Dann

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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!

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.

fin

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.

fin

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.

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?”

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.”

— • —

“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.