(My native language isn't English, so sorry if the words sound strange. This is my first fanfic, so please forgive me if Homelander isn't like the one in the series.)
Pd: Y/n's pheromones are vanilla, although Homelander's pheromones are left to your imagination (although I think his scent would be warm milk?).
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Y/n worked in a small coffee shop on the outskirts of the city. It was a quiet place, full of warm tones, with warm lights. You wore a brown apron and ribbons in your hair, you prepared lattes with different figures in the foam, and you sold decorated cookies. You had chosen this spot outside the city because it was the quietest thing an omega could have, your vanilla pheromone filling the entire coffee shop.
One rainy afternoon, he walked in.
Homelander wore civilian clothes: dark jeans, an impeccable white shirt, and a jacket that concealed his overly straight posture. He had flown over the area by chance when the scent hit him full-on. It was sweet, soft, warm, and completely opposite to everything he knew. He sat in the corner, ordered a glass of warm milk, and during that entire time, he didn't stop looking at you.
—Here you go, sir. Have a nice day— you said kindly, without having the slightest idea of who he was. Homelander only looked at the milk, but his blue eyes shone far too intensely. He finished his milk and left, but your scent stayed engraved in him, and from that moment on, he watched you.
He flew in silence over the city and followed you from a distance. He learned your complete routines: what time you left the small apartment you shared with a roommate, how you walked toward the coffee shop humming songs, and even your favorite shoes.
Homelander always asked himself in an annoyed tone, how could an alpha like him feel something for a simple, silly omega? And how he hid in the shadows just to watch her. Although the vanilla scent calmed him, he wanted to bring her close, mark her, and have her all to himself.
Y/n started to notice that a very handsome, tall, and blonde customer appeared more and more at the coffee shop, and he always ordered the same thing: warm milk. He would sit at the same table and look at her with an intensity that made you nervous, but also made your heart race. He was polite, had a slightly deep and confident voice, and when he smiled, he seemed to have almost sharp fangs. He never told her his real name at first. He only called himself “John.”
— You're very good at this— he told her one afternoon while she drew a smiley face in the foam. —Everything you touch looks... sweeter— You could only nod with a slight blush.
—Thank you, but it's just practice—
Little by little, John started to stay longer. They spoke about simple things: old movies, the weather, the way she decorated the cookies. He listened with absolute attention, as if every word of hers was the most important thing in the universe. He knew she was an omega because of the scent, even though she used mild suppressors.
One day, you had a bad shift, a rude alpha customer who raised his voice when you made a mistake on an order. When the guy left, you stayed quiet thinking about things, when you heard a familiar voice. —Are you okay sweet?— he asked in a low voice, but this time his scent seemed heavier.
—Yes, it was just a rough day— you said as you got up from the floor. He stepped closer than usual. His scent of burnt apple pie wrapped around you like a heavy, warm blanket. By instinct, you leaned a bit toward him. Homelander smiled with satisfaction. From that day on, he started to frequent the coffee shop almost every day.
He would bring you small flowers and once he even walked you home (even though he already knew the way by heart).
Y/n fell in love slowly, but deeply fell in love with the way "John" made her feel safe, how he looked at her as if she were the only valuable thing in the world, and how his scent calmed her even on her most anxious days. You didn't know yet that he was Homelander, the hero from Vought. One night, while she was closing the coffee shop, John waited for her outside with an umbrella. —Y/n— he said softly, using her name for the first time without her having given it to him that afternoon. —Would you like to have dinner with me?—You looked at him, having almost already wished that he would say that to you, so you nodded.
—Yes… I would love to, John—
Homelander smiled, this time with true satisfaction, and thought to himself that he already has you close, soon he would have her completely, and because you are innocent and naive as always, you could only think about how beautiful it was to feel looked at in that way.
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heyy i have a big question for someone with a homelander degree...
ok the thing is that in fanon he's either written like
dom daddy 50 shades of gray kinda guy, that needs to be in charge at every single moment, or
subby wubby mommy kink haver that complains when you don't pay attention to him and follows you around like a lost puppy (but won't admit it)
which one do you think it's the most correct? i personally enjoy both, but I guess homelander whining and being super clingy makes much more sense according to the canon...
Homelander is your mirror. He will whatever makes YOU happy at the end of the day. This is so long btw, had to make it into chapters. (One sentence answer at the end)
1.Influence
We know 3 things canonically that shaped him. And there’s one thing that I head canon strongly:
A) he was conditioned by watching stories of a perfect American family, a husband who protects the wife, teaches his son how to be a man, makes sure his daughter finds a good partner
B) he experienced sexual trauma in the lab that ended up repressing some side of him. For those who missed it, in s4 ep4 he remembers how the scientists made fun of him for masturbating/there was cameras ALWAYS on him
C) when he just joined Vought he was 17/18 and Madelyn was in her early 30s I believe.
D) (head-canon) in the finale of s1 when he has sex with Stillwell he slaps her which she doesn’t like, she sees it as aggression. If this was influenced by anything I believe it would be porn. He isn’t stupid, he knows he doesn’t love or care for America. Same with those values from the movies. He likes the idea of them but he is also drawn to the other side of the coin. He just lives the stereotype they put him in, but there’s a human instinct to get out of them and this is what this text is about.
2.Relationships
Two types you described are reflections of what we saw with Madelyn and Stormfront. So the confusion is valid, they are two different behaviors.
He was depended on Madelyn, shadowing her, wanting her approval. This is what she wanted from him. Even that slap, whatever it was supposed to communicate (his preference or whatever he thought SHE expected bc “that’s what people like”) was shut down by her quickly and he just adjusted politely.
With Stormfront, the moment SHE threw him around, he matched her pace. Their sex scene is wild, then they fuck in public, he makes that sex tape and even there you can hear how crude is the language he uses towards her.
3.Importance of propaganda
I believe that he is confused himself. Being sweet and caring is something he’d associate with Vought propaganda. Even if he truly wants a white picket fence, he doesn’t feel completely…natural in it? A side of him is always mocking it. And when it happens? It’s very forced. Maybe even more exhausting than that. Because he craves it SO much it makes the people around him, for example Ryan, fear him even more. He’s not angry, he’s obsessed. He has expectations. Even when he got Stormfront the flowers but she didn’t care and he burned the trailer down. HE SO WANTED THIS. He wanted tenderness, appreciation, soft kisses. This man never had a good make out session I believe; slow and vulnerable. Of course he freaked out on her. His expectations were over the roof and she just dismissed them. It’s like when u really want something that someone promised you and all you get is a low budget version. He felt that people just don’t get it. When in reality perfection doesn’t exist. Which is another important point here. He doesn’t understand, because he believes in unrealistic standards of love. That’s why he tries to find “a key”. Not in a strategic way, no. Like a lost pigeon who goes from trash can to trash can just doing it automatically. Vought’s propaganda made him ASSUME and BELIEVE he knows what he wants.
4.Importance of sex
On the other hand, talking filthy and dominating/switching is something that seemed to also come naturally to him. Just like that deep need for domestic life.
It’s not like he had to hype himself up, no, he just did it. And he knew how to do it. So technically, he is good at both. He can be picture perfect blonde guy, and a sex machine in private. BUT. Are any of them real, are any of them what he wants to be forever. Nahh.
I think he craves a mystery. A life where sex can be his private matter. Not Vought’s, not transactional. So he believes in that human approach to it. BUT THEN. He uses sex as a deflection on people who rage bait him. On Hughie, Starlight, Meave too. Or when he spoke to Zoe and Ryan? That was disgusting. He doesn’t understand the importance of sex. Why would he, really. His first experiences were mocked and recorded, his second experiences was being groomed and kinda assaulted in the corridor. We don’t know what happened next, it was either Madelyn being a groomer or Meave kinda saving the day.
5.
If I were to sum it up I would say that he is super confused, but he also doesn’t want to unpack it. That’s why he mirrors his partner. If you want a dom, he will give u that. If you want sub, he will give you that. As long as he trusts that there’s no transaction or exploitation here….but that’s the thing. If it’s a good relationship, there wouldn’t be…boxes like this, you know? If it’s a good relationship, then he could just be whatever he wants to be. And that’s where we finally, actually approach the question.
Sexuality is fluid. Not just orientation but how you want to experience it, how you feel about it or understand it. You can be in a relationship for a year and things can change or you can learn something you didn’t know. I feel like that would scare him. The fluidity. In a good relationship there wouldn’t be a set pattern. Just like when he was confused with Stillwell. “Does she want to humiliate me, love me, want me to slap her, kiss her…etc etc.” I hate that scene. It’s so…cold. Just…”take your pants off.” And then there’s a cut and a reflection of them upside down in that snow globe, which show perfectly how unnatural the whole conversation was.
His sex scene with Stormfront started from when she told him he’s perfect to her, that she’s been looking for him for years. Even after he learned her backstory (which I believe he had an opinion on but he’d stupid enough to ignore it-I think so because of that one scene where he give her a side eye later) he is still willing to have sex with her because maybe this is the one.
But when he has an automatic/human instinct to switch it up and show her love instead of sex, he learned that maybe she doesn’t want that soft side of him, she wants a soldier. Same with Madelyn, she doesn’t want good sex, she wants someone to control.
Everyone wants either this or that. Either a whiny guy to feel sorry for, or someone to fuck them good. He is a pattern in everyone’s heads. What I lean towards is that he will be different each time. We saw it many times, his emotions go from 0-100. If he was in a happy mood, trust me, he’d make it good and happy. Maybe even soft and full of praise if you initiated it. If he had a shit day he’d probably assume he doesn’t deserve any closeness now, or that vulnerability is a weapon. Boom. That’s when a good partner takes him out of the cage. You can be sad, and still be close AND not be used.
I think we won’t ever know cause no one ever opened that door to self discovery and allowed him to understand himself more. We also don’t know a lot about his relationship with Meave. You can’t find yourself when your inexperience is used as a weapon. That’s why I personally believe that he’d thrive with someone who’s on a similar journey. I’m not talking sexually, you can be confident or whatever, but it’s good for him to be with someone who’s also a walking contradiction, ideally someone who is very different from him.
And he never fought for it, did he? Like I said, sex has no importance for him. Sure he likes it with the right people, he only does it with the “right” people. But it’s not a spiritual experience, or emotional. It’s not something that he keeps sacred. It’s just something he did as he hopes it makes him be more loved by someone.
I think that if for once there was zero expectations, zero eyes on him, zero articles or influences coming from the ones who don’t give a fuck about him, he’d know. He’d fight, want to understand, be allowed to try things. That’s what I think would help him. Just trying things out.
He’s a little bit like a circus animal in this sense. A gentle tiger who lets the maestro play him like they want to. But then for just a second the instinct comes back and he bites. And then stays polite for few more hours only to bite again and again. And it doesn’t leave him with freedom, respect or satisfaction. Only more confusion. Why did I bite? Why didn’t they react how I wanted them to? Why does any idea from my side go unnoticed or dismissed, unless it suits them? Am I even a tiger?
One sentence answer? The canon is about him being sexually confused and frustrated, therefore following fixed patterns he was bombarded with or learned from clumsy research because no one ever was patient enough to let him try and discover himself.
There’s no protocol for that, not an existing movie that he can follow and be successful
Hii :). I really like your content and writing style. This might be an awkward question, but what would Homelander do if his partner was experiencing extreme anxiety or some other problem (such as an eating disorder or self-harm)? Sorry if this is a strange question.
Oh anon!! Don’t apologize! This is a safe space🩵🩵thank you🎀 TW: Eating disorder and self harm mentions.
The first time it’d happed he’d be freaked out.
“Oh come on! Everything’s fine. Look!” He’d gesture at himself and around. “You got… me, you’re gorgeous too! Don’t….sulk.”
He’d look at you and notice that it didn’t…seem to do the trick. He’d scan your body, read your blood, sense what you maybe didn’t, couldn’t tell him yet, and then? He’d understand. Yet still. He believes that his presence himself, being in his light, should be enough. So why are you sad?
He gets sad a lot himself. Cries, punches his forehead, burns his skin off…just like a child who can’t get a drawing right, or brush their hair without getting it to be all frizzy. He gets aggressive with himself, others, his surrounding. But in this moment? He doesn’t…want that. Doesn’t feel like that. But he doesn’t feel cinematic softness either. As touchy as he is…this is…a tender moment. Maybe one he can’t handle. All he can afford is a soft nudge of his shoulder into yours and an eye contact that would break anyone other than you. The nudge turned into him rubbing your back now. His lips would obviously stay a line-meaning he still doesn’t understand everything. Wasn’t he enough? But abused children grow up to recognize patterns really well. Sometimes that ability gets buried deep down…but…
He’d smack his lips and leave them open, staying like this for a little bit. Back and forth. Just like his hand, like his hum. A stutter. Then back at you. So he says something that you always say to him when he gets bad.
“How about we watch a movie? Or take a shower…we can…eat something?”
Oh he only made it more awkward. Yet there is something sweet about how proud he looks. Proud of himself. Look at him, praise him. He knows…he knows you so well! In his weird…”I can X-ray you” way.
“Come on, let’s do something.” He’d say again and pinch your cheek like mother does her baby. He doesn’t even let you answer. “Wanna fly to Paris?” He’d look at you like he’s serious. “Oh for fuck-“ he’d start when he noticed your inner tiredness. “You know I love you, right? I don’t want you sad. I’ve been…sad too. You know…before. You’re always so…good with me, it’s like you know exactly what to do. And I don’t.” He’d stand up now. Frustrated. And look down at you.
“C’mere” and before you could do something? He’d pull you into a breaking hug. “I will get you a milkshake. On real milk, I like you strong.” He’d nuzzle your hair and breath in, humming a bit again. “…Can I do something else for you? Tell me what’s up.” He’d murmur as he gently steers you to sit in his lap, heart to heart.
I’m sorry but he’d be so awkward about it🩵
I don’t think he’d be good at comfort until he figures it out. He learns your routine, your heartbeat, if your eyes stay on him or away. Do you want his touch or you don’t…but when he gets it right? The next moment it happens? He won’t be scared. Milkshakes, silence, talks, laughs, cries. He’d do it all. Paris and home, distance and closeness. He’d learn if you teach him.
So…if it happens again he knows what to do. Not like he has to. Homelander’s girl is never gonna be sad again.
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The Father of God (Reader x Soldier Boy) - Chapter 2
The response to Chapter 1 was DELIGHTFUL, and, like Homelander, you can pretty much get me to do whatever with enough praise, so here you go, darlings. This was such a pleasure to write, thank you for all your kindness <3
Relationship: Soldier Boy x Reader, Homelander in love with Reader.
Word count: 5273
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The Father of God - Chapter 2
It carried on long enough that it became a routine.
Homelander came back from events glowing, and you praised him until he stood taller. You learned exactly how to tilt your head when you said, “You were so good today,” exactly how to soften your voice when you said, “They saw your strength as holy,” exactly how to make him feel not merely admired but understood. He would puff his chest out like a boy pretending to be a king, and behind your warm little smile, you would keep one eye on his pulse, his jaw, his pupils, his hands.
Always the hands, because now, those hands had started reaching for you.
You let them.
Sometimes he touched the back of your hand during briefings. Sometimes he brushed your shoulder when he walked past you in the hall. Once, after a particularly successful press conference where he redirected a question about mass civilian casualties into a speech about national courage, he hugged you in an empty corridor.
It was stiff, like even he was unsure of what he was doing.
“I did what you said,” he murmured near your hair.
“You did,” you replied, letting your hands rest lightly against his sides. “I was proud.”
His breath shook.
God.
He loved being told that.
He loved it so much it almost made you pity him.
Almost.
The Deep, meanwhile, got worse. He hovered around your office like a dog that had learned the treat jar lived on the top shelf.
“Did you see my segment?” he asked one afternoon, leaning against your doorframe with his attempt at casual masculinity. “The aquarium thing? Huge numbers with coastal moms.”
“I saw,” you said without looking up from your tablet.
“And?”
“And what?”
He shifted.
“And… how’d I do?”
You looked up then.
He was pathetic enough that it should not have irritated you, but it did. Maybe because you had run out of room inside yourself for men needing to be fed by your mouth in different ways.
“You stayed on message,” you said. “You didn’t over-explain the ocean acidification line, which was good because coastal moms already know the problem and don’t need it explained to them. And your male demographic prefers to think they know everything. Good instincts there, Deep.”
His face lit up.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He practically floated away after that.
Soldier Boy watched the whole exchange from your couch, boots on your coffee table, beer in hand, looking deeply offended by the existence of everyone.
“That guy wants you to scratch him behind the ear.”
You closed your office door and walked back to your desk.
“He’s harmless.”
“He’s got gills.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, it’s just disgusting.”
You looked at him over your tablet. “You have the emotional range of a shovel.”
“Yeah?” he asked, eyes dropping lazily over your legs. “Didn’t seem to bother you an hour ago.”
Your face heated despite yourself.
He grinned.
That grin had become a problem. The whole man had become a problem.
Sage, mercifully, grew occupied with other things, specifically acquiring that virus to stop Homelander because she had stopped trusting The Boys to go through with it without getting distracted.
She still checked in, of course. She always did.
“How is Soldier Boy’s integration?” she asked one morning.
“Resistant, but stable.”
“Define stable.”
“Not violent without provocation.”
“That is not stable. That is dormant.”
“You asked for manageable.”
“And is he?”
You looked at her and thought of Soldier Boy in your apartment the night before, shirt unbuttoned, standing in your kitchen, drinking your beer, and arguing that microwave popcorn tasted like chemicals. You thought of him falling asleep on your couch with one arm thrown behind his head, looking absurdly large in your quiet little home. You thought of waking him gently because you had reports to finish, and the way he had opened one eye and said, “Come here first.”
You cleared your throat.
“He is predictable in specific contexts.”
Sage stared at you.
“Interesting wording.”
“You enjoy my wording. It’s why you keep me employed.”
“No. I keep you employed because Homelander hasn’t killed anyone important in weeks.”
“Then you’re welcome.”
She watched you a moment longer.
“Don’t get arrogant.”
You smiled.
“Never.”
You were arrogant, of course.
Not loudly or stupidly, because you knew better than that. You knew where your bread and butter and first-class tickets came from. But you had become arrogant, as some people do when they constantly flirt with danger and escape unscathed.
You started altering Soldier Boy’s reports in the second week.
Small things at first.
His anger spikes were softened into irritation markers. His refusal to comply with camera tests became “image fatigue due to historical disorientation.” His repeated threats to punch members of marketing were reclassified as “direct resistance to overstructured brand assimilation.” His wandering off-site for hours became “independent acclimation to modern civilian environments.”
You showed him the first doctored report at your apartment.
He sat on your bed, shirt half-buttoned, watching you scroll through the file with absolute boredom until you said, “You need to know what I’ve written, otherwise you’ll contradict me.”
That got his attention.
“You’re lying in my reports?”
“I’m adjusting them.”
“That’s lying.”
“It’s corporate lying.”
He looked amused. “Why?”
“Because if Sage thinks you’re uncontrollable, she’ll push for stronger containment. If Homelander thinks you’re a threat to him, he’ll provoke you until one of you does something stupid. But… if Vought thinks you’re useful and only a little difficult, you get breathing room.”
Soldier Boy stared at you for a second. Then he leaned back against your pillows, that infuriating smirk creeping onto his face.
“You like taking care of me.”
You did not look up from the tablet.
“I like preventing nuclear fallout.”
“You like taking care of me.”
“I like not dying.”
“You like taking care of me.”
You finally looked at him. “Do you want me to stop?”
His smirk faded. You saw the answer before he said it.
“No,” he said.
He sounded almost irritated by the truth. Something in your chest moved strangely. You went back to the report.
“Then memorize what I wrote.”
***
Meanwhile, Homelander grew brighter and more dangerous in equal measure.
Your false graphs became prettier, the lies came smoother, and so his devotion became easier to steer as long as you never let him feel deprived.
“You see?” you told him one afternoon, turning your tablet so he could see the manipulated response data. “The numbers are shifting. The country is slowly opening to the idea.”
He leaned over your shoulder, eyes scanning the comment sections of his fan page.
God chose you.
America needs divine leadership.
Homelander is more than a hero.
Maybe gods still walk among us.
His breath caught. You felt it.
“These are real?” he asked.
You smiled gently.
“They are.”
He looked at you then, and the expression on his face made your skin prickle.
Awe.
“You did this?”
“You did this,” you said.
His smile spread slowly.
“You always knew. You always believed in me.”
You looked at him, heart beating with the cold, steady rhythm of a liar standing too close to fire.
“I knew they would believe, too. They just needed time to prepare for the ascension.”
He turned fully toward you.
“What happens then?” he asked.
“What?” you asked.
“When America worships me as a god.”
The room seemed to tilt. You kept your face soft.
“What about it?”
His eyes moved over your face with an intimacy that felt invasive in its innocence.
“How will you feel?”
Your throat went tight.
“What do you mean?”
“When they all love me the way you do,” he said softly. “When they understand me. When they worship me. Will you be jealous?”
There were questions that were traps because the person asking knew they were traps. And then there were questions like this.
You looked at him. And once again, you became the woman Sage had hired. The woman who understood love as a lever, a wound, a hunger, a weapon.
You let your face fall slowly.
Not dramatically, because Homelander could spot an obvious performance from cities away. You just let the loss move across your expression like a shadow passing over water.
His eyes widened, equal parts touched and thrilled by your sorrow.
You looked down. “I think…” You paused, as if the words hurt. “I think part of me will grieve it.”
He was silent.
You continued carefully. “Right now, I get to see something others don’t. I get to feel…” You gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “Special. Maybe that’s selfish.”
“No,” he said instantly.
You looked up at him.
“It’s not selfish,” he said.
You smiled sadly. “But if the whole country sees it too, then I lose the secret version of you.”
His lips parted. That hit exactly where you intended.
God forgive you.
“But,” you added, voice steadying, “I would be proud. Devastated, maybe. But proud. Because the world deserves to know what I know.”
He looked like you had handed him your heart. Worse, he looked like he wanted to keep it in a glass box. He reached for your hand, bare fingers closing over yours.
“You’ll always be the first,” he said. “The first believer.”
Your stomach turned. You squeezed his hand.
“I know.”
You didn’t. You knew nothing except that every lie worked until the day it didn’t.
Then, at night, you went home.
Sometimes you arrived before Soldier Boy. Sometimes he was already there. That should have frightened you more than it did.
One time, you found him sitting on your couch in the dark, and you nearly threw your bag at his head.
“Are you serious?”
He turned on the lamp beside him.
“Your locks were ass, so I replaced them, you’re welcome.”
“Clearly…” you said, trying to even out your breathing after the shock.
You stared at him for a long second.
Then started laughing.
You were so tired that it came out almost hysterical.
He watched you, amused but quiet, until the laughter thinned into something dangerously close to tears. Then he stood, crossed the room, and took your bag from your hand.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’m not a dog.”
“Then stop looking like one somebody kicked.”
You glared.
He pointed at the couch.
“Ben.”
“Sit.”
You sat.
Mostly because your knees were not as committed to the argument as your pride.
He brought you a beer without asking. Opened it. Handed it to you. Then sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The silence should have been uncomfortable.
It wasn’t.
Soldier Boy understood silence because he did not rush to fill it. He could sit in it like weather. Heavy, present, unbothered. He did not need to be reassured every time your face went blank. He did not ask what you were thinking every three seconds. He did not demand access to every private thought just because he had touched your body.
Sometimes, you told yourself it was simply because he didn’t give a shit. He’s Soldier Boy… why would he care about your day anyway? And this thing is just lust, isn’t it? And he is only here, at your apartment, all the time because he hates the glass and chrome monstrosity Vought gave him to call a home.
There was nothing else here, you told yourself.
But sometimes… he would do things like this. Changing your locks, handing you a beer, frowning when your cabinet doors creaked, and asking you how long it had been that way…
No.
Stop.
The television played some old movie he claimed was “the last decade America made real shit,” though he had said that about four different decades by now.
You leaned back, eyes half-closed.
At some point, his hand settled on your thigh.
Your body, traitorous thing, softened.
“You alright?” he asked after a while.
You opened one eye. “Is that concern?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
You smiled faintly.
“I’m alright.”
He grunted, like he did not fully believe you, but was willing to allow the lie.
Later, his mouth would be between your thighs, or his body would be next to yours in bed, one heavy arm slung over your waist like he had decided sleep required anchoring. Sometimes you woke in the middle of the night, too warm and trapped and strangely unwilling to move. Sometimes he snored.
And slowly, despite his crude mouth and his 1940s smugness and his offensive opinions about oat milk, something grew where you had sworn nothing would.
You forced yourself to think about work.
***
Weeks passed in preparation for Homelander’s ascension, and Sage was no closer to finding that virus.
“The alternative is to get Soldier Boy to fry the V out of him,” Sage told you, pacing in your office. “But if we make him feel like it’s our idea, he’s going to hate it. He needs to hate Homelander enough to do it himself.”
You nodded, distracted. She clocked that.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting your thinking time?” she asked flatly.
You sighed. “Sorry, I’m just worried about this ascension thing. It’s tomorrow, and he’s so on edge.”
“Are you complaining about doing your job?” she asked.
You frowned. “First, I’m not complaining. Second, my job was to analyze and predict, not babysit, and I’ve been babysitting ever since I got here.”
“So what, you want a raise?” she asked.
You knew she was frustrated, but god damn it, you were frustrated too. Not that anyone in the Tower would care.
“I hear you,” you said finally. “I will find an angle with Soldier Boy for Homelander while you work on getting the virus.”
She looked at you, contemplating whether she should let a shred of humanity through. Then she thought the better of it and left.
You turned your head to the ceiling and tried to orient yourself.
Tensions had been building unbearably for the past week. It would all come to a head tomorrow, during the unveiling of the Church of America, of which Homelander had declared himself head.
God.
Fuck.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Preparing talking points for Firecracker for her show, controlling the nonsense Deep wanted to say on his podcast on ascension day, and generally keeping Homelander docile.
You got home that evening, tired to the bone, and found Soldier Boy asleep on your couch with one hand tucked under his head and your chipped mug on the table beside him.
The television was playing some black-and-white movie he pretended not to care about. His boots were off, and your blanket was over him.
He woke when you set your bag down.
“Long day?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.
You stood there in the warm, quiet room and felt something inside you fracture.
“Yeah,” you said.
He lifted the blanket without a word.
You went to him.
***
You hadn’t expected to fall asleep as quickly as you did. That was the problem with getting used to a person… how your nervous system instantly relaxed and practically knocked you unconscious in his arms.
So when your doorbell rang, it was startling.
The ring was followed by a series of knocks, insistent.
Then your phone pinged.
Homelander.
It’s me
Fuck.
You scrambled off the couch and quietly tried to shove Soldier Boy into the bedroom. You were aware Homelander could see through walls, but prayed that he fancied himself to be enough of a gentleman not to.
Then you took one breath.
Another.
You smoothed your hair. Checked your shirt. Wiped your mouth with your thumb because, God, you did not know if any evidence of Soldier Boy still lived on your face. Your apartment smelled faintly of beer, takeout, and him. You grabbed the nearest sandalwood spray from the side table and gave the air one desperate mist.
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
You opened the door.
Homelander stood there smiling, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He looked… happy.
He wore civilian clothes, or what he considered civilian clothes: expensive dark pants, a pale blue shirt, no cape, no gloves. The absence of the suit should have made him look less threatening. It didn’t. It made him look like a predator attempting domesticity.
“Hi,” he said.
Your face softened instantly.
The transformation was so practiced it almost frightened you. The fear disappeared beneath warmth. The panic became surprise. Your mouth curved into the small, tender smile that always worked on him.
“Homelander,” you said. “What are you doing here?”
His smile widened at your tone.
“I know it’s late,” he said quickly, like he had rehearsed this in the elevator. “I know. I just… tomorrow is important, and I wanted to see you before.”
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the door, hidden from view. Behind you, your apartment was too quiet.
“Of course,” you said. “Come on in.”
Homelander stepped inside, looking around with open curiosity.
“You’ve been with us seven months, and this is the first time I’ve seen where you live,” he said.
“Yeah, I—I don’t entertain much,” you laughed.
“It’s a nice place,” he said. “It’s… peaceful.”
You didn’t doubt that Homelander was seeing the exact thing Soldier Boy was seeing in your home. You didn’t let that thought go further… you took the flowers from him to occupy your hands with something.
“These are beautiful.”
He lit up.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Really thoughtful.”
There it was. The first offering accepted. His shoulders lowered slightly.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked roses.”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“White roses are lovely.” You moved toward the kitchen, keeping your body between him and the hallway that led to your bedroom. “I’m gonna put them in water.”
He followed you.
You could feel the bedroom door behind you in the shape of your own spine. Soldier Boy behind it. Silent, hopefully. Angry, definitely.
Homelander watched you fill a vase with water.
“I thought about what you said,” he told you.
You kept your hands steady. “What did I say?”
“About tomorrow. About America being ready if they’re shown properly.”
You smiled down at the flowers. “I think we’ve done a good job so far.”
He stood a little taller.
“We have.”
You trimmed the stems with kitchen scissors because doing something with your hands kept you from visibly unraveling. “You’ve been patient. Strategic. And you’ll see the fruits of your labor tomorrow.”
“I’ve been listening to you,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“I always listen to you.”
You arranged the roses slowly, giving him the tenderness he had come to collect. “We’re a team,” you said. “We see different parts of a situation, and together, we make a whole picture.”
He came closer.
Too close.
“You really think they’ll accept me?” he asked.
“It’ll take time,” you said. “But yes. You have to understand, people are afraid of things they don’t understand. A benevolent god is patient, even when it’s really fucking hard to be patient.”
His eyes fixed on yours. You lowered your voice.
“But you won’t have to be patient for long. You are already the hero. The protector. The defender. Now there’s just a more appropriate word for all that.”
“God,” he said, but it almost sounded like a question.
“God,” you said, approvingly.
His face changed.
Fuck, you were good. You hated that you were good.
His mouth parted slightly. His eyes softened. The flowers sat between you, ridiculous and fragrant.
Then he reached out and touched your cheek.
You let him.
Every muscle in your body wanted to flinch. Soldier Boy was behind a door less than twenty feet away, and you could feel, with hideous certainty, how much he hated this. Your cooing. Your softness. The whole gentle, devotional version of you.
You could feel something behind that bedroom door now. A pressure.
Homelander’s thumb brushed your cheek.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered.
The sentence landed like a threat wearing a prayer shawl.
You smiled.
“You’d still be you.”
“Yes.” His eyes searched yours. “But not like this.”
Your throat tightened. For a second, you thought he might kiss you. If he tried, you had no idea what you would do. Worse, you had no idea what Soldier Boy would do.
So you stepped back before the moment could decide for you and lifted the vase again. “These need to go somewhere nice.”
Homelander looked slightly disappointed, but not wounded.
You carried the flowers to the small table near the window, deliberately pulling him toward the opposite side of the apartment from the bedroom. He followed, eyes on you, pleased again by the domesticity of it. You could almost see the fantasy forming in his mind. You arranging flowers he had brought you. Him visiting you after saving the nation. You welcoming him into warmth and softness and quiet.
It made you feel sick.
It made you feel cruel.
“You’ll watch tomorrow?” he asked.
“Of course I will.”
“From the tower?”
“Yes.”
“Not with Soldier Boy?”
There it was. You turned slowly.
He tried to make it sound so casual, but like always, he failed miserably.
Your smile softened with practiced sadness. “Tomorrow is for you.”
His eyes searched your face.
“Not his?”
“Not his.”
“Mine?”
You took one step toward him.
“Yours.”
The single word was enough to make his face brighten again. God, it was obscene how well it worked.
He breathed out a small laugh, almost embarrassed by his own relief. “Right.”
You nodded.
“You know you don’t need to compete with him.”
His smile faltered.
“I’m not competing.”
“No,” you said softly. “You’re not.”
That pleased him more than agreement would have. You could see the difference. To tell Homelander he was not competing because he had already won was to soothe the child and crown the king in the same breath.
He came closer again.
This time, when he touched you, it was just your hand. He lifted it in both of his and looked at your fingers like they were proof of something.
“After tomorrow,” he said, “things will be different.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He ran his thumb gently over your knuckles.
“Everything is so loud all the time,” he continued. “All the time. Their voices, their heartbeats, Vought. But you…” His hand lifted slowly, his bare fingers settling against your flushed cheek. “You make it quiet.”
Your throat tightened.
You knew what quiet meant to him. He wanted a place to put his hunger. A place to own for himself rather than simply occupy beside you.
“Maybe after America has accepted me as their God,” he said, “we can be together properly.”
Your body went cold. He barely noticed.
“The people will love it,” he continued, warming to the thought with terrifying sincerity. “They’d want it, actually. God having a wife. That’s… that’s stabilizing, right? Good old American values.”
You could not speak. His eyes were still on yours, but his thoughts had traveled miles.
“Our child would be the son of God.”
The derangement had peaked. You felt it like a drop in air pressure before a storm.
He believed it. Not as branding or political theater. He believed every single word with his whole ruined heart.
You made yourself breathe.
“Wouldn’t having a wife make you…” You chose the words carefully. “Too human? Too relatable?”
He frowned.
Not offended, but thinking. Actually thinking about the optics like they mattered to his mythology.
You pressed gently. “Being God comes with its own chains.”
His face changed. That struck something.
“I’m tired of chains,” he said.
His voice was quiet.
Small.
For one awful moment, you almost felt sorry for him again.
You were so tired.
So very, very tired.
You brought your hand to his wrist and squeezed gently, trying to bring him back down to earth.
“Homelander…” you said softly.
“Yeah?”
“You need to rest before tomorrow. It’s a big day.”
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
“I usually am,” you said, attempting to lighten to mood.
That made him laugh. It was fond. The sound of it crawled under your skin. But what followed was worse…
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You forced yourself to relax and warm to him rather than give in to your instincts to go stiff. It was brief, almost chaste. Homelander clearly wanted you to view him as a gentleman, the picture of restraint and respect for your honor.
That honor was behind your bedroom door, currently listening in on the performance.
When he pulled back, he looked happy. Giddy beneath all the godhood. Like the whole world was finally beginning to arrange itself around his longing.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight, Homelander.”
He left with one final look back at you, at the flowers, at the apartment he had now touched with his fantasy.
You waited until the elevator at the end of the hallway dinged.
You waited longer.
Homelander could hear too much.
You stood there in your apartment, breathing quietly, face still soft, hands folded loosely in front of you, as if you had not just survived a siege disguised as romance.
Only when you were certain he was gone did your shoulders drop.
You turned toward the bedroom.
The door opened before you reached it.
Soldier Boy stepped out, his face unreadable in a way that made your stomach tighten.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked.
“It keeps him calm.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
You exhaled through your nose. He stepped farther into the room.
“Would you have let him kiss you?” he asked.
“What would be my alternative, slapping him?”
Soldier Boy’s jaw tightened.
“You know how fucked that sounds?”
“Do you think I don’t?”
Your words came out sharper than intended. Soldier Boy saw the switch. You saw him see it. Your softness vanished the moment Homelander did, and what remained was the mouthy, crude version Soldier Boy had managed to coax out of you.
Normally, it pleased him. Tonight, it seemed to hurt.
He looked at the flowers again.
“Those are ugly.”
“They’re roses.”
“They’re funeral flowers.”
“You’re jealous of flowers?”
“I’m jealous of the fact that he gets that voice.”
Soldier Boy looked almost angry at himself for saying it.
You stared at him. “What?”
His eyes returned to yours, hard and bright. “You heard me.”
“You’re jealous of the voice I use to stop Homelander from leveling city blocks?”
“Yeah,” he snapped. “Stupid, right?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
You took a step toward him, disbelief rising through your exhaustion. “That version of me isn’t real.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s a tactic.”
“You think because it’s a tactic, it’s fake?”
He laughed once, bitter and rough.
“That’s what pisses me off. It ain’t fake. Not all of it. You are soft. You’re just goddamn careful with it. And he gets all the softness.”
Your throat tightened.
“You don’t want soft.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“You want me rude. You want me angry. You like when I snap at you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
“Then why are you complaining?”
“Because I want the rest of it too.”
The apartment went silent. Your heart gave one painful beat. Then another.
Soldier Boy looked away first, which frightened you more than anything else he could have done. He dragged a hand over his beard, irritated, restless, like the feeling had crawled under his skin and he wanted to tear it out.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
“You’re the one who started it.”
“No, sweetheart, you started it.”
He pointed at you, then at the room, then at the flowers like all of it was evidence in a trial nobody was winning.
“This. This place. The fucking cups and the quiet and the stupid blanket on the couch. The way you come home, and suddenly the tower feels like it never existed. You started that.”
Your chest hurt. You tried to reach for annoyance because annoyance was safer.
“You’re blaming me for decorating my house?”
“I’m blaming you for making me give a shit.”
The words hit the floor between you. You stared at him. For once, Soldier Boy did not look smug after landing a blow. He looked furious.
“You want to know how stupid this is?” he continued, voice rougher now. “I spent twenty minutes in your bedroom listening to you talk him down like he’s some rabid dog in a flag cape, and all I could think was, why the fuck are we still here?”
Your mouth went dry.
“What?”
“Why are we still here?”
“Because this is my apartment.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” you said, though you did.
He came closer, no swagger in his step, just pure agitation.
“We should leave,” he said.
You stared at him.
“Leave?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean… leave Vought?”
“I mean, leave all of it. Did you hear that asshole call your future kid the son of god? Is everyone fucking crazy here?”
You laughed once because there was no other sane response.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I’m too dumb to know what I’m saying.”
That shut you up.
He moved closer, eyes fixed on yours.
“I know what he is. I know what that tower is. I know what they’ll do when they figure out you’ve been lying in my reports and feeding him god fantasies.” His voice dropped. “I know we don’t win this by staying.”
Your pulse climbed.
“We?” you asked, and he looked at you like you were the stupidest person alive.
“We,” he said, like he was confirming it.
“You do understand Homelander could find us.”
“Let him try.”
“Ben.”
“What?”
“You’re talking like running is freedom,” you said. “It’s not. It’s being hunted.”
“I’ve been hunted before.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re hunted every day, you just get paid a good salary for it, doll.”
Your mouth closed. The words would have made you feel dirty had you not known the real intention behind them.
He was frustrated.
He hated how small you made yourself, and he couldn’t care about the optics or the strategy of it. And it was killing him to watch you willingly put yourself further and further into this trap.
“Ben,” you whispered.
“No.” His jaw flexed. “Don’t use the tone you use with him to calm him down, I don’t want to calm down.”
“I’m not asking you to calm down. I want to know why this matters to you.”
He looked at you. “You don’t know what you want.”
“I really do. I want to know.”
The apartment was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator hum, the distant traffic below, your own pulse like thunder in your ears.
His voice dropped.
“It matters because I love you.”
The world simply lost sound. You stared at him.
Soldier Boy looked back at you with all the arrogance gone from his face, and somehow that was the most devastating thing you had ever seen. He looked angry. Like the words had been dragged out of him by force, and he hated that they existed where you could see them.
But he did not take them back.
“I love you,” he said again, rougher this time, like repeating it would make it mean less. “That clear enough for you?”
Your mouth parted.
Nothing came out.
For once, you didn’t have the safety of a script. All you could do was stand in your quiet apartment, with Homelander’s flowers on your table and Soldier Boy’s heart in your hands.
------------------------------
Aaaand that’s a wrap on chapter 2. This was DELICIOUS to write. Chapter 3 will be out soon <3
As promised, tagging all the commenters on chapter 1: @1inacerulean @sammysweetheart @witch-of-letters @monkievonkie @spnfamily-j2 @mornixgstar18 @glowingtoenails @kathypellar @spookybitchdreams @chxrrybomb22 @calyyypsooo @audreybea
If you want to be tagged on chapter 3, comment below!
Haii, can I request seong-je x sweet!reader. Like she's the polar opposite of Seong-je! she gives people the benefit of the doubt and is known for being a walking angel. Can it be smut? You can use whatever scenario you'd like ! o(`ω´ )o
p.s ;; i love your fanfics !
— i'd like to be your 🥕 anon (its because of bunnies ehe)
Hii 🥕 ♡ thank you sm for your sweet words—I'm so happy you love the fics!!
“Angels Don’t Kiss Like That”
He’s all fists and fury. She’s soft voices and sweeter smiles. So why does he feel like he’s burning alive every time she says his name?
Y/N was the girl who brought snacks for kids who forgot lunch, who stayed after school to erase whiteboards for the teachers, who smiled like forgiveness was easy. She was soft. Sweet. Pure in a way people didn’t even think existed anymore.
And Seong-je?
He was the kind of guy who walked down the hallway and made it empty. Teachers looked the other way when he passed, fists still red from whatever idiot tried to challenge him that week. He didn’t speak unless it was a threat. He didn’t touch unless it was a punch. And yet—
She was always near him.
It started small. She gave him a bandage once. Just one of those cutesy ones with a bear on it, pressed to his cheek with a shy little, “You’re bleeding.” He’d stared at her like she was stupid.
He didn’t wear the bandage.
But he kept it. Pocketed it in silence and thought about the way her fingers had brushed his jaw all fucking night.
She was a problem.
And she got worse.
Because she smiled at everyone. Even guys who got too close. Even the guy who slung his arm around her shoulders at lunch—Seong-je watched the whole thing from across the field, jaw clenched so hard it cracked.
She laughed at something the guy said. Touched his arm.
Seong-je knocked out two of his teeth behind the gym later that day.
“Je,” she said gently afterward, when she found him wiping his knuckles on his jeans. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He didn’t answer.
Her eyes searched his, confused. “He’s my friend.”
“That’s why I hit him,” Seong-je muttered, not even looking at her.
He didn’t tell her that when he saw her smiling at someone else, it made his chest go tight and black with something so ugly it scared even him.
She should’ve walked away. She should’ve been afraid.
But the next day, she brought him a rice ball and asked if his hand still hurt.
That was the moment he knew he was fucked.
It was her room.
It was her who tugged him inside after school.
Her who locked the door, standing between him and the world, soft and warm and shaking.
“I—I want to kiss you,” she whispered.
He stared.
“You shouldn’t.”
“But I want to,” she said again, eyes wide, honest. “You always look like you’re hurting.”
“Y/N,” he growled, voice low, warning. “Don’t. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
She stepped closer.
And closer.
Until her hands slid up under his hoodie, gentle against his waist.
“You scare everyone,” she said, looking up at him. “But not me.”
He grabbed her wrist, but his grip wasn’t tight. Just trembling.
“You’re not ready for me.”
“Then take it slow,” she whispered. “I want all of you anyway.”
He cracked.
His mouth crashed into hers like violence—no rhythm, no warning, just desperation and heat. Her lips opened for him like she was meant to, like she’d been waiting for this, and her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, soft sighs muffled between kisses.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so—so fucking sweet, and I’m gonna ruin you.”
She kissed him again. “Then ruin me.”
He cursed, dragging her down to the bed with him like gravity, and suddenly it was all heat and breathless laughter and her thighs parting for him so easily.
“Lift your shirt,” he muttered, and she did, cheeks flushing as he stared at her like he’d never seen skin before. “God…”
Her bra was lace. White. Angelic.
He buried his face in her chest and moaned.
“You wear this for me?” he asked, teeth grazing the fabric.
She nodded, shaky. “Thought maybe you’d look.”
“Baby,” he groaned, pulling the cup down with his mouth. “I always fuckin’ look.”
She gasped when he sucked her nipple into his mouth, hand gripping his hair as his tongue swirled, slow and possessive. His fingers trailed down her sides, kneading, memorizing, worshipping.
“Gonna be honest,” he murmured, voice gravelly against her skin. “I’ve thought about this so many times. You. Under me. Moaning my name.”
“I’ve thought about you too,” she admitted, face pink. “Even though I shouldn’t.”
That broke something in him.
“You shouldn’t want me,” he said, kissing down her belly. “But you do. Huh, sweetheart?”
She nodded, eyes wide and dazed.
He peeled off her skirt.
Then her panties.
Then groaned.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re wet already? All this for me?”
“I’ve never…” she blushed harder. “But I want you.”
He kissed her inner thigh, almost reverent. “I’ll be gentle.”
But he wasn’t.
He tried—he really did. But the second he slid two fingers into her tight, needy heat and she whimpered his name like a plea, he snapped. He had to taste her. Had to own her.
His mouth was filthy. Tongue slow, greedy, like he wanted to memorize every noise she made.
She came once on his mouth, sobbing his name, thighs squeezing around his head. He didn’t stop. Not until she begged. Not until her legs were shaking and he was throbbing in his jeans.
He kissed her softly then. And when he finally slid inside her, slow and careful, she gasped like he was the first thing that ever made her feel real.
“You okay?” he asked, voice thick, barely holding on.
She nodded, nails in his back. “Please move. Please, Seong-je—”
And he did.
Not rough. Not yet.
But deep. Full. Like he didn’t want to be anywhere but inside her.
He kissed her. Over and over. Her forehead, her lips, her throat.
“Say it’s mine,” he whispered. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she whispered back. “I was always yours.”
And that’s when he lost it.
He fucked her so deep she gasped every time he bottomed out. So slow it was cruel. So dirty for someone so sweet, her voice a broken whimper beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer.
He came inside her, gritting his teeth, eyes never leaving hers.
And when he pulled her into his chest, still buried inside her, still shaking—he whispered it like a secret:
“You’re mine now. No one else gets to touch you.”
She nodded. Sleepy. Wrecked.
“You’re not scary,” she mumbled, curling into him.
He laughed quietly. “You’re the only one who gets to say that.”
Aftercare? Immaculate. He made her tea. She made him blush. He still punched someone the next day for asking why she was walking funny.
But he didn’t care.
Because she kissed his cheek and smiled at him in the hallway like he hung the stars.
And for once, Seong-je didn’t feel like a monster.
Pretty Little Thing — Geum Seong-Je x F!Reader (hyun-tak's sister)
His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on. “Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.”
tw: mean!seongje, dark!seongje, noncon, hairpulling, degradation, exhibitionism, someone getting hit with a belt and lots of dirty talk and blood mentioned as well
wc: 4.6k words
This was requested, and I loved every second of bringing it to life. Keep the requests coming!!
“Hey. You heard anything from Baku?”
Sieun’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade. He didn’t look at Hyun-Tak when he asked. Just stared out at the road, where the light was dying slow against the concrete. The orange glow of early evening stretched long across the ground.
Hyun-Tak exhaled. “No. I haven’t.”
That silence after — fuck, it was loud. It wasn’t the kind you filled with small talk or jokes. It was the kind that dragged its nails down your back, whispering he should’ve called by now.
They stood in a loose circle near the edge of the station. Just the three of them. Waiting. Not for some unspoken tension or invisible weight hanging in the air — just for Hyun-Tak’s sister. The one who always showed up late, always with a smile, always ready to stir the stillness like it bored her. They waited because she made them wait.
The crowd moved past them in a quiet blur — office workers heading home, a girl with a rolling suitcase bumping over the pavement, an old man tossing crumbs to pigeons on the curb.
They hadn’t heard from Baku in days.
No messages. No sarcastic memes. Not even the usual late-night rants about bad customers and fried chicken grease.
Not since the incident.
A group of teenagers had come into Baku’s dad’s fried chicken shop. They were loud, joking around, flashing fake IDs to buy alcohol. They looked old enough. Baku’s dad didn’t question it. It was a busy Friday night. Orders were piling up. He was tired, distracted. So he sold them the drinks. That should’ve been the end of it. Then someone snitched. And most people had a good guess who it was. The boys who bought the alcohol weren’t just random teenagers—they were part of The Union, a gang known around town for stirring up shit and getting away with it. The police showed up a hours later. Started asking questions. Things escalated fast. Baku’s dad lost his temper—tried to go after one of the boys. No one was hurt, but it was enough. Enough for the cops to arrest him.
The whole thing felt too perfect. Like a setup.
And all signs pointed to Seong-Je.
He’s been trying to get Baku to join the gang for months. Dropping hints. Making quiet threats. Letting him know that saying no wasn’t something The Union took lightly.
But Baku had said no anyway. And he’d meant it.
So when the police suddenly showed up and everything came crashing down, it didn’t feel like bad luck.
It felt like revenge.
Hyun-Tak shifted his weight, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw clenched. “I’m worried about him,” he muttered, eyes fixed on nothing. “Tomorrow after school… maybe we should check in.”
The moment held — just long enough to ache.
And then—
“BOO!”
The scream ripped through the air, shooting straight up Hyun-Tak’s spine. All three of them jolted as if a gun had gone off right next to them.
“What the actual fuck?” he snapped, whipping around.
I laughed—loud and sharp. Maybe a little cruel. “You should’ve seen your faces,” I said, still catching my breath. “Absolutely priceless.”
Jun-tae cracked this little smile, all quiet and reluctant. sieun? same neutral face, like always. unreadable. but i caught that twitch in his jaw — he was trying not to laugh. i saw it.
“this guy…” i thought, watching him from the corner of my eye. the way he stood — slouched a little, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, like he’d been carrying a weight around all day and was too tired to hide it anymore.
Hyun-Tak shoved a hand through his hair, scowling. “Why the hell would you do that? I nearly had a heart attack!”
“Because it’s fun,” I shrugged, already turning on my heel. “Let’s go. Before Mom starts blowing up our phones.”
I didn’t wait for them to follow. The sky was shifting now — soft pink bleeding into indigo, the clouds stretched thin like bruises across the horizon. Streetlights flickered but didn’t fully turn on, like the city was stuck between inhale and exhale.
Their footsteps trailed behind me.
Three shadows walking quiet through golden light and the ghosts of words we hadn’t said yet.
The laughter hadn’t even faded when we heard it—a sharp whistle, quick footsteps, something off behind us. Then—“Shit,” Hyun-Tak muttered. “Don’t look back. Just walk.”
I looked back. Of course I did. And there they were.
Ten of them at first, cutting through the crowd with that slow, deliberate kind of walk that said they didn’t need to run to catch you.
The Union. Not all of them. But enough.
“Why now?” Jun-tae whispered, voice barely holding together. “We didn’t even do anything—”
“They don’t need a reason,” Sieun said quietly. “They just need a mood.”
That was when we broke into a run. We didn’t scream or shout or call for help. We just moved, fast and quiet, like instinct had finally taken over.
People didn’t stop us. City noise swallowed everything. We weaved through people, past honking cars and blinking crosswalks.
Hyun-Tak shouted over his shoulder, “Cut through here!” and then we were off the main road, darting into the side alley we thought we knew. We’d taken this shortcut a hundred times. But this time, it didn’t feel familiar. This time, it felt like we were walking into a trap. We didn’t stop until the alley swallowed us. Breathless. Hearts pounding.
And then—footsteps behind us, slower now, confident—and when we turned, they were already there; ten shrinking to seven, blocking the exit, blocking the light.
Seong-Je stepped forward from the center like he’d been waiting for this moment since forever. His jacket was clean, his smile cleaner. But his eyes? Dead cold.
“Well,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “Look who ran straight into our arms.”
Jun-tae tensed. Sieun didn’t move. Hyun-Tak dropped his backpack slowly, like preparing for something he didn’t want to do. Me? I couldn’t stop staring at Seong-Je.
Seong-Je took another, hands in his pockets like this was just another night, like we were just another problem he could stretch into something fun.
His gaze flicked over us one by one—Jun-tae, Sieun, Hyun-Tak—and then landed on me and stayed. Something in the air shifted. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on.
“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.”
No one moved.
“I mean—” he looked me over like I was a new toy, “You always this quiet, sweetheart? Or just shy around guys like me?” My heart was hammering, but I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t going to give him that. Still, I felt Hyun-Tak shift beside me. He knew. I knew. We all knew what this was. “She doesn’t talk to rats,” Hyun-Tak snapped. Seong-Je ignored him. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “Bet you’d look real cute scared. Wonder what you sound like when you cry.”
My stomach turned. I tasted metal. Hyun-Tak moved. Fast. I barely caught the blur of him lunging before one of Seong-Je’s guys slammed him into the wall with enough force to shake the ground. Jun-tae shouted. Sieun looked ready to swing. And I—I couldn’t breathe because I was scared. He looked at me like I was a prize. A thing.
But Seong-Je just raised a hand, like he was done playing. Like none of this had been real to him.
“No fun if she’s not screaming,” he said with a shrug, turning his back. “Don’t worry, Hyun-Tak. We’ll talk again soon.” He looked at me one last time. Slow. He didn’t walk away. Seong-Je turned back around, that same sick grin tugging at his mouth. “You know,” he said, voice too casual, “we could make this interesting.”
I froze.
His eyes found Hyun-Tak’s. “Let’s settle this old-school. Just you and me.” Hyun-Tak didn’t say anything. Just stared him down, chest heaving from the adrenaline. “If I win…” Seong-Je dragged the words out like he was tasting them, “I get a little time alone with your sister.” My blood turned to ice. “The fuck you just say?” Hyun-Tak growled.
Seong-Je shrugged. “Just a taste. I won’t even leave a mark.”
Jun-tae swore under his breath. Sieun’s fists were already clenched. Hyun-Tak was already stepping forward. “No deal,” he said, voice like gravel. “But I’m still gonna knock your fucking teeth out.” Seong-Je’s smirk widened. “That’s the spirit.” And then it started.
It wasn’t a street fight. It was vicious. Fast. Brutal. Seong-Je was all precision and spite—every punch a punishment, every hit like he was trying to prove something.
Hyun-Tak landed a few, sure. But the Union boys flanked close—laughing, taunting. One of them tripped him. Another grabbed his hoodie long enough to slow him down.
Seong-Je didn’t fight fair. He never did.
A punch to the stomach. A knee to the ribs.
Then an elbow that cracked across Hyun-Tak’s jaw and dropped him to the ground like a shot deer.
“Stay down,” Seong-Je hissed, standing over him. “Or I’ll go ahead and collect my prize.”
And that—That was it. I stepped forward. Jun-tae grabbed my arm. “Don’t,” he whispered.
I shook him off. Seong-Je turned to me, smug and stupid. I spat. Right at his feet. “Touch me,” I said, voice steady. “And you’ll wake up choking on your own dick.”
Something in his smirk faltered. I dropped beside Hyun-Tak, hands shaking, barely aware of the blood on his face or the way his breath rasped in and out. I just needed to make sure he was still breathing.
“Hey,” I whispered, my voice tight. “Stay with me, okay?” But then—Something yanked me back. Hard. The strap of my bag wrenched against my shoulder and I lost balance, falling backward with a sharp gasp. My palms scraped the pavement as I hit the ground.
I barely had time to turn before I saw him. Seong-Je. Towering over me like a shadow pulled loose from the wall. His hand still clenched around my bag. His eyes locked on mine.
And the way he was looking at me—Like I was something small. Something his. He leaned in, letting go of my bag strap, his fingers sliding up to grip my chin instead—firm, possessive. His smile was slow, deliberate. “Wow,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “You look so pretty beneath me.” My stomach twisted. I froze. My throat clenched tight as my mind screamed move, fight, run—but my body refused.
I wanted to scream. To shove him away. To do something. But my limbs felt heavy. Useless. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out the world, drowning out me. And in that moment, I felt small. Powerless. And he was so close.
I hated the fear crawling up my spine, hated how real it felt. Tears stung my eyes as Seong-Je's brutal grip tightened on my chin, forcing me to meet his cold, manic stare. The sickening grin twisting his handsome features sent icy tendrils of pure terror snaking through my veins. I was trapped, helpless, as he dragged me up to my knees, my body betraying me by refusing to fight back.
"Fuck, look at you," Seong-Je purred, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Such a pretty little thing, all scared and trembling. It's fucking beautiful." He turned to the others, barking orders. "Dong-Ha, Seong-Mok, get the cameras rolling. I want every fucking second of this recorded." Without hesitation, Seong-Mok pulled out his phone, already flipping it to video mode and started recording.
Seeing the phone pointed straight at me made something in my chest collapse. Cold panic surged through me. My breath hitched. I turned my face slightly, instinctively trying to hide, even though I knew there was nowhere to go. The light from the screen glared like a spotlight, unblinking and cruel. And then Seong-Je laughed.
“Aww,” he said, voice dripping with mock pity. “Getting all shy now that the camera’s rolling?” He leaned in close again, his breath brushing my ear. “What’s wrong? You were making such pretty noises a second ago. Don’t tell me you’re camera-shy.” His words hit like acid—slow-burning and meant to leave scars. I clenched my teeth, blinking fast, my hands fists at my sides. Shame and fear tangled in my chest until I didn’t know which would break me first.
My heart jackhammered against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears. Panic clawed at my throat, choking me, as I watched Jun-tae struggle against the union thugs holding him back. No one could save me. No one was coming.
Seong-Je’s fingers clamped around my cheeks, digging in hard enough to bruise as he wrenched my face side to side—examining me like I was nothing more than meat. His eyes glinted with something unhinged, something wrong. That same look villains wore in horror films, right before they stopped pretending to be human. “Stop fucking around,” he growled, voice rough and full of heat. Spit hit my skin as he yanked my jaw back, grip punishing. “Be a good little slut and hold still.” The words struck like a slap—sharp, humiliating, meant to shatter. I squeezed my eyes shut, a broken whimper slipping from my throat before I could stop it. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing my cheek, thick with heat and cruelty.
“You like this,” he hissed. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
I didn’t answer.
He stared at me for a moment, breath ragged, chest rising like he was barely keeping himself contained.
And then—he let go.
His hand dropped from my face fast and rough, like even touching me disgusted him now.
My jaw throbbed. My pulse raced.
And all I could do was sit there, shaking, heart slamming against my ribs. God, please make it stop. Please, someone help me.
There was no help coming. Only the echo of cruel laughter bouncing off brick and the sharp bite of cold air against my skin.
He stood in front of me, eyes locked on mine—glinting with something violent. Something wrong. But it wasn’t just the danger that made my breath hitch. It was the way he looked at me.
He licked his lips, head tilted, gaze sliding down my body like he was cataloging every breath I took. “You look real pretty like this,” he murmured. “Scared.”
He reached for his belt. Slowly. Deliberately.
The leather whispered through the loops, one soft, ominous pull at a time. The sound was almost too loud in the quiet. Like a countdown.
I watched, heart pounding wildly, as he rolled the belt between his fingertips, the black leather glinting darkly in the harsh sunlight. His eyes never left mine, boring into me with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.
He folded the belt in half, the two ends dangling menacingly as he took a step closer, backing me up against the rough brick wall. The heat of the sun, the unyielding cold of the bricks, and the sheer, icy menace radiating from Seong-Je created a terrifying juxtaposition of sensations.
"Such a pretty little thing," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "So soft and helpless. I can't wait to mark up this delicate skin." He reached out, trailing the folded edge of the belt lightly down my cheek, the leather cool and smooth against the feverish heat of my skin.
I flinched, a choked whimper catching in my throat, but I remained frozen, paralyzed by the dark promise in his eyes and the cold, unyielding pressure of the belt. The world seemed to slow, every movement deliberate and laden with threat.
Seong-Je's hand slid lower, the belt dragging across the racing pulse in my neck, making me shudder. The air between us was thick with anticipation, the heavy silence broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city that seemed a world away.
He paused, belt poised just above my collarbone, his gaze locked with mine. In that moment, I saw the monster lurking beneath the handsome exterior, the cruel sadist who would take twisted pleasure in my pain and degradation.
Then, with a sinister smile, he raised the belt, and everything changed. The first crack of leather against skin shattered the tense silence, and my screams echoed off the alleyway walls as my nightmare truly began.
The belt came down hard across my breasts my shirt doing noting to protect me from the sharp sting of the leather biting into my soft flesh. I cried out, arching away from the brutal impact, but there was no escape from Seong-Je's relentless assault. He followed me, crowding into my space, pinning me against the rough brick wall with his body as he raised the belt again.
"Fuck, listen to those pretty screams," he growled, dark eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. "I knew you'd have a nice set of lungs on you." I looked up at him, terrified, breath catching in my throat. I could hear Hyun-Tak beside us, shouting—his voice raw, panicked, and cracking under the weight of it all.
“Please,” he begged. “Please, leave her alone! She didn’t do anything! I’m the one you want—take it out on me, not her, please—”
The sound of him begging shattered something in me.
“I’m the one you want,” he repeated, choked and broken now. “She’s my sister. Please, Seong-Je, I’m begging you!”
Seong-Je turned his head slowly, his jaw tight with something colder than rage.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. The words hit like a gunshot, slicing through Hyun-Tak’s pleas like a knife. The look he shot Hyun-Tak could’ve killed. Cold. Merciless. Like a loaded gun aimed straight at his soul, then his attention was back on me, his fingers brushing my face with mock-gentleness that made my skin crawl.
“He’s so fucking annoying,” Seong-Je muttered with a smirk, like Hyun-Tak’s begging was nothing more than background noise. “Now… where was I?” Hyun-Tak’s voice cracked again in the background—still begging, still dragging himself forward on trembling limbs—until Dong-Ha stepped in and slammed a boot into his side, knocking the breath out of him with a brutal thud.
Seong-Je tugged my shirt open with slow, deliberate hands, exposing the bruises and welts blooming across my skin—his marks.
“Look at you,” Seong-Je murmured, voice low and dangerous, like velvet soaked in sin. “Marked up so fucking pretty.”
The leather strap in his grip dragged across my chest, cold and smooth, tracing the line of one welt like a signature.
“I knew you’d have perfect tits,” he said, almost reverent. “Can’t wait to feel them in my hands—see how they respond when I take my time.”
He dropped the belt, the sound of it hitting the ground a dark promise. His hands replaced it immediately, gripping my breasts hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He squeezed and kneaded, his touch rough and demanding, bordering on painful.
I whimpered, trying to pull away, but he pulled me up fast from my knee, his hips pinning mine to the wall. I could feel his dick pressing against me through his pants, grinding against my stomach. Revulsion churned in my gut, but I was trapped, helpless to stop his exploration.
"Such a fucking tease," Seong-Je snarled, twisting my nipples hard. "Flashing your tits, flaunting this sexy little body. You knew what you were doing, didn't you?"
“Seong-Mok!” Seong-Je barked, voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Get over here.” Seong-Mok shoved Jun-Tae to the ground without hesitation, knowing he was too shaken to fight back.
“I want this on camera,” Seong-Je said, eyes never leaving me. “Every fucking second.”
Fear gripped me as Seong-Je fumbled with his pants, freeing his cock. Before I could react, he grabbed my thigh, hiking my leg up to wrap around his hip. I was forced to balance on one foot, the position leaving me vulnerable and exposed.
"Fuck, look at you," Seong-Je growled, rubbing the swollen head of his cock along my clothed slit, teasing, tormenting. "Such a pretty little thing, all scared and shaking. You want this, don't you? Want me to fill this tight pussy with my cock?"
I shook my head frantically, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "No, please don't-"
"Shut up," he snapped, hand fisting in my hair, wrenching my head back. "Don't fucking lie to me. I can feel how wet you are."
He punctuated his words by shoving my panties aside and driving forward, splitting me open on his thick shaft. I screamed, the sudden intrusion burning, stretching me past the point of comfort. He was so big, so hard, filling me completely.
"Fuck, so goddamn tight," Seong-Je grunted, starting to move. He set a brutal pace, pounding into me, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing in the alleyway. "Gonna ruin this pussy, make it mine, right baby."
I tried to turn my face away from his intense stare, overwhelmed, degraded, but he grabbed my chin, forcing me to hold eye contact. His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, pushing into my mouth.
"Look at me when I fuck you, baby," he demanded, voice rough and ragged. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you come."
I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut, but he just swore
"No, no, no. Look. At. Me," Seong-Je snarled each word, punctuating them with sharp thrusts that punished my cervix. His fingers dug into the flesh of my thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding me in place as he railed into me.
Even with Seong-Je towering over me, every breath shallow and sharp, I could still hear Hyun-Tak—his voice breaking with panic.
“Please,” he begged, again and again. “Please, stop it!”
The sound of his voice tore straight through me.
It was desperate like something had cracked wide open inside him and all that was left was fear.
But Seong-Je didn’t even glance back.
“Shut the fuck up,” he yelled back still looking at me with that nasty smile on his face. But Hyun-Tak didn’t stop. He was still trying to crawl toward me, coughing, one hand dragging along the concrete as Dong-Ha moved to block him again. Behind him, Jun-Tae pushed himself up from the ground, shaking. “You’re sick,” he spat, voice cracking. “You’re fucking sick, Seong-Je—” He didn’t get to finish. Seong-Mok backhanded him hard enough to knock him into the wall, where he slid down, dazed but still conscious. And then Sieun. Still standing. Still silent. But his hands were clenched into fists so tight they were bleeding at the knuckles. His eyes locked on Seong-Je like he was memorizing every inch of him—planning something, but he couldn’t move.
"Fucking hell, you're gripping me so nicely," he groaned, hips slapping lewdly against mine. "Such a perfect little cock sleeve."
His other hand slid up my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He wrapped his fingers around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my heart stutter. I gasped for air, dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the brutal pace of his fucking.
"Please," I choked out, voice raspy and weak. "It hurts... you're hurting me..."
"Hurts so good though, doesn't it?" he purred darkly, thumb pressing into my windpipe. "I can feel how much you love it. Your greedy little pussy is sucking me in, begging for more."
Seong-Je leaned in close, breath hot and ragged against my ear. "I'm going to fuck this pussy until it's molded to the shape of my cock," he promised viciously. "Until you forget your own name and only remember mine. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
His words sent a chill down my spine, a terrifying mix of fear and a perverse, unwanted thrill. I knew he meant every dark, depraved promise. He was going to break me and remake me into his twisted plaything, filming every brutal second of my defilement. The camera lenses felt like a thousand accusing eyes, immortalizing my shame.
Seong-Je's hips stuttered, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside me. I knew he was close, knew what was coming. With a guttural growl, he pulled out abruptly, leaving me feeling hollow and violated.
"On your knees, babe," he barked, shoving me down hard onto the filthy alleyway. My knees scraped against the rough concrete, but I had no time to register the pain before Seong-Je grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Open up," he demanded, stroking his thick, angry red cock. "I want to see my cum dripping down your pretty face."
I whimpered, trying to turn away, but his grip was unforgiving. The first hot spurt of his release splattered across my cheek. I choked on a sob as he painted my face with his seed, each pulse of his cock leaving me more degraded than the last.
"Fuck, look at that," Seong-Je groaned, his other hand guiding Seong-Mok's camera to capture every humiliating detail. "Such a perfect little cum dumpster. You love this, don't you? Love being my personal slut?"
I shook my head frantically, but the words died in my throat as another stream of cum hit my parted lips. The bitter taste filled my mouth, making me gag.
Seong-Je finally released his grip on my hair, tucking himself back into his pants with practiced ease. He straightened his clothes, fixing the disheveled appearance, while I remained on my knees, his cum dripping down my chin and onto my heaving chest.
He turned to Hyun-Tak, his earlier frenzied state replaced by a cold, calculated demeanor. "Tell Baku," Seong-Je said, voice smooth and menacing, "that if he doesn't agree to join the union, this will be a daily occurrence. I'll make sure of it."
His eyes glinted with a cruel, twisted promise. "And if that's not enough motivation..." He paused, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "I could always make your sister my new plaything. Let the union boys have a go at her too. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Hyun-Tak froze. The blood drained from his face, horror blooming wide in his eyes. Seong-Je turned away like he hadn’t just shattered the ground beneath us. “Let’s go,” he muttered to the union guys. And just like that, they disappeared into the alley’s shadows, taking their laughter and threats with them.
For a second, no one moved. The silence was deafening.
Then Hyun-Tak stumbled forward, faster than I could react, falling to his knees in front of me. His hands trembled as he reached for me—fixing my shirt, gently pulling the torn fabric over my chest, his eyes flicking up to mine with a thousand things he wanted to say but couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—are you okay? Are you hurt?” I shook my head, but the words were stuck in my throat.
Jun-Tae hovered behind him, scraped up and stunned, eyes wide like he couldn’t process what just happened. Sieun stood a few steps back, fists still clenched, breathing uneven. His gaze was locked on where Seong-Je had disappeared. Focused. Like something in him had just shifted. None of us spoke. Because there was nothing left to say.
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Pretty Little Thing — Geum Seong-Je x F!Reader (hyun-tak's sister)
His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on. “Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.”
tw: mean!seongje, dark!seongje, noncon, hairpulling, degradation, exhibitionism, someone getting hit with a belt and lots of dirty talk and blood mentioned as well
wc: 4.6k words
This was requested, and I loved every second of bringing it to life. Keep the requests coming!!
“Hey. You heard anything from Baku?”
Sieun’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade. He didn’t look at Hyun-Tak when he asked. Just stared out at the road, where the light was dying slow against the concrete. The orange glow of early evening stretched long across the ground.
Hyun-Tak exhaled. “No. I haven’t.”
That silence after — fuck, it was loud. It wasn’t the kind you filled with small talk or jokes. It was the kind that dragged its nails down your back, whispering he should’ve called by now.
They stood in a loose circle near the edge of the station. Just the three of them. Waiting. Not for some unspoken tension or invisible weight hanging in the air — just for Hyun-Tak’s sister. The one who always showed up late, always with a smile, always ready to stir the stillness like it bored her. They waited because she made them wait.
The crowd moved past them in a quiet blur — office workers heading home, a girl with a rolling suitcase bumping over the pavement, an old man tossing crumbs to pigeons on the curb.
They hadn’t heard from Baku in days.
No messages. No sarcastic memes. Not even the usual late-night rants about bad customers and fried chicken grease.
Not since the incident.
A group of teenagers had come into Baku’s dad’s fried chicken shop. They were loud, joking around, flashing fake IDs to buy alcohol. They looked old enough. Baku’s dad didn’t question it. It was a busy Friday night. Orders were piling up. He was tired, distracted. So he sold them the drinks. That should’ve been the end of it. Then someone snitched. And most people had a good guess who it was. The boys who bought the alcohol weren’t just random teenagers—they were part of The Union, a gang known around town for stirring up shit and getting away with it. The police showed up a hours later. Started asking questions. Things escalated fast. Baku’s dad lost his temper—tried to go after one of the boys. No one was hurt, but it was enough. Enough for the cops to arrest him.
The whole thing felt too perfect. Like a setup.
And all signs pointed to Seong-Je.
He’s been trying to get Baku to join the gang for months. Dropping hints. Making quiet threats. Letting him know that saying no wasn’t something The Union took lightly.
But Baku had said no anyway. And he’d meant it.
So when the police suddenly showed up and everything came crashing down, it didn’t feel like bad luck.
It felt like revenge.
Hyun-Tak shifted his weight, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw clenched. “I’m worried about him,” he muttered, eyes fixed on nothing. “Tomorrow after school… maybe we should check in.”
The moment held — just long enough to ache.
And then—
“BOO!”
The scream ripped through the air, shooting straight up Hyun-Tak’s spine. All three of them jolted as if a gun had gone off right next to them.
“What the actual fuck?” he snapped, whipping around.
I laughed—loud and sharp. Maybe a little cruel. “You should’ve seen your faces,” I said, still catching my breath. “Absolutely priceless.”
Jun-tae cracked this little smile, all quiet and reluctant. sieun? same neutral face, like always. unreadable. but i caught that twitch in his jaw — he was trying not to laugh. i saw it.
“this guy…” i thought, watching him from the corner of my eye. the way he stood — slouched a little, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, like he’d been carrying a weight around all day and was too tired to hide it anymore.
Hyun-Tak shoved a hand through his hair, scowling. “Why the hell would you do that? I nearly had a heart attack!”
“Because it’s fun,” I shrugged, already turning on my heel. “Let’s go. Before Mom starts blowing up our phones.”
I didn’t wait for them to follow. The sky was shifting now — soft pink bleeding into indigo, the clouds stretched thin like bruises across the horizon. Streetlights flickered but didn’t fully turn on, like the city was stuck between inhale and exhale.
Their footsteps trailed behind me.
Three shadows walking quiet through golden light and the ghosts of words we hadn’t said yet.
The laughter hadn’t even faded when we heard it—a sharp whistle, quick footsteps, something off behind us. Then—“Shit,” Hyun-Tak muttered. “Don’t look back. Just walk.”
I looked back. Of course I did. And there they were.
Ten of them at first, cutting through the crowd with that slow, deliberate kind of walk that said they didn’t need to run to catch you.
The Union. Not all of them. But enough.
“Why now?” Jun-tae whispered, voice barely holding together. “We didn’t even do anything—”
“They don’t need a reason,” Sieun said quietly. “They just need a mood.”
That was when we broke into a run. We didn’t scream or shout or call for help. We just moved, fast and quiet, like instinct had finally taken over.
People didn’t stop us. City noise swallowed everything. We weaved through people, past honking cars and blinking crosswalks.
Hyun-Tak shouted over his shoulder, “Cut through here!” and then we were off the main road, darting into the side alley we thought we knew. We’d taken this shortcut a hundred times. But this time, it didn’t feel familiar. This time, it felt like we were walking into a trap. We didn’t stop until the alley swallowed us. Breathless. Hearts pounding.
And then—footsteps behind us, slower now, confident—and when we turned, they were already there; ten shrinking to seven, blocking the exit, blocking the light.
Seong-Je stepped forward from the center like he’d been waiting for this moment since forever. His jacket was clean, his smile cleaner. But his eyes? Dead cold.
“Well,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “Look who ran straight into our arms.”
Jun-tae tensed. Sieun didn’t move. Hyun-Tak dropped his backpack slowly, like preparing for something he didn’t want to do. Me? I couldn’t stop staring at Seong-Je.
Seong-Je took another, hands in his pockets like this was just another night, like we were just another problem he could stretch into something fun.
His gaze flicked over us one by one—Jun-tae, Sieun, Hyun-Tak—and then landed on me and stayed. Something in the air shifted. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on.
“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.”
No one moved.
“I mean—” he looked me over like I was a new toy, “You always this quiet, sweetheart? Or just shy around guys like me?” My heart was hammering, but I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t going to give him that. Still, I felt Hyun-Tak shift beside me. He knew. I knew. We all knew what this was. “She doesn’t talk to rats,” Hyun-Tak snapped. Seong-Je ignored him. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “Bet you’d look real cute scared. Wonder what you sound like when you cry.”
My stomach turned. I tasted metal. Hyun-Tak moved. Fast. I barely caught the blur of him lunging before one of Seong-Je’s guys slammed him into the wall with enough force to shake the ground. Jun-tae shouted. Sieun looked ready to swing. And I—I couldn’t breathe because I was scared. He looked at me like I was a prize. A thing.
But Seong-Je just raised a hand, like he was done playing. Like none of this had been real to him.
“No fun if she’s not screaming,” he said with a shrug, turning his back. “Don’t worry, Hyun-Tak. We’ll talk again soon.” He looked at me one last time. Slow. He didn’t walk away. Seong-Je turned back around, that same sick grin tugging at his mouth. “You know,” he said, voice too casual, “we could make this interesting.”
I froze.
His eyes found Hyun-Tak’s. “Let’s settle this old-school. Just you and me.” Hyun-Tak didn’t say anything. Just stared him down, chest heaving from the adrenaline. “If I win…” Seong-Je dragged the words out like he was tasting them, “I get a little time alone with your sister.” My blood turned to ice. “The fuck you just say?” Hyun-Tak growled.
Seong-Je shrugged. “Just a taste. I won’t even leave a mark.”
Jun-tae swore under his breath. Sieun’s fists were already clenched. Hyun-Tak was already stepping forward. “No deal,” he said, voice like gravel. “But I’m still gonna knock your fucking teeth out.” Seong-Je’s smirk widened. “That’s the spirit.” And then it started.
It wasn’t a street fight. It was vicious. Fast. Brutal. Seong-Je was all precision and spite—every punch a punishment, every hit like he was trying to prove something.
Hyun-Tak landed a few, sure. But the Union boys flanked close—laughing, taunting. One of them tripped him. Another grabbed his hoodie long enough to slow him down.
Seong-Je didn’t fight fair. He never did.
A punch to the stomach. A knee to the ribs.
Then an elbow that cracked across Hyun-Tak’s jaw and dropped him to the ground like a shot deer.
“Stay down,” Seong-Je hissed, standing over him. “Or I’ll go ahead and collect my prize.”
And that—That was it. I stepped forward. Jun-tae grabbed my arm. “Don’t,” he whispered.
I shook him off. Seong-Je turned to me, smug and stupid. I spat. Right at his feet. “Touch me,” I said, voice steady. “And you’ll wake up choking on your own dick.”
Something in his smirk faltered. I dropped beside Hyun-Tak, hands shaking, barely aware of the blood on his face or the way his breath rasped in and out. I just needed to make sure he was still breathing.
“Hey,” I whispered, my voice tight. “Stay with me, okay?” But then—Something yanked me back. Hard. The strap of my bag wrenched against my shoulder and I lost balance, falling backward with a sharp gasp. My palms scraped the pavement as I hit the ground.
I barely had time to turn before I saw him. Seong-Je. Towering over me like a shadow pulled loose from the wall. His hand still clenched around my bag. His eyes locked on mine.
And the way he was looking at me—Like I was something small. Something his. He leaned in, letting go of my bag strap, his fingers sliding up to grip my chin instead—firm, possessive. His smile was slow, deliberate. “Wow,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “You look so pretty beneath me.” My stomach twisted. I froze. My throat clenched tight as my mind screamed move, fight, run—but my body refused.
I wanted to scream. To shove him away. To do something. But my limbs felt heavy. Useless. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out the world, drowning out me. And in that moment, I felt small. Powerless. And he was so close.
I hated the fear crawling up my spine, hated how real it felt. Tears stung my eyes as Seong-Je's brutal grip tightened on my chin, forcing me to meet his cold, manic stare. The sickening grin twisting his handsome features sent icy tendrils of pure terror snaking through my veins. I was trapped, helpless, as he dragged me up to my knees, my body betraying me by refusing to fight back.
"Fuck, look at you," Seong-Je purred, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Such a pretty little thing, all scared and trembling. It's fucking beautiful." He turned to the others, barking orders. "Dong-Ha, Seong-Mok, get the cameras rolling. I want every fucking second of this recorded." Without hesitation, Seong-Mok pulled out his phone, already flipping it to video mode and started recording.
Seeing the phone pointed straight at me made something in my chest collapse. Cold panic surged through me. My breath hitched. I turned my face slightly, instinctively trying to hide, even though I knew there was nowhere to go. The light from the screen glared like a spotlight, unblinking and cruel. And then Seong-Je laughed.
“Aww,” he said, voice dripping with mock pity. “Getting all shy now that the camera’s rolling?” He leaned in close again, his breath brushing my ear. “What’s wrong? You were making such pretty noises a second ago. Don’t tell me you’re camera-shy.” His words hit like acid—slow-burning and meant to leave scars. I clenched my teeth, blinking fast, my hands fists at my sides. Shame and fear tangled in my chest until I didn’t know which would break me first.
My heart jackhammered against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears. Panic clawed at my throat, choking me, as I watched Jun-tae struggle against the union thugs holding him back. No one could save me. No one was coming.
Seong-Je’s fingers clamped around my cheeks, digging in hard enough to bruise as he wrenched my face side to side—examining me like I was nothing more than meat. His eyes glinted with something unhinged, something wrong. That same look villains wore in horror films, right before they stopped pretending to be human. “Stop fucking around,” he growled, voice rough and full of heat. Spit hit my skin as he yanked my jaw back, grip punishing. “Be a good little slut and hold still.” The words struck like a slap—sharp, humiliating, meant to shatter. I squeezed my eyes shut, a broken whimper slipping from my throat before I could stop it. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing my cheek, thick with heat and cruelty.
“You like this,” he hissed. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
I didn’t answer.
He stared at me for a moment, breath ragged, chest rising like he was barely keeping himself contained.
And then—he let go.
His hand dropped from my face fast and rough, like even touching me disgusted him now.
My jaw throbbed. My pulse raced.
And all I could do was sit there, shaking, heart slamming against my ribs. God, please make it stop. Please, someone help me.
There was no help coming. Only the echo of cruel laughter bouncing off brick and the sharp bite of cold air against my skin.
He stood in front of me, eyes locked on mine—glinting with something violent. Something wrong. But it wasn’t just the danger that made my breath hitch. It was the way he looked at me.
He licked his lips, head tilted, gaze sliding down my body like he was cataloging every breath I took. “You look real pretty like this,” he murmured. “Scared.”
He reached for his belt. Slowly. Deliberately.
The leather whispered through the loops, one soft, ominous pull at a time. The sound was almost too loud in the quiet. Like a countdown.
I watched, heart pounding wildly, as he rolled the belt between his fingertips, the black leather glinting darkly in the harsh sunlight. His eyes never left mine, boring into me with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.
He folded the belt in half, the two ends dangling menacingly as he took a step closer, backing me up against the rough brick wall. The heat of the sun, the unyielding cold of the bricks, and the sheer, icy menace radiating from Seong-Je created a terrifying juxtaposition of sensations.
"Such a pretty little thing," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "So soft and helpless. I can't wait to mark up this delicate skin." He reached out, trailing the folded edge of the belt lightly down my cheek, the leather cool and smooth against the feverish heat of my skin.
I flinched, a choked whimper catching in my throat, but I remained frozen, paralyzed by the dark promise in his eyes and the cold, unyielding pressure of the belt. The world seemed to slow, every movement deliberate and laden with threat.
Seong-Je's hand slid lower, the belt dragging across the racing pulse in my neck, making me shudder. The air between us was thick with anticipation, the heavy silence broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city that seemed a world away.
He paused, belt poised just above my collarbone, his gaze locked with mine. In that moment, I saw the monster lurking beneath the handsome exterior, the cruel sadist who would take twisted pleasure in my pain and degradation.
Then, with a sinister smile, he raised the belt, and everything changed. The first crack of leather against skin shattered the tense silence, and my screams echoed off the alleyway walls as my nightmare truly began.
The belt came down hard across my breasts my shirt doing noting to protect me from the sharp sting of the leather biting into my soft flesh. I cried out, arching away from the brutal impact, but there was no escape from Seong-Je's relentless assault. He followed me, crowding into my space, pinning me against the rough brick wall with his body as he raised the belt again.
"Fuck, listen to those pretty screams," he growled, dark eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. "I knew you'd have a nice set of lungs on you." I looked up at him, terrified, breath catching in my throat. I could hear Hyun-Tak beside us, shouting—his voice raw, panicked, and cracking under the weight of it all.
“Please,” he begged. “Please, leave her alone! She didn’t do anything! I’m the one you want—take it out on me, not her, please—”
The sound of him begging shattered something in me.
“I’m the one you want,” he repeated, choked and broken now. “She’s my sister. Please, Seong-Je, I’m begging you!”
Seong-Je turned his head slowly, his jaw tight with something colder than rage.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. The words hit like a gunshot, slicing through Hyun-Tak’s pleas like a knife. The look he shot Hyun-Tak could’ve killed. Cold. Merciless. Like a loaded gun aimed straight at his soul, then his attention was back on me, his fingers brushing my face with mock-gentleness that made my skin crawl.
“He’s so fucking annoying,” Seong-Je muttered with a smirk, like Hyun-Tak’s begging was nothing more than background noise. “Now… where was I?” Hyun-Tak’s voice cracked again in the background—still begging, still dragging himself forward on trembling limbs—until Dong-Ha stepped in and slammed a boot into his side, knocking the breath out of him with a brutal thud.
Seong-Je tugged my shirt open with slow, deliberate hands, exposing the bruises and welts blooming across my skin—his marks.
“Look at you,” Seong-Je murmured, voice low and dangerous, like velvet soaked in sin. “Marked up so fucking pretty.”
The leather strap in his grip dragged across my chest, cold and smooth, tracing the line of one welt like a signature.
“I knew you’d have perfect tits,” he said, almost reverent. “Can’t wait to feel them in my hands—see how they respond when I take my time.”
He dropped the belt, the sound of it hitting the ground a dark promise. His hands replaced it immediately, gripping my breasts hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He squeezed and kneaded, his touch rough and demanding, bordering on painful.
I whimpered, trying to pull away, but he pulled me up fast from my knee, his hips pinning mine to the wall. I could feel his dick pressing against me through his pants, grinding against my stomach. Revulsion churned in my gut, but I was trapped, helpless to stop his exploration.
"Such a fucking tease," Seong-Je snarled, twisting my nipples hard. "Flashing your tits, flaunting this sexy little body. You knew what you were doing, didn't you?"
“Seong-Mok!” Seong-Je barked, voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Get over here.” Seong-Mok shoved Jun-Tae to the ground without hesitation, knowing he was too shaken to fight back.
“I want this on camera,” Seong-Je said, eyes never leaving me. “Every fucking second.”
Fear gripped me as Seong-Je fumbled with his pants, freeing his cock. Before I could react, he grabbed my thigh, hiking my leg up to wrap around his hip. I was forced to balance on one foot, the position leaving me vulnerable and exposed.
"Fuck, look at you," Seong-Je growled, rubbing the swollen head of his cock along my clothed slit, teasing, tormenting. "Such a pretty little thing, all scared and shaking. You want this, don't you? Want me to fill this tight pussy with my cock?"
I shook my head frantically, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "No, please don't-"
"Shut up," he snapped, hand fisting in my hair, wrenching my head back. "Don't fucking lie to me. I can feel how wet you are."
He punctuated his words by shoving my panties aside and driving forward, splitting me open on his thick shaft. I screamed, the sudden intrusion burning, stretching me past the point of comfort. He was so big, so hard, filling me completely.
"Fuck, so goddamn tight," Seong-Je grunted, starting to move. He set a brutal pace, pounding into me, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing in the alleyway. "Gonna ruin this pussy, make it mine, right baby."
I tried to turn my face away from his intense stare, overwhelmed, degraded, but he grabbed my chin, forcing me to hold eye contact. His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, pushing into my mouth.
"Look at me when I fuck you, baby," he demanded, voice rough and ragged. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you come."
I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut, but he just swore
"No, no, no. Look. At. Me," Seong-Je snarled each word, punctuating them with sharp thrusts that punished my cervix. His fingers dug into the flesh of my thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding me in place as he railed into me.
Even with Seong-Je towering over me, every breath shallow and sharp, I could still hear Hyun-Tak—his voice breaking with panic.
“Please,” he begged, again and again. “Please, stop it!”
The sound of his voice tore straight through me.
It was desperate like something had cracked wide open inside him and all that was left was fear.
But Seong-Je didn’t even glance back.
“Shut the fuck up,” he yelled back still looking at me with that nasty smile on his face. But Hyun-Tak didn’t stop. He was still trying to crawl toward me, coughing, one hand dragging along the concrete as Dong-Ha moved to block him again. Behind him, Jun-Tae pushed himself up from the ground, shaking. “You’re sick,” he spat, voice cracking. “You’re fucking sick, Seong-Je—” He didn’t get to finish. Seong-Mok backhanded him hard enough to knock him into the wall, where he slid down, dazed but still conscious. And then Sieun. Still standing. Still silent. But his hands were clenched into fists so tight they were bleeding at the knuckles. His eyes locked on Seong-Je like he was memorizing every inch of him—planning something, but he couldn’t move.
"Fucking hell, you're gripping me so nicely," he groaned, hips slapping lewdly against mine. "Such a perfect little cock sleeve."
His other hand slid up my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He wrapped his fingers around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my heart stutter. I gasped for air, dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the brutal pace of his fucking.
"Please," I choked out, voice raspy and weak. "It hurts... you're hurting me..."
"Hurts so good though, doesn't it?" he purred darkly, thumb pressing into my windpipe. "I can feel how much you love it. Your greedy little pussy is sucking me in, begging for more."
Seong-Je leaned in close, breath hot and ragged against my ear. "I'm going to fuck this pussy until it's molded to the shape of my cock," he promised viciously. "Until you forget your own name and only remember mine. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
His words sent a chill down my spine, a terrifying mix of fear and a perverse, unwanted thrill. I knew he meant every dark, depraved promise. He was going to break me and remake me into his twisted plaything, filming every brutal second of my defilement. The camera lenses felt like a thousand accusing eyes, immortalizing my shame.
Seong-Je's hips stuttered, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside me. I knew he was close, knew what was coming. With a guttural growl, he pulled out abruptly, leaving me feeling hollow and violated.
"On your knees, babe," he barked, shoving me down hard onto the filthy alleyway. My knees scraped against the rough concrete, but I had no time to register the pain before Seong-Je grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Open up," he demanded, stroking his thick, angry red cock. "I want to see my cum dripping down your pretty face."
I whimpered, trying to turn away, but his grip was unforgiving. The first hot spurt of his release splattered across my cheek. I choked on a sob as he painted my face with his seed, each pulse of his cock leaving me more degraded than the last.
"Fuck, look at that," Seong-Je groaned, his other hand guiding Seong-Mok's camera to capture every humiliating detail. "Such a perfect little cum dumpster. You love this, don't you? Love being my personal slut?"
I shook my head frantically, but the words died in my throat as another stream of cum hit my parted lips. The bitter taste filled my mouth, making me gag.
Seong-Je finally released his grip on my hair, tucking himself back into his pants with practiced ease. He straightened his clothes, fixing the disheveled appearance, while I remained on my knees, his cum dripping down my chin and onto my heaving chest.
He turned to Hyun-Tak, his earlier frenzied state replaced by a cold, calculated demeanor. "Tell Baku," Seong-Je said, voice smooth and menacing, "that if he doesn't agree to join the union, this will be a daily occurrence. I'll make sure of it."
His eyes glinted with a cruel, twisted promise. "And if that's not enough motivation..." He paused, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "I could always make your sister my new plaything. Let the union boys have a go at her too. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Hyun-Tak froze. The blood drained from his face, horror blooming wide in his eyes. Seong-Je turned away like he hadn’t just shattered the ground beneath us. “Let’s go,” he muttered to the union guys. And just like that, they disappeared into the alley’s shadows, taking their laughter and threats with them.
For a second, no one moved. The silence was deafening.
Then Hyun-Tak stumbled forward, faster than I could react, falling to his knees in front of me. His hands trembled as he reached for me—fixing my shirt, gently pulling the torn fabric over my chest, his eyes flicking up to mine with a thousand things he wanted to say but couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—are you okay? Are you hurt?” I shook my head, but the words were stuck in my throat.
Jun-Tae hovered behind him, scraped up and stunned, eyes wide like he couldn’t process what just happened. Sieun stood a few steps back, fists still clenched, breathing uneven. His gaze was locked on where Seong-Je had disappeared. Focused. Like something in him had just shifted. None of us spoke. Because there was nothing left to say.
i searched male manipulator music to find a song for this post LMFAOO anyways guys i dyed my hair burgundy:3 i’m in my red hair era
i need to purge my urges, shame shame shame ♡
RICK GRIMES x fem!reader
part 2
nsfw content — please scroll if uncomfortable
summary: you get taken by the CRM by total coincidence and reunite with your lover who you haven’t seen in years, only to find out he’s only a fragment of the man he used to be
tags: p in v, praise, gaslighting, toxic!rick, manipulation, i’m bad at tagging
nsfw content below !!
You were lying barely alive in a field, bleeding out from your stomach. Your eyelids were heavy as you struggled to stay conscious, not wanting to die. You had so much to live for.
Everything was a blur, the blood staining your clothes. His name echoed in your head. It had been years since you saw the man you fell in love with. Ever since that day the bridge exploded, the day you lost him.
It had been almost eight years since then.
You supposed a normal person would have moved on by now, but his face and voice still haunted you, keeping you up during late hours and not allowing you to rest.
It would only be fitting that he was the last person on your mind during your last moments. You only could hope you were one of his before the bridge took his life.
Everything started to fade slowly, your ears ringing. Your eyesight was spotty. All you wished for was to reunite with him in the afterlife.
As you finally went still, the loud noise of a helicopter nearing went unheard by you.
You had no idea what was going on. You were being carried by two large soldiers wearing all black, holding you up by your arms as your body dragged on the floor. When you awoke, you were in an infirmary, all bandaged up and feeling better.
It was like they worked magic on you. The bandages around your abdomen were the only evidence of the stab wound that was once there.
“Where the hell am I?!” You yelled, your voice almost scratchy. They ignored you and continued dragging you towards a door in the hallway.
“Listen to me you fat fucks!” A screech left you as they shoved you inside the room, slamming the door behind you. You stumbled into the room, quickly regaining your balance as you clutched your side, the aggressive treatment opening your stitches slightly.
“Jesus, what the f… Your words were trailed as you looked up and realized four people were staring at you, all of them seated in a row with one empty seat in front of them. You blinked slowly.
One of them calmly smiled at you and motioned for you to sit. You gritted your teeth, looking around the room. Soldiers were standing by the walls, guns in their hands.
You sighed and hesitantly sat down, giving them a blank look.
It had been a week since then. They explained the overall situation you were in, and how they had found you half-dead in a field and saved you. You felt a little grateful, obviously, but you couldn’t shake off the weird feeling this place gave you.
The way they didn’t let you leave no matter what you said was what freaked you out the most.
“What do you mean I can’t leave?!” You snapped, raising your voice at the tall man before you. He had introduced himself as Okafor and was one of your superiors. For the last week, you had been dragged outside by the gate, handed a sharp spear, and instructed to kill walkers without any choice in the matter.
He rolls his eyes at you and frowns, staring down at you.
“Why would you want to leave? We’re giving you a place to stay with a small fee for some labor.” He scoffs, ushering you off back towards the fence.
“You’re being brainwashed.” You grumble, reluctantly setting your spear back up and pulling your mask down.
Another few hours of just stabbing walkers in the head passes, tiring you. You’re leaning against the gate, blood all over your clothes and the jacket they supplied you with.
“Good job, rookie,” Okafor comments playfully, giving you a pat on the shoulder. You grumble and push him off.
“This place sucks ass. I just wanna go home.”
Okafor hums and shrugs at you.
“Sorry to break the news, but there’s no chance. Only one man in history has attempted to leave, and even he didn’t make it.”
This sparks your interest for a moment before you sigh and turn away.
“Am I done for the day?”
Okafor grins and immediately shakes his head, making you groan and cross your arms. You had been in the heat for half the day now, you were sweating and all you wanted to do was go home and wash all this blood off you.
“We have a commander coming to do a check-in. He’ll be here in around ten minutes, so stay put.” The words leave him smoothly, not giving you even a second to complain before he turns away and starts talking to another one of his men.
With a groan, you picked up your spear and started stabbing the walkers again. You felt like that’s all you’ve been doing recently, other than planning on how to escape this place.
A few long minutes later, you hear a name being yelled that makes your heart stop.
“Commander Grimes!” Okafor yells happily as a tall man in a tactical suit walks up to him, his back to you. Your blood ran cold as you prayed that it was some coincidence.
Even still, if it was a coincidence it would still make you feel sick. The universe always had its way of making fun of you, and now it was making you hear his name everywhere.
You stared at the man’s back, silently praying that when he turned around it would be him. Or wouldn’t. You were confused with yourself— you didn’t know if you wanted to see him alive if it meant he was working for this corrupted military.
But your heart ached, even if the cons weighed you down. You found yourself staring, walkers long forgotten.
Okafor notices you staring and frowns, turning his attention from the commander to you with a wave of his hand.
“C’mere, rookie. You gotta meet Commander Grimes.”
Oh fuck.
Your legs felt wobbly like they could buckle from underneath you at any second. With your legs working on auto drive and your mind racing at a thousand thoughts per second, you found yourself walking towards the two men.
Once you reached them, the tall man slowly turned to look at you. It felt like should have been in slow motion, but in reality, it was all going way too fast.
The commander turned to look down at you, his blue eyes and curls making you want to vomit. It was him. Of course, it was him.
His eyes were emotionless, his face completely blank. He stared at you like you were any other person. Like you weren’t the woman he shared a bed with for years. The woman who helped him raise Carl.
“Sweetheart, your mask,” Okafor comments mockfully, making you grimace. That’s probably why he’s staring at you like you were a piece of dust.
“S-Sorry, sir.” Your voice cracked slightly as you quickly pulled your mask off, your hair getting tangled slightly. You quickly brush it out of your eyes, blinking rapidly. Gulping down the nausea, you looked back up to meet Rick’s eyes.
He was frozen, his lips parted and eyes wide, not making a single noise. His back was turned to Okafor, so only you could see the expression he had. The expression of shock, realization, and recognition.
After a long moment of silence between the three of you, you held your hand up to your temple and saluted him, your fingers trembling.
“Commander Grimes.” Your voice shook as you pressed your lips together.
He stared at you for another long few seconds before nodding, so subtle you barely noticed. Everything in his body was on fire, alarms blaring and his heart pounding.
There you were. Standing in front of him. Saluting to him.
“Welcome to the CRM, consignee..” He trailed on.
You held back a laugh before muttering your name, glancing at him, the ground, and then back to Okafor.
“Am I free to go?” You said rather harshly, your fists clenching.
Okafor gave you a once-over, judging your dirty clothes stained by walker blood and messy hair from the mask. He hums before waving you off.
“Yeah, whatever, I’ll see you here at 8am tomorrow morning.” He mutters before going back into casual conversation with Rick.
As you walked away, you could feel a pair of eyes burning a hole into your back.
Just later that night, you were in your given apartment. It didn’t feel like home, like Alexandria. Your mind stayed on Judith and RJ, freaking out about whether they were alright or not.
Judith had stopped answering you a few days before you got captured. You knew a part of you was delusional for going out on a whole entire journey to find your lover when this whole time he was living luxury at the CRM. He was a commander, fuck.
What were you doing? Staying here? You needed to escape now, find Rick, and ask him what he was doing here. You wouldn’t leave without him, that was for sure.
You crawled up on your bed, hunching closer to the window. It led to a fire escape but was sealed tightly shut. For a place that says they never had anyone want to leave, they’re pretty cautious with these types of things.
Glancing at the mini kitchen, you got an idea. You grabbed one of the knives and got back on the bed and kneeled down next to the window and started to slide the knife between the slits, hoping to hear a crack or any type of noise that would alert you you’re going in the right path.
Not even mid-way through your little escape attempt, your door suddenly slammed open. You shrieked and dropped the knife, sitting up and turning towards your door.
Rick stood there, staring at you with a panicked expression. He shut the door, locked in, before turning back to you. He was wearing dark clothing still, but not tactical. Instead, he wore a button-up paired with jeans, with a leather jacket on top.
He rushed towards you and grabbed you, cupping your face with shaky hands and trembling lips. You immediately leaned back into him with the same expression, happy to finally be with him, and happy he still cared for you.
“You- you— why—“ He furrowed his brows as he patted you down in a panic, not believing the fact you sat before him. His hands were shaky as he cupped your face again and leaned down towards you, scanning every detail on your face.
“Rick, Rick— is it really you?” You gasped softly, sitting up further and pulling him in by wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He places one hand on the back of your neck while his other stays on your back, pushing you into him.
“It’s me, baby, swear. S’me.” He soothingly brushes his fingers through your hair before gently placing his other hand on your chin. His thumb picks at your bottom lip.
“What are ya’ doing here, sweetie? How’d ya’ find me?” His voice was soft and gentle, lowered. His thumb gently pulls your lip down before leaning his down. He breaths onto your lips.
“I-I— I’ve been, I’ve been looking. I swear. Almost died and CRM took me.” You muttered shakily. Rick frowns and massages the back of your head gently.
“You almost died?” He mumbled and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. You whined softly, wanting nothing more then his lips on yours. Your hands clawed at his jacket. He giggles and pushes you down onto your bed, crawling over you and pressing your body down with his.
“You’re okay, now, right? Good girl, keep being good for me.” You nod in response as he kisses your neck, your eyes fluttering shut as your hands gently tug at his hair.
“Missed you.” You whimper into his ear, a soft moan leaving you as he nuzzles his beard into your sensitive flesh. His hips grind down on yours, the two of you desperate for each other.
“God, can’t even describe how much I missed ya’, gonna fuck you so good.” He almost whines. His hands come down by your sides and grab at you. He presses his lips against you hard.
A muffled moan leaves you as he sits up over you slightly. He pushes one of his knees between your legs and puts pressure against your core, his hand going to your shirt.
“I’m not gonna let you leave this time, kay’?” His eyes darkened as he said this, making you shiver. With a hesitant nod, Rick starts to pull your shirt off. Once you were topless underneath him, his lips pressed gentle kisses against every inch of your torso.
His breath brushed against your breasts. Your bra was the only thing separating him from your breasts. Without another second to spare, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra.
This was all going so fast.
“Wait— Rick,” You whine softly, trying to sit up. He shushes you, cupping your breasts and pushing you back down, colluding his lips with your neck.
“Haven’t seen you in eight years, sweetheart. Nothing you do can get me off you.” He chuckles darkly, nuzzling his scratchy beard against your sensitive throat before pulling away and lowering his predatory gaze to your breasts.
A small moan left your lips as his hands started to massage your breasts, his warm palms gliding over your chest. Your nipples hardened, making him chuckle. He leans down, tweaking one of them with his finger and gently taking the other in his mouth.
Your eyes flutter as you find yourself being pleasured by the man you’ve been dreaming of for years— your body being treated like a vase. He was so gentle and soft with you, kissing every inch he could reach. His hands were soothing as they caressed you.
It still felt odd though. Something about his dark gaze and his possessive words had you shivering under him, looking up at his eyes. The new scars on his body had you wondering what he went through.
He was holding you close to his chest, hugging you tightly and humming soft little praises into your ear. His cock was buried deep inside you, your walls fitting him like a vise. He moaned into your ear, holding you so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up with bruises.
His hips rocked smoothly, pushing himself deeper and deeper, wanting all you could offer. He wanted every inch of you and never wanted to let go.
“Good girl, so good for me, pussy so tight around me,“ He groans into your ear. His voice was raspy as his hands tightened around you, one on the back of your neck and gripping it. He held your face towards him so he could lean down to give you kisses whenever he wanted.
His other hand went down to work at your clit, humming approvingly as you clenched down at the pressure and let out an adorable little mewl under him.
“Wanna cum? Hmm?” He coos, gently rubbing your sensitive spot, leaning closer, and nuzzling into your neck. His thrusts get harder.
“P-Please, Rick, love you so much—“ You choke out, grabbing at him to steady yourself as he batters your insides. Your toes curled as your eyes rolled back, broken whines leaving your throat.
“Oh, oh, oh God— p-please! I’ve been so good..” You cried out into his ear as your words started to slur together. Your lips were quivering as he kept slamming his cock into your tight hole over and over again, sending you right over the edge.
“Yeah, you gonna cum? Mmm, good girl, just like that,” He whispers softly as he pounds into you more as you spasm around him. He feels your little cunt go tight around him and let out your juices. He grunts at the feeling, burying himself as deep as he could as he closes his eyes and leans his head back, relishing in the feeling of cumming inside you for the first time in eight heat.
“Yeah, sweet little baby. So good for me.” He groans as he fucks you gently through your orgasm, listening to your shaky moans and cries as your release keeps getting dragged on and on, more cum leaking out from your hole.
With a shaky sigh, he makes sure he has completely milked you out before slowly pulling out, small squelching sounds filling the silence. Your breaths were shaky, and so were his, both of you exhausted after the passionate love-making session.
“Rick..” You mumble tiredly, looking over at him. You lay limp on the bed, your pussy a mess with both your cums dripping out.
He smiles and looks over, now standing up and reaching for his boxers. He leans over you and pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, his thumb squishing your cheeks together.
“I’ll clean you up, kay? Gimme a sec, hun.” He says sweetly before pulling away once again and walking off to your bathroom.
A few minutes later the two of you laid in your shitty bed together, the mess between your thighs cleaned up. You were currently receiving a back massage from him, oddly enough. You laid on your belly as his large hands worked on your back muscles.
He stared down at you, admiring every little change in your body. He wished he was there for you all those years he wasn’t.
“What happened?” You asked softly, peering at him from over your shoulder. You felt him press his thumb down on a knot in your shoulder, making you whine softly.
“…You want me to start from the start?” He chuckles dryly. You give a hesitant nod.
“…Anne found me.. half dead on the riverbank. She was working with the CRM and turned me in, saved my life.” He spoke with a small hint of gratitude in his words, masked by his deadpan tone.
You continued to lay there silently, enjoying the back massage but still wanting him to explain everything. Was that all he was gonna say?
“..And? Did they— did they force you to stay? Did they hurt you?” You stuttered, wanting some type of explanation why he never came back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it if you found out he had willingly stayed here for eight years.
He was silent for a moment, his palm pressing down on your shoulder blades and rubbing in small circles. His eyes gaze down at you, wondering what to say to make himself not sound like the bad guy.
“No.” He mutters after a moment.
You felt like your entire world had shattered again, like he was being ripped from your arms like that day on the bridge.
“Why didn’t you try to come back?” Your voice cracked, making him realize he had screwed up. He hesitates on what to do before quickly pulling you into his arms, rubbing your back gently, and nuzzling your face into his chest.
“I did, sweetheart, promise. Tried a few times, but they stopped me. Made me realize what this place was. It’s life-changing, baby, you gotta give it a chance. I want you to stay here with me, kay? For me? Please, you gotta do it. If you loved me you’d stay, wouldn’t you?” He whispers soothingly, his words like daggers as he holds you tighter with every passing second.
“W-What? Rick? No— I can’t—“ You attempted to pull away, making him growl and push you down on the bed, crawling over you and planting his arms on each side of you.
“No, you gotta listen to me.” He says firmly, his eyes dark. Who was this man? Why was he treating you like this? The Rick you knew would never speak to you like this.
“Rick—"
He shushes you.
“You’re staying here with me, got it? It’s safe here. You’ll be safe. Don’t you wanna stay with me? Don’t you want tonight to happen over and over again?” He whispers, his dark tone turning into a sickeningly sweet one, his hand coming to cup your cheek and gently caress your skin.
“I can't, Rick. What about A-Alexandria? Judith? Maggie and Daryl— they’re all— you need to come home! This place isn’t good, good for you, good for us.” You attempt to plead.
Your words fall on deaf ears as he shushes you again, the dark look in his eyes coming back. He stares down at you in an almost offended manner.
“Are you trying to manipulate me?” He scoffs, sitting up and giving you a disgusted look. You freeze, quickly sitting up and attempting to reach for him. He clicks his tongue and pushes you away.
“I cant believe you sweetheart, just got me back, and is already trying to fall for your words. I thought you loved me?” He whispers slowly, glaring at you with narrowed eyes.
Your heart stops as his words settle in your throat, your eyes wide. Panic overtakes you as you quickly pull him back in and hug him tightly, trembling now.
“N-No, no, I swear— I wasn’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Rick, please don’t leave me.” Your words are small and fearful, fearful of him leaving you after you just found him.
His eyes soften as he keeps the sick grin from overtaking his face, his hands going to gently cradle you in his chest. He hums sweetly, rubbing your head.
“It’s okay, I know you’re just a lil’ confused. I’ve gotcha, sweetheart. I love you, okay? I’ll keep you safe and sound, just gotta stay here with me, can you do that? For me?”
“Y-Yea— yes, yes, anything for you.” You stammer, curling into his arms with watery eyes and shaky limbs. You didn’t want him to leave you, not again.
“Good girl. Knew you’d snap back to reality.” He chuckles dryly. His large hands hold you close to him, humming gently into your ear and rocking your small body.
The two of you lay there for a long time until you were asleep and gently snoring, and he was staring down at your vulnerable form, thinking.
You weren’t gonna go anywhere, and he’d make sure of that. He had searched for you for too long to let you slip away now, he’d rather die than watch you leave. He just needs to find a way to get Judith here, and you’ll all be the happy family you once were.
He’d make sure you had nowhere to go, even if it meant hurting you and twisting your sight on the world.
lmk if u want a part 2? idk what i could make happen but there's def potential
warnings: smut, unprotected sex, pnv, or whatever, reader has boobies but dw there's no use of y/n
word count: around 1k
also, I wrote Adam how I saw him in the movie. I know he has autism and I did incorporate that in his speech patterns because it's a big part of how he acts. Just a disclaimer.
Adam was your neighbor. You too were very close, practically always near each other. It wasn’t uncommon for you to sleep at his house, nor him at yours. He would often come up to show you new photos of stars or satellite images because he knew when you were too restless to sleep. He lived below you and had incredibly sensitive hearing, but his ears pricked up whenever he heard the small pitter-patter of your feet on the floor late at night. Another excuse to take shelter in your home was that your window had a better view of the sky.
This particular night, Adam groggily plopped into your bed, I guess his pillow got too flat again. You felt his plaid boxers against your things as he settled beneath the covers.
“Adam?”
“Yes?” he spoke relatively clearly for his state of mind.
“Do you want to cuddle or not touch?”
“I’d like to lay on top of you.”
“Well come here then, my love.”
He smiled slightly, turning his body to face you. He wriggled his body on top of you, moving your legs around his hips and his head on your chest. He sighed contently as his head rose and fell with your breasts, breathing alongside you.
You ran your fingers through his curls and watched his eyelids twitch, clearly relaxed.
“I love you, Adam.”
“I love you too.” he pauses, “When you scratch my head like that it excites me.”
“How so?” you ask.
“Sexually, I mean,” he states.
“Okay, do you want me to do anything to help?”
“No, I don't need help. I was wondering If you felt excited as well.”
“Well now that you brought it up, yes.” You never needed to be shy with your words around Adam. It was best that you said what you meant clearly because he disliked how tricky all the innuendos around sex could be.
He opens his eyes, looking up at you from where he was on your soft chest.
“Can I have my back to the bed please?” he asked.
“Of course, roll over then.”
He obliged and took ahold of your hips as you softly straddled his lap. You felt his stiff, warm erection against your barely clothed core. You rubbed your hands up and down his bare chest and watched his eyelashes flutter.
“I like how that feels. It tickles, but only a bit,” he admits.
“I like it too, sometimes it gives me goosebumps.” you chuckle, but you never leave his statements hanging.
You start by rocking your hips gently across him, getting a sharp inhale and scrunch of the nose from Adam. He was incredibly reactive to your touch, you could always tell when It was too much. His thighs tensed for a moment, then he melted into your touch. Hips going lip, he kept his hands on your hips and watched you with loving eyes.
“Can I take off your shirt?” he quietly asked.
“Yes.”
So he did, and you saw his mouth stay slightly agape as he felt the warmth of your breasts against his hand.
“Can we start please?” He whined out. He always liked a bit of stimulation before sex, but didn't understand the appeal of being teased.
You smiled and nodded, sliding your underwear off of your legs as he did the same, then before you could even sit back down on his lap, he was already lining his leaking cock with your entrance.
You adjusted your legs as you let him slide into your warmth.
His eyes clenched shut and his eyebrows furrowed, while your breaths became deeper.
He slowly looked back up and when you met eyes, you saw his, pleading for your love. How could you say no to a boy that sweet?
You began to raise and drop your hips slowly against his, and a choked-out sob left his mouth.
“Is it good?” you asked.
“So good. It’s so good. You feel so warm.” he gasped out.
You slightly sped up your pace and moaned with every hit his tip had against your cervix.
His belly clenched and your toes curled. You leaned forward to put your face in the crevice of his neck. You kissed up his jaw and sloppily made your way to his mouth.
“I love you so much, Adam”
He let out a sharp gasp as his grip against your hips tightened.
“I- I love you. I love y- you so much.” Each word separated by a groan.
Your whines did nothing to hide the sounds of you sloppily engulfing his cock with your warmth, the slaps and squelches driving you closer to your limit.
You continued to ride him until his hands started to shake and his eyes got teary.
“Do you want to cum, sweet boy?”
“Yes, please,” he whispered.
“Go ahead.” you breathe responded. Licking the shell of his ear before kissing it.
You moved your face to his and passionately pressed your lips to his.
Adam's arms quickly wrapped around your back as he held you snug to his chest and whimpered while quickly rutting into you, finally reaching his peak. His hips stuttered and he let out a cry before he filled you to the brim with his warm load.
The sounds of his cries brought you to the edge as you held the sides of his face and kissed him, your body twitching as warm waves of pleasure consumed you.
After you both calmed down and opened your eyes again, Adam smiled.
“Thank you,” you said.
“You’re welcome,” he responded.
You settled into his warm chest as you listened to his heartbeat.
After a minute of relaxing, you slowly rolled off of him and held his hand in yours.
“Shower?”
Thank you! Please leave requests for Hugh's characters!! I love writing for him. I haven't written in a fat minute so this was a nice way to get back. Thank you for reading and leave a comment! <3
could you write a Hannibal fanfic soulmate AU. Soulmates can only see colour after they‘ve touched their soulmate.The reader is on a FBI case and meets Dr.Lecter, a few days after being introduced, they accidetanly brush and realise they are soulmates. The reader initially „rejects“ Hannibal, because she‘s scared/ doesn‘t want a soulmate. Habnibal get‘s jealous, because he thinks there is another man in the picture, shows up to her house and then maybe nsfw (Smut) If you are comfortable
Hannibal x Reader: Everything is gray
Warnings: smut, kissing, drinking, roughish sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), female anatomy, male anatomy, fluff, cursing.
Word Count: 3,9K ( whoops 😀)
He looks oddly out of place in his suit. You can’t help but stare at him as he moves around the room. You’ve become used to Hannibal's presence but it usually meant Will Graham was nearby. That wasn’t the case anymore. Not seeing that he was currently locked up in some cell at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. You’d been shocked when you’d found out but you’d been even more shocked when Jack told you Hannibal would be helping you with your current case during Will's absence.
“So he’ll be helping me indefinitely?”
“What makes you say that?”
You give Jack a look that says 'Do you think i’m stupid?’. He lets out a sigh, his hands moving across his face. You can practically see the frustration seeping from his pores. It's one of the reasons you agreed to Hannibal's help without a fight. Jacks going through enough shit as is. He doesn't need you making his life any more hellish than it already is.
You look over to your left, eyes catching the way Hannibal bumps into Beverly and Brain. You look up at the ceiling trying to calm yourself before going over to them. Quietly you move the pictures they’d been observing to another table. They give you a confused look.
“Now you have more space. No need to be all up in each other's business.”
You can’t help but look at Hannibal as the words slip out of your mouth. They are directed to him after all. Something about the way he looks at you tells you he got the message: you’re here to help not to hinder. You move back to your original spot, eyes searching for the right door before pulling it open. You tug the tray out of its confines revealing the corpse of your current case. You don’t realize Hannibal is near you until it's too late. You bump into his body, causing his hand to rest on your back to steady you.
“Dr Lecter you really should be more careful…”
Your words die on your lips as you stare at his eyes.
His brown eyes.
You glance down at his suit instinctively, eyes widening as you realize it's not its usual mixture of gray and black but instead a mixture of reds and oranges you’d never seen before. Your mouth has gone dry. You try to breathe in but it feels like there is no air in the room. Hannibal stares at you, taking in the color of your hair and the beautiful shade that makes up your eyes. A smile threatens to appear across his face but the feeling weakens when he notices the scared look you have plastered on your face. Your head snaps to the corpse near you, noticing the purple bruises that cover its body and its unusually pale tint. Before Hannibal can stop you you’re racing out of the room.
You bust through the doors of the department attracting a lot of attention to yourself. You don’t care though. There is nothing in this world more important than the fact that you can see color. You finally reach the door that leads to the outside. Your legs ache as you run to it, arms reaching for the handle as you push it open in desperation. A broken sound makes its way out of your lips as the world fills your sight. Your eyes move from one side to the other trying to take it all in at once. You can see the green of the trees and the blue sky. Tears stream out your eyes as you allow yourself to revel in the beauty of the world. It's at that moment you realize what this means.
Hannibal is your soulmate.
Your breathing speeds up at the realization. You’d always hated the thought of having been “assigned” to someone from the moment of your birth. You thought it was ridiculous you needed to find your counterpart to be able to fully see the world as it was. And the thought that you had no say in the matter made you even angrier. For so long you’d wished to find your match but only if it meant it was someone you were interested in. Every time you met someone you enjoyed being around you tried to come in contact with them to see if you were soulmates and everytime it didn't work. And now here you were, standing in front of the FBI and trying to understand how Hannibal could possibly be your soulmate. You didn’t even know him! You had nothing alike. And yet he’d been made for you.
You shoved your hand into your pockets searching for your key. Once you’d found it you stomped over to your car noticing for the first time the awful shade of yellow it was.
“Oh fuck me. I’ve been driving around in this?”
You groaned, tugging at the door and jumping into the driver's seat. You close the door, hands going to grip at the steering wheel. Your breath came rapidly. You wanted to scream. And that's exactly what you did. You belt your heart out inside your car until your throat feels raw. Once the anger seemed to have dulled down you moved the mirror so that you could see yourself. You took in the way you looked like in color. Your hands moved over your face as you took in your beauty, a small smile making its way to your face.
Hannibal watched you from the outside of your car door. His heart flutters as he watches you take yourself in. You seem to enjoy what you’re seeing which makes him happy. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t also enjoy the sight of you. Before he can signal to you he’s outside you turn your head in his direction. The scream you let out is dulled due to your door being closed but Hannibal can still hear it well enough. You place a hand on your chest trying to recover from the fright he’d just caused you. When you open your eyes again they are full of anger. You stare at him with a rage he’d never seen before.
“Can we talk?”
“No. Now move.”
“Please we have to-”
“Hannibal, I swear if you don’t move I'll run over your foot.”
He can tell you mean it. Against his wish he takes a step back. You turn your car on, quickly shifting gears before slamming your foot down on the accelerator. Hannibal watches your car speed out of the FBI parking lot and onto the street. He stays out until your car is out of sight. Once he can no longer see the yellow dot in the distance he makes his way inside. He walks back into the morgue and is met with curious glances.
“What the hell was that about?”
Beverly's shocked tone makes him turn to look at her, a fake smile plastered on his face.
“Some kind of emergency. She didn't say what.”
“Must have been in a hell of a rush. She forgot her phone.”
Hannibal's eyes moved over to Brain, gaze falling on the mobile in the other man's hand. An idea entered Hannibal's mind. One he simply couldn’t deny.
“Oh well you could give it to me. I’ll bring it over to her.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you live in the opposite direction of her house?”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Okay then. Well back to the matter at hand. Who is this guy?”
Hannibal's mind wondered as Beverly and Brain continued to speak of the corpse in the room. His pocket felt heavy due to the weight of your phone. He welcomed the feeling. It meant he’d get to talk to you after all. But not before he did some snooping of his own.
You’d stopped at the market on the way home. You left with a bottle of wine and a tub of ice cream. The second you made it home you uncorked the bottle and began drinking, not even bothering to grab a glass. It was only then that you realized your phone was missing. You tried to gather your thoughts, a task that you found difficult due to the alcohol in your system. When you finally remembered where you’d left your phone you were in no state to drive over to get it. You accepted the fact that you’d have to grab it tomorrow morning. You settled on the couch switching on a random chanell as you stuffed your face with ice cream. It was then that the doorbell rang.
Hannibal managed to guess your password on the fourth try. His finger moved over your phone, eyes moving over the various apps you had. He found your message app, opening it. He scrolled a bit until a name called his attention.
Will Graham.
You’d put a dog emoji next to his name. Hannibal couldn’t help but scoff. He opened the conversation noticing the last message was dated on the day prior to Will’s arrest. He read over your texts with Will. You two talked quite a lot. The messages were of various topics. Things of your life, things about Wills day to day. A lot of the massages happened at late hours of the night, a consequence of Will's nightmares. Whenever Will had a bad dream he’d text you to see if you were up. It seems you usually were because whenever he texted you in a few minutes you replied. Hannibal's heart ached as he continued to read your conversions with Will. You two seemed quite close. Far closer than mare coworkers. Was Will the reason you’d reacted so dramatically when you’d found out Hannibal was your soulmate? Were you in love with Will Graham?
There was only one way to find out.
You stumbled over to the front door groaning as you opened it. You leaned on the doorframe vision slightly blurry as you looked at the figure before you. Hannibal noticed the exact moment you recognized him. Your face scrunched up into a grimace as you looked at him.
“What do you want?”
Despite your intoxicated state the words came out without slurring.
“May I come in?”
You stared at him for a moment, arms crossing over your chest. You looked into his eyes once again, finding their beautiful brown shade. You nibbled at your bottom lip before letting out a sigh. You step to the side, allowing Hannibal to enter.
“Mi casa es su casa.”
Hannibal strode into your living room, his eyes falling on the movie that was playing. You made your way over to the coffee table grabbing the bottle of wine.
“You want some?”
“No thank you.”
“Great cause there’s none left.”
You broke into a laugh, stumbling across the living room into the kitchen. Hannibal went after you, taking in your drunk state. He figured now would be the best time to get an honest answer out of you.
“Have you been fucking Will Graham?”
“What? The hell makes you ask that?”
“You two text quite a lot.”
“And how would you know that….”
Your eyes widened as your brain jumped into action. Hannibal watched the emotions move over your face. You opened and closed your mouth as you struggled to think of what to say.
“So you haven’t fucked him?”
“No i haven’t fucked Will Graham! In case you’ve forgotten he’s locked up.”
You turned to grab a cup of water, the need to sober up suddenly hitting you.
“Oh wait yeah, he's locked up thanks to you!”
You spin around expecting Hannibal to be on the other side of your kitchen but he’s not. Not anymore at least. He’s standing a couple of steps away from you. You gaze up at him with frightened eyes.
“I didn't hear you move.”
“You scared?”
“Of you? Please.”
You said it in a dismissive tone but Hannibal could see the way your hand shook. He grabbed the glass from your hand and placed it on the counter. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth that radiated off him.
“Gosh you smell good.”
Hannibal froze at your words, his head moving to look in your direction. You had your hand covering your mouth, a small look of regret plastered on your features.
“Sorry I'm a bit drunk.”
“But you meant it. Didn’t you?”
Hannibal could see the battle that was currently happening in your head. You wanted to push him away just as much as you wanted to tug him closer. He felt the same way about you but he was going to let you decide the next move. You allowed your hands to rest on his chest, a small gasp leaving your lips as you felt your body hum from the contact. Hannibal felt it too, an indescribable feeling of completion washed over him. The two of you stared at each other for a moment.
“Can I have my phone back?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Hannibal reached into his pocket pulling out your phone. He handed it to you. You grabbed the phone from his hand, your eyes never leaving his. He could feel the lack of your touch on his body. It was driving him insane. But as soon as the feeling came it went. You’d put your phone on the counter and guided your hands back to his body. He watched you move your fingers over the fabric of his suit jacket. Your fingers traced over the pattern that made up his suit.
Hannibal's hand made its way to your face. He curled a piece of your hair around his finger. You glanced up at him. You’d been mad when you found out he was your soulmate but you didn’t really know why. Sure, you had very little in common but Hannibal had never done anything to make you dislike him. Well, other than getting Will locked up that is. You had been really mad at him for that but now, looking up at him as he took in your beauty, all that anger just seemed to slip away. You pushed yourself up a bit, hands gripping onto the lapel of his suit. Hannibal stood still as your face came closer to his. He could feel your breath on his lips due to the proximity. You batted your eyelashes up at him, pupils slightly wide as you tried to convince yourself this was a good idea.
Something in the way he was looking at you seemed to break the last bit of hesitation you still had in you. Your lips met his, eyes closing at the feeling of his soft skin beneath yours. Hannibal's hand moved to grip the base of your head, deepening the kiss. You opened your lips to him, allowing his tongue to slip into your waiting mouth. Hannibal groaned into your mouth, his free hand moving to grip at your waist. He felt your teeth clash against his as the two of you fought for dominance. He knew you were a strong willed person but he wasn’t going to let you win that easily. You bit into his lip trying to regain control. Hannibal winced, the sudden metallic taste filling his mouth. You gasped as you realized what you'd just done.
“Hannibal i’m so sorry i din-”
Before you could finish your sentence Hannibal let out a growl, his hand moving to lift you up onto the counter. You let out a yelp as you felt the cold marble beneath your barely covered ass. You looked up at him, eyes widening as you took in the wild look in Hannibal's eyes. He moved a step away from you, removing his suit jacket. You watched him push his sleeves up before beginning to sink to his knees. Hannibal looked up at you, his hand resting on your thighs. He could tell by the shocked look you were giving him that you weren't expecting to see him on his knees for you.
“Open your legs from me dear.”
Without even thinking you did as he asked. Hannibal grinned as he caught sight of the wet patch on your shorts. He let out a small “tsk”, his hand moving to rub against your clothed cunt. You gasped at the feeling, eyes closing. The doctor smiled at the sight, his hand moving to wrap around the waistband of your shorts.
“Lift your hips.”
Once again you follow his instructions, allowing him to tug off your shorts and underwear. You watched him carefully fold your clothes before placing them beside him. You pant as Hannibal inches himself closer to your bare cunt. His warm hands move over your thighs, stroking them gently for a moment. He can tell from your body that you're desperate from him but he won't give you what you want.
Not until you ask him, that is.
Something in your mind seemed to understand what was happening. The hand that was griping at the marble counter moved to cup Hannibal's cheek. He looks up at you, observing your chest move up and down quickly as you try to maintain composure. You call out his name, tongue jutting out to wet your lips before speaking again.
“Hannibal, please give me what I want.”
“Oh now you want me huh?”
It wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair but he wanted to hear you say it. No. He needed to hear you say it. Needed verbal confirmation that you had accepted you were his. Then, and only then, would he give himself up to you. You let out an annoyed sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head before looking back down at him. Your brows furrowed dramatically as you moved your body forward, allowing Hannibal to get a glimpse of your breasts. You didn’t miss the way he licked his lips at the sight, a smile tugging at your lips.
“Please Hannibal. I want you.”
“Say it again.”
“I. Want. You.”
You barely had enough time to grab onto the marble beneath you, before Hannibal was dragging to the edge of the counter. You gasped as his tongue made contact with your folds. You threw your head back, hands moving to latch onto Hannibal's hair. He had his eyes closed, completely focused on the task at hand. You were a mess above him. Your mouth was open wide, pants and moans slipping from your lips like a symphony composed only for Hannibal's ears. Your hips bucked up onto his face,causing his nose to rub up against your clit.
“Ah Hannnibal i-fuck-like that.”
He almost couldn’t breath due to how desperately he was eating you out but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Your hands moved to grasp onto his shoulders as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over you. Your body tensed as you gushed all over his face. Hannibal continued to lap at your cunt even as your body sagged backwards, head moving to rest on the wall behind you. Once he was fully satisfied he removed his face from your pussy, his hands moving to the floor as he lifted himself off the ground. You watched him grab the handkerchief from his suit pocket before using it to wipe off your cum from his chin. It was one of the fucking hottest things you’d ever seen.
You wanted to kiss him but your body felt like mush. You put your hand out to him in a silent request for him to come to you. He did as you asked, his large frame moving to you in a calm manner. You groaned as you pushed your body off the wall, arms moving to wrap around his neck. Hannibal looked into your blissed out face, waiting for your next move. You pressed a light kiss to his lips. It was a lot less desperate then the first kiss you’d given him but he could still feel the need in it. He pulled away resting his head on your forehead. Hannibal listened to you breathing for a moment before pulling away so that he could look at your eyes.
“Can you stand?”
“Wow, overconfident much?”
He hadn't meant it that way. Sure he knew he was skilled and you had just covered his face with your juices but he didn’t mean to brag. It was a genuine question. You hopped off the counter, your hands moving to rest against his chest once more. He was getting used to being this close to you.
“See? I still have control over my legs.”
“Not for long.”
You gave him a quizzical look but before you could retort he’d flipped you around. You let out a grunt as he pushed your body on the counter, his hips slotting against your ass. You could feel the hard outline of his dick against your pussy. The thought alone made you clench around nothing. You heard him tug his zipper open before leaning his body over yours. You whined as you felt his dick against your pussy, head moving to the side so you could look at him. He placed a kiss on your cheek.
“This might hurt a bit.”
“Nothing I can't han-ah-shit!”
His size shocked you. You’d never stopped to think about that factor until now and it was safe to say you were truly surprised. Hannibal bottomed out with a groan. His hands moved against your ass caressing it for a moment before giving it a harsh slap. You let out a yelp, your cunt clenching around his dick. A laugh made its way out of Hannibal's lips.
“You like it rough?”
“Fuck you.”
“You already are.”
Without so much of a warning Hannibal pulled all the way out before ramming back into you. Your mouth slacked open as he pistoned into you. Your nipples rubbed against the cold counter, the feeling only making you more aroused. Your orgasm started to creep into you again. It was alarming how fast he had managed to get you to cream around his cock. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop. Oh no. Hannibal would continue to fuck into you until his name was the only thing you could remember.
Still even he had his weaknesses.
So even though he wanted to keep you wrapped around him for days on end after a while his own orgasm started to wash over him. Your body was already sagged over the counter, the conteless of orgasms he’s pulled out of you making you weak. You were beginning to become over-stimulated but you wanted Hannibal to cum. You moved your head so you could see him. He was laser focused on the spot where your body connected to his, brows furrowed as he watched his dick move in and out of you. You called out his name with a broken moan. His head snapped up, eyes finding your tear stained face.
“Please give it to me. I can’t- uhm- take it anymore.”
The look on your face was enough to get him going. You felt his seed fill your cunt as he moaned. His hips continued to buck against you as you milked him. You felt him lean forward, his chest coming in contact with your back as he tried to steady his breathing. His lips moved over your neck placing small kisses to the skin.
“My girl.”
“All yours.”
You’d been hesitant at first but now you are sure. You were made to be Hannibals. Your body knew it and your heart did too.
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Summary: Despite the large age gap, Rick can't help but want you, he holds back for months, until he grows tired of seeing younger men attempt to swoop you off your feet and he just needs you to know that you are his.
Warnings: Cussing, smut, age gap (legal, reader is in her 20s), rough sex, degrading, but also praise, crying. Season 3. Prison.
A/n: This requested by a lovely anon, apologies for the long wait. <3 Not proofread
Holy shit. He looked so good, down in the field, digging away at god knows what, sweating, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and hair falling messily over his forehead, dirt covering his hands as he tightly gripped at the metal shovel. He paused his digging and shoved the tool into the ground, leaning on it for a moment as he brushed over her forehead with his other forearm, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He looked worn, but good. Sure he was, what, early 40's? Who cares?
With a huff, you walked downstairs, being on watch, you stepped out of the watch tower and heard the door slam behind you, not extremely loud but loud enough for Rick to hear. When he turned to face you, you shot him a smile and he nodded, smiling back.
"You alright?" He asked, his southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine as you nodded happily. "Mhm, just gonna switch with Maggie" You said and he nodded, again, averting his gaze from your tight, long sleeve shirt and jeans. "Is the farm still growing well?" You asked and he chuckled lightly. "Why yes, yes it is" He stated, his hand combing through his light beard.
You laughed a little and nodded, walking away, feeling his gaze burn into you. He couldn't keep his eyes off you, god he barely got any work done just knowing you were in the watch tower, and when you spark random conversations with him, it reminds him just how much younger and full of life you are compared to him, he wanted you so bad but his morals just wouldn't let him have you and it drove him mad.
He watched you walk back into the prison, completely stared, gazed shamelessly, watched as some of the other men working took a glance as well, just enhancing his burning desire for you. The annoying things being, most of the men who had joined the group recently were your age, early to late 20's. He didn't realize that you had no issue at all with the age gap, if anything you liked that he was older. Either way, for months now, you had shot him signals and he just hadn't reacted.
Like the time you purposely sat with him at night in the prison when you first arrived, before cell blocks were cleared, and it was just the group. You chose to sit directly next to him multiple times, he would work at clearing the prison almost all day and his free time was spent talking to you, not even a meter away and he saw it as friendly.
Or like when you asked him to help you untangle your two necklaces, he stood inches away from you, your breath hitting his chest as you looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. His hands working with the fragile metal on your collarbone, his eyes focused on it as he licked his lips, his fingers occasionally brushing over your skin, making your skin prick in pure need for him yet, nothing. When he untangled them he stepped back and ruffled your hair gently before getting back to work.
Or, again, like the time when you were helping him plant some seeds, both of you kneeling in the dirt and sweaty. When Daryl made some dirty joke about the both of you that shouldn't be repeated, Rick laughed it off and said nothing about it while you were starstruck.
Yet to him, these moments were torture, he loved spending time with you yet the more he did the harder it was to not kiss you right there and then. Fuck, how badly he wanted to kiss you when he was untangling them stupid necklaces, silly little ploy for attention, he wasn't dumb but he also didn't mind.
However, something was different today, he wanted to see you more than usual, enough to make him want to take a break from work which was a near impossible thing to happen, but he didn't know why. That was until he stepped into the prison building and couldn't see you anywhere. He raised a brow and walked towards a busier area, where more people gathered to eat and drink, various families and people around, he could see Daryl, leaning on the wall and talking to Carol, he could see a couple of the new people talking to Glenn, and then you.
He saw you, sat at a table with two other men and a girl he recognized enough to know he let them in but not enough to know their names. The man sat beside you appeared to be your age, and confident, he was leaning towards you and smiling a lot, he couldn't tell how you felt about the situation.
You didn't look uncomfortable? But he sure as hell didn't want some random guy having his way with you. Who is he to act like he owns you? Are you waving him over? Yes you are.
"Rick!" You smiled and waved your hand towards yourself, he clicked after a minute and began to walk over, making sure to hold himself high. He looked down at you and the others, sharing a small smile.
"Rick, i dunno if you met Jane, Tommy and Scott" You introduced the people at the table and he nodded at them. Scott. Scott spoke up "Sit down! We brought scotch, come on" He offered and you instantly sent him an apologetic look, usually he would instantly decline, but he didn't want this Scott guy to have you.
A little while passed, both you and Rick still held the same glasses of scotch, barely drinking, while Scott and Tommy had dank at least three each, Jane having left not long ago, making Rick even more sure he wasn't going to be leaving you alone anytime soon with two drunk men. He noticed that Scott had began to rest his hand on your shoulder and lean over you, his hands gripping the skin of your arm gently, hard enough to make ricks hand squeeze tightly around his glass.
You noticed the way Rick's knuckles turned white from the tense grip at the sight of you being touched and you wondered if this may finally be enough to break him. It was obvious he wasn't listening to a thing the other men were saying and neither were you, he was just staring at the hand on your arm, even when he took a swig of his drink, he didn't let it out of his sight.
Not until the men called him into the conversation, and he looked at Scott, his face showing no clear emotion behind it, but he still looked amazing, you didn't care that you were staring at him, who wouldn't. The sun had began to set and he had a perfect golden sheer over him, he looked older, but in the best way possible, in a way that made you have to lick your lips as they had gone dry in the time you had been thinking about him. He seemed to engage in some of the conversation, but he didn't seem as amused by it as they did.
Suddenly you were knocked out of your train of thought, a hand resting just above your knee, a feeling that was so rare nowadays it made you jolt just a little, only enough for Rick to notice. He raised a brow, looking at you in slight worry, his eyes gleaming with protection. Scott's hand sat on your thigh, not at an uncomfortable level, you could tell he wasn't trying to be weird, he was just making a move, the only problem being, you didn't wan't him too.
Rick's eyes traveled over you before landing on Scott's arm and putting the pieces together, he cleared his throat. "well, it's getting late..we both have early shifts tomorrow, right y/n?" He began and smiled at you, hoping the men would take the hint. Yet they protested and encouraged more drinking, Scott's hand squeezing your thigh a little in a way that had began to make you extremely uncomfortable, a way that made you subtly nudge Rick under the table and look at him, with the same, soft eyes as earlier.
He stared deeply at you for a moment, ignoring the males chattering before nodding and standing up, pulling you up and away from the man beside you as quick as he could. He muttered some excuse and with various disagreeing statements from the men and a few "Oh but we were having so much fun" you were able to leave.
Rick walked around he corner with you, heading to another cell block, his hand on your lower back, spread out so largely it made you suck in a breath. He stopped and looked around, it was the cellblock that shared most of the original groups cells, you smiled and looked at him "Thanks Rick, i mean he wasn't a creep but-"
"No, he was being creepy darlin', whether you admit or not" He snickered and looked down at you, his hand still on you, the nickname making your mind wander. You stared up at him, eyes flickering over his face, wandering from feature to feature, noticing the furrowing of his brows and the blue in his eyes, the shades of grey painting his beard. He pursed his lips and averted his gaze from you, you wanted him so bad, and he wanted you but he was holding back.
You placed your hand flat against his chest and he quickly looked back at you, a little shocked and confused. "Rick, I can't keep going like this"
"What do y-"
"You know what i mean, i want you too Rick, stop holding back" You complained, leaning closer and he stood in shock, his lips parted as he thought about what you were saying and how badly he wanted to take you right then and there. "Cmon Rick, I've been hinting for months, give me what i want Rick, make me yours" You whined and with a groan he kissed you, lucky that the area was empty. His hands landed on your waist and tugged you against his chest, your hands falling around his neck as he deeply kissed you, his lips stimulating your own as if they were ravening for you. The kiss was sultry and absent minded, your head was cloudy.
He hummed in pleasure before pulling back to look at you, faces inches away "you really want this? I don't think I'll ever want to stop" He stated, breathlessly and you nodded, lips feeling swollen as you bit down on them desperately. He was quick to pull you into his cell, instantly nudging you onto the bed as his knees hit the edge, he leaned over you, his arm resting to the side of you as his other hand trailed down your waist. He kissed you again, his large hand spreading over your ribcage and messing with the fabric of your shirt as he pressed his hips against yours.
He pulled back from the kiss just enough to leave small kisses don your jaw and neck until he reached the hemline of your shirt, tugging the material down enough with his fingers so he could reach enough skin to suck a light mark into it, humming a short "Scott can't do this" as he did so. A small whimpering laugh escaped you as your hips lifted to meet his desperately, you didn't give a shit about that guy, you wanted Rick.
He sat up slightly and looked at you, his fingers reaching under your shirt and carefully pulling it over your head, he seemed to pause as he looked over your body, thinking about how wrong it was for him to fuck you, but he really didn't care. His large hands splayed over your chest as peppered kisses down your collarbone, a quiet moan emitting from you in response. The sound honestly sending him crazy.
You gently slipped your hands down his chest, landing at the bottom of his shirt and tugging at it, smirking a little as he sat up once again to pull it off. Fuck he looked good, your hands trailed over his body, fingers fiddling with his belt buckle before he finished the job and pulled it off, smirking at you.
He took your hands in his, gently kissing your knuckles and the back of your palms before letting go to tug your jeans down. His hands spread over your thighs and rubbed over the skin with his thumbs, sending a shiver straight to your core as his calloused thumb brushed over your clothed heat. "Look s'good for me baby" He cooed and you pursed your lips, trying to keep composure.
His hand worked at pushing your underwear to the side as he grinned a little "So wet sweetheart" He teased, his thumb circling your clit ever so slowly, making you gasp lightly. He pulled back his hand and made quick work of pulling down your underwear and the rest of his clothing. Not wanting to give you too much.
"You sure you want this baby? Ain't gonna regret sleeping with someone your dads age?" He joked, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You nodded and bucked your hips against his again, noticing the way he closed his eyes, as if he as having to control himself.
"I'm sure Rick, i mean it, have your way with me, i don't care" You whimpered and he muttered a string of curse words before nodding and lining himself up carefully. Slowly, he pushed into you, the feeling of him filling you was painful but pleasurable, it wasn't unbearable but he sure as hell wasn't small.
A choked groan left his mouth as he stopped, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, his hands squeezing at your hips to keep his composure. The second he felt your nod of approval, he began to gently move, and the pain completely subsided for pleasure, feeling yourself be completely overtaken by Rick, him being the only thing on your mind, and how amazing he felt inside of you.
Low whines and moans began to fall out of you as he sped up his movements, your hands around his neck, tugging gently at the loose ends of his hair causing a few grunts to escape him. He leaned his head up to kiss you deliriously, muttering curse words into your mouth.
After he was sure you were comfy, he began to pound into you, your head tipping back into the pillows, breaking the kiss as his hands squeezed at your waist and hips, the both of you moaning out, no care in the world as he rutted his hips against your own, your hands finding his back and meaninglessly scratching as a tear or two ran down your cheek in pleasure. Your moans heightening and cracking the coil in your stomach began to tighten, hands moving to grip his biceps.
His movements lost rhythm and began to grow sporadic as his hips sputtered. "Rick- I'm so close.."
"Me too baby-" He nodded quickly, groaning lightly and fucking into you passionately, his fingertips digging into your skin as you let out a high pitched, choked out moan, coming undone onto him. He rode out your high, thrusting up into your sweet spot a few more times as he came inside of you, muttering praise.
Panting, you fell back against the pillow and he carefully pulled out of you, laying beside you. "I can't believe i just did that" He stated, accent thick and voice a little hoarse. "Well, I'm sure glad you did" You smiled and rested your head on his chest, enjoying the way his arm fell on your waist. "You realize everyone probably heard though, right?" He asked and you groaned.
--
This was like, filthy i dunno what was different but at times i had to like pause and be like, can i say that? Anyway, sorry the plot at the start is soooo slow, i had no ideas and tbh wanted the smut, i hope it's ok!
Summary: After making it back from a run, Rick can’t help but spill the beans on how he feels about you.
Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, AGE GAP (reader is in their late 20’s), mentions of weapons (guns, knives, etc.), killing walkers, flirting, kissing, hair pulling, biting, unprotected sex, oral (m rec), general filth
Word Count: little over 2k | unedited
— • —
“Y/n! Behind you!” Rick tells from across the way, and you turn around, jumping back and gripping your knife harder before stabbing the walker in the head.
You watch it drop, stepping over it to kill another.
You hear footsteps run up to you and you turn around, sighing in relief when you see Rick.
“Ya okay?” Rick scans over your arms, “That walker got a little close.”
“Yeah.” You nod, running your hand over your arm, “I’m good.” You look up at him, “Are you?” He nods, a smirk fighting to make its way on his lips, “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”
He looks around, “Should probably head back, though.” He looks back at you, “Only have a little bit more daylight left.”
You bend down, grabbing the backpack from the dirt, “Yeah, I think this run turned out to be a good one.”
He nods in agreement, “Yeah, let’s just hope it’s enough for now.”
“It is, Rick. Don’t.. sell yourself short. Those people appreciate everything you do. Everything you get, I know I do.”
He smiles, looking down as he nods, “I appreciate hearing that.” He nods towards the car, “C’mon. Let’s go.”
The car ride back wasn’t, too long. The whole time you kept trying to convince yourself that the tension you felt, was all in your head, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t.
As you pull up to the gate and stop, Rick’s voice catches your attention, “Thanks for coming with me today.”
“Anytime. I’m always up for a run.” You smile at him and turn your attention back to the gate as it’s pulled open.
Rick drives the car up, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You smirk as you get out of the car, slinging your gun strap over your shoulder, “Do you need help with anything else?”
He shakes his head, “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll get someone else to help. Go wash up. You look a mess.” He chuckle slightly and you roll your eyes, giving him a smile, “I look better than you.”
He nods, tapping the roof of the car before shutting the door.
You turn away, heading for your house.
Once inside, you kick off your boots, setting your gun down by the door and you head upstairs. One thing you were really grateful for, were the showers.
After the world went to shit and you found Alexandria, you vowed to never take running wanted for granted ever again.
You switch the shower on, waiting for the steam to start rolling off before you strip down and get in.
Your mind was heavy on Rick, and nothing but Rick.
Constantly trying to figure out if there’s something between the two of you, or if you’re just making it up because of your feelings towards him.
You shake your head, trying to get the thoughts to stop as you step under the water and let it stream down over you.
After washing up, you turn the water off. You wring out your hair before pushing the door open and grabbing your towel.
You wrap it around your body before walking over to your bedroom. As you’re standing at the one dresser, you hear your front door open, and it perks your attention.
You grab the knife from your dresser, quietly moving over to behind the door when you hear the footsteps come towards the steps.
You let go of the breath you’re holding when Rick announces himself, “Y/n? It’s me.”
“Don’t scare me like that.” You yell out with a laugh, “I’m upstairs.” You hear him laugh and you walk back to place your knife on the dresser.
“Sorry, I didn’t me-“ you hear him take a deep breath and you glance over your shoulder, “Sorry I just got out of the shower.”
“No, no. You’re fine.” He chuckles, “I did too.. I just didn’t-“ he pauses, “I would have waited if I had known you..”
You turn around, shaking your head, “You’re fine, Rick, what’s up?”
He runs a hand over his hair, his eyes fighting to not trail down your body, “I um, I know I already said it, but I just wanted to say thank you again for volunteering to go out there with me.”
“It’s not a problem, Rick. Like I said, anytime.” You smile, “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”
He nods, “I won’t.” He smiles and turns around, but stops, “You know, I’m glad you decided to stay. You’re a vital part of this place and I just wish I knew how to thank you.”
“I mean..” You laugh slightly, and Rick turns around slightly, “You mean, what, sweetheart?”
You turn around, facing your dresser and you drop the towel, “I can think of something..” you put on a shirt and turn around, “But I don’t know how you’d feel about it.”
He tilts his head, his lips forming a smirk, “y/n.”
“All you gotta do is close the door.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and Rick chuckles, “You know we.. can’t do that..”
“Who says?” You shrug, tilting your head as you walk over to him, “Tell me the name of the person who said that, and I’ll kick their ass.”
Rick watches as you hand slides up his chest and you push his chin to turn his head towards you, “You know I can.”
He licks his lips, sliding his hand up your arm to your hand. He pulls it up to press it against his cheek and his other hand slides over your hip, pushing you in close to him by your lower back.
“No need to kick anyone’s ass, sweetheart.” He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm before he bends down and picks you up.
Your hands cup his bearded cheeks and you close the space between your lips. He groans at the touch, bending down to lay you on the bed and he crawls up so his body is hovering over yours.
His lips trail back your jaw, down your neck, and he dips his head down to pull your shirt up your body with his teeth.
“God, you are a work of art.” He groans as he kisses between your boobs, moving over to take your one nipple into his mouth.
You moan out, laying a hand on the back of his head as your back arches upward, “Rick.” You whimper out, “Don’t tease me.”
He chuckles against your skin, lifting his head to look at you, “You’ve been thinkin’ about this a lot, haven’t you?”
You nod, “I’m not going to lie.”
“That’s good.” He presses his lips to yours and he sits up, undoing his belt, “I like honesty.”
You smirk, sitting up to push his shirt up, “I really like you.” He watches at you kiss over his abdomen, jaw slack as you slide a hand up his thigh to his growing bulge.
He pulls his shirt up over his head, tossing it down to the floor. He reaches down, his hand brushing down your cheek to cup your chin, “Since we’re bein’ honest here, sweetheart.” He pulls his lip between his teeth and takes a deep breath, “I’ve pictured you on your knees in front of me.”
You smirk, biting your lip, “I can do that.”
His eyes follow you as you move down off the bed, discarding your shirt before dropping down to your knees, “I’ve dreamed of it as well.”
“Fuck.” He groans as he tilts his head back, moving to stand up beside the bed. As he lays his duty belt on the floor, you work at undoing his jeans.
He watches you in awe, his hand moving to brush hair from your face as you tug his pants and underwear down his thigh.
You don’t hesitate, glancing up at him once before leaning in and taking the aching tip of his cock into your mouth.
His breath hit hitches and his head rolls back, “Shit, y/n.” He looks down, watching as you work, bobbing your head up and down.
You tilt your head back, licking up the underside as your eyes lock onto his.
His grow darker as his jaw cocks, “You really are something, C’mere.” He pulls you to your feet, sitting down on the bad as he grips your hips.
He pulls you onto him, your knees on either side of his hips and his head is tilted back, “Go on, baby.”
You nod, reaching down to hold him steady as you lower your hips. His grip tightens as he feels himself slip into you, “Fuckin’ hell.”
Your arm wraps around his neck, your other hand pressing into his chest as you moan, “Fuck, Rick.” You lean in, pressing your lips to his.
He slides a hand back up your back, pulling you into him as he lays back, “M’gonnna need you to move, sweetheart.”
You slowly raise your hips, lowering back down with moan after moan leaving your lips, “Y-you’re so big.”
He chuckles, planting kisses along your neck, “Feel good?”
“Uh huh.” You breathe out, “So good.”
You move your hips faster, your one hand pushing into the bed by his head while your other one runs up his cheek, “Needed you so bad, Rick.”
“I needed you, sweetheart.” He reaches up, turning you face towards him, “You make me feel things I wasn’t sure I believed in anymore.”
You smile down at him before closing the space. His arm wraps around your lower back, holding you tight.
You push your other hand into the mattress by his head, moving your hips faster, “Fuck, fuck. I’m so close.” You whine, “So fucking close.”
“Cum for me, sweetheart.” His hands slide down your back to your ass, gripping tight, “Need to feel you.”
You whine at his words, pushing your hips down and rolling them forward as you cum, “F-fuck.” You bury your face into his chest and he takes the opportunity to roll you both over, his thrusts guiding you through your high.
He groans, leaving open mouth kisses along your neck as he thrusts in deeper. You gasp, moaning out as you drag your fingers through his hair.
His lips crash onto yours, “You take me so well, sweetheart.”
You look up at him, “Crazy to say I was made for you?” You bite your lip, your brows furrowing as he reaches between your bodies to draw circles on your clit.
“Not at all.” He smirks, tilting his head, “gonna get you to cum one more time. Can you do that f’me?”
You nod, back arching off the bed, “F-fuck, yes.”
He attacks your neck with kisses, biting and sucking at the skin, “Shit, y/n. I-I’m not-“ he groans, gripping your hip tight, “Fuck.”
He groans and your orgasm hits right as you feel his cock twitch. His fingers keep drawing circles, but they slow down, along with his thrust.
You cup his cheeks, staring up at him as you both try to control your breathing.
He gives you a smile and you lift your head up, pressing a kiss to his lip. He smiles within the kiss and leans up, “Looks like we have t’go on more runs together, huh?”
You nod, giving him a smirk, “Looks like it.”
He chuckles and bends down to grab his clothes, “I hate to, uh, run out on you, but I told-“
You cut him off, “No, it’s okay.” You put on your shirt, “Not like you don’t know where to find me or anything.”
He slips
His shirt on and nods, looking over at you while he clips on his duty belt, “Right, right.” He walks over, hands pulling you in by your hips, “Thank you.”
You peck his lips, “You don’t have to thank me, Rick. Just, believe it.”
“Believe what, sweetheart?” He tilts his head and you wrap your arms around his neck, “That love can still exist in a world like this.”
——
My first ever Rick one shot - I hope you like it. Requests are open.
Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’💋
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