* / MISBEHAVING

Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daemon Targaryen HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S02E08 | dir. Geeta Vasant Patel

ROOT ROT

possessed!scholar husband x reader |18+| 3.4k

following your husband's return from his deceased uncle's estate, he has not been the same man. you confide in your husband's best friend and colleague on the matter of these eccentricities, only for him to resurface a depraved recent past.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, explicit sexual content, major dubcon, sort of coercion, implied double penetration, mentioned voyeurism, cumshot on stomach, cum eating, graphic + horrific details, unrequited love (ox to reader), smoking, drinking, heavy prose + detail, roughly proofread.

reposted from my old blog: theoxenfree

this is a concept piece and follow up to imposter. you don't have to read it, but it definitely helps for understanding!!

please leave feedback + reblog, it would mean a lot!!

“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 so 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.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

Most works are NSFW and contain smut. 18+ only

One-Shots

bad people

When it happened, it happened in the dark.

moments

Joel and you in a hotel phone booth.

teacups

Joel and you take a shower after a traumatic event.

press the gas and ride

comfort in a car (a month after teacups)

darlin'

You are another means to an end. He needs a second pair of hands and you have the face to distract scavengers and the guts to kill people who need to be put down.

Drabbles

warmth

Joel doesn't realize he gives a shit until he does.

deserving

You do something for Joel.

Headcanons

pregnant

jealous

It's another masterpiece I just read this recently and I wished I discovered this sooner the plot and the writing is fuckin great 😔🤌✨ holy shit 👁️👄👁️

pretty thing

Itadori has been having difficulty controlling Sukuna. Desperate, Gojo comes to you for your help; he has already tried to quell the situation, but to no avail. When Sukuna does not cooperate, you are left in a dangerous situation as he threatens your life in hopes of gaining a leverage to use against Gojo: the woman he longs to love.

pairings: f!reader x gojo / f!reader x sukuna

contains: protective gojo, angst, friends to pining lovers (reader/gojo), possessive sukuna (reader/sukuna), pining sukuna (reader/sukuna), hurt/comfort (reader/gojo), captor/captive (sukuna/reader), slow burn but fast (reader/gojo), eventual smut (reader/gojo), NO SPOILERS, NON-CANON EVENTS, its so worth it i promise

warnings: provided for each chapter respectively: threats of rape/non-con (sukuna), slight dub-con (sukuna)

part i

part ii

part iii

part iv (to be announced !)

series taglist [open!]: @bloombb @holychocopie @descargueestoporgojosatoru @smurfflynn @nanaminshousewife @yelzoldyck @reichanyo @the-fandoms-georgie @araragomennnn @ghostly-jar @ladyoutofreality @multistan-247 @senjuasuna @rxs-dump @undertaker-02 @daddyissuesmademe @michibuni @uh-kay-shuh @vv3nti @grim-gal @mizukilia @4den @pulchritxde

! important ! if your user is bolded, i am unable to tag you

every day i wake up and drink my silly little coffee while God eats my heart like a pomegranate in front of me

THE COLONEL'S KEEPER.

in a war-torn world where survival is a privilege, you never expected to become the object of a feared colonel’s obsession. but as whispers of his lost love haunt your every moment and bullets become the least of your worries, you realize that falling for him might be the most dangerous battle of all.

⁀➷ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

⁀➷ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au

⁀➷ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, reader is not l&ds!mc, ooc, war times, unrequited love, profanity, violence, loveless sex, explicit smut, mentions of sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is advised.

⁀➷ notes. 8.3k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. this is heavily inspired by my other gojo fic s.o.s and the manhwa my beloved oppressor :) couldn’t stop thinking about this au for caleb that i had to just write it :’D reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

The world above was long dead. Ruins of cities stood as monuments to a past civilization, swallowed by the aftermath of World War VI. Beneath the surface, buried in a labyrinth of steel and stone, was where the remaining humanity clung to survival. Here, Colonel Caleb was both a savior and a nightmare—a man whose presence alone sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.

But he was not just any soldier—he was the fleet’s best fighter pilot, a legend in the skies before the war even forced them underground. Even now, when the remnants of humanity relied on aerial supremacy to hold off their enemies, Caleb was the one they turned to. The one who led the most dangerous missions, who never failed, who returned even when others didn’t. 

You have loved him for as long as you could remember.

You were a humble nurse, stitching together broken bodies, whispering soft reassurances to the wounded. Your duty was simple yet relentless, saving as many lives as you could with the limited resources and skill at your disposal. You weren’t the best, nor did you claim to be, but you were one of the few who refused to surrender to despair, even as the war bled your world dry. While others faltered under the gravity of endless suffering, you endured. And after a year of tending to fallen soldiers and civilians, you remained steadfast. You were the only one among your female colleagues who hadn’t lost herself to the horrors of war.

That was how you met him. 

Caleb was the fleet’s toughest and most formidable leader. He was unyielding and merciless to those who dared cross him. Even with his own people, he remained strict, and his resolve never wavered even in the face of devastating losses. But the night he staggered into the private ward, wounded and bleeding out, you were the first to reach him. You ensured he was cared for, your hands steady as you fought to keep him alive. 

“You’ll make it through the night, sir.” You could still remember the desperation in your voice as you tightened the tourniquet around his broken arm, fighting to stop the bleeding. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He lay there, teeth clenched, body tense with pain, every breath labored. “If I die, I die.” 

“No!” you shot back, your grip firm with determination. “Not tonight. You will live. We’re rooting for you, sir. The people need you.”

They said falling in love during wartime was a surefire path to heartbreak. Yet, meeting Caleb, seeing beyond his striking exterior, and loving him despite the battles—both on the field and within—was a fight you willingly embraced. You surrendered yourself to him without hesitation, and in return, the hardened soldier who was weary from war found solace in you. He called you the prettiest nurse in the ward, but to him, you were far more than that. You were the one thing he never saw coming. 

You were the apple of his eyes. 

But, of course, the other nurses didn’t take kindly to that. They resented how you had unknowingly ruined their chances with him, and even more so, how an undeniable favoritism began to surface. While they were left to sleep in rusty bunk beds, you were the one Caleb brought to his private quarters, where the sheets were soft, the air was warm, and food was abundant.

It was easy for them to judge. After all, rumors spread like wildfire about the nurse who shared the colonel’s bed. The gossip wasn’t confined to just the nurses; it reached the soldiers who eyed you whenever you passed, their gazes lingering with knowing smirks as if fantasizing what their colonel saw at night. Even the older civilians bore disapproving glances whenever they saw you. Their silent verdict was clear as day. You were seen as a woman who had traded her virtue for privilege. A harlot draped in a white uniform. A disgrace hiding behind the pretense of care.

You weren’t sure if Caleb knew about it, but it was impossible not to. He simply didn’t care because he had an entire nation to think about. Clearing your name was the least of his concerns. And you knew it. After two years of serving as a war nurse, when night fell, you were simply the woman Caleb claimed as his. A common-law partner, nothing more. He never made promises, never told you that you were the only one in his heart. Because you weren’t. That space belonged to another—the woman he had truly loved. The woman he had lost to war.

His wife.

You tried. You tried to live with the ghost between you, tried to endure the way his fingers sometimes trembled against your skin, as if remembering someone else. You tried to pretend that when he held you, it was because he wanted you, not because he needed something to numb the ache inside him.

But love, when unreciprocated, was a slow and agonizing death. 

And all you could do was live with it for as long as you were with him.

Because one day, you knew he could love you the same. And one day, when the war ends, you would be in his arms, building your life together with your kids playing freely and no longer living in fear. 

For now, you had to endure what came your way. There are no saints in war times, and patience was a virtue at times like these. 

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you moved swiftly through the underground ward, checking pulses, changing dressings, and murmuring reassurances to the wounded who groaned in pain one after another. It was just another day in the relentless cycle of war, patching up soldiers only to send them back out to die.

Then you heard him.

Colonel Caleb’s commanding voice felt like an alarm to everyone in the ward as he strode down the hall, flanked by his army of men. You weren’t even looking, but you could picture the way they walked, with Caleb at the front, exuding effortless authority, and the others keeping pace just slightly behind him.

“The turbine failed mid-air,” one of his officers reported. “Preliminary analysis suggests a mechanical fault. Possibly a lubrication issue in the main rotor bearings.”

“Or sabotage,” another interjected grimly.

Caleb didn’t slow his steps. “Has the wreckage been recovered?”

“Scouts are en route, sir. We should have an assessment within the hour.”

“Too late,” Caleb muttered. “If they hit us now, we’ll have one less bird in the sky. Reassign Squadron Echo to cover the eastern perimeter. Deploy anti-air artillery in sector four, and keep the missile launchers primed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just then, a distant explosion rumbled aboveground, rattling the dim lights overhead. You even had to hold onto one of the cabinet doors to steady yourself. A fighter jet had gone down.

“Damn it.” One of the officers pulled out a small tablet, scanning over the mission logs. “Pilot’s confirmed dead. They’re already moving in on the wreckage. We need reinforcements at the north trench.”

Caleb barely hesitated. “Send Private Halloway to the front lines.”

“Roger that.”

His words were sharp and clinical. No emotion. Just another name spoken into a void, another body to be thrown into the fray. 

Your hands stilled over a soldier’s bandages. Halloway. You recognized that name.

The same Halloway who had leaned a little too close when you handed him his rations. The one who had brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smirked, murmuring something about how the battlefield could use more beauty like yours. The kind of beauty that he fantasized at night. 

And now he was being sent to die.

A strange thrill coiled in your stomach. Caleb had heard about it. Or he might even have seen. It was a foolish and delusional thought, dangerous even, but you clung to the fact that this was surely his way of claiming you.

As his group passed, your pulse quickened. You turned slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. Tall. Unshaken. Unreachable. This was your man. He was yours and you were his. 

You smiled as soon as he saw you, just a little, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understood.

But Caleb didn’t stop. He simply looked away. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone. Nothing more than the cold air that he often carried. 

~~

Steam curled in the dimly lit room as you stepped out of the shower, water forming in rivulets against your skin. The underground base was always cold, but in Caleb’s quarters, the warmth always stayed. Not just because he had his own luxury of a fireplace, but because the warmth also included faint traces of him in the air, in the sheets, and in the ghost of his presence.

Not that it mattered. You were just emotional because he hadn’t been here in three days.

Sighing, you wrapped a towel around yourself, already resigning to another night alone. But just as you reached for your comb, the door swung open with a slow and deliberate creak.

You froze.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his uniform dusted with dirt and gunpowder. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms and tension coiling in his stance. His gaze flicked over your damp skin, bare shoulders, the towel barely clinging to your body.

You let a small smile play on your lips. “You finally remembered where your bed is?” you teased, stepping closer. “I was starting to think you found another.”

He didn’t respond. Just shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

And the thick, suffocating silence stretched as he began removing his shoes. You took this moment to clear your throat. “I heard about Halloway,” you murmured, tilting your head. “People are saying you sent him to a death sentence.” A pause, then a knowing smile. “Did you do that for me?”

The shift was instant. And it wasn’t what you pictured in your head. 

Before you could react, Caleb was in front of you, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the cold wall. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, smoldering, and unreadable. This was the version of Caleb that everyone was afraid of. 

“You worried ‘bout him?” His voice had a dangerous edge lacing each word.

While you, your breath hitched, fingers curling into the towel. “N-No.” 

“You think I didn’t hear?” His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp. “The way he talked to you? The way you smiled at him? Handsome guy, isn’t he?”

You denied everything he was saying. You knew one of his officers had been feeding him information, but they seemed twisted to make you out as someone you weren’t. Were they trying to turn him against you? “No, darling. That’s not true. In fact, I can’t even stand him.” 

His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Y/N.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. “And if I catch you entertaining anyone else again, I won’t just send them to die.”

A shiver ran down your spine—fear, thrill, or perhaps something darker twisting deep inside you. His warning did what it was supposed to do: to scare the hell out of you. But the most dangerous part was how much you enjoyed it all. 

And then, before you could even form a response, he pushed you towards the bed. 

By the time you looked back at him in surprise, he was already unbuttoning his shirt, looking at you merely as an object of his desire. “Strip off,” he growled, face rigid as ever. “The past few days were damn stressful. Been thinkin’ of you naked all day.” 

And so, your nightly duties began. Caleb demanded his reward, and you were too foolishly in love that you surrendered to him without hesitation. 

Because as unhinged as his obsession seemed, it ignited something deep within you. The thought of Caleb claiming you as his prize, something he craved at the end of each brutal day, sent the most passionate fire through your veins. That the same man who barely spared you a glance in daylight was the one who burned with desperation to have you all to himself at nighttime.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you slowly unraveled your bare body in front of him, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Not once did you break eye contact, and it was the sexiest thing you had ever experienced in your life.

As for him, he had already rid himself of his clothes. They were a pile on the floor, discarded lazily as he pinned you down. First, he went for your lips. Completely devouring, savoring your taste, and dominating every inch of your mouth. The moment his tongue connected with yours, he deepened the kiss—a little too rough, too desperate that you could barely breathe. 

“M-My love,” you gasped, the only time he allowed you to catch your breath was when he was positioning himself between your legs. And then he crashed his lips onto yours once more, enjoying how you moaned against his lips, exchanging warm breaths as he explored your mouth. The kiss was so intense that you barely noticed the feeling of his hardened member pressing against your leg. It felt huge and hard as a rock, a clear sign that he had been wanting a good release for the past few days. And you? You were crazy about it. You had seen his member plenty of times before, but nothing excited you more than feeling it inside. 

That wasn’t his agenda for now, though. He took his sweet time trailing kisses along your collarbone, leaving purple marks around your neck, before he feasted on the same breast he had been kneading for more than a minute. You could feel your back arching as your body naturally responded to his touch, with your own hand guiding him to massage your other mound. He nibbled on the nipple, sucking and licking around the nub, then moving to give the other the same amount of attention. 

He was like a hungry beast that hadn’t eaten for weeks. With the way he squeezed your tits together and running his tongue along the cleavage, you could already feel yourself dripping down there. 

“C-Caleb.”

“Hm?” He didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled down, spreading your legs apart, and eyeing the swollen lips that he was about to demolish. “Wet already?” 

You nodded, looking down at him and watching as he pressed his fingers along the slit, sliding and circling his digits on your entrance. “Mmh—that’s…” 

“Be patient now,” he mocked, “Aren’t you so needy?” 

That was true, but how could you help it? How could you not want him inside if you could see him stroking his pulsing cock while he was using his other hand to play with your clit? Just when you thought you couldn’t go crazier, he eventually sucked his digits to taste your slick, then he returned them back to your entrance, only this time, entering without warning. 

“A-Aah!”

His fingers alone could make your legs shake, and whatever he was reaching for inside you was making you weaker by the second. You were a moaning mess under him, hands clenching on his sheets for dear life as he fingered your cunt like there was no tomorrow. It was only a matter of seconds until you disintegrated in front of him—your legs trembling as your fluid released itself in a series of squirts. 

Embarrassed as you may be, it was what Caleb wanted to see. 

And he didn’t let you rest before he was already positioning his crotch on your face, his hand holding his cock in place as he slapped his swollen tip against your lips. “My turn,” he spoke in a low voice, smirking as you wrapped your shaky hand around his shaft and let your tongue swirl around his bulging pink head. You could taste the precum on his tip, licking every corner and every ridge under, from his balls back to his tip before you swallowed him entirely. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, pulling your hair as you bobbed your head on his cock, enveloping the warm walls of your mouth around his member as if you were milking him of his cum. Your eyes welled with tears as you fought the urge to gag despite feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your throat. Each and every moan he released made you more determined to please him, to be called a good girl, to be wanted. 

You could feel it. With how his cock was twitching inside your mouth, he was about to explode. But he didn’t let it happen. Everything happened in a span of a second when he pulled his member from your mouth before opening your core and slamming his cock into your pussy. 

His thick, hard cock stretched you open without mercy. And he didn’t slow down or savor the time. He was ramming into you, hands holding your hips in place while your tits bounced wildly. Caleb’s sweat was starting to trickle along his toned upper body, his abs now glistening as he continued to pound into you endlessly. 

“I’d fuck you everyday like this if I can,” he grunted, each word came out raspy. “You like that?” 

“Y-Yes! A-Aaah!” You struggled to form coherent words as he hit your sweetest spot at each hard thrust. “C-Caleb.” 

The walls were thin. But surely, the colonel’s private quarters would have some sort of soundproofing, otherwise it would be embarrassing how loud the skin-slapping and squelching noises you two were making. It didn’t help that you were practically screaming as Caleb started increasing his speed as he chased his climax. Your walls were clenching around his girth, milking him of his load that he soon spurted inside of you. 

You were in a battle of catching each other’s breaths as he pulled out, watching his cum seep out of your cunt before he plopped on the bed next to you. 

“Take the pill as soon as you wake up,” he ordered, laying on his back as he closed his eyes. His chest rose up and down as he eventually caught his breath. 

But you remained a ragdoll beside him, your lower body still twitching from the intense orgasm and muscle memory. “O-Okay.” 

The night was supposed to end romantically. It was supposed to be you and him cuddling and declaring your love for each other, but the thought of him only using your body to relieve himself was torture to your mind. You convinced yourself it meant something more, something deeper. 

But the hard truth was, you were only there to fill the silence.

You traced lazy circles over his bare chest, your voice soft yet full of devotion. “I’m all yours, Caleb. Only yours.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

~~

The next morning, the bed beside you was cold.

You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against the empty sheets where Caleb should have been. But there was nothing—no warmth, no lingering presence, just the stark reality that he hadn’t even stayed.

But you told yourself you just had to get used to it and that Caleb would come wanting you again at night. Like he always did. And so, biting back the hollow ache in your chest, you forced yourself up, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast. 

The moment you stepped in, you felt it.

Eyes. Watching. Judging.

The low murmurs didn’t stop as you walked past the rows of civilians, soldiers, and nurses, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed you. You kept your chin up and sat down with your tray, forcing yourself to eat the stale bread despite the tightness in your throat.

You had no illusions about what they were saying. They all thought they knew what you were or what you did. Caleb’s woman. His plaything. And after last night, they had even more reason to talk.

But you had work to do.

By midday, you were back in the ward, slipping into your role as if nothing had changed. Patients needed tending to, and you weren’t about to let their petty gossip stop you.

At least there was something to occupy yourself with. They brought in a new soldier to the base, barely back from the front lines if you could add. His face was gaunt, sunken with pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he lay on the cot. His leg was in ruins—shattered bones, torn muscle, the kind of injury that didn’t fully heal in wartime. 

You approached him carefully, offering a calm, practiced smile. “I’m here to help—”

His reaction was instant. It was as though you were the trigger to a ticking time bomb. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, snapped to you, and before you could blink, his hands already shot out, grabbing at you with a strength you didn’t expect.

“You—!” he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms, nails raking against your skin as he yanked you forward. “You whore—you whore!”

You gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was fueled by pain and rage, his voice hoarse with accusation. “Ow! P-Please!” 

“You ruin men like us! You—you—get innocent soldiers sent to die!” His nails scratched at your cheek, his grip tightening as he shook you. “You’re the reason Halloway’s gone—!”

The words hit like a slap, but before he could do more, hands were on him. And on you. Other soldiers rushed in, prying him off you, restraining him as he thrashed against the cot. 

“Stand down, soldier!” one barked.

You stumbled back, breath coming fast, your skin stinging where he had just scratched you.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain.

It was the way the nurses across the ward just watched. Their gazes were cold, as if saying you deserved it. Not a single one had moved to help.

You couldn’t understand the hostility. Couldn’t fathom why people looked at you with such disdain. If it had been another woman in your place, would they have treated her the same? All you had done was love a man—nothing more, nothing less. You weren’t trying to hurt anyone. You simply fell in love.

But as you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection while washing the bloody scratches from your cheek, that was when the realization struck.

They didn’t respect you because Caleb never had.

Not once had he claimed you in public, never shown his affection where others could see. He had never treated you like someone worth honoring, never given you the respect you deserved. And if the leader of this war-torn world didn’t respect you—why would anyone else?

The thought alone made your eyes well with tears, but you quickly washed them away. No. You refused to doubt. He loves me. He’d even kill for me.

A sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it hesitantly, only to find Simone standing there. The only female soldier with a rank high enough to command real respect. At first, you assumed she was just waiting for the restroom, but the way she looked at you said otherwise.

“You got a minute?” she asked, her tone cool and unreadable.

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… sure.”

~~

The storage room was cold and dimly lit by the single flickering bulb overhead. Dust clung to the forgotten crates, and the faint scent of metal and oil lingered in the air. Hardly anyone came here as it was a place for old supplies and broken equipment, not whispered conversations.

And yet, here you were, in the only room without surveillance. 

Simone leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed as he narrowed her eyes at you. “You need to end things with Caleb.”

You stiffened instantly. “Excuse me?” 

She sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had already anticipated your reaction. “This thing between you and him, you know it isn’t healthy. Not for you. Not for him.”

You scoffed. Who does she think she is? “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know more than you think,” she shot back. “I know what kind of man Caleb is. What he’s become.”

You folded your arms, defensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that he cares about me.”

“Cares about you?” Simone let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you even know what he’s done? How many men he’s killed just for looking at you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Five soldiers. And counting,” she continued coldly. “Some he sent straight to the gas chambers. Others? He had them tortured in ways I wouldn’t even wish on our enemies. And all because they made the mistake of mentioning how beautiful you are.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “B-But that’s because he wants to protect me. That’s just how he loves.”

Simone watched you carefully before she sighed again, her voice softening this time. “This isn’t love, Y/N. You don’t know Caleb… I don’t even know if he’s capable of loving again.”

What does she mean?

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued, almost nostalgic as if he had seen another version of Caleb that you hadn’t. “Before the war. Before his wife died. He was kind. Gentle. A man who knew the difference between power and cruelty.” She hesitated, then admitted, “She was my colleague. And my friend. Caleb’s childhood sweetheart, his true love, and his whole life. He loved her sincerely, so much so that he was fighting to make the world better for her. Not destroy it. But seeing him right now, she would’ve hated what he’s become.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Everything she had just mentioned shot a bullet straight to your heart, but you refused to let it kill you. You refused, denied. No! 

“You can’t replace her,” Simone added, her words cutting through you like a knife. “No matter how much you try. So I suggest you leave him before it destroys you.”

~~

The door to Caleb’s private quarters slammed open as you stormed inside, your blood boiling, your mind a haze of rage and betrayal. You couldn’t stop Simone’s words from echoing in your head even if you tried hard enough. You can’t replace her. She’s his true love. His whole life. 

“No.” Adamantly did you shake your head. “Stop.” 

He loved her sincerely. And still does. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you yanked at the blankets, overturned chairs, kicked over the table. The frustration inside you was begging to be released, and destruction was the only thing that made sense. How could you get extremely jealous over a dead person? You laughed in your head. She was dead. She was gone. Good for her. But despite the constant reminder to yourself that the woman you were jealous of didn’t exist anymore, you knew that you could never erase the fact that you would still never amount to her. And you hated it. You hated her! 

In your rage, you didn’t even realize you had grabbed one of his jackets from the pile of discarded uniforms until something tumbled out of the pocket.

A necklace.

It landed with a soft metallic clink against the floor. It was a simple chain, worn with age, with two wedding bands strung together. Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, seeing the engraving was delicate but unmistakable. It had Caleb’s name and hers.

Your hands trembled.

She was still here. She had never left. Not in his heart, not in his mind. He carried her with him, even now, even after all the ways he had made you believe you were his.

Something inside you snapped, as though you were a madwoman who had finally lost her sanity. Like Caleb always said, that ‘there are no saints in wartimes’. So, what was stopping you from going all out? She needed to be destroyed. She needed to be forgotten. In your desperation to search for more pieces of her, you lurched toward his drawers, pulling them open and shoving things aside. Your promise to never touch his things? Forgotten.

That was when you saw a wooden box, hidden beneath neatly folded uniforms.

You yanked it out, prying it open with shaking hands—only to find it stuffed with letters. Some yellowed with time, others crisp as if he had reread them over and over. Her handwriting. Her words. Her love, immortalized in ink.

My Dearest Caleb,

If I close my eyes, I can still see you standing on the shoreline, hands in your pockets, pretending you’re not waiting for me. But I always knew. You were never good at hiding how much you loved me.

Are you eating well? Have you been sleeping? I know you’ll lie if I ask you in person, but in a letter, you can’t hide from me. And I worry, darling. I always do.

I miss the way you hold me before you leave. I miss the way you kiss my hair, thinking I don’t notice how long you linger there. I miss the way you look at me like I’m the only thing in this world worth coming back to.

Sometimes I wonder… do you know how much I love you? Do you feel it, even when we’re apart? I hope you do. I hope it’s enough to keep you warm when the nights are cold, to keep you safe when danger is near.

Come back to me soon, my love. The house is too quiet without you. And when you do, I’ll be right here, waiting. Just like always.

Forever yours,

Your wife

A strangled sob tore from your throat.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t. 

Through hot tears and reckless fury, you grabbed the box and flung it into the fireplace without regard. All her letters spilled out, each and every one of them catching flame within seconds. And you didn’t hesitate to throw the necklace soon after, letting it vanish into the fire with a dull shimmer.

You stood there, watching the flames devour every trace of her. Of them.

“You’re gone,” you let out a mirthless laugh, wiping the tears that followed after. “You’re gone! Leave him alone!” 

Your entire body trembled at the thought, your chest undulating in heavy breaths. Then, as if realizing what you had done, you collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the fire.

The anger was gone.

Replaced by the terrifying thought of what Caleb would do when he came home. 

~~

The FY-26 cut through the sky like a phantom with its sleek titanium frame reflecting the nautical glow of the setting sun. It was the most powerful fighter jet in the fleet; faster, deadlier, a mechanical beast designed for war. And only one person from the DAA was given the honor to pilot it. 

Caleb gripped the throttle, voice steady as he spoke into his comms. “Specter-01 to Specter-02, enemy reconnaissance spotted at 2 o’clock, altitude 15,000 feet. Adjust trajectory and prepare for engagement.”

“Copy that, Specter-01,” came the reply of his fellow fighter pilot. “Visual confirmed. Awaiting further orders.”

Caleb’s gaze flicked to the horizon, where a lone aircraft hovered in the distance. He could hear the chatter of enemy comms scrambling to react, but for a moment, his focus drifted.

Below him, a small, crescent-shaped island came into view. His grip on the controls instantly tightened.

He knew this place.

The memory surfaced like a ghost from another life—of a time when war wasn’t all he knew. When he had taken her here, flying low so she could see the crystalline waves shimmering under the sun. He had told her to look down, to read the words he had carved into the sand earlier in the day.

"Will you marry me?"

He could still hear her laughter, the way it had crackled through the radio before she screamed yes over the comms, her excitement drowning out all other noise. His adorable pipsqueak. Her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyes… 

Caleb exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the present. “I miss you, my love.”

That was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.

His eyes darkened as he thought of his new reality—you. You weren’t her. Not in the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at him with that foolish devotion. But maybe… maybe he should stop pretending that it mattered.

Maybe he should just settle with what he had left.

You were still there waiting for him. A woman who, despite all odds, loved him with reckless abandon. The same woman who cried on the night he was on his deathbed, doing everything in her might to make sure he lived. And though he could never give you what he once gave another, he knew you’d still smile, even just from the smallest things.

A glance. A touch. A mere kiss from him, and your entire world lit up.

His hands flexed against the controls.

“Specter-02, engage the target. I’m circling back to base.”

Because tonight, maybe he’d give you something to smile about.

~~

The moment Caleb stepped into his quarters, he could tell something was wrong.

The air alone was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, an unusual warmth persisting as dying embers crackled weakly in the fireplace. His gaze swept over the room—furniture askew, drawers flung open, papers and personal belongings scattered across the floor. His gut twisted. It was like a crime scene. Like something vital had been gutted from this space.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

Curled up on the floor, body trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself like a feeble shield. Your shoulders shook through stifled sobs, but the moment your tear-streaked face lifted to meet his gaze, everything inside him snapped.

His heart slammed against his ribs, a foreign pressure crushing his chest as his vision tunneled straight to the fireplace.

No. No, no, no, no!

It was as if his vision blurred, as if there was a deafening ringing overtaking his ears as he stormed forward, shoving past the mess to get to the source of his rage. The flames had long since died, leaving behind nothing but fragile wisps of ash. But even in its destruction, he recognized what it used to be.

Burned letters.

A melted necklace, the twisted remains of two rings fused together.

The last pieces of her.

His wife.

His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his lungs refusing to pull in air as scorching rage flooded every nerve in his body.

“You,” he seethed. Your name didn’t even make it past his lips. The word was a knife, laced with something lethal, something beyond fury. His boots pounded against the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. “I’d fucking kill you! What the fuck have you done?!”

You flinched, your body recoiling as if his voice had physically struck you. “Caleb—”

“Shut up!” His hand shot out, gripping your arm down to the bone, yanking you up with enough force that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. “Do you have any fucking idea what you just did?” 

“I—I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t thinking straight—” you choked out, shaking your head frantically, eyes wide with panic.

“Didn’t mean to?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound so devoid of warmth it sent chills down your spine. Before you could react, he was already shoving you back against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in, his breath hot with rage as it fanned against your skin. His eyes were cold, piercing, murderous, menacing.

“You burned her letters, our rings,” he said, each syllable aiming to intimidate you. “Destroyed the only damn thing I had left of her! And for what?!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, tried to explain, but your throat was too tight, your breath too uneven. Caleb’s gaze alone was enough to make your entire body tremble. But you had to try. “I was hurt, Caleb,” you finally sobbed, the words tumbling out like a plea. “I—I just wanted you to forget her. I wanted you to see me!” 

“Forget her?” His jaw clenched. His grip tightened on your wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising. “You think you could ever replace her? You think you have any fuckin’ right to want anything from me? That you could be anything more than a pathetic substitute?”

The words sliced through you like a blade, carving through every delusion you had ever let yourself believe.

Yet… you had nothing left to lose.

“I love you,” you whispered, broken, desperate. “Caleb, I love you… Please. I’ll be everything you need. I’ll offer everything I have and more. Just… just forget about her.”

For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually hit you.

But then, just as fast as it came, he wrenched himself away from you, staggering back as though you were the thing poisoning him. It hurt. It hurt like hell to see the way he rid himself of you as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers itching to wreck you. 

“...Caleb.” 

“...I’m sorry, Caleb.” 

“...I love you, Caleb.”

No matter how desperately you fought to win his heart, his voice remained eerily calm when he finally spoke.

“Get the hell out of my sight.”

You stood frozen, barely able to process the words. “B-But—”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!” His roar thundered through the room, rattling your entire being like an insect in a heavy storm. 

You swallowed down the sob threatening to rise up your throat, willing yourself to move—to breathe—as you staggered toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, and for a split second, you let yourself hope for him to stop you. To say something. Anything.

But all he did was stare at you with a gaze so cold, so hollow, it made your heart cave in on itself.

And then, his final words were more merciless than you thought. 

“You wanna play with fire?” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll throw you out into the front lines soon enough. See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”

A strangled gasp left your lips, your vision blurring with fresh tears.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

And for the first time since you met him, you realized that no matter how much love you poured into him, Caleb had none left to give.

~~

He stayed true to his words. 

The front lines were nothing short of hell. Explosions tore through the sky, painting it in hues of orange and black. The ground trembled beneath relentless bombardments, screams of the wounded and dying mixing with the fusillade of gunfire. It was chaos. It was pure, unfiltered war.

And you were in the heart of it.

Thrown into the battlefield as nothing more than a discarded afterthought, yet you worked tirelessly, tending to the broken, the dying, the ones who begged for mercy even when there was nothing left to give. Blood soaked your uniform, stained your hands, and for the first time since you had arrived at this forsaken place, you realized Caleb was never coming to rescue you. That this wasn’t as simple as temporary punishment where he could rescue you back to the base the moment he saw that you had already paid for your sins. 

You had been foolish to think otherwise. Because the punishment was greater than the crime. 

Day after day, you watched the planes soar overhead, wondering if one of them carried him. If maybe, just maybe, he’d glance down and remember you. That he’d order someone to retrieve you, to take you home.

But no one came.

Not even him.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—the enemy arrived.

You barely had time to react before the camp was raided, soldiers storming in with brutal efficiency. Screams filled the air—nurses, wounded soldiers, no one was spared. You tried to run, but hands—so many hands—gripped you, dragging you with them.

“No, please!” you sobbed, thrashing, digging your heels into the dirt. “Someone, help me!”

But the only response was the harsh, guttural laughter of the men dragging you away. You didn’t understand their language, but you understood them. The way their dark, hungry eyes lusted over your trembling form. The mocking smiles curling their lips. The way they spoke to each other, like you weren’t even human.

Like you were property.

One of them cupped your chin, tilting your face up with a sickening grin. “She’ll do nicely,” he murmured in a thick accent. 

Another joined in on the amusement. “A fitting pastime for the long nights ahead.”

A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, bile rising in your throat as you began to foresee your fate in their hands. Your fate as the enemy’s new plaything. 

“No—NO!” you shrieked, thrashing harder, your nails clawing at their arms. “Caleb! S-Someone, please!”

But no one came.

No one ever came.

That was when your real nightmare began.

They dragged you to their camp, a place so desolate, so devoid of mercy, that it made your previous suffering look like a fleeting dream. There was no hope here. No salvation.

Just pain.

The foreign army passed you from one to the next like you were nothing more than a worn-out relic of war. Their touch was greedy, using your body at their convenience, their grip bruising as they took what they wanted. They stripped you off everything; clothes, dignity, sanity. Sanity. Where is God in all of this?

Your mind drifted, escaping to anywhere else but there. You imagined a different life, a different fate. But the pain kept pulling you back. The jeers, the mocking laughter, the cruel hands that touched every inch of your skin reminding you over and over again that there was no escaping this. You felt dirty, felt disgusted of your own flesh, felt sick that you had to wake up each day living for only one and one purpose alone. 

You stopped counting the days.

Stopped screaming when they came for you.

You had nothing left.

Their cruelty settled deep within your bones, your spirit breaking piece by piece until all that remained was a hollow shell of who you used to be.

And the worst part?

He never came.

Caleb, the man who once whispered possessive threats in your ear, who swore no one else could have you, who claimed you as his prize—had abandoned you to this.

It was almost laughable. Truly spectacular. 

As you lay on the cold, your body too battered to move, you allowed yourself to accept the truth.

He never loved you.

He never would.

~~

Before you were a war nurse, you once interned as a nurse at Akso Hospital. Life was peaceful then. Even as whispers of an impending world war grew louder, there was an unshaken belief that your nation was too powerful to fall. No one dared to wage war on the strongest nation in the world. 

That was the world you knew—quiet, bathed in golden light. You stood in the familiar white halls of the medical facility, the place where it all began. Where you trained. Where you dreamed of making a difference.

Dr. Zayne stood before you, his crisp uniform as pristine as ever, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the medical abstract he had on hand. He had always been composed and steady. A true professional that you looked up to. He was the best cardiac surgeon there was, and everyone in the same field dreamed of working with him. Of becoming like him.

“You're ready for this,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “The war will test you, but your hands—” he reached out, taking yours in his own, running his thumb across your palm—“were meant to heal.”

You gripped his hands a little tighter. “What if I can’t save everyone?”

He thought for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “You won’t,” he agreed. “But you will save someone. And that will always matter.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Thank you for being a good mentor, Dr. Zayne. I hope to see you again someday.” 

The golden light around him began to fade, his figure growing distant, hazy, slipping through your fingers.

“Good luck, Y/N.”

It was the chilling air that woke you up from your dream. The icy breeze seeped into your bones, deeper than any wound, any bruise, any violation. Every inch of you ached, skin marred with purple and black, lips split and dry. Your body was no longer your own. It was something broken, something discarded.

You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open and every breath was a struggle as your ribs protested with each inhale. The faint scent of blood and sweat lingered around you, suffocating you. Killing you.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard voices—a noise.

A sharp crack split through the air, followed by a scream—short, cut off, wet. Then another. And another.

Gunfire.

Shouting.

The heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.

You tried to move, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. The exhaustion of everything they had done to you pinned you down. Your pulse was sluggish, your vision swimming, but you could hear it—him. And the distinct roar of his rage. Perhaps it was your hallucination. After all, you had already lost your mind from this war. 

But one of the soldiers outside, his voice barely rising before it was cut off—a sickening gurgle of a sound, as if something sharp had torn straight through his throat. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, followed by panicked shouts, orders barked in a language you barely understood, only for them to be silenced just as quickly. A storm was tearing through the camp. A massacre.

Then, the door was kicked open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight.

You held your breath. 

The familiar combat boots. The bloodied gloves. The cold, murderous gleam of his eyes.

Caleb.

Your lips parted—half in disbelief, half in something uglier. Because now, after everything, after you had finally accepted that he was gone, he was here. His gaze was fixed on you, and something in his features cracked as he took in your state. Bruises. Cuts. The torn remains of your uniform that barely covered your violated body. His fingers twitched over the trigger of his gun.

Slowly, he took a step forward. And when he finally reached you, he knelt, his bloodstained hands brushing against your trembling form as if to confirm that you were real.

Why? Why now, Caleb?

You let out a broken sob, your body giving out as you collapsed into him, while his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and desperately.

It was for the first time since meeting him where he genuinely, unselfishly took you in his arms with fragile care. “I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again. I promise.”

The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. You were only going to submit yourself to a never ending cycle. Of pain. Of being unloved.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple. His hands lunged for you, fast, too fast—

BANG!

The world stilled.

Your body swayed before a slow, almost gentle descent to the ground. Caleb caught you before you could hit the dirt, but warm blood seeped between his fingers. His hands, the same hands that had killed and destroyed, now shook as they cradled you. “No! NOOO! Y/N!”

But it was too late.

You smiled with your red-stained lips. “You deserve to live a life where the women you love—” you coughed, blood bubbling at the edges of your lips as you said your last words, “leave you.”

Did I get it right?

Motherfuckin masterpiece 🤌✨✨

sincerely not | season one

↳ gojou satoru x f!reader

— series masterlist

summary. with an arranged marriage set in place, the sacred bond is doomed with a wife who wants to make the relationship work and a husband who’s ready to ruin it all. unbeknown to him, a tragic fate already lies within the pages of his romance book.

genre. heavy angst, arranged marriage, modern au, 18+

word count. 200k

fic warnings. mean!gojo, ooc, adultery/infidelity, profanity, explicit smut, violence, emotional trauma/physical abuse from past experiences, neglect, heavy family drama, illnesses, classism, pregnancy, undertones of masochism, undertones of manipulation, abandonment issues, overall toxic relationships, graphic depictions of self-harm, suicide/murder (and attempts thereof), minor character death, plot loosely based on twotm & tre. please read with proper discretion.

enjoyed the series? tip me on kofi <3

general masterlist + fic art + playlist + gallery + faqs

one + two + three + four + five + six + seven + eight + nine + ten + eleven + twelve + thirteen + fourteen + fifteen + sixteen + seventeen + eighteen + nineteen + twenty (final) + sequel

status: completed

all rights reserved © 2021 saintobio. please do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

Teddy Bear

Kento Nanami x F!Reader

Where your relationship with Nanami took a sharp turn due to one incident.

WARNINGS: arguing, injuries, a bit of spoiler in gojo's past arc, at the end nanami said 'gaslight, gatekeep' but he didnt allow u to girlboss

i like this request lmao. i have no clue if this is good cause i really just typed whatever was in my mind at the moment but here ya go!

MASTERLIST

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It goes without saying that every human lives with many regrets weighing down their hearts, some are light and simple things such as regretting not to wear a certain color of clothing today, while some are as heavy as regretting certain actions that changed their lives for the worst. You weren't an exception to this; many past decisions you have are still weighing you down even though you still stand tall when facing challenges in life. But of course, many doesn't mean all, and you have just as many decisions that you are proud of just as much as those you've come to regret.

One of the things that fall into the former is your decision to have a relationship with Nanami Kento.

Kento was the best thing that ever came into your life, and you knew you would have regretted it had you given up the first time he rejected you—he didn't reject you because he doesn't feel the same, he does, but he still rejected you because of your occupations as Jujutsu Sorcerers. Much to Kento's annoyance, however, you were one persistent little pest that wouldn't stop bothering him, but it all worked out in the end as he finally caved in and the past few years had been the best years of both of your lives.

A perfect relationship is something that does not exist, and as much of a husband and boyfriend material your Kento is, he still has his faults and so do you. Every relationship goes through bumps, and yours and Kento were no exception. You had your fair share of arguments—playful and serious ones—but you both always managed to go through them with your love for each other unscathed and still stronger than ever.

Tonight is an example of that.

As Jujutsu Sorcerers, it was no surprise that the two of you live very busy lives, contacting each other during missions is not a good thing either as one wrong move could cause either of you your lives but still, amidst your busy lives, you both still made time for each other every now and again. You both made it a point that if possible, the last thing you'll both see before you go to bed and the first thing you both see every morning would be each other.

It seems that may have slipped Kento's mind.

You were okay with it for the first week, going a week without seeing each other wasn't unusual for you. The second week, you started to feel sad at the empty space next to you before you go to bed, hoping to feel his warmth in the morning only to be greeted by the cold room when you open your eyes. By the time the third week rolled around, you started raising your brow at the short responses Kento sends you whenever you ask him what's up, as well as the scarcity of affection you have been receiving from him. Before you knew it, a whole month went by with you barely even getting a glance at your boyfriend.

You knew you should just go to bed, that you were too emotional to think right now and Kento would probably be too tired to hold a proper serious and possibly emotional conversation about him being too distant lately, but you were too annoyed to even listen to reason right now.

And that's what brought the two of you here right now, in the living room, arguing in the middle of the night.

"You knew what we were getting ourselves into," Your boyfriend reminded you, "I can't just drop everything to run into your arms."

"You're talking as if I want to hog every minute of your every day!" you bit back, "Five minutes of your day, Hell- not even five minutes! Even just a peck before you leave me, that is all I ask!"

"I've been trying, everything has just been so busy that I don't have time for anything else besides the mission."

"I'm your girlfriend, Kento!"

"Maybe this is why I didn't want you to be!"

In all your years of being together, even though this wasn't the first time you had an argument, Kento had never yelled at you, which made you question yourself now as you didn't know which hurts more; his words or the loud voice and the tone he used when he said it?

Your silence snapped him out of whatever rage-filled stupor he has been in. He had just been so tired and stressed lately that he's not acting like his normal, calm self as of the moment—but that's irrelevant, there's no excusing the words he already said. He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose in hopes of stopping his already raging headache from getting any worse before opening them again. His exhaustion was evident in his mahogany eyes as he approaches you, his hands reaching out to hold yours in his.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash my stress out on you." His voice was low as he genuinely apologized,

"I know. It's okay, I didn't take it to heart." You lied, which your boyfriend immediately saw through from the way he scrunches his brow in worry and his lips turn down into a frown.

He lets out an exasperated sigh as one of his hands left yours in favor of placing them on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing the apples of your cheeks as he looks down at you with as much affection as he could muster.

"We're both too emotional right now, and it's already late. You should go to bed." For the first time that month, you finally feel the familiar warmth of his lips as he presses a kiss against your forehead, "We'll pick this conversation up tomorrow. I'll take the couch."

A part of you wanted to tell him to still sleep in the same bed as you, but you knew you both needed some time to yourselves to think first and so, you didn't fight him on it. You nod at him in acknowledgment before separating yourself from him, making your way back to your room but not before stopping to tell him one last thing.

"I made dinner, it's in the fridge. Should I reheat it for you?"

"No, I can manage. Thank you."

You nod again and stay in place for a few seconds, the two of you just staring at each other. You were waiting for him to say something, but you weren't quite sure what. When you saw that he was starting to get concerned by you just standing there, you speak up once again,

"Good night."

"Good night," he responds, but you still feel like there's something missing from his response.

You eventually decided to just shrug it off before dragging yourself back to your room, allowing yourself to wallow in your own emotions and prepare yourself for the confrontation the next morning—if he's even around when the morning comes.

-

When Nanami opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that his head was throbbing in pain, and the uncomfortable, numb pain located at his lower back and around his shoulders from sleeping on the couch. The next thing he noticed is the pain medication and the glass of water situated on the coffee table where the bottle of liquor that he drank last night should be. He squints his eyes and takes the medication along with the glass of water that you so kindly provided to him before picking up the note you left behind.

He can't help the frown making its way on his face at the content of the note written in your handwriting; You apparently received a call very early in the morning that you were urgently needed somewhere, and that the talk you both needed to have will need to wait until you get home. He sighs worriedly, you were up until late last night, did you even get any sleep before they decided to call you?

As he places the note back where he picked it up from, he made a mental note to try and talk to someone about calling you when it's not within work hours and when you were trying to get some rest. Feeling the headache dissipate slowly but surely, the blonde reaches out for his phone to check the time. He still has time before work starts, as he didn't need to come in early today—maybe today he can wait for you to wake up and-

Oh. Right.

The frown he already had deepened as he realized, he usually gets to bed so late (much to his annoyance) that you were already asleep and wakes up so early that you were still asleep so he still had the luxury of having you by his side before he sleeps and when he awakes. If this is how you felt the past month, then he needs to do some serious apology and truly make it up to you.

Finding no reason to stay since you weren't around anyway, he eventually got up from the couch to get ready for the day.

Nanami's day was fairly boring but productive since he already finished his month-long mission yesterday, he's only left with paperwork now—paperwork that he could finish easily but he ended up typing slower than usual because he has yet to receive a message from you saying you already finished your mission and you're already on your way back.

-

Your boyfriend quietly chuckles at your impeccable timing, seeing your name flashing from his phone along with the selfie of you flashing a peace sign next to his sleeping form—a photo you have taken when you both went on a mission before you got together, Nanami was so tired that he had fallen asleep on the drive back and you stole his phone, took pictures and set this one as his phone's wallpaper. It was the same picture that made him realize just how attracted he was to you so he set it as your contact photo, something to remind him constantly of just how much he adores you.

With a poorly hidden smile on his face, he picks up the phone, about to ask why you called instead of texting when a male voice came through instead of yours.

"Nanami-san?" It was Ijichi, and he sounded nervous, even borderline scared which confused the blonde, "I'm at the school right now, Shoko-san is on her way and-"

"Ijichi.. Why do you have my girlfriend's phone?" Nanami's voice was stern and commanding, but he can feel himself faltering and his heart wanting to beat right out of his chest.

Nanami's hearing had started to fail then, and he could only catch glimpse of Ijichi's words, his brain running too fast that he wasn't able to comprehend the words being said to him.

Something happened. His beloved is injured. Ijichi applied first aid. Shoko is on her way. His girlfriend is not responsive.

His girlfriend is not responsive.

Never in Kento Nanami's life had he ever hung up so fast, leaving his spot and running out to drive to Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School as fast as he possibly could. His knuckles are turning white from how tightly he's gripping the wheel and he couldn't hear himself think, the sound of traffic sounded muffled and distant from him and the only thing he could hear is the rapid sound of his heartbeat and a persistent ringing sounding in his ears.

And when he finally got to where you currently were, fighting for your life and waiting for a reverse cursed user to show up, he immediately felt his knees buckle at the sight of you.

The unmistakable smell of iron hit Nanami in full force, the familiar crimson caking the side of your face and overpowering the color of your clothing. One look at you was all it takes and all of a sudden he was blown back to a decade ago, he's stronger now, he's Grade 1 sorcerer for Pete's sake! But he still feels as helpless now as he had before, reduced to nothing as he looks at his best friend laying, unresponsive from not so far from him.

Before he would approach your body, wanting to check for himself if you still had a pulse, he felt someone pull him aside and out of the room. He was so out of it and his gaze is so blurry that he couldn't recognize who it was, nor can he understand what they were trying to say, but the unmistakable smell of cigarettes makes him guess that Shoko has already arrived to help you.

He sat down on the floor next to the door, his head leaned back against the wall and his eyes squeezed shut. Ijichi looks at him with a frown, Nanami hadn't even realized that he spoke his questions out loud, and the next thing he knew, Ijichi was already answering his question.

"A first-grade sorcerer was urgently needed, she was the only one to take the call..."

This is why he left this job in the first place.

"...There was a civilian that was left there, and she wanted to protect them but didn't have time for any other choice..."

This is why he didn't want to fall in love.

"...She took the hit to save them."

This is why Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit.

"Gojo-san took the mission..." Ijichi speaks unsurely, standing quite a few feet away from Nanami.

The blonde couldn't help but chuckle at this, eyes still squeezed shut, arms placed on top of his knees as he clenches his fist tightly, letting the words he said all those years ago slip out from his mouth once again.

"Why not just let him take care of everything by himself from now on?"

The sight of Haibara's corpse flashes through his mind.

This will just keep on happening again and again, even if you come out of this fine, it will just happen all over again. He needed to put a stop to it, he needed to find a way to make sure that he will never lose anyone important to him ever again—that he'll never lose you, the only girl he will ever love.

Something snapped inside Nanami then.

-

The moment you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was your boyfriend by your side, and since then he rarely left. He insisted on having you rest for now and even did your paperwork for you, his beady brown eyes watching closely as you move your hands to sign the documents he typed out for you to be given to the higher-ups.

He was being his usual sweet self, albeit a bit protective and a bit more worried about you than usual. You both did eventually have that talk you've been meaning to have and he apologized for neglecting you, promising he'll do better next time and you knew he meant it. The first step he took upon the long list of things he planned to show you that he really was sorry was the month-long leave he got the both of you—maybe you really should have looked over the papers Nanami gave you first before signing them.

During the said break, you've been receiving messages of surprise from your co-workers, some even bidding your farewell which you quite found weird. It was only a month's leave, what got their panties up in a twist?

Gojo suddenly appeared in your shared home in hysterics, which, in all honesty, isn't all that weird for your friend and co-worker.

"Do you not love me anymore?!" Was the first thing he asked of you, throwing his arms around your neck as if he was your lover trying to stop you from walking out the door, "Why are you pulling a Nanamin? Why are you leaving me?!"

Of course, was the first thing you thought. Of course, Gojo Satoru would throw a tantrum over a month's leave.

You didn't have to turn around to know that Nanami is already rolling his eyes at his senior's antics and you can only sigh, rubbing your temple to stop the headache that's already starting to creep through the back of your head. The said blonde suddenly approaches you, removing the other's arms around you, and you didn't see it, but he was glaring at the sorcerer way harsher than usual.

Almost as if he was trying to kill Gojo with just a stare.

"That's enough, Gojo. She needs rest." Nanami told him with a hard tone, almost as if he was commanding the white-haired sorcerer while guiding him out the door.

"But Na-"

Nanami slammed the door right to the other man's face.

You only shrugged it off right then, not thinking much of it and just happy that you get to spend a whole month with just your boyfriend after missing him for so long. You didn't have the time for anything else that whole month too as every time you tried to leave, Kento would wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer to him, stating that "I just really missed you" and "I wanted to make it up to you for neglecting you.", every time someone showed up in your shared home, he kept telling you to drive them away and every time someone calls your phone, he was quick to snatch it up and distract you with cuddles and kisses.

Your ignorance only came back to bite you when you tried to go to work after that month and after Nanami left for a quick mission. You were hoping to get another mission as you felt like you were getting rusty after a month of not killing curses, but were surprised at the sight of your other co-workers looking at you weirdly.

"Hey, are you here to visit? Or do you miss being a sorcerer already?" One of your close acquaintances teases you, which only made you even more confused.

"What?"

"What? You already resigned, didn't you?" They ask, confused by your confusion. "You even sent Nanami to give your resignation letter along with the last of your paperwork for your last mission. The higher-ups weren't pleased, but it's not like they can force you to stay."

Needless to say, another fight broke out that night the moment your beloved boyfriend got home.

"I'm protecting you," He told you,

"You're not protecting me, Kento, you're trying to control my life!" You bit back, "Who gave you the right to write out my resignation letter for me and make me believe it was paperwork so I would sign it!"

"See? You didn't even notice something as simple as that," He pointed out, "You're too dumb, too soft to even survive out there."

"What the.. What are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to- no, I am protecting you." Kento approaches you, his hands reaching out to hold yours. His gentle grip immediately tightened enough to the point that it was starting to hurt. "If I need to lock you in here, isolate you from everyone else to make sure you're safe, I will."

Goosebumps rise on your skin, the usual tenderness, and warmth of his gaze replaced with cold determination as he glares back at you. The man who stood before you now is not your Kento, it's like he's a whole different person entirely making you instinctively pull your hands from his grip.

"You're hurting me, Kento. Let me go." You said, trying your best to make your voice sound leveled. Your mind already running in laps as you assess the situation.

You can't use brute force to get away from him as Kento is stronger than you, you need to find a different approach- a different tactic. Maybe you can manipulate him into letting go of you before grabbing your phone on the coffee table and calling someone—perhaps, Satoru?

"No." His voice was firm, his decision final. "I'm not letting you run away from me."

Those were the last words you heard, his fist being the last thing you see as darkness enveloped you.

Teddy Bear - Melanie Martinez