#regan

Summary:

After the fall of everything Rick Grimes once believed he could protect, Negan does not simply conquer Alexandria-he collects its leader. What begins as another demonstration of power becomes a prolonged, deliberate unmaking.

Negan does not break Rick quickly. He peels him open layer by layer, using patience, cruelty, and the particular attention of a man who enjoys watching something strong finally fold. Rick remains stubborn to the end. That is precisely why Negan keeps him.

Trigger Warnings:

Dubious consent / non-con elements, captivity, power imbalance, verbal and psychological degradation, toxic dominance, emotional abuse, forced masturbation, orgasm control, humiliation, physical restraint, mild blood play, possessive language, dark power dynamics, explicit and prolonged M/M content.

The next night, Negan sent for him again.

Rick had spent the day under watch in a smaller room down the hall—enough space to pace, not enough to forget where he was. Food had been left on a metal tray. Water in a dented bottle. No one spoke to him. That was deliberate. Negan liked letting the quiet do some of the work first. He liked the way isolation made a man start negotiating with himself long before the real conversation started.

When the door opened and the same two men appeared, Rick didn’t fight the cuffs this time. He just stood, let them lock the metal around his already-bruised wrists, and walked. His body still carried every mark from the night before. The bruise on his shoulder had darkened into a deep purple. His thighs ached with every step. The place inside him where Negan had been still felt tender. Every movement was a reminder.

Negan’s rooms smelled the same—oil, metal, the faint trace of Lucille’s worn leather grip, and underneath it the lingering scent of sex that never quite left the sheets. Negan was waiting by the window this time, looking out at the yard lights. Lucille leaned against the wall within easy reach. He didn’t turn when Rick was brought in.

“Leave him,” Negan said, voice mild.

The men left. The door shut with that same heavy finality.

Rick stood in the middle of the room, cuffs heavy at the small of his back, waiting. Negan stayed at the window a long while, letting the silence stretch until it became its own kind of pressure. Outside, a generator coughed and settled. Somewhere farther off, someone shouted an order. Life in the Sanctuary went on like Rick’s presence in this room was just another scheduled maintenance task.

Finally Negan turned.

“You slept,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Good. I need you functional. Tired men get sloppy, and I don’t like sloppy when I’m working on something important.”

Rick kept his eyes on him. “What do you want tonight?”

Negan’s mouth curved, slow and pleased. “Direct. I like that. Saves time.” He walked closer, boots quiet on the concrete. “I want the rest of it, Rick. Last night was the introduction. The soft opening. Tonight I want the part where you stop pretending there’s still a line you won’t cross for me. I want the part where that stubborn little core of yours finally understands it’s already been claimed.”

He stopped in front of Rick and reached out, gripping his jaw, tilting his face up so their eyes met. His thumb pressed against the corner of Rick’s mouth.

“Clothes off. Same as before. Don’t make me repeat myself. I hate repeating myself.”

Rick stripped. The cuffs made every movement awkward and deliberate. Negan didn’t help. He just watched, arms folded, expression almost clinical. When Rick was bare again, Negan walked a slow circle around him, inspecting the marks he’d left like a man checking inventory. Fingers trailed over the bruise on Rick’s shoulder, down the line of his spine, across the faint fingerprints still visible on his hips.

“Still standing like you’ve got options,” Negan murmured. “Cute. Really. The posture of a man who used to give orders. On the bed. Face down. Hands above your head.”

Rick hesitated only a second—old instinct, old pride—then obeyed. The sheets were cool against his stomach and chest. Negan secured the cuffs to the headboard again, tighter this time, leaving almost no slack. The position stretched Rick out, exposed, every line of him available. Negan climbed onto the bed and straddled the backs of Rick’s thighs, settling his weight there like he had every right.

“You did well last night,” Negan said, voice low. His hands ran up Rick’s back, slow, proprietary, thumbs pressing into muscle. “Came when I told you. Thanked me like a good boy. Took everything I gave you. But I could still feel you holding something back. That little locked box in your chest that keeps thinking this is temporary. That keeps thinking one day you’ll walk out of here and still be the man who stared me down with a machete. Tonight I’m taking that too.”

He leaned down, mouth near Rick’s ear, breath warm.

“I’m going to open you up again. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think straight. And while I do it, you’re going to tell me exactly what you are. Not the leader. Not the man who used to give speeches about hope and second chances. What you are here. In this room. With me. Clear?”

Rick’s voice was rough. “…Clear.”

Negan didn’t rush the preparation. He never did when he had the time. He used oil, fingers patient and relentless, working Rick open while talking the entire time—low, filthy, constant. He told Rick how he looked stretched out and restrained. How the bruises suited him. How every time Rick’s body clenched around his fingers it was just another way of asking for more. He scissored and curled and pressed until Rick’s breathing grew uneven and his hips started shifting against the mattress despite himself.

When Negan finally pushed inside it was in one long, controlled thrust. Rick’s breath left him in a sharp, involuntary sound. Negan bottomed out and stayed there, hands braced on either side of Rick’s shoulders, weight heavy, letting him feel every inch.

“There,” Negan said. “Full of me again. Exactly where you belong.” He started moving—deep, steady, unhurried. Each thrust dragged against the place that made Rick’s fingers curl hard against the headboard. “Say it. What are you?”

Rick’s jaw locked. Negan drove in harder, angling deliberately.

“I can do this all night, Rick. I’ve got nowhere else to be. The runs are handled. The fences are handled. The only thing on my schedule is you. Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours.”

Negan hummed, pleased, and picked up the pace just enough to make Rick’s next breath break. “That’s a start. Keep going. Tell me what you are when you’re on your stomach with my cock in you and no one coming to save you. Full sentences. I want to hear the words.”

Rick’s voice came out strained, scraped raw by the force of each thrust. “A—thing you own.”

“Better.” Negan’s hand slid into Rick’s hair and pulled his head back just enough to change the angle, making every stroke land deeper. “Again.”

“I’m something you own.” Rick’s eyes were half-closed, breath ragged. “I’m—yours to use. However you want.”

“That’s my boy.” Negan kept the rhythm deep and punishing. “You’re going to come like this. No hand on that cock. Just from taking me. And when you do, you’re going to thank me for letting you. Understand?”

Rick nodded as much as the grip in his hair allowed.

“Words.”

“I understand.”

Negan fucked him through it—slow when Rick got too close, harder when he started to pull back from the edge. He kept talking, voice low and relentless, telling Rick how good he looked broken open, how pretty he sounded when the pride finally cracked, how there was nothing left of the man who used to run Alexandria except the body currently taking everything Negan gave it. He told him the sounds he made were better than any speech. He told him this was the most honest he’d ever been.

When Rick came it was with a broken, almost silent sound, body tightening hard around Negan, spilling against the sheets without being touched. The orgasm left him shaking, oversensitive, breath hitching in short pulls. Negan didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through the aftershocks until Rick was trembling and making soft, wrecked noises, then followed with a low groan, buried deep, teeth against the back of Rick’s neck hard enough to renew the mark.

He stayed there a long time after, weight heavy, breath evening out against Rick’s skin. Eventually he unlocked the cuffs and rolled Rick onto his back. Rick’s eyes were glassy. His chest rose and fell too fast. Negan brushed hair back from his forehead with a gentleness that somehow felt more dangerous than the roughness.

“Still breathing,” Negan murmured. “Still pretty. Still mine. And we’re just getting started, Rick. I’ve got days. Weeks if I want them. You’re not going back to being the man who thinks he can stare me down. Not while I still have use for this version of you.”

Rick’s voice was barely audible. “You’re still a bastard.”

Negan smiled, slow and satisfied. “And you’re still exactly where I put you.”

He sat back against the headboard, legs spread, and crooked two fingers at Rick.

“Come here. On your knees between my legs. I’ve been thinking about that mouth of yours since last night. Time to put it to better use than speeches.”

Rick moved slowly. His body was heavy, marked, still sensitive. He settled on his knees between Negan’s thighs, cuffs still on but no longer chained to anything. Negan looked down at him with open satisfaction, one hand already wrapping loosely around his own cock, stroking once, twice, until he was fully hard again.

“Look at you,” Negan said. “The great Rick Grimes on his knees for the second night in a row. Open your mouth.”

Rick did. Negan guided the head of his cock past Rick’s lips without waiting, pushing in slow but steady until Rick’s mouth was full. He kept one hand in Rick’s hair, not forcing yet, just holding.

“That’s it. Take it. Tongue flat. I want to feel you. And don’t even think about using teeth unless you want this lesson to get a lot more educational.”

Rick’s eyes fluttered. He adjusted, breathing through his nose, and let Negan feed him more. Negan groaned low in his chest and started moving—shallow at first, then deeper, watching every second of it.

“Fuck, look at that. The man who used to stand in front of whole communities and tell them how to survive is currently choking on my cock like he was made for it. Keep going. Deeper. I know you can. You’ve taken more than this already.”

He pushed in farther. Rick’s throat worked around him. A wet sound filled the quiet. Negan’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“That’s it. Good boy. You look so fucking pretty like this. Eyes watering, mouth stretched, taking everything I give you without a single speech. This is better than any of those little pep talks you used to give. This is honest.”

He set a rhythm, not brutal yet, but relentless—pulling back just enough for Rick to breathe, then pushing in deep again. Rick’s hands rested on Negan’s thighs, not pushing away, just bracing. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes from the stretch and the lack of air. Negan wiped one away with his thumb like it was something precious.

“You’re doing so well,” Negan murmured, voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so deep. I can feel your throat working. Bet you never thought you’d end up here when you were still playing leader. Bet you never pictured yourself on your knees in the Sanctuary with my cock down your throat, did you?”

Rick made a muffled sound around him. Negan smiled and thrust a little harder.

“Didn’t think so. But here you are. And you’re going to stay here until I come. You’re going to swallow every drop. And then you’re going to thank me for the privilege. Clear?”

Rick’s answer was a wet, broken noise that vibrated around Negan’s cock. Negan took it as agreement and started fucking his mouth in earnest—deeper, steadier, one hand locked in Rick’s hair to control the angle. Rick’s eyes stayed open, glassy, fixed somewhere on Negan’s chest. Spit ran down his chin. His own cock was hard again between his legs, ignored.

Negan’s breathing grew heavier. His grip tightened.

“Almost there. Take it. Take all of it. You’re going to swallow for me like the good little thing you are.”

He pushed in deep one last time and came with a low, guttural sound, holding Rick there through every pulse. Rick swallowed around him, throat working, eyes watering harder. When Negan finally pulled back, Rick gasped for air, lips red and shiny, chin wet.

Negan looked down at him for a long moment, then cupped his jaw again.

“Thank me.”

Rick’s voice was wrecked, barely there. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—using my mouth. For letting me.”

Negan’s smile was pure filth and pure satisfaction. “That’s my boy. Come up here.”

He pulled Rick up onto the bed, arranged him against his chest, and locked an arm around him like a claim. Rick’s body was heavy, trembling faintly with exhaustion and aftershocks. Negan reached over and turned out the light.

“Sleep,” he said against Rick’s hair. “Tomorrow I want more of that mouth. And the day after that. You’re not going anywhere, Rick. Not until I decide I’m finished. And I am nowhere near finished.”

Outside, the Sanctuary kept its usual night sounds—generators, distant boots, the occasional shout from the walls.

Inside, Negan closed his eyes with Rick’s marked body warm against his own, already deciding how the next day would go.