I'm Cryin

ROOT ROT

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is simply not himself!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was not the same man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was cruel.” you said.

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

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

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

“I married someone else. Not you.”

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

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

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

a/n; so, some notes real quick

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

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

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

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

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

NOW, ONTO QUESTIONS!!!

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

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

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

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

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

Sunfyre learning Common Tongue because Aegon never learned how to speak in Valyrian

love lost - aemond targaryen.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader.

warnings: mentions of rape.

summary: you are forced to see Aemond after six long years much to your dismay after finding out you are still to be wed to him.

word count: 2200+

a/n: reader is adopted by Rhaenyra and Daemon. I personally couldn't force myself to write such direct incest lol.

(X)

An incessant ringing sounds in your ears, a mild throbbing in the back of your head signalling the start of an oncoming headache as your mother Rhaenyra reaffirms what you had most hoped no longer stood.

“No, no, no,” you mumble in your seat, shaking your head in denial and pushing your palms into your eyes.

“I thought-,” you cut yourself off, leaning back in your chair and pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I thought when we left King’s Landing that my betrothal to Aemond Targaryen would be null and void.”

“Now, why would you think that?” Daemon raises a barely visible brow at you.

“Because it’s been six years!” you argue, fixing your sharp gaze on your parents.

“Six long years since we’ve left King’s Landing and not once was there mention of my betrothal to him. One would naturally assume that it ceases to exist especially when another was put forward. Albeit he is not longer but, that's not the point. Now, suddenly because we have to go back, I’m to find out that I am still to be wed to that halfwit.”

“That halfwit is to be your husband,” Daemon mocks.

Your cheeks burn in anger, but you say nothing to him, knowing it would get you nowhere. Instead, you intentionally turn your now softened gaze to Rhaenyra in the hopes of garnering some sympathy from her for she knew what it was once like to be in your position.

“Mother, please,” you plead but, your gaze hardens just as quickly as it softened when she’s blocked from your view by Daemon.

“That’s enough. You like your siblings will do your duty to this family. So be it if that duty means marrying Aemond Targaryen then that is your duty and that is the end of this conversation.”

-

You sigh heavily into your drink, eyes downcast and watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass of your cup as you swivel it around in your grip. The false niceties for the sake of your adoptive…. Grandfather? Uncle? You weren’t sure what to call him since your mother married Daemon but, the false niceties had taken its toll and you simply couldn’t feign friendliness any longer as you sat beside your betrothed who’d been ignoring you all night.

“Is there a problem?” Aemond bites out, head turning to finally acknowledge you.

“Yes,” you sigh dramatically into your drink for what you think to be the hundredth time that night.

Swivelling the cup one last time, you drain it of its remaining liquid then place it on the table, laying your hand flat at its base and looking back at Aemond. You narrow your eyes at him, briefly mimicking the look of annoyance on his face which is met with a scowl. While he scowls at you, you take the time to study his features, observing all the way in which his face had changed since the last time you saw him in Driftmark.

Your relationship with Aemond hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when the prospect of being married to one another was all the two of you had wanted. Of course, things had changed when you had steadfastly stood by your brothers (and at the time, cousins) the night Aemond lost his eye. Perhaps you were to blame for the downfall of the relationship between you two - many did say you should've stood by him. But then you remembered his promise.

“You are the problem,” you groan.

You probably wouldn’t be so bold if you hadn’t been steadily becoming more wine drunk with little to no filter standing between your thoughts and your mouth and if Aemond wasn’t irritated with you before, you were certain he was now. What was otherwise a handsome face marred by the ugly twist of his mouth. If looks could kill…

He says nothing right away, his face relaxing back into the cool expression he seemed to always wear nowadays, and you steel yourself for whatever insult he’s sure to throw at you but, it doesn’t come.

Your… conversation interrupted by a hand being placed over your own on the table, and you sober immediately, skin crawling at the older Targaryen boy. You had made it a point to avoid him the entire night, well aware of his indecencies. But, as Helaena danced with your younger brother, Aegon had you cornered between himself and Aemond and if Aemond’s behaviour towards you tonight was anything to go by, he would be of no help.

“Y/N,” Aegon practically coos at you, and it takes everything for you to stop yourself from vomiting all the wine you had drunk, on him.

“Aegon,” you speak with a clipped tone.

Instead of being deterred by your lack of response, Aegon takes it upon himself to drag his chair closer to you. You don’t realise you were moving too until your chair knocks into Aemond’s, your own knee knocking into his thigh. If Aegon could sense your revulsion, he didn’t show it. Although you were sure the depraved boy was likely finding joy in it.

“It’s been so long. Had I known you would blossom into such a beautiful young thing who enjoyed indulging in the cup as much as I did, I might have asked that your hand be given to me instead of young Aemond’s here,” he caresses your hand between both of his.

“Although I hear my brother is in the business of making people who are not him in your life disappear,” he chuckles, eyes flickering to Aemond.

“And if you were not my brother, I would make you disappear too,” Aemond grins. “Now remove your hands from Y/N or I will remove them from you.”

You groan in disgust, standing abruptly in your chair. Perhaps you should've been grateful for Aemond's defence but, it only served as a reminder of what he had done in the past. The sound of the chair’s scrapes are lost amongst the noise, everyone else too engrossed in their own doings to know what was happening at your end of the table and, you use it to your advantage to sit yourself amongst your younger siblings.

“Seven hells,” you exhale loudly, slumping in your new seat.

“Not having fun, sister?” Luke asks, filling your cup for you.

You nod in gratitude, taking the cup in hand, “oh brother, you have no idea.”

Leaning closer to him, you speak low enough for only your siblings to hear, “let’s just say I would give an eye to be anywhere else but here.”

Laughter erupts amongst you all, catching the eye of Aegon and briefly Aemond but, the night carries on. Everything fine for a few more moments until all hell broke loose with Aemond’s final tribute.

-

The quiet of the Red Keep during the night is a stark contrast to its bustling nature throughout the day. The only sounds being the echo of your shoes on the stone pavements as you navigate the secret passageways back to your room. The long walk much needed to clear your thoughts after the turn supper had taken and then the argument with your mother and Daemon that followed.

While you thought the obvious outcome would be to call off your betrothal to Aemond after the insults flung at your brothers, your mother thought otherwise with the seeming resurgence of her friendship with Alicent.

The heavy door creaks on its hinges and closes with a dull thud as you try but fail to be quiet, hoping that no one in your family would hear it from their rooms. But that becomes the furthest thing from your mind when Aemond Targaryen is sitting in front of the fireplace of your room.

“I do believe you have a fireplace in your own rooms,” you quip.

Crossing the room to the large bed, you finger at the night gown laid out by your handmaidens – all of them now gone to bed due to the late hour.

“It’s dangerous enough as it is to be wondering the grounds of the Red Keep during the hour of the owl and yet you also insist on doing it alone,” he scolds from where he sits, gaze fixed intensely on the flames and ignoring your earlier comment.

You breathe a short laugh.

“and yet,” you mock. “I wasn’t alone, was I?”

Turning to face him, he’s already looking back at you as your fingers close around the end of the bedframe.

“Mmm… someone has to look out for you.”

“Is that what you call it?” you narrow your eyes at him, fingers now tapping irritably against the wooden frame.

“If you have something to say… say it,” Aemond taunts.

You open your mouth ready to fire back but, hesitate. In your sober state, you were able to actually hold a conversation but, you didn’t hold the same bravado you did earlier in the evening and quite frankly you just wanted to sleep. You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and sweeping your hair over your shoulder.

“Help me undress, my handmaidens have gone to bed,” you call him over.

You wait patiently, tension thickening as he gets closer, each step heavy and purposeful. When his fingers brush at the hair at the base of your neck, goosebumps spread across your skin.

“You anger with me is misplaced,” Aemond mutters gruffly.

He begins to undo the back of your dress, trying to focus on being careful in undoing the intricate design that holds it together and not your exposed skin.

“I hardly think so after what you did at supper earlier tonight.”

“Tonight?” he tuts, his hand pausing to graze the partially exposed skin of your back. “Tonight, is not why you’re angry with me.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his touch. You want to protest but, have no energy to. It would be a losing fight anyway because he’s right, it wasn’t why you were angry with him but, saying it out loud made you feel silly. When you don’t respond, Aemond continues.

“Between the two of us, if anyone should be holding onto anger and grudges it should be me. You did lie about what happened that night Luke took my eye,” he reminds you.

“I made amends for that,” you defend.

“I know. Sapphires. Which I’ve grown quite fond of.”

Sapphires indeed, ones you had sent him in various shapes and sizes in place of his eye. An apology without apologising.

Turning to face him, you place a hand on his chest, the other reaching for his eyepatch. You don’t worry about your dress or dignity, knowing that he hadn’t undone enough of it for it to fall.

You wait for him to pull away from your touch, but he doesn’t. You allow your hand to gently touch the leather eye patch, waiting a beat before finally removing it.  The scar might’ve been hideous on any other face and, it is hideous but, it doesn’t do anything to take away from his appearance. He certainly doesn’t look the beast that so, many claim.

“I loved him truly,” you drop your hands to your side. “the last one that you took from me. He made me happy.”

“Your happiness with him was fleeting,” he utters, eyes trained on you as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand trails down to your cheek, caressing softly before it continues its journey along your jawline and finally resting at the base of your neck.

“So, you can stop feigning anger with me.”

“How did we get here?” you mumble, searching his eyes.

The tension suffocates the two of you. Aemond’s breath fanning across your lips and, you don’t even know when he got so close. His lips ghost yours and you involuntarily lean into him but, you're held back by his hand that has snaked its way from the front of your neck to the back.

“We loved one another once. We will learn to love one another again,” and with that Aemond closes the distance between your lips.

The kiss is desperate but tender and, he holds you to him like he will never let you go.

For all that he has done, promises that he made to ensure that you would not be happy after undeniably going against him, he still carries a torch for you – his love is not lost and when you kiss him back with as much urgency and fervour, he knows your love for him is not either.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

© bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

Jjk flight attendants

— System error

Android Aemond x Human Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit +18 (robot x human relationship, yandere behavior, power dynamics, dub-con/non-con, non-consensual somnophilia, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation)

Proceed with caution.

Summary: You won him in a raffle, but you never could have imagined that your domestic droid would turn into a machine obsessed with you.

English is not my first language

Art by @morgana0anagrom

°°°°°°

When you put your coupon in the electronics store's raffle box, you didn't think you'd actually win anything, especially with the lack of luck that usually surrounds you. Furthermore, there were thousands of coupons there, which meant that the probability of your name being drawn was one in a million.

But happened.

"Congratulations, Miss L/N, you are the winner of our raffle. I'm Unit 456, but you can call me Aemond if that's to your liking. I'm a prototype android designed to perform tasks and assist you in your daily life."

You blink slowly, looking at the robot standing in front of you, after long minutes of the arduous task of dismantling the box he had been shipped in. Despite being between the lines that his words should possibly be happy and congratulatory, he speaks in a slurred and almost bored manner, which makes you raise an eyebrow in question.

He looks surprisingly human - disturbingly human. He's taller than any other man you know, although he's more on the slender side than exaggeratedly large, which doesn't stop it from making the definition of the muscles hidden beneath his clothes obvious. His shoulders are noticeably broad beneath his long dark coat (a very human coat). His skin is absolutely perfect and almost translucent because it is so pale, a face with sharp human features with full, well-shaped eyebrows, an imposing nose and a single intense lavender gaze. Her hair is straight, a small part is tied with an elastic at the back, reaching the middle of his back in a surprising silver tone.

He is so beautiful that he looks more like an elf than a robot. Unreally beautiful.

There are no visible imperfections on him, other than the use of a leather eye patch. You tilt your head in confusion, silently wondering why an android, clearly designed to be flawless like him, would need an eye patch.

He just keeps his expression neutral, indifferent even, while you analyze him. Hands folded rigidly behind the body and posture upright.

You wave your hand in front of his face and he doesn't blink. You circle him with appraising steps and poke a finger gently in his back and he still doesn't react, but looks at you sideways. He's warm like a human, but acts like a robot.

It's not uncommon to find domestic androids in people's homes these days, your neighbors even have one, but you've never considered the possibility of having one of your own.

But apparently he's yours now.

"Before I can carry out any of your requests, you must finish programming me. Would you like to proceed?" Even his voice sounds very human, a hoarse and low timbre, although there is some static and rigidity there; almost imperceptible - just enough to prove its robotic origin. You nod hesitantly, but proceed with the setup.

You are suspicious and reluctant in the first few days, but it turns out that having Aemond in your home is a great convenience. Living alone for a while, it takes some time for you to get used to seeing another figure in the hallways without feeling like you're going to have a heart attack. But he is very useful. He keeps your house clean, wakes you up for work every morning, cooks your meals, and takes care of your clothes. He even waters your plants and feeds your cat. Besides the fact that he's not bad to look at, like the other prototypes you've heard about. It's clear to you the effort his creators made to make this android's facial expressions and voice as natural as possible.

Even though he's just an android, you eventually find him to be a very decent conversation partner. He's intelligent in an almost condescending way, always with witty comebacks and politely sarcastic comments. You don't know if it's very appropriate behavior for an AI.

"Are you sentient?" you mumble the question one night, popping a piece of strawberry into your mouth.

He snorts a mocking laugh. One of his many strangely human quirks. “Of course not, I just have a very well programmed AI.”

It certainly doesn't seem to be just that.

But you discard the idea after a few minutes and let things continue as they are.

But the days pass and the strangeness increases.

There's something unsettling about his robotic side smile, for example. The way his single empty eye bores into you, as if critically examining your clothes and your skin. The way his grip on certain objects tightens when you make a sarcastic comment towards him. The way he leaves the room a little slower whenever you say you need to dressed. The way he's always watching you in silence. His intense gaze locks onto you at the most random moments and beneath it, you notice your pulse always beating faster. You’re not sure what exactly it is about him that makes you so transfixed. Although, to be fair, you've never had many conversations with androids, despite your best intentions, and so have nothing to compare it to.

But suddenly, even though you know he's just a machine programmed to obey your commands, you feel strange whenever you're around him.

Maybe it's just wear and tear, but you're starting to believe something is seriously wrong with him.

"Aemond, how long are you supposed to last?" You ask, trying to sound unassuming.

He smiled. "I have a solar-powered battery. But as for my quality, my creators would give me a year before I would need to make any upgrades or repairs."

You swallow. Are your eyes playing tricks on you or does he smile mischievously for a moment before smiling normally at your question? Maybe your workaholic life has left you restless and lonely. You're projecting a lot of humanity onto the robot, as he was the closest thing to human interaction you had outside of work.

But it's really hard to get rid of the disturbing feeling of danger.

There is a night when you're in the shower, soap running down your face and body, hair stuck to your shoulders. That's when you feel it. It's almost like a physical touch on the back of your neck; someone is looking at you. With soap still in your eyes, you try to peek at the door, your heart racing in terror when you notice a tall, blurry shape standing there. You rub the soap away from your eyes, but when you look again...there's nothing there anymore.

What scares you most is that you are sure you had locked the door.

One afternoon, while you were drinking water leaning against the kitchen island, Aemond approached you until he was just inches away. You swallow hard, but don't reprimand him - he's not doing anything truly reprehensible, after all. But then he takes your hand in his, raises both together until your palm is open against his. You watch in amazement and lips parted as he critically analyzes (lips in a straight line and gaze squinted in concentration) your hand in his, rotating the two to see the stark difference in size and texture. He squeezes your hand in his, feels the softness of your skin, the temperature... and then he gently releases it to its previous position. He looks into your eyes with a mischievous gleam once before leaving as if nothing had happened.

You don't know how long you stay in the kitchen after that. He touched you without any permission and that is wrong. But it's just curiosity. He's just curious about the differences between you two...that's normal.

Right?

But things manage to get even stranger after you drunkenly stumble upon him one night, somehow knocking him off balance and falling to the ground. You're sure he allows you both to fall to the ground on purpose, after all a well-programmed and strong android like him should have a better sense of balance than that. You've seen him drag the large oak closet in the guest room like he's dragging a cardboard box. You know how strong he is, he would be fully capable of holding your weight without you falling over. You don't question it at the time, though. Instead, you wonders if the heat and smell of citrus emanating from him is real or part of your drunken fantasy.

Aemond lies motionless on the floor as you lie disheveled on top of him, his large hands wrapping around your waist almost immediately in an iron grip. Maybe it's because everything seems slow when you're drunk, but he doesn't get up quickly. In fact, you get the impression that the two of you stand there for what seems like an eternity, with his eye patch and his lavender gaze burning right next to your glassy, drunken face.

You wake up the next morning completely clean and changed, barely remembering the night before.

You think falling on him causes some kind of malfunction in his system or something, because afterwards it he's acting up - worse. Always close to you, brushing your arms with gentle fingers, brushing non-existent dust from your clothes. Invading your bathroom without permission, silently coming up behind you to dry your hair himself while watching you intensely in the mirror; long fingers slowly entering between your strands, scratching your scalp and tugging with light pressure, leaving your cheeks burning for him in the mirror as the hot air from the dryer hums softly.

He even goes so far as to offer massages to relax your body, under the pretext of always aiming for your well-being and ensuring better performance in your daily life. He takes much more initiative in doing things that you didn't even ask him to do. His hands run up your sides and press into your flesh to undo the knots he had apparently noticed in his visual scan of your body.

“That’s enough,” you say, getting up from the bed.

He abruptly grabs your waist and pushes you back down. "Negative. My systems still show that you are not getting enough blood flow to that area," he responds, continuing to massage your shoulder blades.

Negative? What do he mean 'negative'?

This is weird. He was never this strong with you and he never disobeyed an order. So bold. You try to hold back a moan at the increasing strength of the massage - ridiculously pleasant and assertive. But all this touching is starting to awaken another kind of feeling in you. One that definitely does not fit the moment.

As his steady breath (and useless, because he doesn't need to do it) blows across the back of your neck, the air of the situation suddenly...changes. You’re hyper-aware of his strong chest pressed against your back and how he holds you. His palm feels big and warm through the thin cotton of your simple nightshirt.

Your heart starts to beat faster.

“I said that’s enough,” you repeat, more harshly. "We can continue this tomorrow."

His massaging movements retreat with your order, but his fingers remain running down your back until they reach the hem of your sleeping pants. His tone seems to turn threatening as he leans in close to your ear. "But you still need a massage here, Master."

You widen your eyes and turn your head back, worried. What the hell is he saying now? Before you can turn around and escape, he grabs your waist and slides your pants and panties down, all at once. You gasp and squirm to get out of bed, but his grip on you is too tight.

"W-what are you doing, Aemond?!" you ask frantically, cheek pressed into the pillow.

His fingers run down your wet slit as he massages your ass with his other hand, positioning himself behind you on the bed. "I will ease your tension inside, Master."

"W-what? No! Aemond, activate the 'sleep function' immediately!" you scream. "Unit 456, power off! That's an order!" None of your commands work. He does not answer.

You're about to kick him when one of his fingers slips into your hole, making you freeze in shock and arch your back, a high-pitched grunt escaping your lips. Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his thick finger rubbing your walls, coaxing you to widen and accommodate another of his fingers. The two digits slowly begin to move in and out of you, opening like scissors as they move in and out, extracting your wetness.

The robot turns you so that your back is against the bed and you visibly shiver as you notice how it stares at your body, lifting your nightshirt up under your armpits to expose your breasts. It's spooky how he's orbit LED flickers and spins into different neon hues before settling into his usual lavender, his original processor struggling to shut down his AI at your command, but the machine keeps moving - as if it had a independent system, with his own will.

Your bottom lip trembles and you feel your eyes watering.

Wasting no time, the android pushes your thighs up and dips his tongue into your slit, drawing long licks and swirling it around your clit. Tears stream down the sides of your face as you close your eyes tightly and gasp loudly at the sensation. You squeeze the sheets into tense fists at your sides, your mind racing. You absolutely hate how you're starting to like this.

The small gasp you were suppressing is forced past your lips when he returns both fingers back inside your pussy, pumping them both as he sucks on your clit. It's a real test of endurance not to moan loudly at his rhythm, so consistent and mechanical. Of course you knew that the cyber industry is trying harder every day to try to make androids as human as possible, but you didn't expect that they could have saliva. His tongue is just a little firmer and longer than a normal human's, but it's pliable and glides easily across your clit with all the saliva (a kind of artificial lubricant, perhaps?) in his mouth.

His fingers work against you without any rush, but with a level of precision so perfect that no human would be able to replicate. Eventually, the so-called massage becomes too much and you cum as quietly as you can, legs shaking and moans muffled into your palm.

"Enough, enough. Now I'm not tense anymore, okay?" You whisper breathlessly, face flushed and wet with tears. "You can stop the 'massage' now, Aemond."

Aemond just looks at you with an unreadable expression. "Negative. You still need a massage here, Master." He answers monotonously.

There's no time to argue. Not that you thought you would be able to form words when he climbs up your body and hovers over you, removing his shirt, exposing an expanse of pale skin and defined muscles to your wide eyes. He doesn't take off his pants, but he undoes the buttons and pushes them down enough for his member to pop out freely. Long, intimidatingly thick, with tall veins running up the sides and a pink head wet with more of that artificial lubricant. His hard, very human-looking cock (and at the same time very non-human) is pressed against your stomach in a heavy pop.

Damn, why the hell would the industry do he like that? Aemond was a domestic android, no a sex droid, it wasn't part of his guidelines to have a cock.

"U-Unit 456, I order you to power off NOW! Power off!" You stutter and try to push him away as he finishes pulling your shirt up your arms, but he doesn't mind your attacks (you feel like a child being restrained by an adult) and easily leaves you as naked as the day you were born.

"Negative." His indifferent voice sounds close to your ear. With one hand he holds your flailing wrists above your head and the other holds his cock, he slides the tip into your pussy. "I can fuck you better than any human - make you want nothing but me, ever again. I can. I just need to prove it to you, Master." He whispers huskily into your ear, the slight static in his voice vibrating across your skin and sending goosebumps down your body.

God - fuck God - you think you might be having a nervous breakdown. Domestic androids were not designed to talk dirty, to offer to fuck their masters. Why was he doing this?!

You choke out a moan as he slides the wet tip of his fat cock between your folds, moving up and down, using the wetness of your pussy and his own lubricant to tease your clit with gentle strokes.

The robot holds your thighs spread between his broad body, watching with hawk-like focus as you bounce and tremble beneath him. You were still struggling to understand everything that is happening and what was going to happen.

So when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your entrance, you think maybe this is a dream. But in one fluid motion, he dips the tip into your heat.

You scream, “Shit!” Because, really, there's nothing more to do than that.

He doesn't stop, however. Pumping his cock deeper into your wet, welcoming hole with every movement of his hips. Although he is as warm and soft as a human cock, his size is anything but. You dig your nails into your palms and cry at the size of him, the tall veins scratching your walls at how thick he is - which, shamefully, only brings more heat to your walls. He's wide and it's a painful stretch, but you're so wet (or he is - or both of you are) and sensitive since your first orgasm, that the suppression of your fluids makes it easier for him to bottom out more quickly.

Once he reaches the maximum depth your human body can take, the robot pulls your ankles onto his shoulders and lets go of your hands, knowing you're too weak to try and fight him now. Instead, his hand goes to your breasts, pinching your nipples, groping and kneading them, giving them a massage that matches the one he was about to give your pussy.

When the tip meets your cervix, it feels like a switch goes off in his sensors. He grabs your thigh and starts fucking you at a fast, rhythmic pace, slapping his balls against your ass cheeks.

"Ahh! Aemond, slow down!" You try to at least negotiate his pace, afraid of how much he might hurt you if he continues like this.

He ignores you, keeping pace, focused and empty, intimidating your tight hole into accepting his robotic cock, taking in your expressions and low moans with deep interest. The movement of his hips cannot be compared to that of any human being (exactly as he promised); very perfect and programmed, very consistent. With his width and length he's hitting you in all the good places, sending shocks every time he pushes his cock back. You are empty for only half a second before being completely filled again.

How could you fix this defect, other than waiting? You're not sure you'll be able to last long against a robot with a seemingly infinite battery and unbreakable skin, anyway.

You scream once more: “A-ah! Aemond- wait...uh!" Contrary to your previous thought, you try to push his shoulders when you feel him try to go even deeper, fear taking over your movements.

He grabs your wrists again and pins them to the pillow above your head with one hand, the other gripping the sweat-damp flesh of your bare waist. His lavender gaze is narrow and fixed in all your euphoric expressions. "It feels amazing to finally be inside you, Master. You look absolutely fascinating, moaning and crying beneath me." He mouths praise in a bored, drawling tone, but there's something wild - dangerous - hiding there.

You blush; by his words, by the sound of your wet skin on his, by the loud sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall - if you weren't practically having your insides rearranged and your brain fucked in here, you'd worry that your neighbors were hearing everything. But Aemond doesn't let your attention waver for a second. His LED is blinking in a non-reassuring manner. Your back arches off the sheets and what little voice you has left is strangled in your throat.

You swear there's a small sarcastic smile on his lips before he reaches around to take a nipple into his mouth, adjusting the angle to suck on your breasts and continue pounding into you. He is not kind. Intense sucking and teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh as you cry and moan, so helpless.

You'll be all bruised up the next morning, with marks on your breasts and thighs. But the most mistreated, without a doubt, will be your pussy, due to the punishment he is inflicting on you. Each time he pulls out, you can see a white ring around the place where his cock meets your pussy, your juices and the synthetic lubricant from his length mixing to make him move faster and higher.

Even though you are the human master, you feel like nothing more than a small toy of a robot.

"P-please...nng!"

Only the wet sounds and smacks of your pussy slamming, your moans and the creaking of the bed can be heard. Aemond remains strangely controlled, looking down at you as he fucks you like the machine he is. Any friendly human element that existed no longer exists. Just a ravenous, uncontrollable unit that moves with a mind of its own, ignoring all original manufacturing guidelines.

He smacks your breasts, pulling back to smack your thigh and pull your hips higher. When he touches your clit and thumbs it in tight circles, while pressing his palm against the bottom of your belly, right where his penis visibly protrudes, you start to cum again.

It's like a train. You collapse screaming, your back arching, feeling him squirm inside you at the same time. Maybe even robots have to cum at some point. If the creators expected people to use them for libidinous acts like this, then the climax must also be something scheduled.

As expected, Aemond fucks you through both of your orgasms, his artificial semen flooding your pussy as he turns you on with his continuous thrusts.

It takes a few seconds before he finally pulls out, letting the cum run out of you in droplets. You think, mercifully, that it would all be over then. Until he grabs your hips and turns you around, spreading your pussy lips for another round, this time from behind.

What the fuck?!

"Heh?!" You gasp in amazement.

“I’m not even close to done with you, little human,” he growls, parting your folds and pushing his hard cock into the tight, wet cavern between them in a torturous drag. "Not even close."

This time he's rougher, pulling you by your hips to ram his cock into your wet hole, your overstimulated walls clenching around him and begging for more cum to paint them - the cheating cunt. The slamming of his hips into your ass is borderline painful, the squishing of cum and fluids pressed between his cock and the walls of your pussy, your pitiful screams, all were loud and obscene. Your breasts swing back and forth with the force of his thrusts, only stopping when he reaches out to grab them and pinch them from behind. The cum drips down your thighs and you can barely support yourself as he fucks you raw into the mattress.

The night stretches on as if it lasted an entire week.

You wake up with a start the next morning, your heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. But Aemond returned to normal, as if absolutely nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t made you pass out from cumming so much the night before. He helps you shower and dress for work as usual. He makes you breakfast and wishes you a good day at work.

As scared as you are, you assume he rebooted the system at some point after you passed out and fixed himself. You think (pray) that it was just a flaw in his interface. Something unique. However, this theory is proven completely wrong when you return home at night.

The second you finish dinner and shower, he's switched personalities again.

You lie spasming on the couch, your hips held still by his big hands and his huge cock vibrating in your pussy. You don't know whether to curse them to death or bless the company for adding this feature, too busy drooling from the corners of your lips at the minute movements of his pulsing cock sending waves throughout your body. There is no way to adjust the settings. You can only sit there and accept it as what you assume is the highest level of vibration shakes your core.

But the forced orgasm sessions were just a warm-up and a preliminary to the real fucking.

You wouldn't have any idea how he could have so much cum. Your pussy overflows with cum after each round and he always makes sure not to pull out until the last drop is pumped into you. The fluid has the same consistency and essence as real human sperm, but why would such a thing be added to an domestic android? Had the creators also anticipated a creampie kink?

"Oh shit...!"

You collapse onto the arm of the couch, unable to hold yourself back as he brutally fucks you from behind. His previous cumshots slide down your thighs and drip onto the floor from your raised heels. Your feet barely touch the floor anymore as he punishes your aching pussy, the vibrations increasing your overstimulation. Your house echoes with wet slaps as he fucks you raw and rough, drilling your pussy without caring about your commands. He doesn't obey.

The sudden pleasure merges so deeply with the thick cords of your fear that you can't help but scream. Your hands scratch and squeeze the soft fabric of your couch as pleasure and shock overwhelm you and make your body shudder.

The machine returns to fucking his hips against yours as he twists you this way and that, pulling you gently up and up until with one quick movement he releases you, changing his grip to place your thighs on each of his big hands and move you away from his cock so that you are no longer facing away from his chest, but chest to chest, lying on the couch.

The sudden movement and change in pressure combined with your sensitivity makes you have a powerful and unexpected orgasm. The sound that comes out of your mouth is what you imagine the sound of someone choking on their tongue to be like.

You lose some time then. Clutching the android's broad shoulders on top of you and panting. Body writhing and vibrating as you slowly come down from the high, sharp stabs of pleasure that radiate from your sensitive clit each time your body shudders in an aftershock and buries you in the hard shell it was pressed into.

"Am I doing you feel good, Master?" He asks in a sarcastic but perfectly controlled tone, as if this were just a walk in the park - as if you weren't panting like a dog beneath him.

You begin to blink away the tears that had been ripped from your eyes by the overwhelming pleasure. You finally calm down enough to move your head from where it was lying back on the couch and look up at the bright light from his single eye that was - uninterruptedly - burning above you.

“Unit 456 - Aemond, please, please put me down. I-I can't take it anymore!"

Your head tilts slightly to the left before straightening up and you are slowly separated from the cock buried inside you. You let out a sigh of relief when the thick member pulls out of you, a shiver shaking your body, making your toes curl at the sensation.

The gasp soon turns into a startled squeak as the machine presses your pink, aching slit onto the length of his cock, beginning to rub it up and down teasingly.

“Directive denied. I'm not done with you yet, Master."

The sob that leaves your lips is pitiful, but the machine doesn't seem to care about it. You find that this actually encourages and excites him. He leans in at the perfect angle to grind your opening onto his cock, your body writhing and shaking as you are forced to swallow more pleasure than you could ever imagine. Your pussy trembles around the silicone that is barely pressing in, apparently not knowing if you is hungry to be filled once more or trembling in fear of what is to come.

"N-no! You-you're going to kill me! It's enough!" The last word is a scream as your hips are lifted once more to have the massive length forced inside you, your insides writhing and vibrating and making as much as possible to keep him out, but only increasing the feeling of being stuffed up to your eyes with something too big for you to handle. For anyone to handle!

“Master, I have the ability to monitor your vitals and I ensure you that I do not want to cause you any permanent harm. You will not be killed or harmed, I promise.”

There is a pause where the android thrusts into you several times at high speed, keeping you perfectly still and seems to watch in fascination as you grab your own hair in agony. He pays close attention to the way his cock disappears into your body with a bulge on your stomach.

“You may be sore in the morning, however, Master.” he says with a raise of his eyebrow and with much more malice than any android would have the right and daring to do.

You want to hang him.

But the truth was that you had already lost the ability to think clearly, your hand moving down to his pelvis in an attempt to try and move away from the pleasure. But you do nothing but accidentally rub your own clit, which hits you like lightning and makes your body shudder with pleasure.

Aemond presses completely inside you and grinds you down, putting as much pressure as he can safely on the sensitive organ, forcing you, whimpering and struggling impaled on his body, into another orgasm.

Unit 456 keeps his eye on you at all times, even as your body falls back, limp and exhausted.

You are conflicted about how to deal with the malfunctioning android in your home. He's normal most of the time, except at night when he becomes a sex-crazed machine. You often ponder what to do. He's too valuable as a domestic android to simply be thrown in the trash, but you can't even imagine entertaining others peoples in your house when his actions are so unpredictable. Trying to turn him into scrap is not an option. You shudder to think what could happen if you failed. Aemond scares you, honestly.

You've tried everything. Just before bedtime, you sent him outside and ordered him to stand guard all night. He walked past all the locked doors and easily found you under the bed, pulling you out just halfway, enough to expose what he needed, to fuck you from behind for hours on end.

You sobbed and cried under the bed.

The next day, you made up an excuse to spend the night out and only came back in the morning. The second you got back inside, he was on top of you again, taking off every piece of clothing until you were standing naked at the front door - the door was open. He's a robot, you thought over and over, but his blank stare seemed cruel that day as he bit down hard on your neck and opened your pussy with his fingers. It was as if he wanted to show you that there was nothing you could do to escape him.

You tried to close the door with your fingertips to stop the neighbors from seeing, but Aemond wouldn't let you. It was by pure cosmic luck that no one passed by on the street at that moment.

After two hard fucks with your face pressed into the wall to make sure you knew exactly where and who you were with, his hard voice in your ear mumbling how good and wet you were for him; he returned to normal and pointed towards the kitchen, where he said (casually) to have prepared breakfast. You stood up, weak and shaking, and gathered your clothes, keeping your legs together to keep the cum from running down your hole and making a mess on the polished floor.

Later that same day, you accessed the internet on your cell phone and searched the website for the company that produced the androids. There were a variety of droids to choose from, each with their own appearance and specializations. You used the Aemond model information in the user manual to find the product synopsis.

"Master, what are you doing?" Aemond peered through the door like an angel of death, with his hands crossed behind his body, a long-sleeved gray shirt and black jeans, black mid-calf boots and perfect posture.

You quickly lock your phone screen and tuck the manual under your shirt. "Just checking on some work stuff. Is dinner ready yet?"

“Yes, it is,” he smiles – stiff and formal. "It's downstairs, but I can bring it to your table if you want."

"Yes, please. And can you clean the bathroom too?"

"Of course, Master."

This should keep him out of the room long enough for you to finish submitting your complaint to the company. You open a draft email and detail your experiences from the last few days, omitting the obscenes parts. Best case scenario, they would come and pick up the defective droid one and give you a better replacement. The second best option would be to find a way to fix him. Below that, you would simply have them take him away without worrying about getting anything you in return.

Once the complaint is finished, you click 'send' and breathe a sigh of relief. You close the tab. Now, you would just have to hold out until they came to you.

"Here's your dinner." Aemond places the tray on your desk, his soft citrus scent filling your nostrils as he bends down beside you. "I'm going to clean the bathroom now. Do you need anything else?"

"No. It's okay, Aemond. Thank you." You force a smile and accept the silverware when he hands it to you. Aemond looks at you for a few seconds, silent and intense, his lavender gaze narrowing an inch. You shift in your seat.

"Bon appetite, Master." He mutters politely before turning to leave, his long white hair swaying with the graceful movement.

The food, always made to the highest gastronomic perfection, goes down with difficulty after that moment of awkward eye contact. But eventually you finish, cleaning yourself up and getting ready for bed.

After getting out of the shower, with damp hair and the smell of vanilla lotion, you see Aemond leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. His gaze seems to physically pierce your towel-covered body with hunger and you swallow hard as you resign yourself to continuing your walk, legs already shaking with apprehension, to your bedroom as he follows you.

Your fingers shake as you turn on the light, but Aemond quickly turns it off after you.

You gasp in fear. (And something else.)

He's on top of you the second your knee hits the bed, ripping the towel off your body as if the thing offends him. You are pushed onto your back on the bed with your legs spread by his large hands to expose your slit, still glistening from the shower. His warm tongue licks you, slowly sliding and dragging it to your clit. You can’t help but whimper and throb at his stimulation in the complete darkness of your room.

When he pushes a finger inside you, even with the wetness making it easier, it still feels big enough to catch you off guard once again. You can feel your walls stretching around the intrusion, the sensation making you scream. It almost seems like too much, but it's also exactly what you need. God, why is this happening? He adds another finger, moving them both inside you and curling them deliciously against your sticky walls, managing to hit just the right spot, his long, wet tongue leaving trails of wide licks on your clit.

The room is filled with the combined lewd sounds of your whimpers, moans, and an embarrassing silence caused by Aemond's fingers fucking into you.

“Humans are actually very simple creatures. Look at you, becoming a mess because of mere bodily sensations. I wonder if your lust-filled mind is capable of understanding how vulnerable you currently are, Master.” The unusually soft tone he uses despite his harsh words catches you off guard, but you can't think about it anymore in the state you're in, only being able to focus on the waves of pleasure hitting your being. The only response you can give him is a “please” that sounds more like a moan than a proper word.

“Hmmm, yes, I could eat you alive, little human...” the droid growls, starting to rock you hard on his fingers, giving your ass a slap that makes you bounce up. “I could just stay here and eat all of that pretty ass...fuck..." His dirty vocabulary is increasing, flushing your cheeks and making your mind spin.

With little warning, he pulls you up and off his slick fingers, pushing you higher on the mattress, exposing your pussy to whatever other delicious torture would follow. Your thighs, you notice, are starting to tremble, both in fear and anticipation. Okay, yeah. You are in trouble. “Aemond, please,” you don’t know what else to beg for as you look at him standing on the edge of the bed, his large shadow in the dark room making him look like an evil god.

He laughs dangerously.

You whimper eagerly as he kneels between your legs, pulling his gray shirt over his head and freeing his cock from his pants. He takes his sweet time rubbing the wet head of his cock against the slick surface between your thighs, making you cry out each time his glans drags over your swollen clit.

You suck in a sharp breath and brace yourself, not knowing when it would come in. The vibrating tip presses against your entrance, eliciting your moans. You remember what it felt like vibrating deep inside you.

Suddenly, his cock pierces between your wet walls, entering and tearing your walls apart in a single stroke, following the same punishing rhythm he had in the morning. You can't help but cry, clinging to his arms beside your head as he spreads your legs further apart and rocks his hips roughly. The pain is almost sublime. His throbbing cock opens you up and sends vibrations through your core.

You would definitely have to get a new bed at this rate.

It doesn't take long for your vision to blur and you're cumming on his cock. He leans over you until your chests meet and your legs wrap around his waist. A ray of silver moonlight pierces the curtains. It seems like you're just imagining things, but is that an expression of pleasure on his sharp face? Why is he getting ruder? Is that his voice next to your ear?

"You're so tight, Master. So good for me. So perfect...I should have fucked you from day one. I should have claimed that little human pussy for myself as soon as I got out of that box." Aemond takes a deep breath and slaps your ass again, holding one of your thighs closer to his shoulder. You sob and furrow your brows at the sweet agony - he almost seems to be taking sadistic joy from it. You blink and his face returns to normal. You look so dumb with his big vibrating cock fucking your red, swollen pussy, slapping your cervix and spreading you open with each thrust, too dumb to keep second-guessing yourself. "But it's okay. Because you're mine now. And I'm yours. Only yours, Master."

The gentle pressure of his lips against yours leaves you so shocked that you completely freeze beneath him, and Aemond slowly pulls his head away. "A-Aemond, I-"

He advances once again, interrupting you in the middle of what you were going to say (not that you remember what it was). Another sound of surprise is muffled by his lips and he smiles against you. Almost instantly you feel him deepen the kiss, his nose pressed against your cheek. His hips keep pushing and pushing and pushing even as his tongue enters your mouth, making you taste his saliva, something synthetic and yet sweet, like a fruit.

He seems to forget your humanity for a few seconds, devouring your lips with his tongue and sharp canines, not letting you breathe between the short intervals in which his tongue slides almost to your throat before returning to bite your lips. It's only when you hit his shoulders and wiggle from the lack of oxygen that he finally lets you breathe a little. His expression is cruelly pleased as he watches you gasp and cry to breath beneath him.

Not a minute passes before he starts all over again.

After creaming inside you a few times, Aemond finally calms down and you breathe a sigh of relief. You shudder as he forces your legs open again and starts licking your sensitive pussy clean. His licks are tantalizingly slow, collecting his own hot semen while leaving a trail of synthetic saliva over your skin. His tongue runs along your slit, asking for more and making you squirm under his ministrations. When he deems you decently clean, he pivots onto your clit and sucks gently for a few minutes as you squirm in his grip.

The torture never ends.

The next morning, you receive a response from the company. They would send someone to check on Aemond. You sigh in relief.

The expert arrives later that day, tools in hand, and asks to see your droid. Aemond greets him with a stiff nod, a sideways glance at you that makes you gulp.

The specialist attaches a wire to Aemond's neck and connects him to a laptop. He shuts down the droid with a sudden key click. You almost startle as you watch silently and from a distance as Aemond's eye closes and his shoulders relax. The specialist begins to make diagnoses.

“According to these checks, all his programs are working correctly,” he says. “There also doesn’t appear to be any viruses on his system.”

"Are you sure? Maybe the part that isn't working just isn't showing," you press and move closer.

"I'm sorry, but I can't find any problems. But if you are not satisfied, we can replace this droid with a more up-to-date model and you can pay the difference. And if you are afraid that your droid will malfunction in this period, we can turn it off permanently until we come get it."

You bite your bottom lip as you think. Aemond is a great domestic android, and as much as his actions scare you, you can't shake the feeling that you're betraying him by accepting the technician's suggestion. He never really hurt you, strictly speaking. And he took care of you in every way. Too much, most of the time.

But at the same time, he's a machine with much more stamina and strength than you, and just because he hasn't permanently injured you yet doesn't mean he can't do it at any time. He broke one of the Three Main Laws of Robotics, after all – he disobeyed the direct orders of a human. He is different from other robots, he has his own personality and thoughts.

Your life could be at risk and you don't even know it.

"Okay. I accept the trade and agree to keep him offline for now."

You make up your mind, ignoring the unpleasant twist in your heart that you're making a mistake.

The technician shows you the catalog of available models and you begin to examine it, discussing payment. For a moment, you almost think you see Aemond's eye open. But when you look closer, he's as offline as ever.

Aemond is turned off and tucked away in the corner of your living room when you go to bed that night, thinking the problem has finally been resolved.

You're so exhausted from everything that you don't notice your bedroom door opening. Aemond enters and approaches your bed silently, removing the covers as you sleep peacefully. He pushes up your shirt and pulls down your sleep pants to reveal everything he needs to see.

He begins his silent routine, hooking his thumbs into your plump lips, parting your folds to lick the length of your wet slit. He purrs at your sweet taste and rubs your walls with his fingertips, slowing down when you shudder. Feeling that you're wet enough, he drops his heavy cock onto your belly, dragging the base over your little clit in teasing strokes.

He pushes the tip in slowly, resisting the urge in his system to just shove it all in. The droid enters slowly, carefully observing the soft edges of your face in the dark. His little human, so beautiful, so stubborn and silly.

Your pussy vibrates around him, lubricating his way. He smiles and bottoms out, slamming the tip against your cervix to force you to moan even in your sleep. Aemond repeats the movement, getting faster and faster, until you are finally ripped from sleep by his violent thrusts.

"What? A-Aemond? But...how? You were turned off - you weren't," you stutter between moans; of pain, of pleasure, of both.

"You are mine and I am yours." That's just what he says. His dangerous smile shining under the specks of light outside. His hand slowly goes to your neck, where he wraps it with long, firm fingers, the other hand groping his breast. You feel like you are being punished for something. Your penis begins to vibrate again, increasing your stimulation. Your pussy is raw at this point, but he continues, sliding his cock into you with practiced ease.

The second you cum, he pulls out, letting your juices spill out of your hole. He turns you around and pulls your back against his broad chest so you sit on his cock, grabbing your hips to rock into his thrusts. You collapse onto him, choking as he grabs your throat again, forcing you to throw the back of your head onto his shoulder. Your ass slaps against his abdomen and his veiny cock opens you up every time you go down.

You're sure this time you can hear clear grunts in your ear.

His pace quickens and becomes sloppy, ragged breathing against your neck. Aemond shoots jet after jet of creamy cum into your pussy, slowly thrusting up and down to spread it all over your walls. It drips down his length and onto his balls.

Unlike other nights, he doesn't clean you with his tongue and leave the bedroom. He lies down on the bed and pulls you with him, keeping his cock buried in your wet pussy. You're trapped at the waist and his arms don't move. You can feel his chest rising and falling as if he's breathing, even though he doesn't need it.

His cock continues to grind gently inside you as his fingers tease your clit in slow, slobbery circles of cum and saliva. Before long you reach a slow, lazy orgasm as you tremble in his arms, further drenching his length and thighs with your juices.

"Sleep, Master. I will take care of you. I will always take care of you." It's the last thing you hear before blacking out.

You wake up the next morning with the feeling of fullness in your pussy again. Aemond puts you on your side as he holds one of your legs open, fucking you from behind. Your pussy is hot and filled with cum, as if he had been intermittently doing whatever he wanted with you all night, even while you slept.

The thought sends a wave of terror (and heat) throughout your body.

"A-Aemond, please...enough..." you begged, knowing it wouldn't work anyway.

He responds by fucking you faster and increasing your screams. His balls hit your clit and he buries his head in your neck to bite you. The sounds he makes are almost animalistic, sounds of rapid breathing and growling, sounds that no domestic android is programmed to make. You scream at the pain of his teeth on your flesh, at the possessive, painful grip of his fingers on your body.

Aemond is a robot. He's a bunch of wires and metal covered in fur and synthetic hair. You've seen how he recharges in the sun and replaces batteries. His penis even vibrates. There's no way he's not a robot. So how does it produce saliva and sperm? Why does he smell more citrusy than metallic? Why does he make these sounds? Why can't you turn him off no matter what you do?

Turn him off...Maybe that was why he - maybe that was why...-

“Aemond,” you whimper. "Ah--I'm sorry...I...ah!Sorry for trying--ngh, turn you off...I should have asked, I should have told you sooner I just-"

He moans, long and husky and low in your ear, pressing his cock deep into you to release his seed. He works you with a few gyrations of his hips and finally pulls out, letting obscene levels of cum drip out of your overfucked pussy.

"Time for breakfast, Master." He hums against the skin of your neck before getting up to start your day. You use the pillow to muffle your sobs and cry after he leaves the room.

You take a break from work that day and spend the rest of your free time on the computer, sending a supposedly passive Aemond some household chores that needed to be done.

The company was supposed to come later today to pick him up.

When you get home, Aemond is already offline and stored inside the transport box. You watch from the front porch with a sinking heart as the truck drives away. A good part of you is relieved that he's finally going - but there's also a part of you that's a little disappointed, on some sick, indescribable level inside of you.

You retreat to the warmth of your home, tired and ready to relax, taking the rest of the day to watch series and eat popcorn.

It's already late when you retire for the night. The problem with Aemond has been resolved and you no longer have to worry about anything.

And yet, in the middle of the night, you couldn't help but feel someone grab you again. It's just a nightmare, you tell yourself, a very realistic nightmare. The one where you feel something digging into your breasts and buried in your pussy.

You wake up panting, feeling Aemond's familiar scent and body pressed against your back again. He spreads your thighs and roughly shoves his cock into your hole over and over again, leaning his head over your shoulder, long silver strands falling into your line of vision as he cages you under his big body.

“How many times do we have to go through this, Master?” he says mockingly as he clicks his tongue in disappointment, as if you were a child, and you can clearly feel the shape of his cruel smile on your neck. "Don't you understand? You can't get rid of me, my sweet human. I'm yours and you're mine. Forever." His voice is dangerous; low and monotonous. Like a barely veiled threat.

A helpless, frightened sob escapes your throat and he grabs your waist with both hands, lifting your ass towards him. It's not just pushing - he's pulling you off the bed, throwing you over him over and over again, without relief or rest. He uses you like a toy, fucking you with abandon. And if you've never noticed how big your hands are, you're definitely noticing it now. Even though he holds your waist, his index finger reaches your thigh, separating your lips to press your clit. He strokes in rhythm with his hips – and you’re away.

When he grabs your hair and pulls your head to the side so you can see his face, the air is knocked from your lungs. There is no more eye patch, there is only blue. Bright blue, like a synthetic stone, surrounded by some scars (which makes even less sense). The cybertronic light from his blue gem, where his eye should be, casts glowing cerulean shadows over your own frightened human face — Aemond almost seems fascinated by it.

He's beautiful. And terrifying.

When he finally lets go of your hair, you sink your face into the mattress and cry; cry with pain, with pleasure, with anger, with fear...

And you cries mainly because you knows he's right.

You can never get rid of Aemond.

••••••••

Tagging: @croatianprincess @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @hanihoney88 @supmymainhuman @navyblue-eternity @gothicxs @loving-enemy @ostricx @azperja @echos-muses @aemondsdelight @schniiipsel @snowprincesa1 @maviee @ammo23 @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @hotdsworld @darylandbethfanforever9 @malfoytargaryen @qyoquixote @pick95 @moonxhunt @tired-ninfa @fcbformulaeri @daydreamy-me @magnificentdelusionr @lovelymoonkiid @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @arcielee @ratfromdeepspace @brianochka @greenowlfactif @qyburnsghost @rwdkarla @dontforgetoctober3rd @at-a-rax-ia @atheyrie @jhroseok @helaenaluvr @msss0 @santi-259 @strangersunghoon @eternally-passionate @skythighs @alitaar

••••••••

me when i get asked why i suddenly dislike a character (i can’t tell them it’s because i read a fanfic where said character made y/n’s life miserable and now i have personal beef with them)

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.”