hearts is racing for the wrong reason. Your hands hand on his shoulders, wanting to push him off of you to continue your venture to your apartment.
“Mmm-preciating my pretty girlfriend. You feel really good baby.” He starts sucking on your neck, one of your pet peeves. Your face twists into one of disgust.
You hate hickeys. Logan knows this.
“Logan, get off of me. I don’t want to do this here.” You push your boyfriend’s head off of your shoulder.
“But I want you now, please baby? I’ll be quick, I promise.” Logan starts to undo the belt of his pants.
“Yo, is this my lucky day?” A man passing by the alley says, his eyes raking up and down your body. You shiver with disgust.
“No, keep moving.” You say, but the stranger moves closer to you.
"You ever have a threesome sweetheart?" He stalks closer, the lamp on the street casting a shadow over his face.
You look to Logan to say something, but a strange look comes over his eyes. Dread fills your stomach.
“Why are you standing there? Do you want him to touch you?” Anger comes over Logan as he steps away from you, the stranger stalking closer to you.
“What the fuck? Why would you think about that? I only want you, Logan!” You step closer to your boyfriend and he gets a sour look on his face.
“Why wouldn’t you let me fuck you here? You don’t want me anymore. That’s why we never fucked since moving here!” He raised his voice, making you step away from him, and into the hands of the stranger.
Hands move to yank your skirt up, groping your ass. You throw the hands off your body and run out of the alley. You hear your boyfriend yelling in the distance, his voice growing quiet as your feet carry you away from the end of your relationship.
