Dann

[enchiladasconpollito]

My sweet temptation

P: Homelander alpha x Y/N !fem omega

(My native language isn't English, so sorry if the words sound strange. This is my first fanfic, so please forgive me if Homelander isn't like the one in the series.)

Pd: Y/n's pheromones are vanilla, although Homelander's pheromones are left to your imagination (although I think his scent would be warm milk?).

-----

Y/n worked in a small coffee shop on the outskirts of the city. It was a quiet place, full of warm tones, with warm lights. You wore a brown apron and ribbons in your hair, you prepared lattes with different figures in the foam, and you sold decorated cookies. You had chosen this spot outside the city because it was the quietest thing an omega could have, your vanilla pheromone filling the entire coffee shop.

One rainy afternoon, he walked in.

Homelander wore civilian clothes: dark jeans, an impeccable white shirt, and a jacket that concealed his overly straight posture. He had flown over the area by chance when the scent hit him full-on. It was sweet, soft, warm, and completely opposite to everything he knew. He sat in the corner, ordered a glass of warm milk, and during that entire time, he didn't stop looking at you.

​—Here you go, sir. Have a nice day— you said kindly, without having the slightest idea of who he was. Homelander only looked at the milk, but his blue eyes shone far too intensely. He finished his milk and left, but your scent stayed engraved in him, and from that moment on, he watched you.

He flew in silence over the city and followed you from a distance. He learned your complete routines: what time you left the small apartment you shared with a roommate, how you walked toward the coffee shop humming songs, and even your favorite shoes.

Homelander always asked himself in an annoyed tone, how could an alpha like him feel something for a simple, silly omega? And how he hid in the shadows just to watch her. Although the vanilla scent calmed him, he wanted to bring her close, mark her, and have her all to himself.

Y/n started to notice that a very handsome, tall, and blonde customer appeared more and more at the coffee shop, and he always ordered the same thing: warm milk. He would sit at the same table and look at her with an intensity that made you nervous, but also made your heart race. He was polite, had a slightly deep and confident voice, and when he smiled, he seemed to have almost sharp fangs. He never told her his real name at first. He only called himself “John.”

— You're very good at this— he told her one afternoon while she drew a smiley face in the foam. —Everything you touch looks... sweeter— You could only nod with a slight blush.

—Thank you, but it's just practice—

Little by little, John started to stay longer. They spoke about simple things: old movies, the weather, the way she decorated the cookies. He listened with absolute attention, as if every word of hers was the most important thing in the universe. He knew she was an omega because of the scent, even though she used mild suppressors.

One day, you had a bad shift, a rude alpha customer who raised his voice when you made a mistake on an order. When the guy left, you stayed quiet thinking about things, when you heard a familiar voice. —Are you okay sweet?— he asked in a low voice, but this time his scent seemed heavier.

—Yes, it was just a rough day— you said as you got up from the floor. He stepped closer than usual. His scent of burnt apple pie wrapped around you like a heavy, warm blanket. By instinct, you leaned a bit toward him. Homelander smiled with satisfaction. From that day on, he started to frequent the coffee shop almost every day.

He would bring you small flowers and once he even walked you home (even though he already knew the way by heart).

Y/n fell in love slowly, but deeply fell in love with the way "John" made her feel safe, how he looked at her as if she were the only valuable thing in the world, and how his scent calmed her even on her most anxious days. You didn't know yet that he was Homelander, the hero from Vought. One night, while she was closing the coffee shop, John waited for her outside with an umbrella. —Y/n— he said softly, using her name for the first time without her having given it to him that afternoon. —Would you like to have dinner with me?—You looked at him, having almost already wished that he would say that to you, so you nodded.

—Yes… I would love to, John—

Homelander smiled, this time with true satisfaction, and thought to himself that he already has you close, soon he would have her completely, and because you are innocent and naive as always, you could only think about how beautiful it was to feel looked at in that way.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Abuse Of Power(s)

Homelander x female!reader smut

essentially, Homelander uses his super powers; super hearing, scent, x-ray vision, to perve on you, then fuck you stupid :)

warnings: pervs on reader without her knowledge including listening to her and looking, Homelander likes to be called John in this, porn without plot, there’s no verbal consent, but reader wants it all, creampie, breeding kink, mommy kink, maybe? -it’s homelander, no protection, Homelander being rough, mean, and insane but yknow we dig it. :) I didn’t proofread lmk if there’s mistakes

word count: 3,301

The Boys Masterlist

Homelander was experiencing torture. Pure sensational torture. With all the years of handling his powers he’d become accustomed to blocking out certain sounds, making sure not to x-ray through things he truly did not want to see. But when it came to you? It seemed his powers had a mind of their own.

At first it was as simple as him hearing you through the walls of the tower; the slick, squishy sound of fingers meeting wet tissue repeatedly. Your moans muffled by both and object like a pillow, or your hand and the layers of drywall separating your room from the rest. Of course he couldn’t help but listen, the way you sounded was the best part of his evening.

You sounded constantly fiendish, every midnight on the hour it seemed your hand found your cunt, and Homelander had become an unknowing slave to your late night rendezvous.

For the first bit, he stayed up in the sevens meeting room, not too close, not too far, just enough to hear the sounds of you from behind the various walls. Others would believe he was standing around to brood, but he was ripe with tension, cock straining against the tight fabric of his suit as he refused to touch himself while he listened.

This game, where only he was playing, continued for weeks, listening close enough before retreating to his room to stroke himself with the sound of you still ringing in his ears.

One random day, without meaning to, he passed by your room mid day trying to find you. He was x-raying through the walls to find you faster, and when he did so to your bedroom, he was blessed with a heavenly sight. Splayed out on your bed, which conveniently faced the wall that led to the hallway, you laid everything out for Homelander to see.

The lower half of your suit was tugged off and he watched through the wall as you rutted against your palm, your fingers sliding in and out of you. The noise was loud in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything but you, the way your heart beat, the soft moans you tried to withhold, and the smell of you through the wall made him feel like a goddamn animal.

His nostrils flared like he was furious, and to some degree he was, how dare you slack off to please yourself when he needed you up with the seven? How dare you give him this aching boner only for him to be unable to relieve himself? It infuriated him, and he decided swiftly to infuriate you too. Banging his fist on the door, he called out to you. “Hope you’re not sleeping in there!” He called in a sing-song tone, watching your form through the door as you jumped up, reflexively covering yourself with the blanket.

“We’ve got a meeting in thirty, I need you there. Let’s go.” Homelanders tone with clipped, with a customer service cadence to it in hopes to appear a lot less tense than he was. “Shit my, my bad, I’m coming.” He watched you scramble up, satisfied you’d not reached your peak. “Good, come up quickly.”

Later that night, long after the meeting, Homelander touched down on the balcony connected to your bedroom, his body tense with anticipation. Twelve on the dot, and you were going at it like a bunny rabbit, your head pressed into a pillow concealing your delighted cries.

You were riding a dildo, the silicon between your thighs stabled by a pillow, your hips rocking roughly focusing only on reaching your climax.

He couldn’t help himself, he nearly ruined his suit by ripping his cock out. Spitting on his now glove free hand he watched you, stroking his cock in tandem with your bouncing, groaning and moaning without care if you caught him, he almost wanted you to catch him.

With a broken cry he came in long spurts; quicker than he wanted but he wasn’t able to help how arousing the sight of you was. His cum dribbled down the glass of the window making him cringe and a scoff. He stood there a bit longer biting his lip as your hips spasmed as you came yourself, watching until the very last second.

He could smell the release of hormones, see the way your heart thumped twice as fast as you came. After the show, he tugged his suit back up, and without cleaning up his cum on the glass, took off to his condo just above, more than pleased with the action from the night.

You’d heard the woosh and rattle of the little trinkets in your bedroom. The unmistakable signature take off of Homelander, it was recognizable to anyone around the world who’d seen him fly, whether on television or in person. You stumbled from your bed, blanket half covering your lower body as you peered out the window for the man in question. Unfortunately the only thing that you could see was your frazzled reflection in the glass window.

Trying to write it off, you cleaned up the scene of your own pleasure making up your bed again, before getting ready for bed. It wasn’t until you turned your light off that the stain on the balcony window became visible. He had been.

“Homelander,” You squeaked, flustered as you scampered to catch up with him in the hall. Homelander, who was walking leisurely with his hands folded behind his back, cape swishing with his gait. He sent you a blasé look over his shoulder before speaking. “Yes?” His lips going flat almost as if you were bothering him, but in truth, you were his little obsession.

“Hey, so weird, question. Were you on my balcony last night?” Your body was taut as he stopped, turning to you with a nonchalant expression, making you feel stupid for asking to begin with. “Yeah, yeah I was. I hope you cleaned up my leftovers, ah, I couldn’t care to.” He grinned, his pearly canines on display as he took slow steps toward you. “Oh- oh.. my god.” You whispered, making Homelander chuckle lowly.

“Yeahhh. Quite the show you put on, let me tell you, I’ve milked myself to just the sound of you, but the sight? I mean, wow.” You stumbled over your words as you looked at him gobsmacked. “Oh my god you watched me?” You whispered in exclamation, stepping closer in disbelief. His hand came down to grip your shoulder, thumb rubbing deep circles. “Of course I did silly thing, you were like a pornstar in there.” He smiled, wolfishly though it lacked any friendliness.

“Homelander what?!” You grit in mortification, watching him chuckle like it was nothing. “Oh cmon! Lighten up. Afterall,” He paused his sentence, leaning in, tone hushed. “Would you really have been so scandalous if you truly didn’t want me seeing?” You scoffed at that backing up watching him straighten his back with a smile. “You’re insinuating I wanted you to see me? No!” You exclaimed, your shoulders bunching with tension when those passing by gave you both odd looks.

“Of course you did,” Homelander waved his tone light, like he was just having the time of his life. “I have super fucking hearing and can see through walls.” Your skin prickled as his voice dropped to a threatening octave, making you freeze up. While yes, in the back of your mind, you always worried what if? when it came to Homelander possibly being able to hear you; you made sure to be as quiet as you could, and you didn’t even consider him being able to see you.

Before you could think of anything to say, Ashley scuttled from around the corner looking stressed and flustered. “There you are! Homelander, come we have an emergency; news outlets are asking for you!” Ashely’s voice was rushed as she looked at Homelander pleadingly, ignoring your presence entirely.

Homelander didn’t even look at her, his eyes solely focused on you. “I’ll be seeing you tonight.” He said lowly giving you a darkened look, before turning to Ashley, walking off with her with his American Hero persona back in full swing. You watched him go mouth agape in shock-horror. ‘I’ll be seeing you tonight’ spoken like a threat and feeling like a promise.

Of course you weren’t opposed to being a notch in homelanders forty yard length belt but you also weren’t one to make first moves or even try with people that were so above you like Homelander was. It left you so anxious you could puke, that paired with the record scratching reality that he’d been watching and listening to you all this time, it was all around enough to make you want to be swallowed up by a black hole.

The day passed slow, with your mind conjuring up the filthiest of things, wondering what in gods name Homelander was going to do to you. Part of you wondered if you were going to be punished, in a non-sexual unfun way, though you tried your hardest to block those worries out.

Finally night came, and you were entirely unprepared for what was going to come. Was he going to hurt you? You knew who Homelander was without his public persona, was he going to kick you from the seven? Publicly humiliate you? You sat on the side of your bed, leg jumping up and down as you waited patiently for him to show.

You expected him to come to the door, silly you. The sound of tapping on glass caught your attention, startling your already restless self. Homelander stood on the balcony, wagging his finger at you before pointing to the sliding glass doors handle, where it was locked. Quickly, like a good pet, you jumped to it, unlocking it and pulling it open for him. “Homelander I,”

Before you could even continue he raised his hand, interrupting you. “Please, call me John.” He smiled, his voice smooth yet predatory, and he loved that wide eyed dumb look you gave him. “What? You thought my birth name was Homelander?” He laughed snarkily, walking up to your dresser, touching your things.

“Uh, well, no… I just didn’t expect you to… tell me.” You awkwardly said cringing inwardly at how meek you sounded, in any other instance you would’ve held up your cocky supe persona, but considering the circumstances and the fact it was Homelander, you were completely off balance.

“So uhm.. John, why’re you.. what did you want to discuss?” You swallowed standing straighter, still lingering away from him as he rudely opened drawers and scuffled through things. “Where do you keep it?” He huffed turning to look at you. “I’m sorry?” You blinked confused, making him seemingly pissed. “Where’s your toys?” Homelander groaned, as if making him ask was a chore.

You felt hot under the collar, your eyes drifted toward the bed. “Underneath,” You mumbled, nodding at the far edge of the bed, right next to the nightstand and beneath where your head would rest on the pillow. Wordlessly, he sauntered over, cape swaying as he bent down tugging out a black plastic storage bin. “Classless,” Was all he grunted as he sat the bin on your bed, you standing just a few steps aside clenched up with tension.

“I mean cmon, you’re not fifteen right? No need to hide,” Homelander grinned over at you, pulling out the toy you’d been using when he watched you. “Small..” He softly hummed, spinning it in his hands, making you cringe once more. “Uhm, so.. why?” You managed to choke out, unsure of how to deal with this situation. “Why? Well, I was gonna make you fuck yourself in front of me, butttt,” He sang out dropping the plastic dick back into the bin before tossing it lazily on the ground. “That actually wouldn’t satisfy me any,” Homelander then turned, walking toward you in a few strides, making you trip up before properly standing your ground.

“Instead,” He continued, now in front of you his voice quiet, but harsh. “I’m going to give you the once in a life time opportunity to fuck yourself on me. What a present eh?” You nearly choked on your tongue watching him saunter around to your bed, unphased. He fluffed the pillows and smiled over his shoulder at you, before making a dramatic noise of relaxation as he sunk into your mattress. “Well c’mere, cock ain’t gonna fuck itself.” Homelander chortled exuberantly, hand sliding down to palm the large bulge in his super suit.

You followed his hand watching his movements with rapt attention. “You look pretty big,” You swallowed, chewing your lip as you approached. “Damn right,” Homelander grunted, squeezing his bulge with your compliment, seemingly already bursting with desire. It was shocking to you how desperate he seemed, you didn’t expect that look of need to be so on display for you, but here he was. With shallow breaths you neared, your hand dragging up his suited leg, before meeting his dick print. He moved his hand for you, blue eyes focused on your facial features, lips taut with restraint.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease.” He grit out through clenched teeth making you flinch. “Sorry, Homelander,” You squeaked, hands fiddling with the belt and overall confusing suit. “John,” he corrected gruffly, ripping his gloves off impatiently to help you with his suit. “My bad,” You muttered eyes wide as he tugged down the suit just enough to expose his hardened cock, thick, veiny and dripping slightly with precum and a dark patch of hair groomed cleanly around it all.

“Why’re you acting all fucking stupid? Strip.” He growled lowly, tugging you up into him carelessly, making you squeak in surprise, your hands landing on either side of him. “Christ John, hold on!” You whined clumsily adjusting yourself on him. “I.. it’s been awhile,” You gulped, tugging your top off, and his gloveless hands quickly found your chest gripping and squeezing what he could. “Fuck,” He groaned smelling the arousal wafting off of you, he was down bad, rocking his hips up against your clothed groin, his cock sliding across the fabric needily.

“Don’t.. fuckin’- god.. I’ve waited long enough for you.” John hissed, too frustrated to wait, he gripped your neck, tugging you roughly against his lips, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You made a noise of surprise into his mouth, eyes shutting a minute after, struggling to keep with his animalistic pace. His free hand pushed you over, his body swiftly caging you down, his pants kicked off but he kept the top half of his suit on.

He groped your breasts roughly, leaving imprints of his fingers behind, both hands eventually finding the hem of your pants tugging them down roughly. John pulled back, a connection of saliva stuck to both your lips. His eyes were blown out looking down at you as he panted, his blonde hair unkept and his face reddened with heat. “I’m gonna fuck you raw,”

You moaned in shock, watching him lurch forward licking and moving his lips messily down your naked body, his face seeking out your cunt. “Gonna fuck you full of cum until your stuffed, ready to pop out a little me.” You weren’t able to disagree as his tongue slid between the folds of your cunt, his nose bumping your clit making you squeal. “John!” You cried gasping in pleasure as you spread your thighs as wide as you could.

Even though John was in heaven between your legs, his cock was aching, as he said before he’s been waiting for this since you first arrived and he heard you moaning for the first time. Sitting up on his heels, pulling away from your arousal with a slurp, he stroked his cock. You mewled twitching at the sensation, and subsequently, the lack of it, peering up at him through bleary eyes, your body hot and mind mush. “John please,”

Homelander groaned in shaking his head like he was in awe at the sight of you below him. “You want his hm?” John gleamed sliding his hard cock through your slick arousal, moaning pathetically at the way he slid through. “Please John, please,” You whined hips lifting, making him chuckle. “Good, good,” John sighed, sinking the tip of his cock into your warmth, making his head fall back, his free hand tugging your body closer by the hip. “You are never… getting away from me.”

Johns voice was breathless as he spoke, making you blink your eyes open from being clenched close tight. “You want me bad? Want me to make you feel good John?” You crooned as he sank into you inch by inch, looking wrecked compared to you. “Yeah,” He replied breathless as he pushed forward more. “Cmon baby,” You grin your voice soft but seductive, confidence back in full swing at the sight of him looking utterly ruined.

Blue eyes peered down into yours at the sound of your voice, a whimper, a fucking whimper, falling from his lips as his body fell forward, chest to chest with you. Homelander kept his weight enough off of you not to crush you, but he felt pathetic, rutting shallowly into you while sucking and nipping at your neck. Your hands threaded through his hair tugging it roughly so his face was adjacent to yours, your lips meeting his. John moaned a soft fuck against your lips as his pace got rougher, the feeling of your legs wrapping around his waist making him feral.

“Oh fuck John,” You cried out breaking from the kiss to through your head back as his pace quickened, your headboard slamming against the wall, the slap of skin loud in the otherwise quiet room. Both of you were undoubtedly heard from beyond the walls, no super hearing required. Johns eyes were blown out as he fucked you his own face inches from yours. He inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent of your arousal, sweat and other scents like perfumes and hair products.

“Don’t leave me,” He growled his nose, bumping yours with every rough thrust he did. He was so close to cumming, and he refused to be the only one, his hand sliding down to press against your puffy clit. You hissed tugging his hair again, toes curling in pleasure. “Fuck I.. I won’t leave you, m’gonna cum.” You brokenly cried, causing Homelander to grunt and moan. His pace got rougher and quicker than you could ever achieve alone. Heat crawled across your body, stars exploded in your eyes and without any warning heat bloomed inside you, making you twitch.

Homelander couldn’t contain himself, taking you by the hips, pulling you down on his cock as he forced himself roughly into you, moaning in your ear as he came. The sensation of him cumming brought along your own vicious orgasm, your body twitching and spamming as you clamped down on his cock, milking him for what he was worth as you painted his thighs and balls with your arousal.

Your body felt tingly as you panted, finally coming down from your high. Johns body collapsed onto yours, the sounds he was making were soft whimpers and whines as his hands kneaded whatever flesh he came across, his face buried into your neck.

“Just wanna be taken care of.” Homelander whispered, it was a gamble for John; sometimes he came and felt fine if not disgusted after, other times he felt the desire to be cuddled and babied. This was one of those times. “I can care for you.” You whispered to him tiredly. “You will?” He muttered lifting his head looking over your face, your eyes closed and expression relaxed. “You tell nobody about my desperation though.” John humphed almost petulantly, making you chuckle. “Okay, deal.”

[jfrancofanpage]

Dads best friend

James Franco x Reader

Story summary: your dad is hosting a family cookout and that he will be inviting an old friend. But what you didn’t expect was to see James Franco there. But he seems to like you.

Tw: age gap, reader is older then 18, and slightly suggestive.

Your dad was preparing dinner for the family at the cookout they were planning to have. You were sitting at the counter listening as your dad talked to your mom. Then he faced you, “There is an old friend of mine that will be coming. Be nice.” You nodded, not really thinking too much about it.

At the cookout, you were hanging out with your family when you heard your dad saying, “Hey man! Long time no see!” You looked over and saw James Franco. ‘No, there’s no way,’ you thought to yourself. The James Franco you’ve had a crush on him for the longest time, and now you’re seeing him in your backyard! As you looked at him, you noticed he was staring at you too, like a predator found its prey, but you didn’t really notice. All you could think about was how he was literally friends with your dad and you never knew.

As hours passed, you were sitting on a bench when you felt someone sit right next to you. You looked over and saw James sitting right next to you. “Hey…” you said to him. “Hey sweetheart ~” he replied back. ‘God, he is so sexy,’ you thought. “I remember when you were so much younger. How old are you now?” You smiled softly. “I’m 20,” he smirked. “Wow… you’re all grown up, know huh? You’re a big girl, know~” you blushed. “Yeah, I guess so…” he just stared at you. “You got so pretty… so grown…” you couldn’t help but blush at his words. It was something about them that made you feel all hot. “Well, pretty girl, I was wondering if I could get that number~ I would love to text you…” you nodded and gave him your number. Then he had to leave, but of course, he had to give you a hug. But you felt his hand slightly touch your ass. You didn’t mind not one bit. Honestly, you loved it.

After your shower, you lay in your bed when you got a text from him.

James: Hey there.

You: Hey there!

James couldn’t help but smile to himself.

James: god you looked so beautiful tonight. What a pretty girl..

You: Thank you…

James: No problem, beautiful girl 🩷

Then another text after that.

James: I’m going to bed. Good night, beautiful.

You: Good night!

You layed back and thought to yourself ‘wow James just called me beautiful. What is my life’

[jfrancofanpage]

Dads best friend

James Franco x Reader

Story summary: your dad is hosting a family cookout and that he will be inviting an old friend. But what you didn’t expect was to see James Franco there. But he seems to like you.

Tw: age gap, reader is older then 18, and slightly suggestive.

Your dad was preparing dinner for the family at the cookout they were planning to have. You were sitting at the counter listening as your dad talked to your mom. Then he faced you, “There is an old friend of mine that will be coming. Be nice.” You nodded, not really thinking too much about it.

At the cookout, you were hanging out with your family when you heard your dad saying, “Hey man! Long time no see!” You looked over and saw James Franco. ‘No, there’s no way,’ you thought to yourself. The James Franco you’ve had a crush on him for the longest time, and now you’re seeing him in your backyard! As you looked at him, you noticed he was staring at you too, like a predator found its prey, but you didn’t really notice. All you could think about was how he was literally friends with your dad and you never knew.

As hours passed, you were sitting on a bench when you felt someone sit right next to you. You looked over and saw James sitting right next to you. “Hey…” you said to him. “Hey sweetheart ~” he replied back. ‘God, he is so sexy,’ you thought. “I remember when you were so much younger. How old are you now?” You smiled softly. “I’m 20,” he smirked. “Wow… you’re all grown up, know huh? You’re a big girl, know~” you blushed. “Yeah, I guess so…” he just stared at you. “You got so pretty… so grown…” you couldn’t help but blush at his words. It was something about them that made you feel all hot. “Well, pretty girl, I was wondering if I could get that number~ I would love to text you…” you nodded and gave him your number. Then he had to leave, but of course, he had to give you a hug. But you felt his hand slightly touch your ass. You didn’t mind not one bit. Honestly, you loved it.

After your shower, you lay in your bed when you got a text from him.

James: Hey there.

You: Hey there!

James couldn’t help but smile to himself.

James: god you looked so beautiful tonight. What a pretty girl..

You: Thank you…

James: No problem, beautiful girl 🩷

Then another text after that.

James: I’m going to bed. Good night, beautiful.

You: Good night!

You layed back and thought to yourself ‘wow James just called me beautiful. What is my life’

[eu-nicola]

you see your father’s friend for the first time after he spent ten years in prison, and you can’t help but feel attracted to him [part 2]

smut, age-gap, cheating, unprotected sex, mention of suicide, pregnancy, childbirth, (this is long 12,2k)

The next morning you woke up late, almost close to noon. Strong light streamed through the window and your body felt deliciously sore in all the right places. Between your legs there was still a warm, wet sensation, the physical memory of what had happened the night before. You smiled into the pillow for a second before getting up.

You went straight to the shower. You let the hot water fall over your skin, washing away the remnants of him, but not the memory. Once you got out, you changed into comfortable clothes: jean shorts and a loose t-shirt, and then you energetically cleaned your room. You made the bed, put away clothes, swept the floor… as if tidying the space could also organize the whirlwind inside you.

When everything was finally decent, you took a deep breath and went out to the living room, where everyone was.

Your father was sitting on the sofa checking something on his phone. Laura, with a cup of tea in her hand, was chatting animatedly from the armchair. And him… he was standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest, listening. He wore a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans. The moment you entered, his green eyes locked onto you.

You felt a strong flip in your stomach, a mix of nerves, desire, and something sweeter. You swallowed hard and tried to act normal.

“Good morning… or afternoon,” you murmured, heading to the kitchen.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” your father greeted you with a smile.

You poured yourself a strong coffee and sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. From there you could see the living room perfectly. Every now and then, your eyes met his. Short, loaded, secret glances. At one point he ran his tongue over his lower lip and you felt heat rise up your neck.

Minutes later, he approached the kitchen as if nothing, opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and, instead of returning to the living room, sat on the counter right next to you, so close that his thigh pressed against yours.

Without anyone being able to see from the living room, he placed his large, warm hand on your bare leg, just below the edge of your shorts, and his thumb began to slowly caress your skin.

You smiled at him discreetly and continued drinking your coffee as if nothing was happening, but your heart was racing.

Laura raised her voice from the living room.

“Guys, it would be nice to do something this afternoon like we did yesterday at the beach. I want to make the most of these days before going back home.”

Your father nodded.

“We could go fishing at the lake. It’s a bit far, but it’s beautiful. We’d have to camp one night, set up tents and everything.”

You frowned immediately.

“I hate camping,” you said without thinking twice. “The mosquitoes, sleeping on the ground, the dirt… no thanks.”

He gently squeezed your leg under the counter. When you spoke, he looked directly at you.

“It would be good,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “A change of air. It would do us all good.”

Your father agreed.

“Come on, daughter. We haven’t gone in years, it’s going to be fun, you’ll see.”

You sighed, knowing you were in the minority. His hand remained on your leg, now moving a little higher up the inside of your thigh, caressing with his thumb almost imperceptibly.

“It’s going to be good,” he told you in a low voice, just for you, even though Laura and your father kept talking. “We’re going to have fun. Trust me.”

The double meaning of his words made you bite the inside of your cheek. You nodded reluctantly.

“Fine…” you finally accepted.

Your father got up from the sofa, excited.

“Perfect. Then let’s start preparing everything. We need to check the tents, the sleeping bags, the portable cooler… we’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Laura smiled, clearly happy with the idea. You finished your coffee in silence, very aware of the large hand that still rested possessively on your leg, caressing you slowly under everyone’s gaze… without anyone else knowing.

After your father and Laura went out to the garage to check the camping gear, you two were left alone in the kitchen for a few minutes.

He didn’t remove his hand from your leg. On the contrary, he squeezed it more firmly, sliding his fingers a little higher up the inside of your thigh.

“It’s going to be good,” he repeated in a low voice, looking at you with that intensity that disarmed you. “Trust me.”

You shook your head, still frowning.

“I don’t agree. I hate camping. It’s always cold, even in summer. I end up freezing all night and covered in mosquito bites. I don’t understand why I have to go.”

He smiled sideways, that dangerous smile that sharpened his jaw more. He leaned a little closer to you, speaking almost against your ear.

“Because I’m going to find a way to keep you warm.”

The double meaning of his words, combined with the heat of his hand still on your skin, sent a shiver straight down between your legs. You looked at him with narrowed eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling.

At that precise moment, Laura’s voice came from the garage.

“Honey! Can you come here for a second?”

He sighed, clearly annoyed by the interruption. Before getting up, he quickly took your chin with one hand, pulled you close and gave you a fleeting but intense kiss, gently biting your lower lip.

“Be good,” he murmured against your mouth.

He got up and walked toward the garage as if nothing had happened, leaving you with your heart racing and a silly smile on your lips.

You stayed sitting on the counter a moment longer, processing everything. Then you jumped down and went to your room to prepare your things. You had never really camped before, so you had no idea what to bring. You opted for the most comfortable and practical: black thermal leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt, a couple of short shorts and basic t-shirts for the day, your toiletry bag with the basics, toothbrush, sunscreen, mosquito repellent and your moisturizer.

You didn’t want to bring too much. You packed everything in a medium backpack and left it ready by the door of your room.

While closing the backpack, you couldn’t stop thinking about his words. The idea of spending the night in a tent, close to him but without being able to touch him freely… and at the same time the possibility that he would find a way to do it anyway, gave you a mix of nerves and excitement.

You smiled to yourself as you looked in the mirror because you knew it was going to be interesting.

The rest of the day was complete chaos. Your father and he spent the afternoon going in and out of the house, checking the car, loading the truck with tents, portable coolers, sleeping bags, flashlights, food and everything necessary for camping. Laura also helped actively: she organized the food, folded clothes and talked non-stop about how excited she was to “do something as a family.”

You, on the other hand, didn’t lift a finger. You spent most of the time in the living room or in your room, pretending to be busy with your phone or reading.

Every time you passed near the truck, you saw him loading heavy things, with the muscles in his arms and back marked by the effort. On more than one occasion your eyes met, but they never managed to talk alone.

Night came and with it your hope of seeing him alone for a while. You stayed awake longer than usual, sitting on the bed with the dim light, attentive to any noise in the hallway. But nothing happened. You heard Laura laughing softly in their room, his deep voice answering something, and then everything fell silent. You went to bed frustrated, with a feeling of emptiness and jealousy churning in your stomach.

The next morning they left early for the lake.

The trip was long and hot. You sat in the back with Laura, answering in monosyllables. He drove and your father rode shotgun. Every now and then you felt his gaze searching for you in the rearview mirror, but it barely lasted a second.

They arrived at the lake around noon. The place was beautiful: a large lake surrounded by trees, with camping areas. While the others set up the tents, three in total: one for your father, one for you, and a larger one for him and Laura, you sat in a folding chair in the shade, with sunglasses and a book you barely read.

When everything was ready and the sun was already setting, they sat around the bonfire your father had lit to prepare dinner: grilled meat, potatoes and some beers.

You were quiet, poking at your food with your fork. He was sitting across from you, next to Laura. You tried not to look at him too much, but it was difficult. At one point, Laura moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder naturally and said with a complicit smile, without lowering her voice much:

“Babe, tonight you’re going to have to warm me up… you know how I get when it’s cold. Last night I barely slept because of you,” she laughed softly, clearly referring to the night before at home when they had sex.

It was a completely normal comment between a married couple… but to you it felt like a bucket of cold water. You felt a strong knot in your stomach and a pang of rage mixed with sadness. The image of him fucking her the other night came back to your mind with force. That she said it in front of you, as if nothing, seemed in very bad taste. You felt invisible, out of place, and above all… replaced.

Your expression changed completely, your brow furrowed, your jaw tense, and the silence you kept for the rest of dinner was heavy. You barely answered when they spoke to you and ate mechanically, without appetite.

He noticed. He looked at you several times with a slightly furrowed brow, as if trying to read you. Your father also noticed.

“Are you okay, daughter?” he asked at one point.

“Perfect,” you answered dryly, without looking up from your plate.

Laura seemed not to notice the tension or simply ignored it, and continued talking animatedly about how beautiful the place was. You, on the other hand, didn’t hide your bad mood at all. You got up before dinner was over, muttering that you were cold and that you were going to get into your father’s tent to read for a while.

Later inside the tent you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned inside the sleeping bag. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt a pang of jealousy burning in your chest.

Around two in the morning, you left your tent and went to your father’s, whispering so as not to scare him.

“Dad… I can’t sleep. I’m going to go for a walk for a while to clear my head.”

He opened his eyes halfway, sleepy.

“Now? You can’t go alone, it’s dangerous.”

“I’m not going alone,” you lied naturally. “I’m going with him, don’t worry.”

Your father looked at you for a second, still half asleep, and nodded.

“Okay… but don’t go too far. And take a flashlight.”

“Sure.”

You put on a thick sweatshirt over your t-shirt, leggings and your sneakers. You left your cell phone in your tent and took only a small flashlight. You left without making noise.

The campsite was silent. Some dim lights from lanterns and almost extinguished bonfires illuminated the main paths. You walked aimlessly, gradually moving away from the tent area. The air was cool and smelled of pine and damp earth. Despite there being some light, you started to doubt if it was a good idea to go so far, but you kept going anyway.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, you found a nice and quiet place: a small elevation next to the lake, with a large flat rock where you could sit. The water reflected the moon and everything was calm. You sat down, hugged your knees to your chest and sighed deeply, trying to sort out your emotions.

You hadn’t been there ten minutes when you heard a crack of branches behind you. You turned around scared, quickly turning on the flashlight.

“Who’s there?” you asked in a tense voice.

He came out of the darkness, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The light from your flashlight illuminated his face. He looked serious, but there was a slight gleam of relief in his eyes.

“It’s me,” he said in a low voice.

You jumped and stood up immediately, your heart beating hard from the fright.

“You scared me!” you exclaimed, clearly angry. “What the fuck are you doing? You almost killed me from fright.”

He took a couple more steps closer, with that calm of his that sometimes drove you crazy.

“I saw you leave the tent. I wasn’t going to let you walk alone out here at night,” he replied in a deep, low voice. “Are you okay?”

You looked at him with a furrowed brow, still upset by the fright and by everything you had felt during dinner.

“No, I’m not okay,” you answered curtly. “And you didn’t have to follow me. I can be alone if I want.”

He didn’t flinch. He stood in front of you, watching you with that intensity that disarmed you even when you were angry, and took his time before speaking again.

You, on the other hand, crossed your arms over your chest, more to protect yourself from the cold than anything else.

“Why did you follow me?” you asked, still angry. “I said I wanted to be alone.”

“Because I don’t like you walking alone at night around here. And because I saw your face during dinner,” he replied bluntly, taking another step closer. “You were upset, very upset.”

You shrugged, trying to look indifferent.

“It’s nothing. I was just cold and sleepy.”

He let out a low laugh, almost a snort, as if he didn’t believe a word.

“Don’t lie to me. Talk to me, love. I love listening to you. It was because of what Laura said, right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to contain yourself, reminding yourself that what you two had was very recent, that you had no right to demand anything from him.

You took a deep breath before answering.

“It’s not my problem what you say to each other,” you murmured, looking toward the lake instead of at him. “You’re a couple, it’s normal that… you do those things and talk about it.”

There was a silence. He moved closer until he was right in front of you. His presence was imposing and warm.

“But it bothered you,” he stated, not as a question.

“I’m not jealous,” you said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… it seemed in bad taste that she said it in front of me. As if I wasn’t there, as if it didn’t matter.”

He looked at you in silence for a few seconds. Then he raised a hand and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, slowly lowering it to your chin. He gently made you look at him.

“Say it,” he asked in a low voice. “Say what you really feel.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting with yourself. You didn’t want to sound jealous, you didn’t want to seem immature. But the words escaped you anyway.

“It upset me,” you finally admitted, in a lower voice. “A lot. Hearing her say that last night she barely slept because of you… knowing what you did… turned my stomach. I felt… out of place. Invisible.”

When you opened your eyes, he was looking at you with an expression you didn’t expect. There was no guilt. There was something darker, more satisfied. A slow, dangerous smile formed on his lips.

“So you are jealous…” he murmured, almost with delight.

“It’s not funny,” you protested, trying to pull away, but he held you by the waist with his other hand, pulling you against his body.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, lowering his voice even more. “I like it. I like that you get jealous. I like knowing you don’t want to share me.”

He pulled you tighter against him. You could feel the heat of his chest through the sweatshirt.

“This is very recent,” you continued, with a trembling voice. “I shouldn’t feel this way. I have no right to…”

“You have every right,” he interrupted, firm but gentle. “Because since I fucked you, you’re no longer just my best friend’s daughter. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Even if I can’t shout it yet.”

His words hit you hard. You felt your knees weaken. He took advantage of your silence to kiss you: first on the forehead, then on the cheek, and finally on the lips. It was a slow, deep, almost comforting kiss. You melted against his mouth, letting him hug you tighter.

When you separated, you rested your forehead against his chest.

“I hate feeling this way,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied, caressing your back under the sweatshirt. “But you don’t have to hide it from me. I prefer you tell me when something bothers you. Understood?”

You nodded against his chest. He hugged you tighter, completely surrounding you with his large, warm arms.

“Are you calmer now?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

“A little,” you admitted. “But I still hate camping.”

He let out a low laugh.

“I promised I’d keep you warm, didn’t I?” he whispered against your ear, with that husky tone that gave you goosebumps. “And I intend to keep it.”

You stayed hugged to him for a while longer, listening to the beats of his heart, while the lake continued to shine silently in front of you.

You stayed hugged for a while longer by the lake. Then he spread his jacket over the flat rock and you lay down together to look at the stars. The sky was incredibly clear, full of bright dots. You curled up against his chest, with one leg over his, while he caressed your back under the sweatshirt.

For a few minutes only the soft sound of the water and your breathing could be heard, but the closeness, the heat of his body and the memory of the night before began to take effect. You lifted your head, looked at him for a second and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised but clearly pleased.

“So now you’re the one taking the initiative?” he murmured in a husky voice.

You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him hungrily, slowly moving your hips over him. You could feel him hardening under the fabric of his jeans. His large hands ran up your thighs to squeeze your waist, helping you move against him.

The kiss became deeper, more desperate. You took off your sweatshirt yourself and he helped you remove the t-shirt you were wearing underneath, leaving you only in your bra. His warm hands roamed your bare back while you continued moving over his erection, rubbing against him with more insistence.

“Fuck, you’re more addictive than anything,” he growled against your mouth, squeezing your ass with both hands.

You lowered your trembling hands to his belt and began to unbuckle it. He chuckled softly against your lips, a deep, sexy laugh that vibrated in your chest.

“Eager, huh?” he whispered.

You managed to open his pants and slipped your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his thick, hot cock. It was completely hard. You stroked him slowly, feeling it throb in your palm while you continued kissing him.

He let out a grunt and helped you remove the rest of your clothes. He skillfully took off your bra and then lifted you enough to pull down your leggings and panties in one go. You were completely naked on top of him, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you close again.

He positioned you better on top of him, aligning his thick cock with your already wet entrance.

You lowered yourself slowly, feeling him open you inch by inch. He was big, and the position made him feel even deeper.

“I know it’s a big stretch. Breathe for me,” he whispered against your ear, holding your hips firmly as he entered you completely.

You moaned softly when you had him all inside. You felt full, stretched, perfect. You began to move, rising and falling on him with a slow rhythm at first.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me, baby,” he growled, digging his fingers into your hips.

You increased the rhythm, riding him with more enthusiasm. He looked at you from below, his eyes dark with desire, enjoying every movement of your breasts and the way you bit your lip to not make too much noise.

“No… mhm, ride slower, baby,” he ordered in a husky voice, stopping your hips for a moment. “I want to feel you properly. Like that… yes.”

You obeyed, moving slower but deeper, circling your hips. He raised one hand and pinched a nipple, then lowered it to your clit and began rubbing it with his thumb.

The pleasure was intense. You moaned louder, unable to contain yourself completely.

“Come on, make noise for me… Let me hear you…” he asked, speeding up the movement of his thumb.

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest, and began to move faster again. He held you tightly, thrusting up from below, meeting each of your movements.

“Fuck…” you gasped, feeling the orgasm approaching quickly. “I’m going to cum…”

“Do it,” he growled. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

The orgasm hit you hard. You contracted around him, trembling as you moaned his name against his neck. He followed shortly after, thrusting deep and cumming inside you with a low, husky grunt, filling you completely.

You collapsed on his chest, both breathing heavily, sweaty despite the cold of the night. He hugged you tightly, caressing your back and kissing your hair.

“You’re dangerous…” he whispered with a smile in his voice. “You’ve got me completely crazy.”

You stayed on top of him for a while longer, enjoying his heat, his scent, and the feeling of still having him inside you.

Then, with a fluid and possessive movement, he turned you over on the flat rock, positioning himself on top of you.

His large, heavy body completely covered you, pinning you against the cold surface of the rock. He kissed you with intensity, devouring your mouth while his cock, still semi-hard inside you, began to harden again.

“Just one more round,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of desire. “You can take it, right, princess?”

You could only nod, biting your lip. The words had escaped you and you were sensitive, full of his previous cum, but the idea of him fucking you again turned you on in a dangerous way.

He smiled against your mouth, satisfied with your silent response.

“Good girl.”

He positioned himself better between your legs, spreading them wider with his hips. He pulled out almost completely only to enter you again with one deep, slow thrust. You moaned loudly, digging your nails into his back.

“Like that… take it all,” he growled, beginning to move with a steady, deep rhythm. “I want you to feel every inch.”

His thrusts were strong but controlled, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. He kissed your neck, your breasts, gently biting your nipples while he fucked you.

At one point, he looked you directly in the eyes, his gaze dark and filled with something primal.

“I want to fill you again…” he whispered, accelerating the rhythm. “I want you to carry my cum deep inside. Imagine I get you pregnant right here, in the middle of the forest… with my child growing inside you.”

A louder moan escaped your throat. The idea hit you hard: his cum filling you, the possibility of getting pregnant by him. Something inside you ignited brutally. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate.

“Yes…” you gasped, unable to contain yourself. “I want you to fill me… I want your baby.”

He grunted, excited by your words. His thrusts became more brutal, deeper.

“Fuck, that’s it…” he muttered, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while he fucked you harder. “You’re such a slut for me… so desperate to carry my cum.”

He kissed you violently while penetrating you mercilessly. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving your soaked pussy filled the silence of the forest. You were sensitive from the previous orgasm, but that only made everything feel more intense.

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he growled against your ear. “And you’re going to stay with my baby inside, do you understand?”

You nodded frantically, moaning uncontrollably. The combination of his words, his weight on you and how deep he reached with each thrust was pushing you to the limit again.

“Say it,” he demanded, fucking you faster. “Tell me you want my baby.”

“I want your baby…” you moaned, almost sobbing with pleasure. “Please… fill me…”

That seemed to break something inside him. He fucked you with brute force, holding you tight while he penetrated you to the bottom again and again. When he reached orgasm, he pushed deep and came with a husky grunt, filling you with hot, abundant streams of cum.

You came almost at the same time, contracting violently around his cock, milking him while you trembled beneath him.

He stayed inside you for a long time, making sure not a drop escaped. He kissed you softly on the lips, on the forehead, on the cheeks, while you both came down from the high.

“Good girl…” he whispered, still buried deep inside you. “Now you’re nicely full of me.”

He hugged you tightly, protecting you from the cold of the night with his hot body, while his cum stayed inside you, exactly where he wanted it.

You stayed a while longer on the rock, with him still inside you, hugging you protectively against his body to give you warmth. He kissed your forehead, your temples and your lips with a tenderness that contrasted with how wildly he had just fucked you.

When he finally pulled out of you, you felt his hot cum dripping between your thighs. He took his t-shirt and cleaned you carefully, then helped you get dressed with patience: first the panties, then the leggings, the t-shirt and finally the sweatshirt. He hugged you again when you were dressed, rubbing your back.

“Better?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” you replied, smiling against his chest. “Much better.”

“We can go back whenever you want.”

You nodded happily, still with slightly shaky legs.

“Let’s go.”

The way back was shorter than you expected. You walked in silence, but he took your hand every time the terrain got complicated. When you arrived at the campsite, you separated near the tents. He gave you one last quick kiss on the forehead before disappearing toward his.

The next morning, everyone went down to the lake to swim.

Laura was especially affectionate with him: she hugged him around the waist, kissed his shoulder, whispered in his ear and laughed at everything he said. You tried not to look, concentrating on the cold lake water and your own body.

In the afternoon, your father suggested a hike along the forest trails. You accepted reluctantly. You had been walking for a little over half an hour when you started complaining.

“This is so boring… How much longer until we go back?”

Your father and Laura were ahead, chatting animatedly. At one point, the path narrowed and you were left behind with him.

As soon as you were far enough from the others, he grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side of the trail, behind a large, thick tree.

“Come here,” he growled, pushing you against the trunk.

He didn’t give you time to protest. He yanked down your shorts and panties, opened his pants and penetrated you with one deep thrust from behind.

You moaned loudly, holding onto the tree.

“Are you still bored?” he asked in a husky voice as he started fucking you hard, holding your hips.

You couldn’t answer. Only broken moans came out of your mouth as he thrust into you mercilessly, deep and fast. The wet sound of his cock entering you again and again filled the air.

“Tell me,” he insisted, giving you a hard spank. “Are you still bored, princess?”

“No… fuck… no…” you managed to babble, almost without voice.

He chuckled softly and fucked you harder, one hand going down to rub your clit while the other held your hair.

You came quickly, trembling against the tree. He followed shortly after, cumming inside you with a low grunt, filling you once more.

He helped you get dressed again, kissing your neck.

“Now you’re properly entertained, aren’t you?” he murmured with a satisfied smile.

When you returned to the campsite, you announced casually:

“I’m going to bathe in the lake. I want to be alone for a while.”

Your father nodded without problem. Laura too. He, on the other hand, looked at you with intensity, but didn’t say anything at that moment.

You went down to the lake with a towel and your bikini on. You got into the water and started swimming a little. Not even ten minutes had passed when you heard footsteps among the trees.

He appeared through the vegetation, already shirtless, with that dark look you knew so well.

“You said you wanted to be alone…” he commented, approaching the edge of the water.

You smiled, floating in the water.

“And you decided not to listen to me.”

He took off his shorts and got into the water, swimming directly toward you with powerful movements.

“I’m never going to leave you alone…” he murmured when he reached you, pulling you against his naked body in the water. “Not when I can have you like this.”

He trapped you against a large, smooth rock that protruded into the lake, where the water reached your waist. The sunset sun tinted everything in golden and orange tones.

He gently pressed you against the stone, his large body covering yours, and kissed you with deliberate, almost reverent slowness.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against your lips, while his large hands roamed your body under the water. “I need you all the time. Every damn second.”

His words filled you with a deep, warm happiness. You smiled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer.

He removed your bikini with smooth but sure movements. First the top, leaving your breasts in the air, then the bottom. He lifted you a little, positioning you against the rock so the water helped you float slightly. His cock, already completely hard, brushed against your entrance.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, looking into your eyes the whole time.

“I want to feel all of you,” he murmured, his voice husky but tender. “Every part of you…”

You moaned softly when he was completely inside. This time it wasn’t hard or wild. It was slow, deep and sensual. He moved with long, controlled thrusts, pulling out almost completely only to sink back to the bottom, circling his hips to brush every sensitive spot inside you.

His hands explored your body with devotion: he caressed your breasts, gently pinched your nipples, ran down your waist, squeezed your hips and came back up to hold your face while he kissed you.

“You’re so perfect…” he whispered against your neck, gently biting the skin. “So tight, so hot… so mine.”

You felt like you were floating, both from the water and the pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each slow, deep thrust drew soft moans from you that were lost in the sound of the lake.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“I never want to stop,” he confessed, accelerating just a little. “I want to fuck you every day, fill you every night… I want you to always carry something of mine inside you.”

His words excited you as much as his movements. You kissed with more urgency, while he continued penetrating you with that delicious slowness that allowed you to feel every vein, every pulse of his thick cock inside you.

He lowered one hand between you and began rubbing your clit with soft but firm circular movements, synchronized with his thrusts.

“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered against your mouth. “I want to feel you squeeze me.”

The orgasm came like a slow but powerful wave. You contracted around him, trembling in his arms as you moaned his name. He followed shortly after, thrusting deep and cumming inside you with a low, long grunt, filling you once more with his hot cum.

He stayed inside you, hugging you tightly against the rock, kissing your neck, shoulders and lips with tenderness.

“I need you always,” he repeated in a low voice, like a vow. “You have no idea how much.”

You stayed hugged to him for a long time, with the cool water caressing your joined bodies, feeling full, desired and happy in a way you had never experienced.

You left the water holding hands. As soon as you reached the shore, on a soft grass area somewhat protected by some bushes, he carefully laid you down on the ground. The towel you had brought was underneath you, protecting you a little from the dirt.

He positioned himself between your legs, still naked and with his cock hard again. He looked at you with that intensity that melted you and lifted one of your legs, resting it on his shoulder. The new position opened you completely for him and he began rubbing the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

He entered you with one deep thrust. The position made him reach much deeper, brushing points that made you moan loudly from the first moment.

“Fuck…” you gasped, holding onto his arms.

He began to move with a firm, steady rhythm, holding your leg against his shoulder. Each thrust was deep, strong and precise. The angle was perfect and made you feel him in an overwhelming way.

Tears began to escape from your eyes from pure pleasure. It wasn’t pain, it was too good. You sobbed between moans while he fucked you mercilessly.

“I want to be your woman…” you managed to say between gasps, your voice broken. “The only one… I don’t want you to be with anyone else. Only with me.”

He grunted, accelerating the rhythm, fucking you harder upon hearing your words.

“You’re mine,” he replied in a husky voice, looking you straight in the eyes. “Only mine. I don’t want anyone else. Not Laura, not anyone. Only you, princess.”

His words filled you with such great emotion that the tears continued to fall. He leaned a little more, almost folding you in half, and kissed you while he continued penetrating you deeply.

“I’m going to leave her, princess…” he growled against your mouth. “I’m going to separate and I’m going to stay with you. I want you to be the mother of my children. Only you.”

You came hard, almost screaming, contracting violently around his cock. He followed seconds later, pushing to the bottom and cumming inside you with a guttural grunt, filling you once more.

He collapsed carefully on top of you, still inside, and hugged you tightly. He kissed the tears from your cheeks with tenderness.

“I want you,” he repeated in a low voice, like a vow. “Only you.”

You stayed hugged to him, trembling with pleasure and emotion, with his cum dripping between your legs and your heart full.

That afternoon at the lake was the last time you two were together. When they returned to the campsite, they pretended normality. He returned to his role as attentive husband with Laura and you returned to being his best friend’s daughter.

That night they barely exchanged glances and the next day they packed everything and returned home in an uncomfortable silence, and then everything changed.

As soon as they arrived, he made his decision. That same night he told your father that he needed to sort things out with Laura and the next day, he left with her back to Texas. He didn’t tell you directly, he just looked at you one last time before getting in the car, with an expression full of guilt, unspoken promises and something like pain.

But there were no words. There was no “I’ll call you,” or “this isn’t over.” Just a brief hug in front of your father and Laura, and then… nothing.

Your heart broke into a thousand pieces. The first days were the worst. You spent them locked in your room, looking at your phone every five minutes, waiting for a message, a call, anything, but the phone never rang.

You knew, deep down, that he was right to leave with her first. He had to resolve his marriage, talk, separate formally if he really wanted to be with you. It was the responsible, logical thing, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Every night you cried silently against the pillow, remembering his words at the lake and wondering if they had been just words of the moment? Heat of passion? The doubt ate away at you inside.

Your father noticed you were acting strange, but he attributed it to university stress or problems with Tony. You didn’t tell him anything. How were you going to explain that you had fallen in love with his best friend? That he had fucked you in the forest promising you a future and now had disappeared?

The following weeks were a silent hell.

At first you tried to convince yourself that it was just stress, that the delay in your period was due to anxiety, constant crying and sleepless nights, but then the symptoms started.

Morning nausea that forced you to run to the bathroom as soon as you woke up. Sensitive and swollen breasts. A deep fatigue that made you want to sleep all day and the smell of coffee that you used to love now made you retch.

You were terrified. A small, secret part of you felt strangely happy at the possibility. It was a part of him, a living little piece of everything you had shared in secret. A baby that would carry his blood. But the other part, the bigger and more rational one, was scared to death.

How were you going to be a mother now? You were too young, you were alone, you had no stable job, you lived with your father and the man who had gotten you pregnant had disappeared without saying a word.

You felt useless. Stupid. Naive.

How could you have believed him? How did you fall so easily for the words of a man who was twice your age? Your father’s best friend. A married man who had just gotten out of prison. You repeated over and over how stupid you had been.

Some nights you stayed looking at the ceiling with silent tears rolling down your cheeks, thinking that it would be easier to simply not exist. Wanting to die was a thought that appeared more and more frequently, although you never said it out loud.

One afternoon, after vomiting for the third time that day, you went to the pharmacy alone and bought three pregnancy tests.

You got home, locked yourself in the bathroom and waited. All three tests came back positive. You sat on the bathroom floor for almost twenty minutes, staring at the two pink lines as if they were a death sentence. When you finally reacted, you stumbled to your room, locked the door and threw yourself on the bed.

You buried your face in the pillow and cried like never before in your life. The sobs were so strong they choked you. You bit the pillow so your father wouldn’t hear you from the living room. Your whole body trembled. You felt small, broken, completely alone.

“Idiot… idiot…” you repeated between sobs, hitting the bed with your fist. “How could you be so stupid?”

The images invaded you uncontrollably: his large hands holding you against the tree, his husky voice promising that he only wanted you, that he wanted you to have his babies, his deep thrusts while he told you he was going to fill you…

And now you were alone. Pregnant. With a baby growing inside you that he didn’t even know existed.

You cried until your throat hurt and you had no more tears left. You stayed curled up in the fetal position, hugging your belly with both hands, trembling.

You didn’t know what you were going to do. You didn’t know how to tell your father. And, above all, you didn’t know if you would ever see the man who had destroyed you and, at the same time, given you the most important thing in your life again.

You stayed locked in your room for days, as if the outside world no longer existed. The curtains always closed, the dim light of the night lamp barely illuminating the mess that was your bed: used tissues everywhere, the silent phone on the nightstand, and you curled up in the fetal position, hugging your knees to your chest.

Every morning the nausea woke you before dawn, forcing you to run to the bathroom with your hand over your mouth. Vomiting left you exhausted, trembling, with a bitter taste in your throat and fresh tears running down your cheeks.

You thought about him constantly. About his promises, about his husky voice saying he only wanted you, that he was going to leave Laura, that he wanted you to be the mother of his children.

Lies. It had all been lies born of the heat of the moment. Now you were alone with a baby growing inside you, and he had left as if nothing, as if the days in the forest had meant absolutely nothing.

Some nights the pain was so great that you sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the bottle of sleeping pills you had stolen from your father’s medicine cabinet.

You counted them over and over in the palm of your hand. It would be so easy, you thought. Swallow them all, close your eyes and stop feeling this emptiness. You imagined how your father would find you cold in the morning, and that made you cry harder, but the thought returned. No one really loves me. No one is going to love me with this inside. You felt broken, dirty, stupid. A silly girl who spread her legs for her father’s best friend, an ex-convict who had used her and discarded her.

Your father noticed the change almost immediately.

At first he respected your space, thinking it was sadness over the guests’ departure or university stress. But the days passed and you barely left your room. You ate little, almost nothing. You had deep dark circles, a pale face and swollen eyes from crying so much in silence.

One afternoon, after you tried to eat something in the kitchen and ended up vomiting in the bathroom again, he gently knocked on your door.

“Daughter… can I come in?”

You didn’t answer at first. You stayed curled up in bed, your face buried in the wet pillow.

He opened the door slowly. The light from the hallway made you squint. He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, as if afraid of breaking you.

“You’ve been like this for days. You barely eat, you don’t go out, you don’t talk… You’re worrying me a lot, my life. What’s wrong? You can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. The tears were already starting to come again.

“No… I can’t, Dad. Please, leave me.”

He sighed, but didn’t move. He caressed your hair tenderly, like when you were a child.

“I’m your father. I’ve known you since you were born. I know when something is destroying you inside. I’m not going to pressure you if you don’t want to, but… look at you. You’re suffering alone and I can’t stand it. Let me help you. Whatever it is, I’m going to protect you. I’ve always done that. Nothing is going to change that.”

His voice was so soft, so full of unconditional love, that something inside you broke. You started sobbing hard, your body shaking. He immediately hugged you, surrounding you with his strong arms, and you clung to his shirt as if you were going to drown.

“Dad… I’m pregnant,” you finally whispered, with a broken, almost inaudible voice.

The silence that followed was heavy, eternal. You felt his body tense against yours. His hand stopped caressing your back for a second.

“What…?” he murmured, stunned.

You pulled away a little to look at him. His face was pale, his eyes wide open, as if he couldn’t process the words. He remained frozen, searching your face for some sign that it was a cruel joke. But he only saw tears, shame and pure terror.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, crying harder. “I don’t know what to do… I’m scared, Dad. So scared.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He ran a hand over his face, breathing heavily. The shock was visible: the wrinkles on his forehead became more pronounced, his eyes watered.

“My God…” he finally whispered.

You shrank, waiting for rejection, anger, disgust.

“Please… don’t stop loving me,” you begged between sobs, your voice broken. “I know I’m an idiot, that I ruined everything, but don’t leave me alone. Don’t hate me… please.”

He reacted then. He hugged you tightly, almost desperately, burying your face against his chest. You felt his tears fall on your hair.

“Never, my girl. I’m never going to stop loving you. I love you more than anything in this world. You’re my daughter, my everything. None of this is going to change that,” his voice broke. “But… fuck, I’m disappointed. Very disappointed. Not because of the baby… but because you didn’t come to me sooner. Because you’ve been suffering all this alone.”

“I know,” you cried against his shirt. “I know, Dad. I was terrified. I felt alone, stupid… I thought… I wanted to die. Some nights… I thought about ending it all.”

He hugged you tighter, as if he wanted to merge with you to protect you from the world.

“Don’t say that. Never. We’re going to get through this together. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

You stayed hugged to him for a long time, crying until your lungs hurt.

He rocked you gently, kissing your head, his own silent tears. The weight of disappointment was there, heavy between the two of you, but love was greater.

When your sobs calmed a little, he pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, with his hands on your shoulders.

“Who is the father?” he asked in a hoarse voice, trying to stay calm. “Is it Tony? Did that idiot do this to you?”

You shook your head, lowering it.

“No… it’s not Tony.”

He frowned, confused and increasingly tense.

“Then who? Tell me his name.”

You didn’t answer. The words got stuck in your throat. You looked toward the window, with your eyes full of tears again.

“Daughter… who is it?” he insisted, softer but firm.

Silence.

His expression changed. Something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes darkened with pain and contained rage.

“Is it his?” he asked in a low voice, almost fearing the answer.

You just nodded, biting your lip hard until it bled a little. The tears fell silently again.

He let out a choked sound, between surprise and deep fury. He got up from the bed and walked a few steps around the room, running his hands through his hair.

“Son of a bitch…” he murmured. “How…? How could you…?”

“Dad…” you whispered. “How did you know?”

He stopped and looked at you, with red eyes.

“I’m not an idiot. I saw how you looked at him in the house, at the lake… the glances, how you got nervous when he was around. I thought it was just a silly girl’s thing, an innocent attraction. I never imagined…” his voice broke again. “I’m very disappointed. In both of you. He was like a brother to me. I trusted him. And you… my girl. He took advantage of you. He got you pregnant and left like a coward.”

He approached again and sat down, but this time with slumped shoulders.

“If I see him… I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll make him pay for every tear you’ve shed.”

“No!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm desperately. “Dad, please… no. I love him. I know it sounds stupid, but I love him. It was real for me. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

He looked at you for a long time, with his broken heart visible on his face. Rage, disappointment, protective love… all mixed together.

Finally he hugged you again, tightly, as if he wanted to absorb all your pain.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he whispered against your hair. “But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

You stayed there, in his arms, crying silently while he held you.

You kept the baby. There was no other real option in your heart, even though fear accompanied you every day. With your father’s silent but firm support, you started going to the doctor. The first appointments were terrible: your hands trembled while you had the tests done, you felt shame when the doctor asked about the father and you could only look down. You heard your baby’s heartbeat for the first time and cried on the examination table, a mix of terror and overwhelming tenderness you didn’t expect.

Little by little you faced reality.

You bought vitamins, looser clothes, and began to notice how your belly was gently rounding. Some nights you still cried silently, but you no longer thought about the pills. You had a reason to keep going. Your father was there: he accompanied you to appointments, prepared meals that didn’t make you nauseous, and although disappointment still floated between you like a shadow, he never let go of your hand.

One night, while you were having dinner at the kitchen table, there was a knock at the door. It was late, almost nine o’clock. You got up carefully, placing a hand on your already visible belly under the loose t-shirt.

“I’ll get it,” you said softly.

You opened the door… and the world stopped.

There he was, and when he saw you, a tentative smile formed on his lips.

“Princess…” he murmured.

Your knees weakened. You felt everything spinning. You grabbed the door frame to keep from falling, your heart beating so hard you thought you were going to faint. The air left your lungs. You couldn’t speak, you just looked at him, with your eyes full of tears that began to fall uncontrollably.

His smile lasted barely two seconds.

Your father appeared behind you like lightning. He didn’t say a word, he just closed his fist and threw a punch straight to his face. The dry sound of the impact echoed in the hallway. He staggered back, but your father didn’t stop. He gave him another punch to the jaw, and another to the stomach that doubled him over.

“Dad! Stop!” you screamed, horrified.

You ran toward them. He was on the porch floor, bleeding from the mouth. You tried to intervene, pushing your father with all your strength.

“Enough, please! You’re going to kill him!”

Your father was breathing like a wounded animal, with bloody knuckles and eyes full of fury. You managed to separate them enough. He spat blood on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at your father with confusion and pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled, trying to get up.

Your father approached again and, before you could stop him, spat in his face.

“You trampled on our friendship. I trusted you like a brother and you… you fucked my daughter. You’re a disgusting person. You broke her heart and the worst of all… you got her pregnant, you son of a bitch. You disappeared and left her alone with this.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

He slowly raised his gaze toward you. His green eyes widened in horror when he saw the tears running down your cheeks, your protective hand on your rounded belly, the way you were trembling. The color left his face.

“What…?” he whispered, almost without voice.

He got up with difficulty, staggering, and tried to approach you.

“Princess… please…”

Your father pushed him hard against the wall.

“Don’t get close to her.”

“Please…” he begged, his voice broken, looking only at you. “I need to talk to her. I left Laura. I did everything… for her.”

Your father let out a bitter, rage-filled laugh.

“Shameless. You show up now, after months, and you expect…”

“Dad,” you intervened, with a trembling but firm voice. “Let us talk. Please. Just… a moment.”

Your father looked at you, torn between fierce protection and love for you.

Finally, with his jaw clenched, he nodded.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He left, but left the door ajar. The atmosphere remained charged, heavy.

He took a step toward you, but you instinctively moved away, crossing your arms over your chest. The tears wouldn’t stop.

“No… don’t come near me,” you said in a broken voice. “You have no right.”

“Love, let me explain…”

“No!” you exclaimed, and all the accumulated sadness came out like a torrent. “Explain what? That you used me? I spent weeks thinking you only wanted my body. That all those promises at the lake, in the forest, were just words to fuck me. You left me alone. You disappeared. I thought you were going to come back. I waited for your call like an idiot… and nothing. I found out about the pregnancy vomiting every morning, crying until I had no tears left. I thought about dying, you know? About swallowing pills because I felt dirty, used, broken. Because the man who said he loved me, who wanted me to be the mother of his children, abandoned me like I was garbage.”

Your voice broke into sobs. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to contain yourself, but you couldn’t.

“Every medical appointment I went to alone at first. Every night I felt this baby move and thought you would never know him. That I had ruined everything by believing you. I hated you. I hated you so much… and at the same time I still loved you and that destroyed me even more.”

He was devastated. Tears ran down his face. He ran his hands through his hair, desperate.

“Forgive me… Please, forgive me. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

You stayed silent, trembling. Finally, in a thread of voice, you told him:

“Talk. Explain. But I don’t know if I want to hear it.”

He approached slowly, until he was a meter away from you. His voice was hoarse, broken by emotion.

“I was a coward. When we returned from the lake, guilt ate me alive. Laura suspected something, your father was there… I thought I had to fix my marriage first, do things right, separate like a man before coming for you. But every day without you was hell. I called you mentally, wrote messages that I deleted. I wanted to give you stability, not drag you into my mess. When I finally left Laura a few weeks ago, I came as fast as I could. I didn’t know… I didn’t know about the baby.”

His voice broke. He knelt in front of you, right there in the entrance, with his knees on the cold floor.

“I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone. It wasn’t just your body. It was your laugh, the way you looked at me, your strength. I want to be with you. I want to be the father of that baby. I want to wake up every day by your side and make up for every tear. Please… don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away. I need you. I need both of you.”

He was crying openly, kneeling like a broken man, with his face swollen from the blows and dried blood at the corner of his lips. He extended a trembling hand toward you, without touching you, waiting.

“Forgive me, princess. Give me a chance to prove to you that this time I’m not going to leave. Please…”

The air was charged with pain, wounded love, broken promises and new pleas. You stayed there, with one hand on your belly and your heart in pieces, not knowing if you could forgive or if the damage was already irreparable. The tears continued to fall, silently, while you looked at him kneeling in front of you.

“Why…?” you whispered between sobs, with a broken and trembling voice. “Why do I have to love you so much? Tell me… why can’t I hate you like I should? You left. You left me alone with all this… and still, every night I dreamed of you. Every time I felt the baby move, I thought of you. Why do I have to love you in this stupid and painful way?”

He raised his gaze toward you, with his reddened green eyes full of tears. His beaten face was swollen, but the real pain was in his expression. He extended a trembling hand, not daring to touch you yet.

“Cause’ I love you the same way,” he answered in a hoarse, broken voice. “Because what we have is bigger than fear, than my mistakes, than everything. I made the worst mistake of my life by walking away. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I only destroyed you. Forgive me… please, princess. Give me another chance. Let me prove to you that this time I’m going to stay. I’m going to be there for you and for our baby. I’m not going to fail you again.”

The tears prevented you from seeing clearly.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, breathing unevenly. The weight of everything you had lived through was still there, oppressing your chest.

“Get up…” you finally whispered, with a weak voice. “Please, get up. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

He stood up slowly, with difficulty, grimacing in pain from your father’s blows. As soon as he was in front of you, you took a step and kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, salty with tears, full of rage and love at the same time. Your hands clung tightly to his shirt, as if you feared he would disappear again. He reciprocated with the same intensity, surrounding you with his large, warm arms, careful not to press too hard on your belly.

When you separated, you rested your forehead against his, still crying.

“I hate you…” you murmured against his lips. “I hate you for what you put me through. For every night I thought I didn’t matter to you. But I love you more. I love you so much it hurts to breathe. I don’t know how I’m going to forgive you completely… but I can’t let you go.”

He closed his eyes, pressing you gently against his chest. One of his hands lowered to your belly and caressed it with reverence, feeling for the first time the curve where his son was growing.

“I love you,” he said in a deep, trembling voice. “I love you like I never thought I could love someone. These months away were hell. I realized I missed your laugh, the way you laugh when something really amuses you. I missed your whims, how you got angry about everything and furrowed your brow in that adorable way. I missed the way you looked at me when you thought no one was watching… that mix of desire and shyness that drove me crazy. I missed your scent, your voice, the way you gave yourself to me without reservations. Everything about you. Every damn thing. There’s no one else for me. Only you.”

He hugged you tighter, kissing your hair, your forehead, your wet cheeks. You continued crying against his chest, but now it was a different cry: softer, more liberating.

The pain was still there, deep and slowly healing, but for the first time in months you felt a glimmer of hope.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again…” you whispered. “But I want to try. For me. For the baby. For us.”

He nodded, without letting you go.

“I’m going to earn that trust every day. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. Forever, princess.”

You stayed hugged in the entrance, under the dim light of the porch, while your father waited in the kitchen, probably listening to everything. The world outside kept turning, but at that moment only the two of you existed, trying to rebuild what you had almost destroyed forever.

The following months were not easy. For your father, accepting the relationship was a slow and painful process. At first he barely tolerated his presence in the house. Dinners were tense, conversations short and full of awkward silences. Your father looked at him with a mix of contained rage and deep disappointment every time he saw him touch your belly or kiss you on the forehead. More than once you heard arguments between them in the living room: harsh words, reproaches about the betrayed friendship and about the responsibility he now had.

But time, as always, did its work. Your father saw how he was there every day. He saw him accompany you to all the medical appointments, hold your hand during the ultrasounds, paint the baby’s room with patience and carry the boxes of diapers without complaining. He saw how he took care of you. And, above all, he saw how you started smiling again little by little. One day, after a dinner in which he helped wash the dishes without anyone asking, your father just sighed deeply and told him:

“I don’t forgive you for what you did. But if you’re going to be with my daughter and my grandson… you’d better do it right. If you hurt her again, I won’t settle for a few punches.”

It was the closest thing to a blessing you were going to get.

He kept his word. He quickly sold the house in Texas, closed that chapter of his life with Laura and used the money to buy a large and beautiful house just two streets from your father’s. He wanted you to be close to your family, to have support. Together you started organizing the baby’s room: you painted the walls a soft gray and yellow, assembled the crib, placed furniture and hung small glowing stars on the ceiling. He spent hours there with you, placing everything carefully, kissing your belly every time he bent down.

He accompanied you everywhere. To childbirth preparation classes, for afternoon walks so you could move, even to buy maternity clothes. Things weren’t perfect: there were moments of insecurity, arguments due to fatigue and fear of the future, nights when you woke up crying remembering the abandonment. But you tried. A little more every day.

You only heard about Laura once. One afternoon, while he was talking on the phone in the garden, you heard his raised voice through the half-open window.

“…yes, the house is already sold. No, I’m not going to give you more than what we agreed. And stop insulting her, Laura. She has nothing to do with this. This was my decision.”

You heard her call you “young whore” and other hurtful things before he hung up. You didn’t care. You already had enough with your own world.

He made sure to make you feel loved every day. Small details: flowers for no reason, massages for your swollen feet, slow kisses in the mornings, his hands always seeking to touch you as if he needed to remind himself that you were real. He constantly repeated that you were beautiful, even when you felt huge and tired.

One night, when you were already nine months pregnant, you went out to dinner at a quiet restaurant. You felt especially pretty in a black maternity dress that gently hugged your figure. The dinner was pleasant, full of laughter and plans for the future. At one point you went to the bathroom and, when you returned, you saw the scene: an attractive woman, more or less his age, was leaning over the table openly flirting with him.

“…and tell me, what is a man like you doing here alone?” she was saying.

He looked up, and with a firm and cold voice he replied:

“Go away. I have a wife.”

The woman laughed, unaware of your presence.

“I don’t see her anywhere…”

You appeared right behind her, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.

“Here I am,” you said in a clear and calm voice. “I’m his wife.”

The woman looked you up and down, noticing your prominent belly, and left muttering something between her teeth. You sat down again, with a small smile on your lips. It had been a long time since you had felt jealous. That night, that small pang of possessiveness reminded you how much you loved him.

You arrived home charged with that energy. As soon as you closed the door to the bedroom, he kissed you with contained hunger. It had been weeks since you had had sex; the advanced pregnancy and fatigue had put it on pause. But that night was different.

He undressed you with reverent slowness, kissing every inch of skin he discovered. He knelt in front of you and kissed your swollen belly, whispering words of love against your skin. He helped you lie on your side, the most comfortable position at that moment, and positioned himself behind you. His large hands caressed your more sensitive breasts, gently pinching the nipples while he kissed your neck.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured against your ear, his voice husky with desire. “So mine.”

When he entered you, he did it slowly, inch by inch, careful with every movement. You moaned loudly, because after so long without feeling him, the sensation was exquisite. You were more sensitive, tighter, and each slow, deep thrust made you tremble. He held you with one arm around your waist, the other hand caressing your clit with perfect circles.

“Fuck…” he growled against your neck. “You’re so hot, so wet for me…”

You moved against him as best you could, seeking more depth. The pleasure was different now: more intense, more emotional. Every time he entered to the bottom you moaned his name, and he responded with kisses and words of love.

“Cum for me, princess… let me feel you,” he whispered, accelerating just a little, always careful.

The orgasm hit you like a slow and powerful wave. You contracted around him, trembling in his arms as you moaned. He followed shortly after, cumming inside you with a long, husky grunt, hugging you tightly against his chest.

You stayed joined for a long time, breathing heavily. He didn’t pull out of you immediately. He kissed your nape, your cheek, and caressed your belly with tenderness.

“I love you,” he repeated over and over. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to be okay.”

That night you slept glued to him, with his protective hand on your belly and your heart calmer than it had been in a long time. The wounds were still there, but little by little they were turning into scars. And for the first time in months, you felt that the future could be good. Together.

A few days later, in the early morning, while you were sleeping glued to his chest, you felt the first strong contraction. It was like a bolt of pain that ran through your back and belly. You complained and he woke up immediately.

“Is it time?” he asked, alert in seconds.

You nodded, biting your lip. Labor had begun.

The following hours were intense. You arrived at the hospital quickly. Your father followed in his car, nervous but present. The birth was natural, as you wanted, but it wasn’t easy. You were a first-time mother and the baby was big. The contractions became stronger and closer together.

You sweated, moaned in pain, squeezing his hand so hard you thought you were going to break his fingers.

“Breathe, princess… I’m here,” he repeated non-stop, wiping your forehead with a cold cloth, kissing your sweat-soaked hair. “You’re doing incredible. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

You screamed with every push. The pain was tearing, as if your body was opening in two. At one point, between contraction and contraction, you cried exhausted.

“I can’t… it hurts so much…”

“Yes you can,” he told you in a firm but loving voice, looking you in the eyes. “It’s almost over. Our son is about to arrive. Hold on a little longer.”

Your father waited outside, pacing back and forth. The nurses came in and out. After almost twelve hours of labor, the doctor told you it was time.

“Push! Hard!”

You screamed with all your strength. You felt your body opening, the intense burning, the overwhelming pressure. And then… the cry. A strong, healthy, vigorous cry filled the room.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced with a smile. “He’s perfect!”

They placed the baby on your chest almost immediately, still connected by the cord. He was wet, wrinkled, with a red face and clenched little fists, but to you he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life.

He was chubby, with full cheeks and a bit of dark hair on his head. You hugged him against your skin, crying uncontrollably.

“My baby…” you whispered, kissing his little head. “Hello, my love… you’re here.”

You never imagined you could love someone so much so quickly. That love was instant, fierce, overwhelming. It was as if all the pain, fear and tears of the previous months were worth it just to have him there, breathing against your chest.

He was by your side, with his eyes full of tears he didn’t bother to hide. He let them run freely while he caressed the baby’s back with a trembling hand and kissed your forehead over and over.

“Thank you…” he murmured with a broken voice. “Thank you for our son. You’re incredible. I love you so much…”

He cried without shame, with silent sobs, looking at his son as if he couldn’t believe he was real. That big, strong man, who had been in prison, was completely undone with emotion in front of his little one.

After they sutured you and cleaned you up, they moved you to a private room.

You were exhausted but happy, with the baby already clean and wrapped in a blanket, sleeping peacefully in your arms. Your father came in for a while, excited, and held his grandson with trembling hands. There were tears from him too. Then he left you alone.

When things calmed down, you looked at him, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to stop touching the baby.

“It didn’t seem like you’d been in prison for so long,” you said with a tired but teasing smile. “You cried like a child when you saw him.”

He let out a low, husky laugh, wiping his still wet eyes. He leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips.

“How could I not cry?” he replied, looking at you with so much love that you felt your heart swell. “I was watching my woman, the person I love most in the world, give birth to our son. It was the most beautiful and strongest thing I’ve seen in my life. I cried with pride, with gratitude… with love. All together.”

He caressed the chubby cheek of the baby, who slept deeply, with his thumb.

“He looks like you,” he murmured. “He has your nose.”

“And your eyes, I hope,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

You stayed like that for a long time: you resting in bed, him by your side, with one hand on your shoulder and the other near the baby. The room was silent, only interrupted by the soft breathing of the newborn. For the first time in a long time, everything seemed to be in its place.

You and him had gone through hell, but there both were: a family.

And of course a few months later he proposed to you.

[dollfacies]

SOLDIER BOY P!LINKS

a/n: accept this as a peace offering while i work on requests

18+ content ahead—minors do not interact. preferably watch in private, not public. you must be logged into x (twitter) to watch the videos below. ૮꒰ ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎ ꒱ა

✘ creampie ✘ bend over ✘ makin’ you do all the work ✘ lesson learned ✘ face riding ✘ don’t tell butcher ✘ between your tits ✘ rightfully where it belongs ✘ throat fuckin’ ✘ passionate ✘ thigh humping ✘ mutual masturbation

[nowiwalkunderapinksky]

“I wish Y/N L/N loved me more

than anyone in the fucking world.”

He'd mutter under his breath, two hands wrapped around the skinny twig of a willow tree prepared to snap it in two. He sounded half-joking as he spoke the wish, embarrassed that he's desperate enough to try wishing for your love instead of asking you out like a normal person.

But if there was even a slight chance it would work, he'd do it. He'd do anything for you.

A snap. The 'one wish willow' broke apart in his hands. Two smaller pieces now in his grasp promising him that his wish would come true.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────────────

Obsessed ( pun intended ) with the idea of a yandere x reader fanfic with the same plot as Obsession and y/n brings the horror/yandere part instead of whoever the character is :')

[godsfavrib]

Hi, it's me again... I'd like to know. Let's say Y/N is Homelander's pregnant partner. Y/N doesn't have powers because she's a civilian. Let's say at a meeting where Homelander is interacting with his fans, he brings Y/N along so she can be there too. But a man who hates Homelander throws a beer bottle (thinking it will hit Homelander, but it actually hits Y/N in the stomach). I'd like to know how Homelander would react. Thank you very much.🥹💕

I think he’d be ANGRY.

The shows throws at us two things when it comes to him and fatherhood: that it’s a really idyllic IDEA, or a horrible reality.Lets break this down. Homelander has a father instinct. He is protective over things he cares about. Not the same dynamic, but on his way back to the tower he’d “casually” listen to whatever is going on in Madelyn’s office and that’s how he learned someone threatened her. Then he brought down the plane where the guy was. Along with his son.

So. Homelander doesn’t see children as innocent parts of the society. A child is a person, and if that person is a human then there’s nothing to protect. Even if the kid was a supe he’d have no mercy. Thing is…he doesn’t care, unless someone is HIS.

So I bet you, from the moment his partner gets pregnant his eyes are always on x-ray mode, his hearing is always up, his smell is ready to know if there’s something wrong. It’s a very romantic idea, him being a father who cares so MUCH. I feel like he’d love the pregnancy/newborn/toddler stage. Then, your kid is funny, sweet, they love you.

So absolutely he’d burn the world for them. If the situation you described actually happened, I’m sure he’d react similarly to that situation with Ryan at the end of s3. Maybe even more aggressively. It depends on which stage his character is. If we’re talking season 4/5 he’d absolutely take that person as an example to show what happens to those who don’t “respect life”. If it was season 2/3 Homelander he’d probably laser the guy? Do something more impulsive, more instant death like. Season 1 Homelander and before? He’d take his revenge but off cameras? Or maybe not even?

But we have to remember that the moment the kid starts to have their own ideas and opinions on him….yea. His fatherly instincts will turn into control.

[godsfavrib]

heyy i have a big question for someone with a homelander degree...

ok the thing is that in fanon he's either written like

dom daddy 50 shades of gray kinda guy, that needs to be in charge at every single moment, or

subby wubby mommy kink haver that complains when you don't pay attention to him and follows you around like a lost puppy (but won't admit it)

which one do you think it's the most correct? i personally enjoy both, but I guess homelander whining and being super clingy makes much more sense according to the canon...

Homelander is your mirror. He will whatever makes YOU happy at the end of the day. This is so long btw, had to make it into chapters. (One sentence answer at the end)

1.Influence

We know 3 things canonically that shaped him. And there’s one thing that I head canon strongly:

A) he was conditioned by watching stories of a perfect American family, a husband who protects the wife, teaches his son how to be a man, makes sure his daughter finds a good partner

B) he experienced sexual trauma in the lab that ended up repressing some side of him. For those who missed it, in s4 ep4 he remembers how the scientists made fun of him for masturbating/there was cameras ALWAYS on him

C) when he just joined Vought he was 17/18 and Madelyn was in her early 30s I believe.

D) (head-canon) in the finale of s1 when he has sex with Stillwell he slaps her which she doesn’t like, she sees it as aggression. If this was influenced by anything I believe it would be porn. He isn’t stupid, he knows he doesn’t love or care for America. Same with those values from the movies. He likes the idea of them but he is also drawn to the other side of the coin. He just lives the stereotype they put him in, but there’s a human instinct to get out of them and this is what this text is about.

2.Relationships

Two types you described are reflections of what we saw with Madelyn and Stormfront. So the confusion is valid, they are two different behaviors.

He was depended on Madelyn, shadowing her, wanting her approval. This is what she wanted from him. Even that slap, whatever it was supposed to communicate (his preference or whatever he thought SHE expected bc “that’s what people like”) was shut down by her quickly and he just adjusted politely.

With Stormfront, the moment SHE threw him around, he matched her pace. Their sex scene is wild, then they fuck in public, he makes that sex tape and even there you can hear how crude is the language he uses towards her.

3.Importance of propaganda

I believe that he is confused himself. Being sweet and caring is something he’d associate with Vought propaganda. Even if he truly wants a white picket fence, he doesn’t feel completely…natural in it? A side of him is always mocking it. And when it happens? It’s very forced. Maybe even more exhausting than that. Because he craves it SO much it makes the people around him, for example Ryan, fear him even more. He’s not angry, he’s obsessed. He has expectations. Even when he got Stormfront the flowers but she didn’t care and he burned the trailer down. HE SO WANTED THIS. He wanted tenderness, appreciation, soft kisses. This man never had a good make out session I believe; slow and vulnerable. Of course he freaked out on her. His expectations were over the roof and she just dismissed them. It’s like when u really want something that someone promised you and all you get is a low budget version. He felt that people just don’t get it. When in reality perfection doesn’t exist. Which is another important point here. He doesn’t understand, because he believes in unrealistic standards of love. That’s why he tries to find “a key”. Not in a strategic way, no. Like a lost pigeon who goes from trash can to trash can just doing it automatically. Vought’s propaganda made him ASSUME and BELIEVE he knows what he wants.

4.Importance of sex

On the other hand, talking filthy and dominating/switching is something that seemed to also come naturally to him. Just like that deep need for domestic life.

It’s not like he had to hype himself up, no, he just did it. And he knew how to do it. So technically, he is good at both. He can be picture perfect blonde guy, and a sex machine in private. BUT. Are any of them real, are any of them what he wants to be forever. Nahh.

I think he craves a mystery. A life where sex can be his private matter. Not Vought’s, not transactional. So he believes in that human approach to it. BUT THEN. He uses sex as a deflection on people who rage bait him. On Hughie, Starlight, Meave too. Or when he spoke to Zoe and Ryan? That was disgusting. He doesn’t understand the importance of sex. Why would he, really. His first experiences were mocked and recorded, his second experiences was being groomed and kinda assaulted in the corridor. We don’t know what happened next, it was either Madelyn being a groomer or Meave kinda saving the day.

5.

If I were to sum it up I would say that he is super confused, but he also doesn’t want to unpack it. That’s why he mirrors his partner. If you want a dom, he will give u that. If you want sub, he will give you that. As long as he trusts that there’s no transaction or exploitation here….but that’s the thing. If it’s a good relationship, there wouldn’t be…boxes like this, you know? If it’s a good relationship, then he could just be whatever he wants to be. And that’s where we finally, actually approach the question.

Sexuality is fluid. Not just orientation but how you want to experience it, how you feel about it or understand it. You can be in a relationship for a year and things can change or you can learn something you didn’t know. I feel like that would scare him. The fluidity. In a good relationship there wouldn’t be a set pattern. Just like when he was confused with Stillwell. “Does she want to humiliate me, love me, want me to slap her, kiss her…etc etc.” I hate that scene. It’s so…cold. Just…”take your pants off.” And then there’s a cut and a reflection of them upside down in that snow globe, which show perfectly how unnatural the whole conversation was.

His sex scene with Stormfront started from when she told him he’s perfect to her, that she’s been looking for him for years. Even after he learned her backstory (which I believe he had an opinion on but he’d stupid enough to ignore it-I think so because of that one scene where he give her a side eye later) he is still willing to have sex with her because maybe this is the one.

But when he has an automatic/human instinct to switch it up and show her love instead of sex, he learned that maybe she doesn’t want that soft side of him, she wants a soldier. Same with Madelyn, she doesn’t want good sex, she wants someone to control.

Everyone wants either this or that. Either a whiny guy to feel sorry for, or someone to fuck them good. He is a pattern in everyone’s heads. What I lean towards is that he will be different each time. We saw it many times, his emotions go from 0-100. If he was in a happy mood, trust me, he’d make it good and happy. Maybe even soft and full of praise if you initiated it. If he had a shit day he’d probably assume he doesn’t deserve any closeness now, or that vulnerability is a weapon. Boom. That’s when a good partner takes him out of the cage. You can be sad, and still be close AND not be used.

I think we won’t ever know cause no one ever opened that door to self discovery and allowed him to understand himself more. We also don’t know a lot about his relationship with Meave. You can’t find yourself when your inexperience is used as a weapon. That’s why I personally believe that he’d thrive with someone who’s on a similar journey. I’m not talking sexually, you can be confident or whatever, but it’s good for him to be with someone who’s also a walking contradiction, ideally someone who is very different from him.

And he never fought for it, did he? Like I said, sex has no importance for him. Sure he likes it with the right people, he only does it with the “right” people. But it’s not a spiritual experience, or emotional. It’s not something that he keeps sacred. It’s just something he did as he hopes it makes him be more loved by someone.

I think that if for once there was zero expectations, zero eyes on him, zero articles or influences coming from the ones who don’t give a fuck about him, he’d know. He’d fight, want to understand, be allowed to try things. That’s what I think would help him. Just trying things out.

He’s a little bit like a circus animal in this sense. A gentle tiger who lets the maestro play him like they want to. But then for just a second the instinct comes back and he bites. And then stays polite for few more hours only to bite again and again. And it doesn’t leave him with freedom, respect or satisfaction. Only more confusion. Why did I bite? Why didn’t they react how I wanted them to? Why does any idea from my side go unnoticed or dismissed, unless it suits them? Am I even a tiger?

One sentence answer? The canon is about him being sexually confused and frustrated, therefore following fixed patterns he was bombarded with or learned from clumsy research because no one ever was patient enough to let him try and discover himself.

There’s no protocol for that, not an existing movie that he can follow and be successful

[godsfavrib]

You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything

You get me closer to god

[ackleslittleangel]

Homelander ₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

Me kindly declining my Kataifi and my Iced Coffee Latte because its not Homelander's sweat and armpit hair ·༻𐫱༺·

(for refference purposes kataifi is the middle image and its tasty as fuck(^///^). )

[godsfavrib]

Hii :). I really like your content and writing style. This might be an awkward question, but what would Homelander do if his partner was experiencing extreme anxiety or some other problem (such as an eating disorder or self-harm)? Sorry if this is a strange question.

Oh anon!! Don’t apologize! This is a safe space🩵🩵thank you🎀 TW: Eating disorder and self harm mentions.

The first time it’d happed he’d be freaked out.

“Oh come on! Everything’s fine. Look!” He’d gesture at himself and around. “You got… me, you’re gorgeous too! Don’t….sulk.”

He’d look at you and notice that it didn’t…seem to do the trick. He’d scan your body, read your blood, sense what you maybe didn’t, couldn’t tell him yet, and then? He’d understand. Yet still. He believes that his presence himself, being in his light, should be enough. So why are you sad?

He gets sad a lot himself. Cries, punches his forehead, burns his skin off…just like a child who can’t get a drawing right, or brush their hair without getting it to be all frizzy. He gets aggressive with himself, others, his surrounding. But in this moment? He doesn’t…want that. Doesn’t feel like that. But he doesn’t feel cinematic softness either. As touchy as he is…this is…a tender moment. Maybe one he can’t handle. All he can afford is a soft nudge of his shoulder into yours and an eye contact that would break anyone other than you. The nudge turned into him rubbing your back now. His lips would obviously stay a line-meaning he still doesn’t understand everything. Wasn’t he enough? But abused children grow up to recognize patterns really well. Sometimes that ability gets buried deep down…but…

He’d smack his lips and leave them open, staying like this for a little bit. Back and forth. Just like his hand, like his hum. A stutter. Then back at you. So he says something that you always say to him when he gets bad.

“How about we watch a movie? Or take a shower…we can…eat something?”

Oh he only made it more awkward. Yet there is something sweet about how proud he looks. Proud of himself. Look at him, praise him. He knows…he knows you so well! In his weird…”I can X-ray you” way.

“Come on, let’s do something.” He’d say again and pinch your cheek like mother does her baby. He doesn’t even let you answer. “Wanna fly to Paris?” He’d look at you like he’s serious. “Oh for fuck-“ he’d start when he noticed your inner tiredness. “You know I love you, right? I don’t want you sad. I’ve been…sad too. You know…before. You’re always so…good with me, it’s like you know exactly what to do. And I don’t.” He’d stand up now. Frustrated. And look down at you.

“C’mere” and before you could do something? He’d pull you into a breaking hug. “I will get you a milkshake. On real milk, I like you strong.” He’d nuzzle your hair and breath in, humming a bit again. “…Can I do something else for you? Tell me what’s up.” He’d murmur as he gently steers you to sit in his lap, heart to heart.

I’m sorry but he’d be so awkward about it🩵

I don’t think he’d be good at comfort until he figures it out. He learns your routine, your heartbeat, if your eyes stay on him or away. Do you want his touch or you don’t…but when he gets it right? The next moment it happens? He won’t be scared. Milkshakes, silence, talks, laughs, cries. He’d do it all. Paris and home, distance and closeness. He’d learn if you teach him.

So…if it happens again he knows what to do. Not like he has to. Homelander’s girl is never gonna be sad again.

I hope you’re alright🎀🎀🎀🫶🫶🫶

[kyrasworldd]

ꫂ᭪ the walking dead p links !

These links all contain NSFW content, everything is 18+. All X/twitter links (you have to be logged in before viewing).

RICK GRIMES :

dom!rick who fucks his frustration out on you .

pervert!rick who rubs himself shamefully against your folds whilst everybody else is asleep in their cell blocks .

olderbf!rick fucking you after date night .

cheater!rick fucking you when Loris away .

fucking yourself on boyfriend!rick ‘s cock after a long day .

secretly riding cheater!rick in the rv .

acting a whore on olderbf!rick’s cock .

DARYL DIXON :

sub!daryl who gets whiny when you finally fuck him .

riding redneck!daryl .

quick fuck w/ boyfriend!daryl on a run .

getting stuffed by bigdick!daryl .

showing redneck!daryl what you’ve got .

SHANE WALSH :

older!bf shane who cant wait until the two of you get home, resulting in fucking in a restaurant toilet .

olderbf!shane who cant help but cream his pants as you ride him, needing more of you .

deputy!shane fucking you in the middle of his shift .

secretly riding possessive!shane in the rv .

getting fucked by bigdick!shane (farm era) .

© 𝘬𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘥 2026

@rickgrimes-cupid @rickgrimesismyboyfriend @kitty-grimes @rottingwaif52 @lovestriuck

[ancientwastedlores]

The Father of God (Reader x Soldier Boy) - Chapter 2

The response to Chapter 1 was DELIGHTFUL, and, like Homelander, you can pretty much get me to do whatever with enough praise, so here you go, darlings. This was such a pleasure to write, thank you for all your kindness <3  

Relationship: Soldier Boy x Reader, Homelander in love with Reader. 

Word count: 5273

_______________

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!

<3

[choimeong]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀`⎚⩊⎚´⠀⠀𓏼🎨⁺⠀⠀⌗❛⠀⠀카이⠀ ๑♡

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀`⎚⩊⎚´⠀⠀𓏼🧺⁺⠀⠀⌗❛⠀⠀카이⠀ ๑♡

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Haii, can I request seong-je x sweet!reader. Like she's the polar opposite of Seong-je! she gives people the benefit of the doubt and is known for being a walking angel. Can it be smut? You can use whatever scenario you'd like ! o(｀ω´ )o

p.s ;; i love your fanfics !

— i'd like to be your 🥕 anon (its because of bunnies ehe)

Hii 🥕 ♡ thank you sm for your sweet words—I'm so happy you love the fics!!

“Angels Don’t Kiss Like That”

He’s all fists and fury. She’s soft voices and sweeter smiles. So why does he feel like he’s burning alive every time she says his name?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No one understood it.

Y/N was the girl who brought snacks for kids who forgot lunch, who stayed after school to erase whiteboards for the teachers, who smiled like forgiveness was easy. She was soft. Sweet. Pure in a way people didn’t even think existed anymore.

And Seong-je?

He was the kind of guy who walked down the hallway and made it empty. Teachers looked the other way when he passed, fists still red from whatever idiot tried to challenge him that week. He didn’t speak unless it was a threat. He didn’t touch unless it was a punch. And yet—

She was always near him.

It started small. She gave him a bandage once. Just one of those cutesy ones with a bear on it, pressed to his cheek with a shy little, “You’re bleeding.” He’d stared at her like she was stupid.

He didn’t wear the bandage.

But he kept it. Pocketed it in silence and thought about the way her fingers had brushed his jaw all fucking night.

She was a problem.

And she got worse.

Because she smiled at everyone. Even guys who got too close. Even the guy who slung his arm around her shoulders at lunch—Seong-je watched the whole thing from across the field, jaw clenched so hard it cracked.

She laughed at something the guy said. Touched his arm.

Seong-je knocked out two of his teeth behind the gym later that day.

“Je,” she said gently afterward, when she found him wiping his knuckles on his jeans. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t answer.

Her eyes searched his, confused. “He’s my friend.”

“That’s why I hit him,” Seong-je muttered, not even looking at her.

He didn’t tell her that when he saw her smiling at someone else, it made his chest go tight and black with something so ugly it scared even him.

She should’ve walked away. She should’ve been afraid.

But the next day, she brought him a rice ball and asked if his hand still hurt.

That was the moment he knew he was fucked.

It was her room. It was her who tugged him inside after school. Her who locked the door, standing between him and the world, soft and warm and shaking.

“I—I want to kiss you,” she whispered.

He stared.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I want to,” she said again, eyes wide, honest. “You always look like you’re hurting.”

“Y/N,” he growled, voice low, warning. “Don’t. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She stepped closer.

And closer.

Until her hands slid up under his hoodie, gentle against his waist.

“You scare everyone,” she said, looking up at him. “But not me.”

He grabbed her wrist, but his grip wasn’t tight. Just trembling.

“You’re not ready for me.”

“Then take it slow,” she whispered. “I want all of you anyway.”

He cracked.

His mouth crashed into hers like violence—no rhythm, no warning, just desperation and heat. Her lips opened for him like she was meant to, like she’d been waiting for this, and her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, soft sighs muffled between kisses.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so—so fucking sweet, and I’m gonna ruin you.”

She kissed him again. “Then ruin me.”

He cursed, dragging her down to the bed with him like gravity, and suddenly it was all heat and breathless laughter and her thighs parting for him so easily.

“Lift your shirt,” he muttered, and she did, cheeks flushing as he stared at her like he’d never seen skin before. “God…”

Her bra was lace. White. Angelic.

He buried his face in her chest and moaned.

“You wear this for me?” he asked, teeth grazing the fabric.

She nodded, shaky. “Thought maybe you’d look.”

“Baby,” he groaned, pulling the cup down with his mouth. “I always fuckin’ look.”

She gasped when he sucked her nipple into his mouth, hand gripping his hair as his tongue swirled, slow and possessive. His fingers trailed down her sides, kneading, memorizing, worshipping.

“Gonna be honest,” he murmured, voice gravelly against her skin. “I’ve thought about this so many times. You. Under me. Moaning my name.”

“I’ve thought about you too,” she admitted, face pink. “Even though I shouldn’t.”

That broke something in him.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he said, kissing down her belly. “But you do. Huh, sweetheart?”

She nodded, eyes wide and dazed.

He peeled off her skirt.

Then her panties.

Then groaned.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re wet already? All this for me?”

“I’ve never…” she blushed harder. “But I want you.”

He kissed her inner thigh, almost reverent. “I’ll be gentle.”

But he wasn’t.

He tried—he really did. But the second he slid two fingers into her tight, needy heat and she whimpered his name like a plea, he snapped. He had to taste her. Had to own her.

His mouth was filthy. Tongue slow, greedy, like he wanted to memorize every noise she made.

She came once on his mouth, sobbing his name, thighs squeezing around his head. He didn’t stop. Not until she begged. Not until her legs were shaking and he was throbbing in his jeans.

He kissed her softly then. And when he finally slid inside her, slow and careful, she gasped like he was the first thing that ever made her feel real.

“You okay?” he asked, voice thick, barely holding on.

She nodded, nails in his back. “Please move. Please, Seong-je—”

And he did.

Not rough. Not yet.

But deep. Full. Like he didn’t want to be anywhere but inside her.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re perfect. Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

Her moan broke in the middle.

He kissed her. Over and over. Her forehead, her lips, her throat.

“Say it’s mine,” he whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered back. “I was always yours.”

And that’s when he lost it.

He fucked her so deep she gasped every time he bottomed out. So slow it was cruel. So dirty for someone so sweet, her voice a broken whimper beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer.

He came inside her, gritting his teeth, eyes never leaving hers.

And when he pulled her into his chest, still buried inside her, still shaking—he whispered it like a secret:

“You’re mine now. No one else gets to touch you.”

She nodded. Sleepy. Wrecked.

“You’re not scary,” she mumbled, curling into him.

He laughed quietly. “You’re the only one who gets to say that.”

Aftercare? Immaculate. He made her tea. She made him blush. He still punched someone the next day for asking why she was walking funny.

But he didn’t care.

Because she kissed his cheek and smiled at him in the hallway like he hung the stars.

And for once, Seong-je didn’t feel like a monster.

He just felt hers.

[inkieun]

Pretty Little Thing — Geum Seong-Je x F!Reader (hyun-tak's sister)

His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on. “Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.”

tw: mean!seongje, dark!seongje, noncon, hairpulling, degradation, exhibitionism, someone getting hit with a belt and lots of dirty talk and blood mentioned as well

wc: 4.6k words

This was requested, and I loved every second of bringing it to life. Keep the requests coming!!

“Hey. You heard anything from Baku?”

Sieun’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade. He didn’t look at Hyun-Tak when he asked. Just stared out at the road, where the light was dying slow against the concrete. The orange glow of early evening stretched long across the ground.

Hyun-Tak exhaled. “No. I haven’t.”

That silence after — fuck, it was loud. It wasn’t the kind you filled with small talk or jokes. It was the kind that dragged its nails down your back, whispering he should’ve called by now.

They stood in a loose circle near the edge of the station. Just the three of them. Waiting. Not for some unspoken tension or invisible weight hanging in the air — just for Hyun-Tak’s sister. The one who always showed up late, always with a smile, always ready to stir the stillness like it bored her. They waited because she made them wait.

The crowd moved past them in a quiet blur — office workers heading home, a girl with a rolling suitcase bumping over the pavement, an old man tossing crumbs to pigeons on the curb. 

They hadn’t heard from Baku in days.

No messages. No sarcastic memes. Not even the usual late-night rants about bad customers and fried chicken grease.

Not since the incident.

A group of teenagers had come into Baku’s dad’s fried chicken shop. They were loud, joking around, flashing fake IDs to buy alcohol. They looked old enough. Baku’s dad didn’t question it. It was a busy Friday night. Orders were piling up. He was tired, distracted. So he sold them the drinks. That should’ve been the end of it. Then someone snitched. And most people had a good guess who it was. The boys who bought the alcohol weren’t just random teenagers—they were part of The Union, a gang known around town for stirring up shit and getting away with it. The police showed up a hours later. Started asking questions. Things escalated fast. Baku’s dad lost his temper—tried to go after one of the boys. No one was hurt, but it was enough. Enough for the cops to arrest him.

The whole thing felt too perfect. Like a setup.

And all signs pointed to Seong-Je.

He’s been trying to get Baku to join the gang for months. Dropping hints. Making quiet threats. Letting him know that saying no wasn’t something The Union took lightly.

But Baku had said no anyway. And he’d meant it.

So when the police suddenly showed up and everything came crashing down, it didn’t feel like bad luck.

It felt like revenge.

Hyun-Tak shifted his weight, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw clenched. “I’m worried about him,” he muttered, eyes fixed on nothing. “Tomorrow after school… maybe we should check in.”

The moment held — just long enough to ache.

And then—

“BOO!”

The scream ripped through the air, shooting straight up Hyun-Tak’s spine. All three of them jolted as if a gun had gone off right next to them. 

“What the actual fuck?” he snapped, whipping around.

I laughed—loud and sharp. Maybe a little cruel. “You should’ve seen your faces,” I said, still catching my breath. “Absolutely priceless.” 

Jun-tae cracked this little smile, all quiet and reluctant. sieun? same neutral face, like always. unreadable. but i caught that twitch in his jaw — he was trying not to laugh. i saw it.

“this guy…” i thought, watching him from the corner of my eye. the way he stood — slouched a little, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, like he’d been carrying a weight around all day and was too tired to hide it anymore.

Hyun-Tak shoved a hand through his hair, scowling. “Why the hell would you do that? I nearly had a heart attack!”

“Because it’s fun,” I shrugged, already turning on my heel. “Let’s go. Before Mom starts blowing up our phones.”

I didn’t wait for them to follow. The sky was shifting now — soft pink bleeding into indigo, the clouds stretched thin like bruises across the horizon. Streetlights flickered but didn’t fully turn on, like the city was stuck between inhale and exhale.

Their footsteps trailed behind me.

Three shadows walking quiet through golden light and the ghosts of words we hadn’t said yet.

The laughter hadn’t even faded when we heard it—a sharp whistle, quick footsteps, something off behind us. Then—“Shit,” Hyun-Tak muttered. “Don’t look back. Just walk.”

I looked back. Of course I did. And there they were. 

Ten of them at first, cutting through the crowd with that slow, deliberate kind of walk that said they didn’t need to run to catch you.

The Union. Not all of them. But enough.

“Why now?” Jun-tae whispered, voice barely holding together. “We didn’t even do anything—”

“They don’t need a reason,” Sieun said quietly. “They just need a mood.”

That was when we broke into a run. We didn’t scream or shout or call for help. We just moved, fast and quiet, like instinct had finally taken over.

People didn’t stop us. City noise swallowed everything. We weaved through people, past honking cars and blinking crosswalks.

Hyun-Tak shouted over his shoulder, “Cut through here!” and then we were off the main road, darting into the side alley we thought we knew. We’d taken this shortcut a hundred times. But this time, it didn’t feel familiar. This time, it felt like we were walking into a trap. We didn’t stop until the alley swallowed us. Breathless. Hearts pounding.

And then—footsteps behind us, slower now, confident—and when we turned, they were already there; ten shrinking to seven, blocking the exit, blocking the light. 

Seong-Je stepped forward from the center like he’d been waiting for this moment since forever. His jacket was clean, his smile cleaner. But his eyes? Dead cold.

“Well,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “Look who ran straight into our arms.”

Jun-tae tensed. Sieun didn’t move. Hyun-Tak dropped his backpack slowly, like preparing for something he didn’t want to do. Me? I couldn’t stop staring at Seong-Je. 

Seong-Je took another, hands in his pockets like this was just another night, like we were just another problem he could stretch into something fun.

His gaze flicked over us one by one—Jun-tae, Sieun, Hyun-Tak—and then landed on me and stayed. Something in the air shifted. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on.

“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.” 

No one moved.

“I mean—” he looked me over like I was a new toy, “You always this quiet, sweetheart? Or just shy around guys like me?” My heart was hammering, but I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t going to give him that. Still, I felt Hyun-Tak shift beside me. He knew. I knew. We all knew what this was. “She doesn’t talk to rats,” Hyun-Tak snapped. Seong-Je ignored him. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “Bet you’d look real cute scared. Wonder what you sound like when you cry.”

My stomach turned. I tasted metal. Hyun-Tak moved. Fast. I barely caught the blur of him lunging before one of Seong-Je’s guys slammed him into the wall with enough force to shake the ground. Jun-tae shouted. Sieun looked ready to swing. And I—I couldn’t breathe because I was scared. He looked at me like I was a prize. A thing. 

But Seong-Je just raised a hand, like he was done playing. Like none of this had been real to him.

“No fun if she’s not screaming,” he said with a shrug, turning his back. “Don’t worry, Hyun-Tak. We’ll talk again soon.” He looked at me one last time. Slow. He didn’t walk away. Seong-Je turned back around, that same sick grin tugging at his mouth. “You know,” he said, voice too casual, “we could make this interesting.”

I froze.

His eyes found Hyun-Tak’s. “Let’s settle this old-school. Just you and me.” Hyun-Tak didn’t say anything. Just stared him down, chest heaving from the adrenaline. “If I win…” Seong-Je dragged the words out like he was tasting them, “I get a little time alone with your sister.” My blood turned to ice. “The fuck you just say?” Hyun-Tak growled.

Seong-Je shrugged. “Just a taste. I won’t even leave a mark.”

Jun-tae swore under his breath. Sieun’s fists were already clenched.  Hyun-Tak was already stepping forward. “No deal,” he said, voice like gravel. “But I’m still gonna knock your fucking teeth out.” Seong-Je’s smirk widened. “That’s the spirit.” And then it started.

It wasn’t a street fight. It was vicious. Fast. Brutal. Seong-Je was all precision and spite—every punch a punishment, every hit like he was trying to prove something.

Hyun-Tak landed a few, sure. But the Union boys flanked close—laughing, taunting. One of them tripped him. Another grabbed his hoodie long enough to slow him down.

Seong-Je didn’t fight fair. He never did.

A punch to the stomach. A knee to the ribs.

Then an elbow that cracked across Hyun-Tak’s jaw and dropped him to the ground like a shot deer.

“Stay down,” Seong-Je hissed, standing over him. “Or I’ll go ahead and collect my prize.”

And that—That was it. I stepped forward. Jun-tae grabbed my arm. “Don’t,” he whispered.

I shook him off. Seong-Je turned to me, smug and stupid. I spat. Right at his feet. “Touch me,” I said, voice steady. “And you’ll wake up choking on your own dick.”

Something in his smirk faltered. I dropped beside Hyun-Tak, hands shaking, barely aware of the blood on his face or the way his breath rasped in and out. I just needed to make sure he was still breathing.

“Hey,” I whispered, my voice tight. “Stay with me, okay?” But then—Something yanked me back. Hard. The strap of my bag wrenched against my shoulder and I lost balance, falling backward with a sharp gasp. My palms scraped the pavement as I hit the ground.

I barely had time to turn before I saw him. Seong-Je. Towering over me like a shadow pulled loose from the wall. His hand still clenched around my bag. His eyes locked on mine.

And the way he was looking at me—Like I was something small. Something his. He leaned in, letting go of my bag strap, his fingers sliding up to grip my chin instead—firm, possessive. His smile was slow, deliberate. “Wow,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “You look so pretty beneath me.” My stomach twisted. I froze. My throat clenched tight as my mind screamed move, fight, run—but my body refused.

I wanted to scream. To shove him away. To do something. But my limbs felt heavy. Useless. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out the world, drowning out me. And in that moment, I felt small. Powerless. And he was so close.

I hated the fear crawling up my spine, hated how real it felt. Tears stung my eyes as Seong-Je's brutal grip tightened on my chin, forcing me to meet his cold, manic stare. The sickening grin twisting his handsome features sent icy tendrils of pure terror snaking through my veins. I was trapped, helpless, as he dragged me up to my knees, my body betraying me by refusing to fight back.

"Fuck, look at you," Seong-Je purred, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Such a pretty little thing, all scared and trembling. It's fucking beautiful." He turned to the others, barking orders. "Dong-Ha, Seong-Mok, get the cameras rolling. I want every fucking second of this recorded." Without hesitation, Seong-Mok pulled out his phone, already flipping it to video mode and started recording.

Seeing the phone pointed straight at me made something in my chest collapse. Cold panic surged through me. My breath hitched. I turned my face slightly, instinctively trying to hide, even though I knew there was nowhere to go. The light from the screen glared like a spotlight, unblinking and cruel. And then Seong-Je laughed.

“Aww,” he said, voice dripping with mock pity. “Getting all shy now that the camera’s rolling?” He leaned in close again, his breath brushing my ear. “What’s wrong? You were making such pretty noises a second ago. Don’t tell me you’re camera-shy.” His words hit like acid—slow-burning and meant to leave scars. I clenched my teeth, blinking fast, my hands fists at my sides. Shame and fear tangled in my chest until I didn’t know which would break me first.

My heart jackhammered against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears. Panic clawed at my throat, choking me, as I watched Jun-tae struggle against the union thugs holding him back. No one could save me. No one was coming.

Seong-Je’s fingers clamped around my cheeks, digging in hard enough to bruise as he wrenched my face side to side—examining me like I was nothing more than meat. His eyes glinted with something unhinged, something wrong. That same look villains wore in horror films, right before they stopped pretending to be human. “Stop fucking around,” he growled, voice rough and full of heat. Spit hit my skin as he yanked my jaw back, grip punishing. “Be a good little slut and hold still.” The words struck like a slap—sharp, humiliating, meant to shatter. I squeezed my eyes shut, a broken whimper slipping from my throat before I could stop it. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing my cheek, thick with heat and cruelty.

“You like this,” he hissed. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

I didn’t answer.

He stared at me for a moment, breath ragged, chest rising like he was barely keeping himself contained.

And then—he let go.

His hand dropped from my face fast and rough, like even touching me disgusted him now.

My jaw throbbed. My pulse raced.

And all I could do was sit there, shaking, heart slamming against my ribs. God, please make it stop. Please, someone help me. 

There was no help coming. Only the echo of cruel laughter bouncing off brick and the sharp bite of cold air against my skin.

He stood in front of me, eyes locked on mine—glinting with something violent. Something wrong. But it wasn’t just the danger that made my breath hitch. It was the way he looked at me.

He licked his lips, head tilted, gaze sliding down my body like he was cataloging every breath I took. “You look real pretty like this,” he murmured. “Scared.”

He reached for his belt. Slowly. Deliberately.

The leather whispered through the loops, one soft, ominous pull at a time. The sound was almost too loud in the quiet. Like a countdown.

I watched, heart pounding wildly, as he rolled the belt between his fingertips, the black leather glinting darkly in the harsh sunlight. His eyes never left mine, boring into me with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.

He folded the belt in half, the two ends dangling menacingly as he took a step closer, backing me up against the rough brick wall. The heat of the sun, the unyielding cold of the bricks, and the sheer, icy menace radiating from Seong-Je created a terrifying juxtaposition of sensations.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "So soft and helpless. I can't wait to mark up this delicate skin." He reached out, trailing the folded edge of the belt lightly down my cheek, the leather cool and smooth against the feverish heat of my skin.

I flinched, a choked whimper catching in my throat, but I remained frozen, paralyzed by the dark promise in his eyes and the cold, unyielding pressure of the belt. The world seemed to slow, every movement deliberate and laden with threat.

Seong-Je's hand slid lower, the belt dragging across the racing pulse in my neck, making me shudder. The air between us was thick with anticipation, the heavy silence broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city that seemed a world away.

He paused, belt poised just above my collarbone, his gaze locked with mine. In that moment, I saw the monster lurking beneath the handsome exterior, the cruel sadist who would take twisted pleasure in my pain and degradation.

Then, with a sinister smile, he raised the belt, and everything changed. The first crack of leather against skin shattered the tense silence, and my screams echoed off the alleyway walls as my nightmare truly began.

The belt came down hard across my breasts my shirt doing noting to protect me from the sharp sting of the leather biting into my soft flesh. I cried out, arching away from the brutal impact, but there was no escape from Seong-Je's relentless assault. He followed me, crowding into my space, pinning me against the rough brick wall with his body as he raised the belt again.

"Fuck, listen to those pretty screams," he growled, dark eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. "I knew you'd have a nice set of lungs on you." I looked up at him, terrified, breath catching in my throat. I could hear Hyun-Tak beside us, shouting—his voice raw, panicked, and cracking under the weight of it all.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, leave her alone! She didn’t do anything! I’m the one you want—take it out on me, not her, please—”

The sound of him begging shattered something in me.

“I’m the one you want,” he repeated, choked and broken now. “She’s my sister. Please, Seong-Je, I’m begging you!”

Seong-Je turned his head slowly, his jaw tight with something colder than rage.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. The words hit like a gunshot, slicing through Hyun-Tak’s pleas like a knife. The look he shot Hyun-Tak could’ve killed. Cold. Merciless. Like a loaded gun aimed straight at his soul, then his attention was back on me, his fingers brushing my face with mock-gentleness that made my skin crawl.

“He’s so fucking annoying,” Seong-Je muttered with a smirk, like Hyun-Tak’s begging was nothing more than background noise. “Now… where was I?” Hyun-Tak’s voice cracked again in the background—still begging, still dragging himself forward on trembling limbs—until Dong-Ha stepped in and slammed a boot into his side, knocking the breath out of him with a brutal thud. 

Seong-Je tugged my shirt open with slow, deliberate hands, exposing the bruises and welts blooming across my skin—his marks.

“Look at you,” Seong-Je murmured, voice low and dangerous, like velvet soaked in sin. “Marked up so fucking pretty.”

The leather strap in his grip dragged across my chest, cold and smooth, tracing the line of one welt like a signature.

“I knew you’d have perfect tits,” he said, almost reverent. “Can’t wait to feel them in my hands—see how they respond when I take my time.”

He dropped the belt, the sound of it hitting the ground a dark promise. His hands replaced it immediately, gripping my breasts hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He squeezed and kneaded, his touch rough and demanding, bordering on painful.

I whimpered, trying to pull away, but he pulled me up fast from my knee, his hips pinning mine to the wall. I could feel his dick pressing against me through his pants, grinding against my stomach. Revulsion churned in my gut, but I was trapped, helpless to stop his exploration.

"Such a fucking tease," Seong-Je snarled, twisting my nipples hard. "Flashing your tits, flaunting this sexy little body. You knew what you were doing, didn't you?"

“Seong-Mok!” Seong-Je barked, voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Get over here.” Seong-Mok shoved Jun-Tae to the ground without hesitation, knowing he was too shaken to fight back.

“I want this on camera,” Seong-Je said, eyes never leaving me. “Every fucking second.”

Fear gripped me as Seong-Je fumbled with his pants, freeing his cock. Before I could react, he grabbed my thigh, hiking my leg up to wrap around his hip. I was forced to balance on one foot, the position leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

"Fuck, look at you," Seong-Je growled, rubbing the swollen head of his cock along my clothed slit, teasing, tormenting. "Such a pretty little thing, all scared and shaking. You want this, don't you? Want me to fill this tight pussy with my cock?"

I shook my head frantically, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "No, please don't-"

"Shut up," he snapped, hand fisting in my hair, wrenching my head back. "Don't fucking lie to me. I can feel how wet you are."

He punctuated his words by shoving my panties aside and driving forward, splitting me open on his thick shaft. I screamed, the sudden intrusion burning, stretching me past the point of comfort. He was so big, so hard, filling me completely.

"Fuck, so goddamn tight," Seong-Je grunted, starting to move. He set a brutal pace, pounding into me, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing in the alleyway. "Gonna ruin this pussy, make it mine, right baby."

I tried to turn my face away from his intense stare, overwhelmed, degraded, but he grabbed my chin, forcing me to hold eye contact. His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, pushing into my mouth.

"Look at me when I fuck you, baby," he demanded, voice rough and ragged. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you come."

I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut, but he just swore

"No, no, no. Look. At. Me," Seong-Je snarled each word, punctuating them with sharp thrusts that punished my cervix. His fingers dug into the flesh of my thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding me in place as he railed into me.

Even with Seong-Je towering over me, every breath shallow and sharp, I could still hear Hyun-Tak—his voice breaking with panic.

“Please,” he begged, again and again. “Please, stop it!”

The sound of his voice tore straight through me.

It was desperate like something had cracked wide open inside him and all that was left was fear.

But Seong-Je didn’t even glance back.

“Shut the fuck up,” he yelled back still looking at me with that nasty smile on his face. But Hyun-Tak didn’t stop. He was still trying to crawl toward me, coughing, one hand dragging along the concrete as Dong-Ha moved to block him again. Behind him, Jun-Tae pushed himself up from the ground, shaking. “You’re sick,” he spat, voice cracking. “You’re fucking sick, Seong-Je—” He didn’t get to finish. Seong-Mok backhanded him hard enough to knock him into the wall, where he slid down, dazed but still conscious. And then Sieun. Still standing. Still silent. But his hands were clenched into fists so tight they were bleeding at the knuckles. His eyes locked on Seong-Je like he was memorizing every inch of him—planning something, but he couldn’t move.

"Fucking hell, you're gripping me so nicely," he groaned, hips slapping lewdly against mine. "Such a perfect little cock sleeve."

His other hand slid up my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He wrapped his fingers around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my heart stutter. I gasped for air, dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the brutal pace of his fucking.

"Please," I choked out, voice raspy and weak. "It hurts... you're hurting me..."

"Hurts so good though, doesn't it?" he purred darkly, thumb pressing into my windpipe. "I can feel how much you love it. Your greedy little pussy is sucking me in, begging for more."

Seong-Je leaned in close, breath hot and ragged against my ear. "I'm going to fuck this pussy until it's molded to the shape of my cock," he promised viciously. "Until you forget your own name and only remember mine. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

His words sent a chill down my spine, a terrifying mix of fear and a perverse, unwanted thrill. I knew he meant every dark, depraved promise. He was going to break me and remake me into his twisted plaything, filming every brutal second of my defilement. The camera lenses felt like a thousand accusing eyes, immortalizing my shame.

Seong-Je's hips stuttered, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside me. I knew he was close, knew what was coming. With a guttural growl, he pulled out abruptly, leaving me feeling hollow and violated.

"On your knees, babe," he barked, shoving me down hard onto the filthy alleyway. My knees scraped against the rough concrete, but I had no time to register the pain before Seong-Je grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Open up," he demanded, stroking his thick, angry red cock. "I want to see my cum dripping down your pretty face."

I whimpered, trying to turn away, but his grip was unforgiving. The first hot spurt of his release splattered across my cheek. I choked on a sob as he painted my face with his seed, each pulse of his cock leaving me more degraded than the last.

"Fuck, look at that," Seong-Je groaned, his other hand guiding Seong-Mok's camera to capture every humiliating detail. "Such a perfect little cum dumpster. You love this, don't you? Love being my personal slut?"

I shook my head frantically, but the words died in my throat as another stream of cum hit my parted lips. The bitter taste filled my mouth, making me gag.

Seong-Je finally released his grip on my hair, tucking himself back into his pants with practiced ease. He straightened his clothes, fixing the disheveled appearance, while I remained on my knees, his cum dripping down my chin and onto my heaving chest.

He turned to Hyun-Tak, his earlier frenzied state replaced by a cold, calculated demeanor. "Tell Baku," Seong-Je said, voice smooth and menacing, "that if he doesn't agree to join the union, this will be a daily occurrence. I'll make sure of it."

His eyes glinted with a cruel, twisted promise. "And if that's not enough motivation..." He paused, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "I could always make your sister my new plaything. Let the union boys have a go at her too. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Hyun-Tak froze. The blood drained from his face, horror blooming wide in his eyes. Seong-Je turned away like he hadn’t just shattered the ground beneath us. “Let’s go,” he muttered to the union guys. And just like that, they disappeared into the alley’s shadows, taking their laughter and threats with them.

For a second, no one moved. The silence was deafening.

Then Hyun-Tak stumbled forward, faster than I could react, falling to his knees in front of me. His hands trembled as he reached for me—fixing my shirt, gently pulling the torn fabric over my chest, his eyes flicking up to mine with a thousand things he wanted to say but couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—are you okay? Are you hurt?” I shook my head, but the words were stuck in my throat.

Jun-Tae hovered behind him, scraped up and stunned, eyes wide like he couldn’t process what just happened. Sieun stood a few steps back, fists still clenched, breathing uneven. His gaze was locked on where Seong-Je had disappeared. Focused. Like something in him had just shifted. None of us spoke. Because there was nothing left to say.

fin

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