The “I Am Alive” Series (…so Far)

THE COLONEL'S SAINT.

in wartime, there are no saints. only broken souls, like yours and his, both scarred by battles fought in a world that has forgotten mercy. but perhaps peace was simply never meant for everyone. perhaps it only ever comes at a cost—freedom paid for by the ruin of another.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

➤ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, reader is not l&ds!mc, ooc, wartime, unrequited love, profanity, violence, explicit smut, depression, PTSD, recollection of extremely traumatic events, allusions to 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. 9.8k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. all i can say is i enjoyed writing this au so much :)) reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

➤ previous. 001 the colonel’s keeper | colonel caleb playlist

“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.”

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 final, 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. Not now. Not ever.

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.

…

…

…

But you couldn’t pull the trigger.

You thought you could. You had rehearsed it in your mind over and over again—how the metal would feel in your hands, how your fingers would squeeze the trigger with defiance instead of hesitation. In the fantasy, it was clean. Controlled. Almost poetic as you would have told him he deserved to be left by the women he loved.

Reality wasn’t like that, however.

Because the moment Caleb dropped to his knees before you, his face contorted into something grotesque, something desperate, something inhuman, and you froze. Not out of fear. Not exactly. It was something deeper. You lay there, your heart thudding like a drum as your trembling fingers closed around his gun. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on the grip, still smell the gunpowder and oil. The heavy weight of the weapon wasn’t just from the metal, it was the amount of men he killed with it. With an obsession for power and control.

In another life, maybe you did it.

In another life, you imagined yourself pulling the trigger without flinching. In another life, maybe you were brave enough—or broken enough—to leave like that. To end the story on your own terms.

But in this one?

You couldn’t. God, you just couldn’t. You were a coward. And when Caleb whispered your name—his voice cracked, soft, pleading. It shattered the illusion completely. “Don’t do this, baby,” he begged. “I’m taking you home.” 

And you didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t even look away. You just let him. You let him take your hand, let him lift you to your feet as if your bones hadn’t turned to ash. You let him wrap his coat around your shoulders and murmur something unintelligible against your hair, his breath warm, his touch careful.

“I’ll protect you, Y/N.” 

You didn’t believe him, of course. But you let him.

You let Caleb bring you back to the base—not because you forgave him, not because you trusted him, and certainly not because you still loved him, but because you were done fighting. Because your body moved without you, like something detached from soul and will. You weren’t a woman anymore. Not in that moment.

You were something to be carried. Something to be watched and managed and contained. You were no longer a person. You were property of a war, of a man worse than the devil.

And still, you walked beside him.

Because sometimes survival doesn’t feel like victory.

Sometimes, it just feels like surrender.

~~

Back at base, the atmosphere was more chilling than you remembered. Or maybe you were just too far gone to feel warmth. Maybe you’d become so detached, so hollowed out, that even warmth refused to settle in your bones anymore. The world moved around you like normal. People walked, spoke, ate, lived—but you? You couldn’t feel a part of it. You were merely a presence. 

Yet, everyone stared. They always did. In passing, in the corridors, during drills, in the infirmary. Some in pity, others with quiet contempt. A few just looked because they could. Because even bruised and broken, you were a spectacle. Like you always were.

“Has she gone crazy?” “Is it the PTSD kicking in?”

You didn’t meet their eyes. You stopped meeting even your own in the mirror. And as the days passed, Caleb didn’t leave your side. He was always hovering, always watching you in silence, always studying the catatonic expression on your face as you moved with listless effort. Perhaps he was watching you out of guilt, or perhaps out of something sinister. Did he enjoy the look of desolation in your eyes? Did he think he’d won this war, now that you no longer fought him?

The whispers followed you even into the mess hall, the one place people pretended to be too busy to gossip. Except now, they didn’t pretend at all. Not when it was you sitting there, quietly picking at your food like a prisoner fed only to stay alive. Today’s rationed meals were stale bread and bland starchy soup—a probable reason why they’d rather channel their energy towards you than their food.

“She brought it on herself.”

“Should’ve stayed in her place.”

“He only wants her because she reminds him of the wife.”

The spoon in your hand paused midair, with your eyes fixed on the dull metal surface, seeing your reflection warped and small in the curve. You set it down slowly, and let out a short, broken laugh. There was nothing funny, of course. But for you, the humor was in the hell you returned to. Did they think the worst had already happened? They were wrong. The worst was this. Coming back. Living.

And while in your hysteria, silence suddenly filled the hall. A strange stillness swept through like a cold wind, and you didn’t even need to look to know why. As boots stomped across the tiled floor, you already knew what caused the sudden silence within the slate grey walls. 

Caleb, stern as ever.

Surely, he never came here before. High-ranking officers often ate in private rooms or their quarters, never with the rest of the unit and the civilians. But here he was now, his commanding presence turning heads and stiffening spines. No one dared look your way anymore. Not when he was near.

And as for him, he approached you slowly like how he would to a skittish animal. Yet you kept your gaze on your tray, eyes glazed over, expression unreadable. The frenzied smile left your face the moment he was near. It was as if he didn’t exist. 

He stood there for a moment. Then, to everyone’s quiet horror, he sat beside you. No, he lowered himself beside you, crouching so his face was nearly level with yours.

“What are you doing eating here?” he asked softly. “You know the food’s better in my quarters.”

You didn’t answer. You never really spoke to him. You hadn’t even opened your mouth to say anything at all since the day he ‘rescued’ you, and simply because words had abandoned you. Everything had. And the odd part about this was the fact that Caleb was openly speaking to you like this. Because before everything fell apart, he never acknowledged you in public. Not once did he show everyone that you were someone he cared for. So, what cruel actor was crouching down next to you now?

You stared forward like he wasn’t even there.

And you could hear him sigh, at least before his voice dropped even lower, gentle enough that only you could hear it. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Let me nurse you back to health. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything. Just stop tuning me out.”

And still, you said nothing.

Because what could you want from a man who said he wanted you, but only knew how to possess? From a world where the only safety you were offered came in the shape of your captor’s hands, life was absolutely brutal. You sat in silence, surrounded by soldiers, nurses, and civilians who couldn’t even look at you anymore. And yet, the only person who truly saw you—saw the hollow, broken wreck you’d become—was the very man who helped destroy you.

~~

Night flight was always the quietest kind of hell.

The sky was an endless stretch before him, a black void littered with stars he no longer believed in. Inside the cockpit of the FY-29, the most advanced multirole fighter in their fleet, the world shrank down to the hum of electronics and the flickering glow of digital readouts. HUD projection blinked green against his helmet visor. Altitude holding steady. Speed: Mach 1.4. Engine thrust calibrated to optimal efficiency.

“Colonel, enemy radar ping detected. Recon drone at ten o’clock, altitude three hundred feet below,” came the voice in his comms.

“Visual confirmed,” Caleb replied flatly, adjusting his yoke with one hand. “Engage radar dampeners. Veer five degrees north. Let the bastard scan a ghost trail.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sharp tilt of the aircraft rolled the horizon sideways. Caleb barely noticed.

He’d done this too many times—cutting through foreign airspace like a silent reaper, completely invisible in the dark. His hands moved with muscle memory, flipping switches, adjusting trajectory. But his mind… 

His mind drifted.

To you.

To the way your voice once sounded when you still spoke to him with warmth. The way your eyes used to light up when he returned from missions. Now, they were empty. Now, they didn’t even flinch when he entered the room.

Guilt had lodged itself into the pit of his stomach and made a home there. He told himself he had brought you back to protect you. He told himself you needed someone to hold you up. But lately, he couldn’t tell who was holding whom hostage.

You had begged him once, asked him to love you, asked him to forget about his dead wife and just be with you. Now, with the way you were acting, it felt as though he was no better than the monsters who took you.

The truth was—he knew he had made a grave miscalculation. He never truly meant for the punishment to go that far. It had been anger, impulse, the heat of a moment he should’ve controlled. He should’ve gone to the frontlines sooner. He should’ve been there before the enemy got to you… before they shattered the sanctity of your body and stole the softness that once defined you.

Goddamn it. 

A flicker on the monitor snapped him back. One of the secondary comms flashed: High Priority Incoming – Ground Squad Gamma 4. He tapped it.

“Colonel,” came the crackling report, “we’ve captured a batch of civilians—all women, army wives. Enemy ranks. Found hiding in one of the ravaged villages, just outside Sector 11. Orders?”

Caleb didn’t answer at first.

Instead, his jaw clenched. He closed his eyes briefly, long enough to picture your face contorted in sleep; how you cried out some nights from dreams you never remembered, or maybe remembered too well. How sometimes you whispered “Please don’t touch me,” to a room that was empty but for him. How you devastatingly screamed, “No more! No more!” as the memories of traumatizing hands touching you over and over, flooded back to you in a form of a nightmare.

His voice, when it came, was cold steel.

“Do what you want with them,” he said in full conviction. “Leave none behind.”

There was a pause on the other end. Hesitation.

“Sir…?” the voice wavered.

“You heard me,” was Caleb’s firm response. “Whatever they did to ours—we’ll repay it in kind.” 

He didn’t wait for confirmation. He cut the channel, flipped the frequency, and angled the jet into descent mode.

Everything you do is morally justified during war, Caleb.

~~

Lights flickered overhead as he walked through the empty corridor of the officers wing, the soles of his boots bouncing too loud against concrete. He didn’t bother knocking the second he arrived at his quarters, seeing that his room was dark, and you lay curled under the thin blanket, hair stuck to your face from cold sweat. Seeing you like that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

And then the screaming started.

You thrashed—kicking off the sheet, twisting against invisible restraints. Your cries weren’t words but whimpers, pleading, raw sounds from your throat like you were being torn apart all over again. Caleb froze in the doorway. For a second, his legs wouldn’t move. The war inside his chest, the storm he unleashed with just a single order—it all paled in comparison to the agony carved into your sleep. When he finally stepped forward, his hand twitched as it reached out.

“Hey,” he whispered, kneeling beside you. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re not there anymore.”

You didn’t wake, and neither did you calm. You just screamed harder, fingers digging into the mattress like it was the only thing keeping you shackled to this world. Caleb embraced you in his arms like a fragile object he was protecting, but nothing comforted you at this point. Not his storm-violet eyes nor his saintly face. 

Even when he wiped your sweat, brought you tea, and sat in silence.

And perhaps, he finally understood. The reason for your silence hadn’t been just the trauma. It wasn’t just the violence or the bruises or the way your voice cracked when you said nothing at all. No, it was simpler than that. More human. It was because he had never actually said sorry.

Sure, he remembered whispering it in a shattered breath when he pulled you out of the enemy’s grasp—covered in bruises, half-alive, delirious. But that wasn’t the kind of apology you needed. That had been panic. Guilt. A bandage over a wound that needed surgery. And you, you deserved something slower, softer, and more honest. Something earned.

And so he found himself sitting at the edge of your bed now, studying the glazed look in your eyes. You weren’t with him. You were locked somewhere far inside yourself, behind doors he had helped bolt shut.

“You feel hot,” Caleb murmured as he reached for your forehead, calloused fingers brushing your clammy skin with an unexpected tenderness. “Should I call one of the nurses? They can wipe you down with a cold towel.”

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone near you. His protectiveness knew no bounds, especially not after what happened. But tonight, he understood. You didn’t want his touch. Maybe you couldn’t bear it. Maybe the thought of his skin on yours only reminded you of everything you had survived.

So he offered space, even if it killed him.

But you didn’t respond. You just quietly rose from the bed like a graceful ghost. Your bare feet padded across the cold floor, not a sound made with every step. The moonlight slashed across your face as you entered the bathroom, and then you undressed slowly, wordlessly, under its silver glow.

He knew better than to follow. But he still did. Only to make sure you were safe. Only to watch over you, because watching was all he could do now. From the doorway, he saw your silhouette curled under the cascade of water. You weren’t washing. You were scrubbing. Frantically. Desperately. Your fingernails dug into your own skin as you scrubbed, over and over, rubbing raw the places where their hands had once been. You weren’t trying to get clean. You were trying to disappear. As if your skin still remembered the hands that touched you. As if water could erase what the world had done to you.

You sobbed without sound, and that was somehow worse. Because your pain had learned to stay quiet.

Without thinking, Caleb stepped inside. His boots soaked instantly, and the water darkened the fabric of his uniform in seconds, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a towel from the rack and walked toward you slowly.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

You didn’t flinch when he wrapped it around you. You kept scrubbing even when he gently pulled you into his arms and let yourself cry like someone who had run out of ways to survive. 

He just held you in silence. In stillness. And in that moment, something in his gentleness made you snap. Your hands shook violently and your voice cracked into a shriek. “You m-monster!” you sobbed, your throat raw from disuse and despair. It was the first time you spoke to him again since… “Y-You animal!”

“Y/N—”

“You let me—” your voice choked on grief. “You let them do that to me! You left me! And now you act like y-you… like you care—?”

Caleb took every word, every blow, and let it tear through him. He didn’t know how to fix something so broken. It was like a shattered glass that can never be repaired. The cracks would always show, no matter how hard he tried to put them all back together.

You collapsed against him, the towel sliding loose. “Why n-now?” you whispered, tears flooding your eyes. “Why are you pretending like I still matter? Isn’t this w-what you wanted?”

“I’m not pretending,” he said hoarsely, barely able to speak past the guilt in his throat. “And no, I didn’t want this, Y/N. I didn’t.”

You shook your head violently, water flinging from your hair. “No. No, I’m dead, Caleb. You won. This is what you wanted me to become—someone who’s been passed around like a rag. I’ll never be like your wife!”

While he held his breath, you must have expected him to deny it. To recoil. To offer some hollow line about how you were still you and that he didn’t care about his dead wife anymore. Instead, Caleb wrapped your body again with the towel, tighter this time around, before he carried you out of the bathroom. 

“I still grieve for her every day,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you again.”

You shut your eyes and refused to meet his again. His words seemingly have no effect on you anymore. 

I should’ve gone sooner, he thought to himself. I should’ve lowered my pride and reached you faster. I should’ve said sorry when it still mattered.

“I can’t take back what happened,” Caleb said, chest rising and falling raggedly. “But if there’s a version of hell where I can stay with you, then I’ll take it. I’ll live there. With you.”

He would learn how to love you gently, if you’d let him.

He would speak with actions now: the soft blankets, the untouched side of the bed he never crossed, the way he learned the names of every nurse you trusted, the way he installed new locks on your door so you would feel safe again, the way he trained the soldiers himself—brutally—so no one would ever think of hurting you again.

And when he wasn’t looking, when you were too tired to keep your eyes open, he would sit at your bedside every night and whisper a prayer. Not for redemption.

But for your peace.

~~

A YEAR AGO — INFIRMARY

“This might sting a little, sir.” 

A gentle furrow settled between your brows as you dabbed at Caleb’s shoulder, cleaning the angry gash that sliced through his skin. He sat still, shirt peeled halfway down, and his jaw tense, but not from pain. He wasn’t even looking at the wound. His gaze, all of it, was fixed on you like he was considering a thought.

Your hand paused.

“…What?” you asked, a nervous laugh escaping.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “You’re just… very good at what you do.”

You smiled faintly. “You say that every time you come in here half-dead.”

“I like repeating things that are true.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. He saw that, too. You tried to turn your back to his shoulder, resuming your task, or rather, to hide the heat that suffused your cheeks. “Do you ever get tired of coming back here wounded?” you asked. “I know you're high-ranking and invincible and all, but maybe don't catch bullets with your body next time.”

He chuckled. “But didn’t you say you wanted to see me a lot?”

“Well…” You looked away, blushing. He knew about your silly little crush on him, that’s for sure. “Not in this way, sir.”

There was a long pause. Comfortable, almost. So comfortable that you could almost hear Caleb’s breathing. And then, like it had been on his mind the whole time, he asked, “Do you want to move in with me?”

Your hand froze again, gauze hovering just above the wound. “…I’m sorry?”

He turned slightly to face you, wincing only a little. His voice was calmer than you expected. “It’s cold in my quarters. Too quiet. And I keep thinking how I’d rather have you there.”

You stared at him, stunned. You knew what he wanted. You knew why he asked for it. 

“You barely know me,” you whispered, heart racing in your chest.

“I know enough,” Caleb replied, eyes searching yours. “I know you care more than most people do. I know you’re smart, and patient, and you smell like peppermint and laundry soap.”

Your lips parted, caught between surprise and disbelief.

“And I know,” he added, softer, “that I feel a lot less lonely when I’m around you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Tense, but not in fear. And when your eyes flickered to his lips, just for a second, he noticed. He took that as a sign to lean in slowly. Like a man trained to read danger, but still willing to take the risk. His hand, still rough and bloodied, hovered at your cheek, asking without words.

You didn’t stop him.

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as his lips pressed gently to yours and moved with perfect sync. For a moment, you forgot the war. Forgot who he was and what you were. You just remembered what it felt like to be wanted.

When you pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours before pecking your lips once more.

“I’ll look forward to your answer, Nurse Y/N,” Caleb whispered through your lips. “You’ll live a more comfortable life if you’re with me.”

~~

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – NIGHT

The storm outside was brewing with anger, but it didn’t reflect in the way he kissed you.

He was right, sleeping in the private quarters was much better than the bunkers, but that wasn’t the main prize. It was him, Caleb, the man you offered your heart and yourself to, knowing full well that he wanted you just the same. 

“Mmh—Caleb!” 

The room only carried the flicker of an old lamp forming shadows over military-issued sheets and disheveled clothes strewn across the floor. Your bodies were tangled in the warmth of each other, breathless, bare. Caleb had you laying sideways, and him positioned at your back, lifting your leg so he could get better access. His skin was slick with sweat, his hand moving to squeeze your mound, anchoring you close like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

It wasn’t rushed this time. Neither desperate.

He moved with reverence. As if he wanted to memorize the exact shape of your body, the slope of your waist, the sound you made when his member hit your sweetest spot. And you, you let yourself melt into him, allowing him to fill you in for as many times as you both wanted, so long as you still had the strength. 

“Caleb,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair.

His grip tightened on your hip. This time, he was increasing his pace. Ramming into you sideways might be his new favorite thing, because whenever he was near, he would usually go for the traditional missionary. Not this time, however. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight for me, baby.” And just when you were at the peak of your pleasure, he suddenly whispered another woman’s name.

His wife’s name. 

You froze.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did—and just kept kissing your neck, as if saying her name didn’t gut the room into silence.

You didn’t say anything. Not that night.

Even when it was over. You cuddled deeper into his chest, heart twisting, the back of your throat stinging. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he wasn’t even fully awake. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself his body was warm, his arms wrapped around you, his breath even and calm—and that should be enough.

You told yourself you were alive, and she wasn’t. 

~~

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – AFTERNOON

Supper was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat across from Caleb at the small table he rarely ever used—usually preferring to eat on the go, or not at all. But tonight, he had insisted you two start dining together so you didn’t have to leave the room. The portions were modest: military rations dressed up with a little too much seasoning, but it was so much better than MRE, or even the ones served at the mess hall. And you could ask for seconds if you wanted to. 

Yet, no matter how abundant your table was, the silence was what was making you full. Your fork scraped softly against the plate, wondering why Caleb wasn’t eating much. He was just pushing food around with the edge of his fork, his eyebrows furrowed after what appeared to be a terrible day in the skies. 

You cut into the silence with the question that had been gnawing at you since dawn. “Do you think you’ll ever remarry?”

Caleb’s body stiffened. His fork stilled mid-motion. His features were blank, but something behind his eyes tightened, like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right that he even had to repeat it. “Remarry?” 

You nodded, keeping your tone as casual as possible, though your hand trembled just slightly where it gripped the stem of the water glass. “I mean, the war can’t last forever. Things might calm down someday. You’re still young. Still capable of—”

“Stop.” He cut you off, voice low and firm.

You swallowed. “It’s just a question, darling.”

“No, it’s not,” he muttered, dropping his fork with a quiet clatter. “You’re tryin’ to make me say something I’m not ready to say.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft. “I just want to know where I stand.”

His expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Don’t turn this into some kind of—what, a proposal? A plea for commitment? Because if that’s what this is—”

“No, Caleb… I just,” you paused, looking away and exhaling through your nose. “I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with a dead person.” 

Silence.

He didn’t like it. Your words, how callously you called his wife a dead person. The sharpness of his eyes seemed to have considered ways of killing you. But Caleb stood abruptly, and his chair scraped back with an ugly screech.

“Lost my appetite.” He didn’t look at you as he said it. He just turned, grabbed his coat from the hook near the door, and walked out—quiet, controlled steps, like if he didn’t leave now, he might say something he couldn’t take back. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth and don’t talk about this bullshit with me ever again.”

~~

You were staring at the ceiling again.

Stiff sheets under your back. The sharp antiseptic sting of alcohol soaked into gauze. Somewhere far off, a nurse was whispering instructions—Claire. You recognized her voice all too well. 

She never liked you before. She loathed you even more now.

“She’s acting like some kind of war princess,” she scoffed not even a meter away. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s carrying every disease known to man. After what she’s been through? God, Colonel should’ve left her to rot.”

You didn’t react. You simply shut your eyes, allowing her words to come and go without making an impact. Empathy was a luxury no one could afford in wartime, and you’d long stopped expecting it from anyone, least of all her.

“She lost a lot of blood. The glass… it was lodged deep—”

“She’s lucky she didn’t hit an artery. If she wants to kill herself, at least do it right.”

Lucky.

You almost laughed.

Because it wasn’t your first time trying.

They thought Caleb had it all figured out. They thought that locking you away in his quarters, removing every shard of metal, every sliver of risk, every ounce of danger would be enough to keep you alive. You were a silent prisoner under the guise of protection. Doors locked from the outside. Soldiers who shadowed your every step when you were allowed to walk beyond four walls. They even took your combs, your mirror, your goddamn belt—anything that could snap or slice or wrap around your throat.

They watched you like you were sacred.

But no one realized that glass, when cracked the right way, could become a weapon, too.

It had started with something so small, during the time when Caleb had to leave base for a few days. It was from a small picture frame that had Caleb’s formal military photo inside. During an intense, heavy bombing outside, you were alone, unsupervised for the first time in days. The entire base shook with a violent thud, and the picture frame fell on the floor. You tried to pick it up and aimed to put it back.

Only to see that the glass had shattered.

And you had just… stared. At the jagged edge sticking out of the frame. At the glittering fragments on the floor.

You didn’t hesitate.

You grabbed a shard like it was salvation, and before your brain could catch up, your arm was already bleeding. The kind of bleeding you don’t come back from if you were left alone long enough. You slumped against the wall. Felt the warmth of it leaking down your skin, soaking into your lap. You welcomed the numbness, the strong smell of iron gushing out of your open wound. 

But someone found you too soon.

You remembered the soldier’s face as he stumbled into the room—young, horrified, hands shaking as he shouted for help. “She’s cut—fuck, she’s bleeding bad! Get the medics! Get the fucking medics—!”

Now, back in the present, one of the guards paced at the edge of your hospital bed, too afraid to look you in the eye. “The Colonel might kill us for letting it happen. For not watching you close enough.”

You blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, lips cracked.

“Then he should kill himself, too,” you whispered.

The room fell silent. You turned your head slightly toward the door—the new one they’d installed. Reinforced. Bulletproof. No cracks this time. Just a clear view of the world you weren’t allowed to be part of anymore.

“We can’t reach Colonel Caleb—he’s at the outposts, but he’ll be back soon,” was the last thing you heard from him before the medicine took over. “As for what happened to you in enemy territory, miss… don’t worry about it. The Colonel made sure to return the favor.”

~~

Caleb stepped into the room, the heavy door creaking as it closed behind him. His footsteps were deliberate, yet silent, as he made his way toward the bed where you sat, eyes cast downward and clearly avoiding his gaze. The silence between you two was suffocating, so much so that he forgot he had ears for a second. 

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the bandages wrapped around your arm to look at the remnants of your self-inflicted wounds that he had heard about during the day. His jaw tightened, but he remained silent, studying the way the white bandages were stained with a deep red. Finally, eventually, his voice cut through the thick air. “When are you going to stop hurting yourself?”

Your heart clenched, and without lifting your eyes to meet his, you muttered, “When you die.” 

The grudge had been simmering inside you for so long. Now, spoken aloud, you couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want to see the effect it had on him. But you also couldn’t stop yourself from continuing. 

“Every time you’re out there, I pray…” you paused, closing your eyes. “I pray that a bullet finds its way to you or that your jet crashes somewhere far from here.” 

Even if it was the darkest part of your soul that had spoken, it felt true. The thought of him gone, of being free from the torment, it made your chest ache and flutter at the same time.

Caleb’s lips, on the other hand, pressed into a hard line. His gaze narrowed ever so slightly, though the pain in his eyes was undeniable. He didn’t speak right away. His hand moved toward the bandage on your arm, fingers brushing over the rough cloth. “You really want me dead?”

“I do.” You met his gaze then, your eyes bloodshot, heart raw. “I want you dead and forgotten.” 

Strangely, Caleb’s fingers lingered on your skin, a tender touch that felt out of place given everything that had happened between you. His thumb brushed over your bandaged arm, then gently cupped your face, tilting your chin up so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. The distance between you two felt like a chasm, a vast emptiness, and yet, somehow, his touch still grounded you. It made your heart race, and you hated it.

“You hate me that much?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You closed your eyes, and for a good minute, it was almost peaceful. The quiet of the room, the warmth of his hand on your skin. But then you remembered the things he had done, the way he’d broken you down and built you up again, only to crush you once more. You pulled away slightly, but Caleb wouldn’t let you. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve killed everyone who touched you. And will continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”

You didn’t say anything. The words were stuck in your throat, the ones that you really wanted to say. The ones that would’ve made it easier to break away, to cut the ties that had bound you together for so long.

But out of everything he could have done, he chose to kiss you. Not like the first time. Not passionate or filled with fire. This kiss was different. It was filled with regret, with longing, with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. It was slow, gentle, like he was afraid to break you even more than he already had.

When he pulled away, his eyes were filled with something more than guilt. “I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, but the words didn’t fix anything. Nothing could. Even if your tears were falling freely now. You didn’t even know what you were crying for—him, or the person you used to be. The one you had lost along the way. Still, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to his chest like you were something fragile he wanted to protect, even if he’d been the one to break you. You could feel the slow, steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. At least, until he pulled away, tucked the blankets around you with care, and planted a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I have business in the morning,” he murmured, like you were a wife he needed to give an update to. “I might not come home for a few days.”

~~

When he said he wouldn’t be home for a few days, you welcomed it as a small mercy. A pocket of peace. Because his absence was like hell quieting down, as if the demon retreated to its shadows. And yet, despite the relief, you couldn’t help but feel a strange unease curling in your stomach. A gut feeling whispering that maybe he was up to something far more than he let on.

And just as you suspected, the muffled sound of soldiers’ voices filtered through the door carried everything you ought to know. Their words were barely distinguishable as they spoke in low tones. But something—an instinct, maybe—had your heart racing, and you could swear you caught bits and pieces of their conversation. 

“The medical convoy has been rerouted. New order,” one of them said, his voice hoarse. “No explanation. A few nurses, including one named Claire..."

The fragments of the conversation hit you like a punch to the gut. Then and there, every muscle in your body tensed. Claire. Claire was one of the nurses that had been tormenting you ever since you had been back at the base. And then there was Caleb whose orders were law. It all clicked into place.

You could feel the edges of your mind unraveling as the pieces fell together. Caleb wasn’t just holding you hostage here. He was controlling everything. Manipulating the people around you like pieces on a chessboard. The convoy rerouting wasn’t some minor shift—it was a move. A dangerous one. And you weren’t sure if you were ready to know what it meant, but you had to. 

Swallowing down the nausea rising in your throat, you took a deep breath and turned toward the guards outside your door. You didn’t have time to waste. Whatever Caleb was planning, whatever he thought he was going to do, you had to stop him.

“I want to see Caleb,” you demanded sharply, a command that left no room for argument. The guards didn’t even flinch. They just stood there, their backs rigid, as if they were expecting you to say something like that.

“You know we can’t do that, miss,” one of them said. “Orders.”

“Then, I’ll tell you what,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll tell him that you touched me. I’ll tell him that you hurt me, and forced yourself into me.”

The look in their eyes was one of pure terror and scandal. It was as if you just sentenced them to death. One of them even shifted uncomfortably, but neither of them moved toward you. They were afraid—afraid of Caleb and everything that had to do with him. But you knew something they didn’t. They were afraid of losing their position, of Caleb’s wrath, but you? You had nothing left to lose.

“He had ordered to burn a traitor alive once,” you threatened, your voice dangerously calm now. “And had the remains be fed to the dogs.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other. You could see the way their eyes flickered, like they were torn between their orders and the realization that you meant what you said. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the taller of the two guards stepped forward.

“Fine,” he hissed, the words practically escaping his lips against his will. “But if this gets out of hand, it’s on you.”

You didn’t care. You were past caring about the consequences.

They led you down the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing ominously as you moved deeper into the compound. You could feel it, the sickening feeling of being trapped, and for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt a spark of clarity. This was your chance to stop him, to put a stop to whatever Caleb was planning.

The guards led you into the central area of the base, a sterile, almost mechanical hall, and you could see the tension in their faces as they approached the place where their colonel was. In the shadows of a hangar they thought no one would check, Caleb stood with his pistol raised, and the muzzle? It was pointed directly at Claire’s quivering skull. 

She was on her knees, sobbing, shaking, the usual scorn from her lips long gone. “Colonel, I never meant it, please—I didn’t mean it! I won’t be n-near her ever again!”

“Do I shoot you in the mouth instead?” For Caleb, it wasn’t a question. It was mockery wrapped in death, even though his face remained cold and terrifyingly composed. “You certainly had a lot to say before. But has anyone ever told you that I’d kill every single soul that dared insult my woman?” 

Even though Claire had never treated you with decency, never once acknowledged you as anything but filth—the issue wasn’t about defending her. It was about stopping Caleb before he added another life to his ledger. Not for you. Not because of you. You’d already seen too much blood spilled in your name.

You couldn’t bear to be the reason again.

And you were tired of bleeding for a man who only knew how to destroy.

So you ran. You ignored the pain screaming through your body, ignored the way your knees buckled with every step. You ran until you were standing between his gun and its target. “Caleb.” Your voice cracked. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for the first time in weeks, he looked startled. “Why are you here? Go back to your room,” he ordered, sternly. “I don’t want you interfering with this.”

“No more killing!” you shouted, your voice louder than you thought you still possessed. “Not for me. Not because of me!”

“I’m doing this for you,” he said flatly. As if it were a universal truth. As if murder could be dressed up as love. “These people will never respect you, not until I give them all a lesson.”

You laughed. Respect? How ironic of him to say. 

But you weren’t listening anymore. You were done with being his puppet. You were done with the pain, the manipulation, and the suffocating control he had over everything in your life. “I don’t want your protection. I don’t want anything from you anymore!” you spat. “I’m done chasing your love. I’m disgusted with you and things you’ve done! They’re not love, Caleb. Do us all a favor and go to hell!” 

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he faltered. He stood in the crossroads of his own making: one path paved in control and power, and the other, threatened by the woman who once shivered under his icy stare.

And to everyone’s surprise, he lowered the gun.

Just as you asked. 

~~ 

Everyone knew and could feel that the war was winding down. Slowly, like an old machine losing steam. Gunfire no longer echoed through the mountains. Missives came in with fewer red marks. Still and all, the air around Caleb remained tense, as if he was standing at the eye of a storm. 

You hadn’t seen much of him in recent weeks. At least, not as much as he let you. He came and went in silence, never bothering you or speaking to you since the day you asked him to go to hell. But the good outcome from that last interaction led to no more outbursts in the days that followed, no heated arguments. Just long hours spent in the shadows of the base, pouring over confidential papers, taking hushed calls with unnamed officials, signing things he didn’t let you see.

What you didn’t know was that he had spent the last few weeks building you a way out.

An escape plan masked as a gift: forged new identity papers with your maiden name, a secluded property far from the wreckage of war, monthly financial deposits that would keep you fed for decades, and official documents that ensured no one, not even the government, could drag you back into this life.

He was sealing off every door behind you. Quietly, meticulously.

And you? You were doing your best to pretend you still belonged to the world of the living.

You volunteered at the children’s infirmary more often. Spent time folding clean sheets and organizing medicine cabinets just to feel useful. You didn’t talk much. You weren’t trying to heal—you were just trying not to rot.

That night, you were in your shared quarters, folding the same shirt three times over just to get the sleeves right, when the door creaked open. You didn’t bother turning around. Caleb had been in and out, never staying long. Most days he’d never even greet you. Some days, he would come home and take a shower, slipping into his side of the bed without a word, his back turned to you as he tried to get a wink of sleep. There wasn’t even any eye contact to be shared. 

But this time was different.

Although he still didn’t say anything. He walked in, closed the door behind him with a soft click, let you feel his presence before you saw him. He was closing the distance, sure. But what surprised you was how he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Tightly. With his face buried in your shoulder. You froze at first as his embrace was firm, almost desperate. One hand gripped your waist, the other pressed flat against your stomach like he was anchoring himself. His breath was warm against your neck, but his voice never came.

“Let me go,” you murmured, not moving.

“Just five minutes,” he whispered at last. “Just… stay still. That’s all I ask.”

You did. Your fingers uncurled from the fabric in your hand, and for once, you let your body rest against his without resistance, while he held you like a man trying to memorize the shape of something he could never return to. Time stretched between you like a slow heartbeat. An extremely, dangerously slow heartbeat. 

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go entirely. He just placed a kiss on your cheek. No explanation. No apology.

“I’ll make it right, Y/N,” he simply said, holding your face with a gentle hand and running his thumb across your cheek. His stare was earnest as he looked into your eyes. “I’ll make sure you never have to think of me again.”

And just as quietly as he came, he turned and left the room. You knew something in your chest tightened, the way it does when you sense someone saying goodbye without actually saying the words. But you didn’t run after him. You stood there for a long time after the door closed… wondering what, exactly, he was leaving behind. And what you were about to lose.

~~

Caleb had always preferred solitude during these moments before a mission—just him, the whirr of his jet’s engines, and the distant thrum of his thoughts. And tonight, a rare calm and quiet night, was exactly what he wanted. The sky was unusually clear for wartime. There were no anti-air guns firing in the distance, no buzz of enemy drones, just the cold serenity of the atmosphere wrapping around him, welcoming him. 

He sat in the cockpit, surrounded by the soft blue glow of the control panel. His gloved fingers adjusted the dials with precision, movements rehearsed a thousand times over. Everything was ready. Everything had been planned.

And yet, his thoughts couldn’t stay present. They drifted, inevitably, to you. You had been on his mind constantly, every minute of every day. The hatred in your eyes when you told him to go to hell, when you told him you wanted him dead. He couldn’t blame you. After all, he had stolen your peace, your happiness, and maybe even your will to live. 

The comms in his ear cut him from his trance. “Specter-01, this is base command,” came a low voice. “Caleb, what’s your heading? You’re a few degrees off course.”

He tapped a switch, cleared his throat. “Still en route. Just adjusting for wind drift.”

There was a pause before the voice returned—Gideon. One of the few people Caleb could stand to have at his side. Loyal to a fault. And too sharp for his own good. “Don’t bullshit me, Colonel. You’re not following protocol.” There was tension in his voice now, the kind that could only come from fear. “This isn’t like you.”

Caleb exhaled slowly, the breath fogging inside his helmet. “I’m fine, Gideon,” he replied, voice calm, almost detached. “Just needed some air. That’s all.”

“But you're flying into a dead zone. No support, no backup, no exit route. If something goes wrong—”

“I know,” he cut in softly.

Another long silence stretched between them.

“...Don’t do this.”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the radar, the blinking dots, the calculated trajectory. Everything had been mapped out—every lie, every angle, every detail to make it look accidental. So that no one would question. So that no one would stop you from moving on.

“Take care of ‘em, Gideon,” he said at last, and his voice made it clear—this wasn’t just a briefing anymore. “Take care of the team. And… her. Make sure she gets what I left behind. All of it.”

“Caleb—” Gideon’s voice was sharper this time. “Caleb, don’t do this. You pull that throttle one more degree and you’re not coming back. You hear me?”

Caleb didn’t respond immediately.

He stared ahead, the horizon fading into black. Then he glanced down at the radar, his destination marked in red, blinking faintly like a dying heartbeat. His fingers danced across the console with quiet certainty. There was no trembling now. Only resolve.

He flicked the comms one last time, the channel still open to Gideon.

“This is Colonel Caleb Xia,” he began, voice steady, almost ceremonial. “Serial Number A-01. Former DAA Fighter Pilot. Onyx Division. Head of Tactical Recon. Shadow Commander of the Ninth Flight. Loyal son of the war.”

While Gideon was holding his breath on the other line, Caleb exhaled on his. 

“Signing off.”

“Wait—Caleb, don’t you fucking dare—!”

Then he switched the comms off.

Silence flooded the cockpit again, but it was a cruel relief. The kind that felt like surrender. He gripped the joystick and pushed the throttle forward, feeling the jet surge under his hands. The roar of the engines was deafening now. He wasn’t afraid. In fact, the familiar vibrations of the jet beneath him felt oddly soothing. The plane climbed higher, slicing through clouds like paper. The city below looked small now, insignificant—like all the things he used to care about. A dot among dots. A place where people still hoped, still dreamed.

And you were somewhere down there. Breathing. Alive.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could picture your face one last time. As if he could imprint it onto whatever eternity waited for him. Then, his fingers hovered over the control panel, the slightest tremor in them now. He entered the override, veered sharply, and… the jet dipped lower.

There would be no mayday. No beacon.

Just one last act of penance.

With a faint smile—equal parts grief and relief—Caleb let go.

~~

1 MONTH AFTER

The somber grey clouds had a mission today. Not stormy, not weeping—just still. And heavy. 

Unlike the usual stark white uniform you donned as a war nurse, you stood in an all-black attire before a modest grave now, staring at the name etched into the headstone that was so clean it could’ve been carved yesterday.

(MC) Xia

Beloved Wife. Devoted Friend. A Soul That Endured the War.

A month had passed since the ceasefire, since the war gasped its last violent breath, since the tower’s red lights blinked for the last time. They no longer raised the war ensign, and instead, replaced it with a regular flag. It was a month full of hope, of joy, of good news. A month of normalcy. Of peace. 

It had also been a month since Caleb’s jet spiraled off the radar, only to never land again.

You were in his quarters when the news arrived—delivered not with ceremony, but in a voice worn thin by grief. It was his closest friend Gideon who told you, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, aged more by sorrow than war. Caleb’s jet had gone down, he said. It was too late to save him. His jet turned into a comet over the mountains, and that was the last anyone saw of him. They told you the wreckage was scattered beyond recognition. That there were no remains to bury. No bones to hold the ceremony over, not even fragments for a grave. Only soot, swallowed by wind, vanishing like vapor. 

At first, there was no reaction. Just silence. An unbearable stillness. You stood motionless, eyes dazed, like everything was just a part of a cruel dream. Isn’t this what I wanted? you asked yourself, again and again, trying to summon a feeling—relief, peace, something. But nothing came. Not even the tears.

Instead, your legs gave out. You collapsed to the floor with trembling hands and an aching heart, but remained dry-eyed for most of it. Grief had not yet found its shape. It simply throbbed inside your chest, like something inside you shattered so loud you thought the world could hear it.

Moving on didn’t come easily, either. A month may have passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was too soon, too early to even expect yourself to be fine again. And how could you begin to accept death, when it had left no trace behind?

So, you came here instead. To her grave. To return him to her. 

Caleb’s first love. His wife. The woman who haunted the corners of his mind like a fading photograph and whose memory bled into everything you had shared with him. This was the only place that felt honest. The only place where both your griefs could sit side by side without judgement.

The wind danced with the soft rustling of leaves as you stood still beneath the shadow of a tree, the kind that had lived through more seasons than any of the soldiers buried here ever would. The grave in front of you was well-cared for, and the flowers beside it were fresh—carefully arranged lilies and white chrysanthemums, the ones Caleb always said reminded him of peace. Maybe he brought them. Surely, he did. Your hand rested gently on the headstone, fingers tracing the grooves of her name as if they were familiar and sacred. 

“Please take care of him.” You spoke softly, too softly as if she was one with the wind. “I’m sure he’s with you now. That’s where he always belonged.” Glancing down, you blinked past the sting behind your eyes. “I used to wonder why he never looked at me the same. Why he always held me like I was glass but never gold. But I understand now. You were his home. And when you died, he lost the only map he ever followed.”

A small, bitter smile flickered across your lips.

“He loved you. So fiercely. So painfully.” A pause, only for you to swallow the weakness forcing its way up your throat. “If only you had survived the war… he wouldn’t have turned into what he became. I was just the aftermath. I was the damage. But still, I hope you can forgive him. And I hope you can forgive me, too.”

As you took a deep, cathartic exhale, footsteps broke the silence behind you.

“Still raining,” said Dr. Zayne, holding the umbrella over your head. You let the drizzle kiss your cheeks like tears from the sky. “She was our childhood,” he added quietly. “Mine and Caleb’s.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t on good terms with him,” he admitted. “I loved her, too. But I set it aside because I wanted to be happy for them.”

You finally looked up at him. His expression was solemn as he reached into his coat.

“Before he left… he asked me to give you this.”

A letter. Plain. Folded like an airplane. Your name written in his unmistakable, sharp script. You took it with trembling hands.

Zayne didn’t say more. He simply nodded at the grave, and then at you. “We should go. The roads are closing soon.”

You nodded, lips parting but no words falling. The letter simply grew heavier in your hands, and your fingers itched to open them. You knew this wasn’t closure exactly. 

But it was something close enough to carry forward.

To my sweetest girl, If you’re reading this, I probably don’t exist anymore. I don’t know what state you’ll be in when this reaches your hands—if you’ll cry, if you’ll laugh, or if you’ll crumple this letter and curse my name like I deserve. I don’t expect forgiveness. I never did. But I need you to know what I’ve done. Not to earn your love, but to settle a debt that I created the moment I took your life and bent it into something unrecognizable. Inside the envelope I left with my friend, Zayne, you’ll find everything you need to start over. A full civilian identity under your maiden name—clean records, a background, even a fabricated work history. There’s a house registered to that name in a quiet part of the world where no one will know you, where the war won’t reach, and neither will I. I’ve transferred assets to accounts only accessible by you and under your new credentials. The funds should last you a lifetime, or maybe two. You’ll find documents for land ownership, health coverage, and immunity against any wartime tribunal trying to drag your name through the dirt. You won’t owe anyone anything. Not even me. It’s not enough. I know it’s not enough. There is no currency in the world that can pay back the things I did to you—directly or by consequence. But this… this is the only form of apology I know how to give. My death is not redemption. But I know it’s your freedom. You once told me you prayed for the war to end and for me to vanish with it. So here I am, granting your prayer. A little too late. A little too broken. But still yours, in whatever way this bitter world will allow. I don’t want you to mourn me. I just want you to live. Live like the girl who smiled before she met me. Live like the woman I watched patch bullet wounds and hold broken men together with shaking hands.  And if you ever look up to the sky and wonder where I went, I hope the stars lie to you. I hope they tell you I made it somewhere better. That way, you won’t carry the burden of my passing. Only the start of your beginning. Don’t look back. Don’t come searching for ghosts. Just go. And never stop going. Yours in another life, Caleb

Selective hearing

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.

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girl help i managed my time poorly and now im suffering the consequences

Did I get it right?

crumch

OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 18+ | 2.6k

a ghastly sight!

one of the monastery's beloved priests has been found brutally murdered and disfigured in his chambers. father shaw, a newer addition to the monastery, claims to have answers to sate your reaching curiosity—but he wishes for you to come to his chambers at night.

warnings; dark content; yandere/obsessive behavior; manipulation; murder; body horror; graphic descriptions of gore towards the end; briefly mentioned animal death; obvious religious overtones; prose & detail heav; historically inaccurate depictions of monastery life—i am aware; roughly proofread

reposted from my deleted blog @/shehungers

if this is something you enjoyed, it would totally mean the world to hear your thoughts and have a lil' reblog 🥺💖

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their dense gossip.

They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other Sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, coarse sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice—mysterious. Give them time. They'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker of a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father. He'd grow neurotic and throw things about the cottage interior, convincing you to pay some mind to what he was saying.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well.” You’d hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” you said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. “It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice, like fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with proper herbs. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?”

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith.” He cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The Sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the Sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened.

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

steven grant: how can I live laugh love in these conditions