Solace-inu - Yes That's My Chonky Dog

THE TRILOGY IS COMPLETE 🎉

“flirting” aka staring at u and when u look back at me i look away very fast so u wont see that i was staring at u

well the good news is i have youtube working normally again. bad news is i just got hit w the new tumblr layout finally :(

if i fall from the heavens, my new shelter shall be your tender embrace

fallen angel!getou suguru x angel!fem. reader

wc: 2.5k

warnings: HEAVILY sacrilegious, manipulation, coercion, unprotected sex, creampie, virginity loss, fingering (f!receiving), corruption, public sex, sex in a church, slight dubcon, betrayal, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), slight overstimulation, a little blood (quick mention), tears

synopsis: he’s lost you once and he won’t let it happen again

a/n: the art in the banner is the fallen angel by alexandre cabanel

After Satan’s rebellion against God, many things had changed. There was an uneasiness in the air and it seemed as though every angel in Heaven walked on thin ice that could crack at any second.

You were careful, every movement and action was methodical and rehearsed in your head a million times. Your lover was the opposite. Suguru wasn’t careful, he spoke his mind and was open about losing his faith in the almighty. A loss of faith turned into anger and then turned into confrontation which led to the worst moment you could possibly think of. Suguru was cast down to hell and it felt like your heart shattered into pieces.

Days passed and the ache in your chest never settled. As time passed you yearned for your lover, you missed the crinkle near his eyes whenever a smile was thrown your way, you missed the way he said your name softly, and you missed how he set your skin ablaze with just a simple touch.

More time passed and you were convinced you’d never hear from him or stumble upon him. You thought that it must not have been in God’s blueprint for you two to cross paths ever again. Why would God want you to see Suguru again anyway? He was tainted with a loss of faith and an impure heart while you oozed purity and holiness. But it never stopped your search.

Every single day you went to an abandoned church. The abandoned church was somewhere Suguru took you so you two could pretend to be normal humans with minds full of curiosity. You went again today and sat down on one of the dusty pews to recite the same prayer. You prayed that you’d have the chance to see Suguru just one more time, even if it was just for a millisecond. You were also convinced your prayer fell on deaf ears.

“Amen.” You let out a small sigh and slowly stood up then quickly turned when you heard a floorboard creak. Your eyes widened at the man that stood at the cobweb covered entrance. “Suguru?” The light that reflected off of him made him look like an angel but as he stepped closer to you, a gasp left your throat.

His wings that were once white were black, as if his old wings had been washed and tarnished with soot. Your body moved before you could wrap your mind around his new appearance. Once the distance was closed between you two he pulled you in close and hugged you tightly. “I thought I’d never see you again.” He mumbled his words into your hair as he peppered kisses along your head and all you could do was nod while tears began to stream down your face.

Your prayers had finally been answered and you were finally able to see and be with your love again. He placed his hands on your shoulders and pulled back to look at you. “Oh my sweet doll, please don’t cry. Tears should never stain a face as beautiful as yours.” He brought his thumbs up to wipe at your eyes and you lifted your hands to hold onto his wrists.

“I can’t believe you’re here Suguru. I’ve been searching for you every single day. I’ve prayed to see you once more and now you’re finally here.” You sniffled and a warm smile graced his features. “Darling, nothing can keep me away from you. I’ll always find my way back to you for our souls are intertwined. We will never part. I will crawl through the pits of hell until I see you again.”

He pulled you close again and walked with you to sit down. You brought your hand up to trace his features, memorizing each with your fingertips. “I’ve missed you more than anything Suguru. Why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to voice your doubts and frustrations? Why?” You met his eyes and felt a shiver run down your spine, the warmth you seeked in them was replaced by something odd, something you couldn’t put into words. “I couldn’t stay silent. I couldn’t stay in a place where I was frustrated, I couldn’t face that hypocrite every waking moment. I’m sorry but I had to do it. But enough of that, I’m here now and that’s all that matters.”

He hugged you to his chest and just held you. You were angry with Suguru for abandoning you but everything fell to the back burner as he held you. You shut your eyes and relished in the feeling of his strong arms around you. You had to enjoy him for as long as you could because you didn’t know when he would be ripped from you again.

He moved his hand along your arm and gently squeezed your shoulder when he reached it. “Hey, I have an idea.”

You lifted your head and looked into his eyes. “What is it?” He brought his hand that was formerly on your shoulder to your face and cupped it gently, “why don’t we consummate our love? We were never able to do it before and I don’t know when I’d be able to see you again. I want to feel you completely before I have to go back.” Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “that’s sinful Suguru, we can’t. I don’t want anything to happen to either of us.” He smiled and shook his head before pressing his lips to yours to quiet you down.

You melted into him immediately, enjoying the feeling of his lips against yours and when he pulled away, you instinctively followed his lips. “Just this once and then we’ll never have to do this again. Plus I don’t think anything will happen to you, you’ve been on God’s good side for the longest. I bet you’re one of his favorite angels.” You giggled and shook your head, “no way, you know who his favorite was and what happened to him. I can’t imagine what would happen to me.”

He kissed you again and held you closer to him, “then don’t imagine it, only focus on me. I’ll be your salvation.” He mumbled against your lips and kissed you rougher and more passionately than before. Little mewls and whimpers left your lips and he drank each sound that escaped you. One of his hands began to wander and he began to grope your breasts over the thin dress that covered your body. You gasped and he took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, gliding the wet muscle along your own. Everything he did sent fire through your veins, your body was heating up and only he could quell your burning desire.

He pulled away and began to trail his kisses along your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin. More whimpers and moans escaped you and filled the empty church. His hand that was on your breasts slid lower until it was between your thighs and he brought his hand to your most sensitive part. He helped lay you back against the pew but the second discomfort spread across your face he helped you back up. “Come with me to the front of the church, it’ll be better than these creaky pews.” He stood and took your hand in his as he led you to the front. There was a table that used to be used for communions and masses that was covered with a white table cloth. He helped you on top of it and gently pushed you back on it.

“Just rest my love, I’m going to make you feel very good.” He leaned down to capture your lips again and brought his hand back to where it was. His slightly calloused fingers dragged against your lower lips before he added a little bit of pressure to spread you open. You gasped and moaned softly against his lips as his fingers began to circle your clit, putting the slightest pressure to make your toes curl. The feeling that coursed through your veins was so foreign to you but you couldn’t help but crave it more. He slid his fingers lower and pressed them against your drooling hole, gathering all the slick that seeped onto his fingers then pushed one of them inside you.

Your mouth fell open as he started pushing his finger in. It felt like an extreme stretch but it was only a single digit. He moved it slowly, feeling your walls clench and coil around him as he experimented with you. His eyes were focused on you, watching each expression that graced your face. He pressed his thumb to your clit and a moan of his name left your lips. “Suguru!” His name echoed throughout the church and it fueled his motions. He leaned down and dragged his mouth along the sensitive skin of your neck. The feelings were all too much and all you could do was cry his name and writhe underneath your lover. “You’re crying my name like I’m your god, it’s so delicious. Cry it more.” He groaned against your skin as he curled his finger up to hit your g spot. The second his finger touched the sensitive spot, tears welled in your eyes and your mouth opened in a silent cry.

He continued to rub your clit and pump his finger, easing you through your orgasm. He kissed up your neck and kissed you deeply. It was a kiss that you could barely reciprocate properly but he still continued it. Just as you had eased around his finger, he slowly pulled it out and brought the slick digit to his mouth to suck it clean. He groaned as your juices coated his tongue then pulled his finger out with a soft pop. “So sweet. If the forbidden fruit tastes just as sweet then I can see why Eve couldn’t resist the temptation.” He leaned down to kiss you again while he released his cock from its constraints and pressed the leaking tip to your slick entrance.

“Now the all-seeing eyes of God can watch as I bathe you in the pleasure of sin.” At this point you had half the mind to question him or properly take in his words. You were still drunk from the orgasm that had just taken over your body and the pleasure that you had just experienced had quickly been replaced by another feeling as he began to push his cock into you. The sting that burned through your veins felt like what you had imagined the fires of hell must have felt like. You wanted the feeling to stop, it was all too much for you but it was as if Suguru could read your mind. He leaned down and caressed your cheek, “it’s okay my love, you trust me don’t you? Know that I will never bestow anything upon you that you can’t handle. I know you can handle this, just hold onto me and I promise this pain will quickly be replaced by pleasure.”

You nodded at his words and held onto his arms as he continued to push into you. Fresh tears spilled from the corner of your eyes and your nails dug into his flesh, breaking the skin. Once he was completely inside you, he brought one hand between your bodies and started to rub your clit. “Suguru, please make me feel good. I don’t want to feel any pain.” Your words were barely above a whisper but they reached him perfectly, he wrapped his free hand around you and pressed your chest to his. The pain soon started to dull and he began to thrust into you. Groans and moans filled the church like the harmonies of a choir. Skin slapped against skin in a sinful entanglement and pleasure coursed through your body. You held onto him tightly as he thrusted into you, the tip of his cock hit your sensitive spot with each heavy thrust. “You feel so good, Suguru. I want to experience this with you more and more, I don’t think I’ll be able to go without it for long.” Your words came out in a mix of moans and whines and all he could do was groan in response.

“I love you, Suguru. I love you so much. I never want to part from you again.” You continued to babble and Suguru looked into your eyes. “I love you even more. We will never part again. You will be by my side until hell freezes over and even beyond that.” He kissed you deeply and held you closer to him as he began to pick up the pace of his thrusts. Your body tensed against his as another orgasm threatened to approach and he was just as close. His hand between your bodies moved faster against your clit, another surge of pleasure washed over you as you were sent over the edge. Your pussy tightened around his cock and that was enough to trigger his own orgasm. Thick ropes of cum filled you and coated your walls.

You both panted into each other's mouths, heavy breaths replaced all the earlier sounds. Suguru caught his composure first and his eyes lit up as he took in your appearance. “This suits you so much better, my love.” Your eyebrows furrowed a bit at his words and you turned your head to follow where his gaze had fallen. Your eyes widened at the sight, your wings had been washed with the same soot that coated his wings. “What?”

It was all you could say as Suguru pulled out of you, a mix of your orgasms and blood coated his cock and he tucked it away. “Now you can see for yourself. You can see the hypocrite he is. You have been nothing but devoted to him and this is what he does to you, this is how he repays you. In the blink of an eye you lose your spot in the heavens and gain entry into hell. This anger that you might feel towards me will soon be replaced by hatred for God, I can guarantee that. I’ve opened your eyes, now you are enlightened, not blinded by whatever bullshit he’s spewed. Now we can be together, now we’ll never be apart. I’m sorry that it had to happen this way but I didn’t know when I’d get the chance to show you. Now come on, I have to welcome you to your new home.”

He carried you off the table and held you close to him while you wrapped your arms around his neck. The thin ice that you had been treading on had finally cracked and now you had to face the consequences but at least you had your lover at your side to keep you from drowning. Maybe he was your salvation in some twisted way but that was something you had to decide. But while God had turned his back on you, you did have to thank him for one thing, you were finally reunited with your love.

taglist: @gojoest @half-baked-biscuit @lalunanymph @jozhenji @nymphoheretic @arisaturn @history-be-written @aizensballsweat @xingyunist @makisslut @sunarc @suyacho @dilftaros @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear @watyousayin

ROOT ROT

possessed!scholar husband x reader|3.7k| 18+

following your cold and reticent husband's return from settling affairs with his deceased uncle's estate, he has changed and done things unheard of. once a great lover of botany and entomology, he has razed his garden to the ground as proof of his love to you. this man—this thing—os not your husband.

warnings;; pseudo-victorian setting, dubcon, mentioned dp, mentioned temperature play, cumshot on body, cum eating, other explicit sexual details, mentions of drug use (opium), unrequited love, hypnosis/trance, some horrific imagery, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a companion piece to imposter. you don't have to read it, but if you want a better idea of what is going on, I suggest you do!

a/n; I reappear after a month hiatus with this piece. I have questions and notes at the end of the fic that I'd love to have feedback to!

please reblog this if you've read it, guys! help keep your favorite writing and authors on this website by reblogging their work!!

“He is simply not himself!”

Bartolomé Medina knew his best friend better than you knew your husband, so you believed him when he said that your husband’s newly acquired, increasing eccentricities were not some fictitious imagining of yours.

Although, Medina himself could not explain the unexplainable and all of the oddness without growing visibly flustered.

A bit flushed in the face, singeing the roundness of his ears. He'd stamp out your justifications for strangeness in the same way he did the fine cigars he'd been accustomed to sharing with his friend, yet had not for quite sometime now.

“And you say his garden is dead?” Medina looked stricken with dread, suddenly ill by repeating something so blasphemous. “Now, my dear, please don't mistake my shock as disbelief. I very much believe in what you're saying. I've seen Solomon and his weirdness! Why, just this morning over breakfast, at a time where you were still tucked away in deep sleep, he wouldn't drink his coffee. So bizarre! That man knows the thousands of tastes and varieties of coffee beans, and he spat the very stuff out on the floor like it'd never once touched his tongue!

“But his garden? A botanist without his garden is like a bird without wings. A dog without a tail to wag. A newborn without his mother’s teat! Vulgar, I understand, but you see my point.” He drank from a heavy glass in his hand. The inside had nearly spilled over at one point with light brown which glittered gold under the overhead light, smelling slightly sour and earthy. “To think that Solomon would let it all die. Something is wrong. Something has happened to my only true friend and to your husband.”

You did not drink with any enthusiasm or anguish from your own cup, rather you used those seconds of delicate sipping to gap the conversation, separate yourself from it all for just a moment. You'd had your time to grieve and contend with knowing the man you had married and come to love was not the same one who kept you awake at night.

Solomon had once been a reclusive and reticent man, the only son of David Agrippa and sole heir of the Agrippa Diamond Mines and Jewelry Galleria. He'd never been able to replicate his father's ardor for business and entrepreneurship, choosing towards academic ventures of entomology and botany and most of everything belonging to the natural world instead.

Among his most prized things was a sprawling, domed greenhouse made of large sheets of pale blue-green glass soldered with metal which shifted rose-gold in bright daylight.

“I loved his garden, but I didn't much like to be in there with him,” you confessed, forgetting your manners as you kept your cup still against your lips, mumbling your words. “He liked to tell me about the plants and flowers he grew. Most of it I could never hope to understand, but… I loved seeing him come alive. He seemed to glow when he could tell me things, so I got into the habit of listening to him when he wanted to speak.”

Medina, not yet drunk or driven to any untoward behavior, set aside his empty vessel with jittering ice cubes and looked at you admiringly. “You said that you didn't like being in there with him? Why?”

“The bees. The bugs. The humidity. The fertilizer he liked to use because of the nitrogen content. He told me that it mattered what he used and couldn't just break up soil from the yard.” You said, tilting your cup.

After taking another sip, you determined you hated the taste of the liquor and how it slid down along your throat like fire trailing an oil spill, yet clung there with residual, syrupy stickiness that nearly made you gag.

“Why did you keep going inside?” Medina asked tranquilly, much of his previous frustration softened, body and soul warmed by the alcohol and how fondly he regarded your sweetness towards his friend.

You thought very little before answering, “I wanted to be where he was. It didn't matter to me if that meant his greenhouse or the coldest part of the arctic.”

That was the truth of it. Once you'd received the first crumbs of understanding who Solomon truly was beneath his stolid exterior built brick-by-brick from tragedy and grief and a lifetime of emotional ineptitude, you would've gone to any length to see more of him. To see his pale eyes gain a wild, flickering candlelight of passion, and the faintest of trembling smiles disguising how deeply your questions had aroused his soul.

In those moments, he revealed to you the things he loved the most and what you envied the most: the natural world.

The flittering, fat-bodied pollinators whose entire world were yellow and red flowers with succulent centers and lush, girthy leaves where they'd rest their weary, iridescent wings and could never understand your husband's appreciation of them.

The thousands of specimens he'd collected from every corner of the world and articulated thoughtfully against wood and felt. Their dead little limbs were pinned in place; perfect mimicry of how they would've been if still alive and crawling. He’d had them all meticulously framed and arranged across the walls in his office; trophies of his success, of his studies and hard work.

The innumerable plants and flowers he trimmed and watered in his greenhouse and the ones not contained within it. Some species he had planted in the yard, others in the cool shade of the nearby woods where they smothered native varieties with tendrils-like vines and climbed upside trees. More aquatic species were placed by the edge of the lake, growing into the water; buoyant; a woman's deep dark hair reaching forever for the surface.

He had turned the lonely, sprawling estate into a monument of life, of love that did not belong to you. And for that, sometimes you hated living there. Hated the things that he loved.

Choking the plants, poisoning their roots with any number of things from your father’s pharmacy crossed your mind more than once.

Feeding the bees something enticingly sweet and deadly; filling the greenhouse with noxious gas at night while they slept on their big leaves and your husband in his bed. It would've been such an easy thing for you to do—own your husband's grief as you held his face in your hands and comforted him in the morning when all had atrophied and rotted.

But, those feelings had become a reality you truly never wished to have seen after Solomon returned from his deceased uncle's estate months ago.

He was not the same man.

“Tell me what happened.” Medina’s voice buzzed in your ear from nearby, closer than it had been before. Your hand was caressed by tight warmth—his holding yours, his handsome face looking up at you from where he had crouched in front of your chair. “Tell me everything you've seen. It's of grave importance that you remember it all, as curing Solomon from his affliction relies solely upon you.”

You could not deny his earnestness, the squeeze of his fingers. A promise that he would not be easily shattered by what you had to say, and would think no less of his friend for it. Within his sincere stare, you saw the gleam of another, secret promise. The likes of which you pretended not to see, that he'd never speak of out loud.

“I…” you distracted yourself with the embroidery on your clothes, pinching loose threads and beads. “It was subtle, at first. I noticed some of the bees were dead on the ground. And then some plants had started developing spots. Leaves turned brown and yellow and fell off. A lot of them withered, even though their soil was still damp when I checked…”

And then, the morning came where you witnessed Solomon among a carnage of broken stalks weeping foul-smelling sap, leaves he'd ripped apart with his own hands, and some of his larger flowering plants with fiery manes completely severed. Their bountiful heads lay at his feet, flattened by the heel of his boot as he walked aimlessly, snipping and tearing indiscriminately.

“My god, Solomon! Stop!” you stepped around the countless tiny, contracted bodies of bees and other pollinators to reach him. He let go of the gardening shears as you grabbed them. “What are you doing?! What have you done?! Decades of work! Gone! Are you mad?!”

“Well, you've gone and ruined my surprise for you. I've been working on it for hours. I didn't expect you would be awake so soon.” Solomon said, sounding much like himself despite the savagery he stood surrounded by. He smiled at you in an unfamiliar way, as if trying to navigate his facial muscles around a mask. “Isn't it simply wonderful?”

The sweltering humidity trapped within this greenhouse of death had turned the air stagnant and foul, heavily pungent of detritus and mildew. Across all zones of the greenhouse, once painstakingly organized and labeled for the purpose of easier cataloging, no slithers of greenery or color remained. Each step you took in any direction seemed to sink you deeper into the decay, wet gurgling underfoot as you crossed stumpy mounds of plants and flowers he'd destroyed and thrown into piles.

“How could you? My husband spent almost twenty years building this garden and studying it. This was his life’s work!” You wished you could force life back into the severed plants; pray that the ground of yellow-brown waste would suddenly freckle with tiny, green sprouts and grow with thick stalks and thorns to keep his hands away.

“I am your husband.” Solomon took the gardening shears from your hand and tossed them aside. He leaned into your body, nose and lips pressed into the fabric covering your neck. “I've only done what you wanted. What you wished you could've done yourself, but never did.”

You flinched against the movement of his hands smoothing down your waist to the notches in your hips. Sliding inward, he unfastened the hook-and-loops and buttons holding your trousers up to push them down your thighs along with your undergarments.

“I know your thoughts and what you really think. I've been listening the entire time. I've always been listening.” Solomon let his hips roll along the back of his hand while he used his fingers to lay long, languid strokes on you. “It was tiring, wasn't it? Always competing for love and affection in a place like this. You were never going to have what you wanted. Not with this place still standing. Not with his ineptitudes and selfishness.”

His touch weakened you indescribably; like the caress of heat from the fireplace against your bare skin once the opium had taken effect. Swapping tiny pills on wet tongues with your maid until they'd dissolved into saliva and into your cheeks. You explored one another's bodies thoroughly on those cold nights, silky with sweat from the fire and exertion.

Yet, this was not the same as back then when the sexual appetite of two teenagers transcended societal morals.

Solomon encompassed you in a feeling; consumed you without ever digging into you with his teeth or nails. He could whisper hideous secrets and depravities to you to tip you over into searing euphoria. He had once penetrated you with a hot metal phallus resting on top of his own, thrusting with both until the metal cooled, and you still came anyway.

He'd put worse inside your body and done far worse than that in only a few short months since returning home, yet he never tired of the torture and you remained malleable and enthralled by it all.

“God, you are beautiful. And you are mine.” Solomon had maneuvered both your bodies to the ground, atop of the soggy detritus. Your back was exposed to the mush, leaves, and crushed flower petals, weight pushing an indentation in the loose soil. “This is the fruition of your desires, darling. Don't you love it? Destroying what he loved so you could have it all?”

The one who came back to you was not Solomon; the one fucking you into waste and dirt was not Solomon, either. You told yourself you needed to love imposter as well, because he looked like your husband; wore his signet ring, too.

At night, you imagined only his softest expressions behind clenched eyelids when he wanted to have his way with you, as something else entirely took his place. A creature so diabolical and unsightly that the servants now awaited your screams to rouse them awake in the murky midnight hours.

Every time they arrived with their candlesticks and oil lanterns, the thrusting spectre receded into the dark as a black mass hardly distinguishable from shadow.

Only Solomon would remain, and he was swift to send the servants away before they could see your improper, disheveled state sprawled across the bed sheets.

In the daytime light, his face stayed familiar and comforting to you and you could bear to see him, form some coherent words.

“Someone might—might see us out here, Solomon. Mr. Medina is supposed to—oh, oh, mmm—he’s due to arrive at any time.” You were given several long kisses, which turned into severe caresses of hot breath when his thrusts turned savage, cock reaching so deep you were starting to feel numb below the waist. A feverous response. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He adjusted himself to lay on your chest, the sweat on your bodies offering an effortless glide and new angle for his cock that made your moans deeper and dire. Such sounds, whether in agony or pleasure, were melodious to him. Addicting drags from a pipe in an opium den; an alcoholic's first sip at breakfast; a cheating man's night with a new lover.

“Wouldn't you like for them to see that? For someone to witness you being fucked into the ground? Surrounded by everything their master loved?” Solomon tucked his face into the curve of your neck and groaned, hips slow and stuttering. “Bartolomé would be the one to find it most tantalizing. His only friend in the world ruining the only person he's ever loved. Wouldn't that be a sight? We could invite him to watch.”

At the time, it had been quite jarring to learn Bartolomé harbored those silent, ardent feelings for you. It had sufficiently pulled you from whatever trance Solomon had lulled you into, reacquainting you with all the sounds of sex and the filth clinging to your skin. It was as though your mind had been locked into a mostly airless, noiseless void that he controlled and released at will.

You held tight to his shoulders as he molded you deeper into the muck and plant litter. The squat, friable walls of soil holding your shape like the cushions in a tomb, whereas Solomon was the man lowering you into the dark earth; the last to see your face before covering it in clay and dirt.

He was in your ear with loud moans that resonated through you, simultaneously as carnal as a beast amidst its seasonal rut, and velvety as the feathery smooth glide of fingers down your spine. His throat rumbled against you, resembling the intensity of a purring housecat nestled near your head in contentment.

At his tipping point, he removed his cock from your body and used the slippery stuff glistening off it to stroke himself; weepy, deep red tip to the base. You received the aftermath of his release in thick ropes across your abdomen and chest, the warmth of it already cooling on your skin while he continuously kneaded the head to force out what remained as if they were dewdrops made from pearls.

“How do you think Bartolomé would fare seeing you like this?” Solomon swept two fingers through the cum in an elegant curl to smear it around his cock. The viscous white thinned into pale gloss on his girth and a sticky residue inside his hand.

Your lips parted to give an answer, but his fingers and taste were faster than your words.

“And… that is all? Truly?” Bartolomé asked, shattering your visions of the recent past as he revealed a compact silver case from inside his vest, pulling a cigarette from within it. “You simply walked into the garden one morning and saw that he had destroyed everything? He gave you no explanation whatsoever?”

The imposter had stolen much of your dignity over the months, but enough of it remained for you to omit every significant detail from your story. You'd only told him that Solomon had cut the heads off of rare flowers, mumbled in a disorienting way, and gave you no difficulty with the gardening shears.

Bartolomé went away from your side for an open window across the spacious sitting room, matching his cigarette and blowing gray plumes out into the dense summer air.

“This is concerning.” He spoke loud enough for you to hear, even with his thumbnail tracing the underside of his lower lip, muffling him somewhat. “Solomon is considerably worse off than I first thought. We need to investigate this, retrace his every step since the moment he left you that night for his uncle's estate.”

“Oh, Bartolomé, that will be very unnecessary.” Solomon announced himself as he walked in through the open doors, offering you a tepid smile, which came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. Your chair jostled slightly as he stood behind it, a weighty hand landing on the tall back above your head. “Why trouble yourself with employing some ludicrous scheme when you could, ah, inquire as to what haunts you instead?”

Bartolomé tamped out his cigarette on the windowsill and pocketed it. “You are ill, Solomon. You may be suffering from some form of hysteria. It's time you visited a doctor, my old friend.”

“Well, that just isn't true.” Solomon kept the neutrality in his tone, but you tracked a rumble of agitation; a warning not far off. His hand followed the curvature of the chair down to the arm that you leaned against, fingers touching your shoulder, lightly kneading you through your clothes.

He was sure to be in Bartolomé’s eyesight as he did this, further aggravating the heavy disquiet. You didn't dare to move out of reach of his touch.

“But, it is true, Solomon!” Bartolomé insisted, gesturing toward the window. “What of your garden? All of your life's work now means nothing, you damned fool! You've snapped, old boy. See a doctor before you do something you regret.”

“That garden was more a source of misery than it was a boon. At any rate, I'm quite finished listening to you harp at me for one night, my dear friend.” Solomon lightly stroked down your cheek with bent fingers, coaxing you to look up at him. “It's time for bed, darling. Us impropertious brutes have kept you up for too long.”

You hesitated, and then stood when Solomon took your arm. “Alright.”

“As usual, your accommodations should exceed expectations. I'll have a servant wake you for breakfast again tomorrow.” It was too soon to call those Solomon's departing words to Bartolomé, as he stopped with you in the doorway, your hand caressing the meat of his forearm. “You know, Bartolomé, I would recommend marrying soon. There is no greater feeling than having the one you love so close to you, don't you think?”

Bartolomé became unreadable as he fished a hand into his vest pocket for the cigarette case again. You were led away for the bedroom before anything else could be said, but you knew that Solomon had struck a nerve.

“That was cruel.” you said.

Once in the bedroom, your back was pressed flush to the door while he unfastened the buttons to your outerwear and the blouse underneath it. Solomon kissed your lips slowly, first, before moving underside your jaw after shucking you down to your undergarments.

“And you are mine. You made your vows to me. Remember that, my sweet.”

You watched him strip out of his clothes and then stroke the length of his cock until it was hard.

“I married someone else. Not you.”

As he dimmed the lights within the space, sweeping the bedroom under a shroud of near pitch black, your annoyance shifted into a swell of anxiety both freezing cold and burning hot. Your body pulsed in rhythm with your wild heartbeat, throat clenched as tightly as infantile flower buds.

You waited for Solomon to touch you, startling once he finally did. His fingers had elongated and sharpened, his touch now far more delicate and methodical.

“Don't worry, he’s still in here with me.”

a/n; so, some notes real quick

do not count this scene as canon bc idk how much I'm going to take from it to incorporate into the actual story. like, certain things will be there fs, but a good chunk won't.

tbh, this didn't go as hard as I thought it was going to. by comparison to the actual story, this is pretty tame. but I've already relented that the full story is just hopelessly slutty and pornographic lmaooo

bartolomé medina was actually included late into my current version of the story outline. I wanted a somewhat paralleling foil character for solomon, and he's who I came up with. in a lot of ways, bartolomé and solomon are very similar, which is why they get along so well as friends. but, they're also starkly different in other aspects (e.g. wealth differences, careers, bartolomé forces his sociability and personality, whereas solomon can't be fucking bothered). tbh, I love bartolomé as a character and this oneshot does not do him justice—at all.

sadiya, mc's maid, is actually the most important supporting character in the entire story and is completely different from her first appearance in imposter. like, completely. I'd like to do one more concept piece where I can actually introduce her.

men moaning is one of the hottest things imo. get out of here with that silent ejaculating bs.

NOW, ONTO QUESTIONS!!!

what are your thoughts on me incorporating the idea that bartolomé is in love with mc into the actual story? there is a possibility of an ending with him if enough folks show interest before the final chapters. or, would you prefer it strictly focused on solomon, the demon, and mc? this subplot would not come to fruition as a side romance or "cheating" plotline. like I said, bartolomé exists mainly as a parallel and foil for solomon.

are you guys interested in smut scenes with actual, explicit details of the demon in his true form (he ain't pretty y'all. this story is majorly psychological for a reason). but, if you kinky fucks want it, I'm happy to oblige.

would having a bolder mc who experimented with things (mainly opium) and has a bit more of a sexually promiscuous background take you out of immersion and be a deterrent, or would you be interested in me continuing that route? be honest.

I dropped several hints in this piece on the inspired identity of the demon in the story. have you guessed who? 👀

how depraved y'all want me to get with the smut scenes fr???

💭 thinking about . . . . ex-husband caleb

tw. colonel caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, smut, mentions of angst, divorce, cross-posted from x, yandere-ish caleb, ex-husband, whiny caleb, begging, pathetic caleb, second chances, 2k+ words

The day you married Caleb was the happiest day of your life. 

You still remember the excitement in the air, the hush wedding reception filling up with closest friends. Those in attendance swore to keep this a secret—Caleb’s clandestine occupation as Colonel of the Farspace Fleet deterring from any illusions to a safe, stable job, not when he had enemies all around.

Gideon stood as his best man while Tara was your bridesmaid and makeup artist. 

A handful of Hunter colleagues, Jenna, and Professor Lucius who surprisingly sniffled quietly into his silk handkerchief, watched the two of you say your vows and promise before the law and men alike that you would always protect and cherish one another, for better or for worse. 

But, that was a year ago. 

While vows don’t change, people do. 

Sad story short, not even a year into your marriage, Caleb and you got into a huge, marriage-altering argument which resulted in six days of no-contact. You can say the divorce was mostly your fault.

Your husband of 342 days reluctantly agreed and while you two remained childless, he still insisted on paying the necessary support as per the pre-nup he insisted you get. 

The nascent, sharp ring of the doorbell distracts you from the rest of your straying thoughts, and you look up from the bouquet of flowers you’re halfway arranging. For a moment, your idle mind blanks and your heart trembles in your chest. 

It must be him… 

Your throat tightens at the prospect of seeing your ex-husband again. 

While the two of you didn’t have the most pleasant relationship, you had mostly agreed to keep things civil. That is, until you open the door to find Caleb beaten up and bloody with your ring in a velvet box. 

“... what the fu—?” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not when he ushers you inside with a scowl. Towering over you with his 6’2 frame, you remind yourself not to be thrown off by his boyish charms and playfully bright violet eyes, even as a trickle of blood runs down his chin. 

“Sorry, princess. Got caught in a tussle. But, I’m here with your ring as you requested.”

His voice is light, deceptively casual. 

You gape at him. “... care to explain to me why you're bleeding out all over my foyer?” 

In answer, he pats your head and breezes past you. “You mean the foyer of this house I pay with my own money so I can put a roof over my dear old ex-wife’s head?” He arches a brow. “I say I can bleed on these floors all I want. But, you—”

Your ex-husband scrutinizes you from head-to-toe. “—don’t look too hot. Not sleeping well?” 

You bristle at his glib comment. “Oh, shut up, you big dummy.” 

The bravado doesn’t last long. Your eyes betray you, and your concern flares at the sight of more sanguine red seeping into the carpet. Without a hint of warning, you grasp the lapels of his thick, embellished jacket, and tug it down his shoulders. He relents, your sudden show of concern drawing a pensive silence across those deep set eyes; a furrow in his brow.

You gingerly lead him to the couch, and tell him to stay there, as you make a beeline for the first aid kit up in your kitchen cabinet. Setting to work, you clean up his wounds, and bandage them, focusing on the gash of his arm. 

“You’re practically untouchable,” you shake your head. “How did you get this sloppy?” 

Caleb grunts, wincing when you tighten the makeshift tourniquet around his injury. “They… got me when I had my back turned.” You know better than to press him for details—Caleb is adamant on not drawing you deeper into his bullshit, any more than necessary. You do the best you can; despite not being married to him, Caleb was—is—still your friend first, and you would rather take care of him than risk him not seeking out proper medical attention for himself. 

As you bring his heavy-duty military jacket into the quaint laundry room, you scrub it, lost in your thoughts, the egg-shell white walls pressing down on you. With a stealthiness that belies his broad frame, Caleb slips right behind you, and you feel the heat of his broad chest seeping into the thin, old shirt you wore.

“Is this mine?”

He runs his fingers over the frayed hem, and you bristle.

“... no.”

As much as your stubbornness infuriates him, the dark-haired man can also admit how it amuses him to no end. “Sure?” He raises one brow. “Says ‘DAA’ right here—”

“Fine. You want me to take it off and give it back?” you seethe. He laughs, gives you a faint smile that doesn’t exactly touch his eyes.

“Nope,” he sighs. “Can’t risk you getting cold. I’m just messin’ with you.” 

Silence blankets the both of you in reassuring waves. There’s nothing awkward about being in the same room with Caleb, and you don’t think twice when he inches closer—close enough for his chin to hook over your shoulder. Warm palms tentatively slide down your sides, and you stiffen, but don’t push him away.

“I…” his voice breaks, and all his bravado brought on by the adrenaline from before starts to dissipate. “I missed… you.” He finishes lamely, and you resist the urge to snort. Your tender heart bleeds behind a wall of brambles and you put on a front. 

“What? Already getting sad I’m mooching off your Fleet paycheck?” 

He hears the forced derision in your tone and doesn’t comment on it. If you’re stubborn, Caleb is downright bull-headed. Never one to take ‘no’ for an answer, he spins you around, soapy water sloshing down the front of your shirt as he tilts your chin up to look at him. 

Purple eyes that remind you of bruises bore right into yours, and your heart catches in your throat. 

“You're going to be the death of me someday ” he murmurs huskily. 

“Caleb—”

“Come back to me,” he murmurs, wearing his entire heart on his sleeve; begging you to take him back with those sad, puppy-dog eyes.

“You know I can't be your wife again.”

That irrational part of him which loses control every time he's around you rears its ugly head. 

“Why not?” he bites out, almost a whine. 

He leans in closer, the scent of blood and his skin grazing your nostrils. 

Despite the complications that might arise, you're freefalling right into the gravity of his plush lips, feeling the chapped softness pressing to your mouth. Caleb groans, the sound soft and frayed with yearning, his kiss full of pain and love. He caresses your cheek softly, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your jaw. 

“Why,” he whispers hoarsely. “Why are you so stubborn? Why do you always insist on hurting me?”

“I don't mean it,” you whisper. “I just… I don't want to lose you again.”

He glides the tip of his nose down your jawline and huffs. “Y'know I would never do that again. I'm not gonna be the same stupid bastard the second time, Pipsqueak.”

The old nickname brings a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You can barely keep eye contact with him. 

“Caleb… we tried and it didn't work out…”

You trail off and the guilt inside his chest grows heavier and heavier.

He's torn between respecting your wishes and giving this a second shot. Caleb is nothing if not a determined man, and he can't accept failure when he hasn't fully assessed the problem and determined its roots. A part of him desperately wants to fix this… to fix things between you two before it's too late.

He was an idiot who let go of the most precious person in his life. The young Colonel had already lost you once, and he's not going to stand around as you move on with your life and forget about him.

“Stop defying me… I know you want this, too,” he mutters hoarsely, pressing his lips to your neck. “I know you miss me… call out for me… need me as much as I need you and no matter what it takes—”

His tone is rough with suppressed need and stubbornness. 

“—you will come back to me. We will be together again.”

It was a mistake. 

You knew it from the roots of your head to the tips of your toes, and yet, you fell for his charms (again) and let him carry you into the bedroom, where he lays you down on the soft mattress like it’s your honeymoon—again. 

Caleb’s larger build presses down onto you, nimble and sure fingers inching off his old DAA shirt from your frame as he gazes down at you with pure hunger in his eyes. He slots himself in between your thighs, warm palms kneading the fleshy dough of your breasts as you gasp and writhe.

Stupid, you chastise yourself as he leans forward to trap your turgid nipple in between his teeth. Stupid, you groan inwardly when his free hand pinches your other swollen bud. You absolute idiot—you suck in a huge breath when he feathers kisses down your sternum, mentally berating yourself on how you got here. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And, yet, you could never say no to Caleb, not when he’s hellbent on claiming you as his again. 

But, that’s fine, right? 

Ex-spouses sleep with each other all the time, is what you’re trying to delude yourself with as he removes the rest of his uniform, leaving him just in his thick military pants. You squeeze your thighs around his waist, and he grunts, letting you drag him deeper into your ardent embrace. 

Caleb kisses down your neck and you lose yourself in his scent—his presence.

He hitches your thighs around his waist and it’s all over for you. Warm and slightly chapped kisses feather down your thighs, and he kisses the sole of your feet before he enters you; a worshipper at your altar.

And, oh—how you’ve missed his devotion.

When the electric storm of desire has passed, you lay in his embrace, sated and warm, a wreck looking for an anchor. He gently smooths his hand down your hair, the motion comforting and reminding you of all those times he would hold you tight in the afterglow.

“Marry me,” he whispers, just as your eyes droop close. 

They shoot wide open again and you gape at him like he’s lost his marbles.

Maybe he did. Maybe Caleb’s not all that right in the head.

“What did you say?”

“I said: marry me,” he mumbles and perches his head on one arm to look at you. The lovesick foolishness in his gaze must’ve been contagious, for you to find yourself falling back into the delusion that everything is as it once was.

You close your eyes, all the walls you’ve erected after months of trying to get over your ex-husband showing the cracks of your crumbling resolution. “Caleb, we—“

He covers your mouth with a palm, and the look in his eyes is nothing short of stubborn misery. “It’s okay if you say ‘no’, but… can you give me this one night, Pipsqueak? Just one night…”

You’re not some heartless monster to deny him an innocent delusion. And besides, you have to tend to his injury and you can’t do that when he’s away from you again. 

Wordlessly, you hold onto him and Caleb exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for a long time. 

As night gives way to morning and weak sunlight pours in through the wispy curtains, you wake up in bed with him beside you. 

Rubbing your eyes, you can’t believe he’s actually here—that he stayed.

He never used to stay in bed past 7 in the morning. 

Caleb tightens his grip on you and nuzzles your hair, stuck in a light doze. He slowly stirs when you muffle a yawn behind your palm, and shakes off the grogginess in those pretty, purple eyes. 

When you move your hand from your face, you notice something sparkly on your ring finger. On closer inspection, your heart skips a beat when you realize it’s your wedding ring. 

The familiar band around your finger fills you with a maelstrom of emotion, and you take a moment to forlornly study the modest cluster of diamonds—a testament to your love for Caleb that sadly never met its defining end. 

“Did you—?” The question dies in the back of your throat. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“I was serious before, princess,” he murmurs softly, and tenderly strokes the band with his thumb. “Want you to marry me—again.”

Caleb is never going to take your refusal as an answer. Maybe you can convince him not to repeat the same mistake twice.

“But, the Fleet—“

“Will never come between us again,” he promises. The firm slant of his brow never wavers, and so does the resolution in his tone. “I made the mistake once of trying so hard to keep two parts of my life separate that I lost the only person who ever made anything make sense. I know that now.” He tenderly strokes your cheek, those mercurial violet eyes fixed on you with unwavering devotion.

“I want us to try again. Can we do that, princess?” 

The earnest hope in his tone breaks your heart, but the steadiness of his adoration strengthens it.

“Okay,” you whisper after a moment. Hope lights his gaze, lifts your heart to soaring heights. 

“Let’s try again.” 

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I should’ve never picked up JJK I should’ve watched those volleyball twinks instead nothing bad happens there