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sixosix · 5 months

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YOU GOTTA LEAVE BEFORE YOU GET LEFT | LYNEY

warnings profanity, angsty fighting (violence but it’s not descriptive), 3.7k words!

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The House of the Hearth is quiet around this hour, save for the soft snores coming from the rooms, or the clink-clink-clink of your polearm when hitting your arms. Lynette has already crashed somewhere, but Lyney can’t sleep a wink. At least, if you asked him what he’s doing in the training room alone watching you, that’s what he would say.

Thankfully, you haven’t asked; didn’t even acknowledge when he slipped into the room.

Lyney hasn’t been able to stop thinking about a few nights ago when he saw a glimpse of something real from you. Your smile and his newfound determination to defeat you to see more of it.

Sweat rolls off your temple, your breath visible in a silhouette of a misty cloud. You strike the air as if it’s insulted you greatly. With one final swing, you pause, turning to look at him.

Lyney can tell something is wrong. Your eyes are heavier; your movements are more sluggish than usual. This is the first time he’s seen you in a few days, with him going out for missions and coming back to hear that you’ve been cooped up in the training room day and night, frustration rolling off of you in waves.

Lyney smiles instead. “Would you like to spar?”

Your gaze is intense. Lyney could see a flame sparking in them when he asked you. But it fades when you ask, “Lyney, ‘Father’ has just returned yesterday, right? Has she talked to you at all?”

Lyney blinks. “Oh, um. No, I haven't really seen ‘Father’.”

Your shoulders loosen. “Alright.”

Then, you stand before him—all Lyney needs as an answer.

He’s gotten better with a bow, his only form of weapon during missions when they get a little more dangerous than prying information. But he only gets to feel the thrill of it when he’s facing you, who’s always one step ahead.

He bows. “It is an honor.”

Something of a smile flickers on your face when he looks back up. “You always say that whenever we do this.”

Lyney beams, pleased to hear you speak to him beyond anything related to training. “It’s no lie.”

“Then,” you twirl your polearm around in a hypnotizing circle, and Lyney feels a near-maniacal grin creep up his face, “overcome me.”

Lyney takes the first shot, no longer surprised when you barely flinch as you swerve. You move as swiftly as his arrows. He fires another shot, then another, and another at a rapid pace. As expected, you dodge and deflect all of them with ease. Even when not at your full best, you can easily conquer everyone.

But Lyney’s been watching closely. His eyes follow every shift, catching each minuscule movement of how you favor one side more than the other or how your eyes are fixed on his weapon and nothing else.

You start drawing closer, your steps so fluid that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed it. Lyney conceals a smile.

Your eyes widen when Lyney disappears into a twirl of cards, fading out of view, disappearing into nothingness, just like that.

You pant, looking around warily, “How did you—” only for your breath to hitch when Lyney materializes right behind you, kicking your weapon off your staggered grip and aiming his arrow right at your head.

His eyes are narrowed as if facing a real enemy—as if preparing to actually shoot with one wrong move. But that’s not right, because how could Lyney ever bring himself to hurt you when you smile at him like that?

“That was…new,” you say, breathing heavily. Your exhaustion is getting to you now.

Lyney’s lungs are doing just as bad. “Thank you,” he manages to say, sensing a compliment when he hears one. “It’s only right for a magician to have tricks up his sleeves, right?”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s taken advantage of your state. Had you not been visibly tired, you never would’ve fallen for his trick. It’s victory, but he doesn’t feel as if he’s really won.

Now that you admit defeat, Lyney says, “Let’s take a break.”

To his delight, you murmur a yes. Now that’s victory.

The orphanage has become used to the sight of the magician twins tailing after you, with Lyney grinning smugly and Lynette close behind because, really, her brother was just tagging along. And some other times, they’ve become used to the sight of Lynette curled up on the couch with Freminet resting his head on her lap while you yell at Lyney to piss off, and he doesn’t piss off.

You’ve even come to admit them as friends. Mostly Lynette, though. Lyney’s just there because they’re twins.

Lyney pouts. “I mean, we’re basically friends now, right?”

You send him a strange look. “What are you talking about? No, we’re not.”

“Whaaat?”

You push his face away when he’s decided to come up all over your personal space. “I like your sister better.”

“Lynette and I are twins!” he whines.

“Completely different people, still.”

Lynette does a mischievous half-smile, blinking slowly. “Don’t tease him too much,” she said. “He’ll cry when it comes to you.”

Lyney splutters. “Lynette!”

Thankfully, the Archons are on his side. You don’t look too deeply into Lynette’s words, simply laughing and returning back to your food, chatting comfortably with his sister and Freminet. Despite all the bickering, Lyney feels warm inside.

“Lyney,” you say, catching his gaze. “Do you want to spar later?”

Lyney’s heart soars. “Yes, of course.”

In the comfort of their own room, Lynette strikes.

“Y/N is really nice,” Lynette says when Lyney is practicing tricks with his hat. “You think so, too, right?”

Lyney doesn’t know where this is going. He fumbles with the rose. “Mhm. Yeah.”

Tonight is particularly cold; the old-fashioned fireplace is barely doing anything. Lyney wants to check on the training room—it’s always much warmer there.

Lynette shifts beside him, and Lyney can feel the weight of her infinitely keen stare. “And you also think that you should tell me who you’re practicing those flowers for, right?”

“I—what—” Lyney’s face goes hot. “It’s for my tricks, Lynette! What are you trying to imply?”

His sister sniffs, as if Lyney is just an insignificant little thing. “I don’t know what you and Y/N have been doing lately, but I'm happy to see you happy.”

Lynette smiles at him. “I haven’t seen you like this for so long. I’ll do my best to not let anything take this away from you.”

Speechless, Lyney could only utter: “Lynette…”

In all honesty, Lyney doesn’t know what changed—doesn’t know how it shifted into something else he can’t quite put a finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that he and his sister have a home now, despite the fact that it’s an intelligence source for the Harbingers. Or maybe it’s…something deeper than that, something to do with you.

“It’s really nothing,” Lyney says softly. “You don’t have to do anything, okay? I promise you.”

Lynette nods, trusting her brother easily. “Okay. I just don’t want you to lose this.”

Ha, as if he could even bring himself to do that.

“Hey, is Lyney in this room?” someone yells, rapping on the door frantically. “Father’s looking for Lyney. Is Lynette here?”

“What…?” Lyney mumbles, turning to the window and belatedly noticing sunlight peeking through from the sides of the curtains. “Oh no. I didn’t get any sleep.”

“And ‘Father’ is looking for you,” Lynette says, amused. “Go, Lyney. Shoo.”

Lyney scurries off and nods politely at the person who had summoned him. He pads over to the dining table, where ‘Father’ is always waiting, desserts laid before her.

“Lyney,” she greets. Lyney felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, but also warmth spread throughout his chest, happy to see the person who had changed his and his sister’s life. “Come. Would you like a plate?”

Eating something sugary while he lacks sleep is not the brightest idea. “No, thank you, ‘Father’.”

“Alright,” she says lightly, taking a bite and indulging in her cake for a long pause. “You’ve been training hard, haven’t you?”

“Yes, ‘Father’.” He sits somewhere that’s a chair away from her, too nervous to sit close and too afraid to sit too far. He still doesn’t know what ‘Father’ thinks of him, or what to think of ‘Father’.

“And you’ve gotten stronger since receiving your Vision.” It sounds like a question, but that’s not right. ‘Father’ always knows what’s happening in the House of the Hearth.

“…Yes,” Lyney says slowly, unsure where this is heading.

Arlecchino leans back, pleased. “Hm. Good.”

Lyney isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but she asks about how he and his sister are doing, and they get involved in an almost-something-of-a casual conversation. Lyney’s nerves are on high alert the entire time, as if suspecting that this is a test. But after that, ‘Father’ dismisses him before Lyney can start being suspicious.

He doesn’t think too much of it. He leaves the room and feels as if he could melt on the floor from exhaustion.

Someone sees him and claps him on the back, startling him enough to wake him up. She glances at the door he just came out of and hums lowly. “Did ‘Father’ call for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ha,” she snorts. “Guess that’ll happen a lot when you're the next successor, huh? Lucky you.”

“Yeah,” Lyney agrees, though he doesn’t really know what it means. He doesn’t really care because at least ‘Father’ still wants to keep them around.

Most importantly of all, in this orphanage, Lyney has been having the time of his life. His sparring with you has led him to a tentative friendship of sorts. He can confidently say he knows you as well as he knows Lynette and Freminet. He’s been living in bliss, always pleased to have a home and a family to come back to, no matter how gruesome the mission they’re sent to.

He and Lynette have been seeing the House off with missions successfully fulfilled, and ‘Father’ has acknowledged their loyalty. Their worth. Whispers about successors get louder. Lyney pays them no mind—this is only them acknowledging his worth.

Days would pass. Lyney would perform tricks for his fellow orphans. Lynette would tell him that she’d rather not be in the spotlight. Days would pass. You would keep on overworking yourself, and Lyney would try to pull you away from it.

“Y/N,” Lyney announces his presence with just your name, standing by the doorway.

You don’t flinch nor even waver from your moves, nearly dancing with how swiftly you move across the grassy field. It’s easier to talk over the slash over your weapon this time, at least, with the sounds spreading across the evening air. Lyney can shout and he doesn’t have to fear waking up anyone.

He has to wake you up first, though.

“Y/N,” he tries again, his fingertips beginning to burn underneath the steaming plate. Despite his connection with fire, his skin is beginning to feel irritated—or perhaps it’s proof of how long he’s been carrying your dinner. “Your food’s gonna get cold.”

“Leave it there,” you finally answer, slowing to a halt. Your back is facing him, posture perfect, and Lyney’s star-struck even in moments like this.

“And you’re going to eat it?”

“I will.”

That’s what you said last time, and Lyney came back to a full plate, untouched even by ants. Lyney decides to stay, content with watching over you until you tire and give in. He’s been hearing that you’re relentless, not even sparing a single glance to anyone.

“Why have you been practicing so hard recently? Is ‘Father’ punishing you? Did you sneak out again?”

You deign to face him with a fierceness that could match the fire of his Vision. “As if ‘Father’ has even looked at me.”

Lyney blinks slowly. “...What?”

Then—it was that moment that Lyney realized this was more serious than he realized—you school your expression into something blank. He was asking the wrong questions. He feels like there’s an invisible wall between the two of you, even when he’s already far away.

“You all have something I don’t,” you say, lowering your weapon. “Tell me, Lyney, if I start slacking off, will she even look at me the way she does to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Your expression grows colder. “You wouldn’t understand. Who am I kidding? Just leave the food; I’ll eat it.”

“How do I know that?” he asks weakly.

“Take the hint, Lyney. I want to be alone right now.”

Days would pass. Lyney gets busier—his life gets more hectic. He starts performing on stages, small ones, but stages with props galore nonetheless. Lynette starts to feel more confident joining him, but she still has to work on her expressions. Days would pass. Lyney sees you less often. Your thread is snapping.

He enters the training room, where it’s been eerily silent. Not even Freminet nor Lynette tried to train today as if sensing danger from inside. But all he sees inside is you, staring silently at the wall, heaving.

Lyney sees your state and winces, your shoulder hiked to your ears and your expression unpleasant. “Y/N,” he calls out softly, “Are you okay?”

You’re really not, and it’s obvious, but how else does Lyney approach this?

You take a too-long moment to respond, eyes distant. “I’m…fine.”

Lyney hesitates, wildly looking around the room for something to distract you with. “Do you want to spar?”

“No.”

He should’ve known the moment he noticed you were acting strange: there’s something bothering you enough to leave you trapped in the training room. He tries to think hard about it, looking back at the first moment you were acting off. He comes up with nothing.

“Lyney,” you say, “you should leave.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not leaving if you’re going to keep this up.”

“Lyney,” you say, facing him fully with a scowl. “That was not a question. Leave.”

“Y/N, I…” Lyney thinks and thinks. What has been happening recently? He’s been sent off for missions far too often that he hasn’t been able to notice this sooner. How long has this been happening? Why is this happening?

If anything, you’re far too prideful to show your weakness. To break down like this so suddenly… How will ‘Father’ react to this? Surely, she would put a stop to it if you were always next to her. But he hasn’t seen you next to ‘Father’ in so long. In fact, he’s…

Lyney stares cautiously. “Are their words bothering you?”

“They’re always talking.” That’s not a yes, but Lyney feels like he should take it as one. “Lately, they’ve been talking much louder than before.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? It’s about ‘Father’’s successor?”

Your mouth curls up in a snarl. “Don’t rub it in my face. You, of all people, shouldn’t ask that to me.”

Lyney’s heart sinks. So it was him who was causing this. “Whatever you’re hearing isn’t true.”

“What? Don’t make me out to be so stupid. You spar with me to gauge my weaknesses. You want to become the next successor.”

“I don’t want to become the next anything,” he pleads, instinctively taking a step back when you inch closer.

“That’s what it is, right? You see me as a challenge? So that’s what you meant?” Something is terribly wrong. You’re looking in his direction, but he doesn’t feel the weight of your gaze—like you’re only seeing through him.

Lyney frowns. He’s being cornered. “No, what—”

“I changed my mind,” you say, your shoulders tensing and the grip on your weapon tightening until your knuckles turn white. “You don’t want to leave? Fight me. Now. Prove that you’re worth more than me.”

“Y/N,” Lyney says lowly. “You’re not thinking straight right now. I don’t want to—”

You strike at his side. Lyney only manages to block it because of his experience with close combat from you, but this one is different. His eyes widen. That one hurt bad, leaving a buzzing ache on his skin. That’ll leave a bruise that won’t leave for weeks.

“Fight me,” you whisper, desperate, crazed. “Fight me.”

You demand it, but you don’t give Lyney a chance to react, attacking once again. Lyney blocks it off with his body and bites down a whimper of pain at the impact; at what sounded like the crack of bones.

“Y/N, stop—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl. “Bring out your weapon. Fight me. You’re the next successor, aren’t you?”

“Y/N,” Lyney says, trying to get a hold of your wrists. “Y/N, you’re crying.”

“I’m—” You inhale sharply, a sob wracking through your shoulders. “Shut up. Stop talking. You don’t know what’s happening. Fight me—just fight me. Why aren’t you fighting back?”

Lyney hates that you’re right—he doesn’t know what’s happening. He feels entirely useless. The person he looks up to, who has made him the better version of himself, and made him want to excel in everything he does for praise, is losing her mind right in front of him—he can’t even give you what you want.

“Why aren’t you fighting back? Isn’t this what you wanted?!”

“I didn’t want this!” Lyney shouts, moving swiftly to dodge the swing of your polearm. It misses him by a hair's breadth. Your fervid cries are making him lose composure. He doesn’t know what to do—doesn’t know how to make you stop.

“Pathetic,” you say, knocking him down. “This is who they’re calling the next successor? Beaten by someone who doesn’t have a Vision.”

Visions. Lyney learned that oftentimes, they dictate the fate and the potential of the orphans here. Those with Visions are sent off on more dangerous missions, drastically stretching their capabilities. And it’s true—Lyney wasn’t allowed to join Lynette on missions when she was the first to get one out of the two of them.

“You are still weak.”

“Shut up,” Lyney says, forcing bile down his throat. He doesn’t want to believe it. He wants to convince himself that you don’t mean that, but that means nothing if he thinks it, too. “Visions mean nothing.”

“To you, they don’t!”

Then, to Lyney’s horror, you swerve your entire body and strike to attack him with your everything. The bruises all over his skin sting, and his brain chants danger, danger. He panics, forcing a wave of fire to crash over and protect himself, but blue washes over his vision for a split second, and then he’s face to face with a tsunami of ice.

Ice.

Lyney blinks once, then looks down at his arm and realizes it’s been frozen over. It’s covered in ice, extinguishing the fire that’s enveloped his skin.

“What…?” he says dumbly, more confused than anything.

He turns back to you and sees you shaking uncontrollably, clutching a Cryo Vision to your chest. You’re looking at it as if it’ll bite you.

“No, no…” You look back at Lyney, eyes round. “Lyney—”

His eyes widened. “No, Y/N, I’m sorry. I attacked you—you were just defending yourself—”

“Don’t console me, you idiot! I don’t know how to—get it off—” You cry out, roughly wiping away tears that are trickling down. The frost is creeping up on your face, turning your lips to blue. “Get away from me…!”

The numbness is getting to his arm, and he’ll probably get hypothermia if he keeps on ignoring it, but he can’t bring himself to do anything when you’re wailing and terrified of your own self.

Lyney’s hands hover around you, unsure if he should touch you and risk it. “It’s okay, I promise, just—just breathe—”

You slap his hand away, crumbling even more at the sight of his frozen arm.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

Then, your face is carefully blank, shutting him off—worse than any wall of ice. Then, you snatch your polearm from the ground and scramble away. Lyney rushes to follow after, but you’ve flicked your hand, and the door is blocked off by a thick wall of ice. Great. Just great.

Desperately, Lyney melts them away, but your footsteps have already gone out of earshot. It’s an answer in itself: Don’t bother. Take the hint, Lyney; you already messed it up.

“Fuck!” Lyney hisses, throwing his bow to the ground, causing it to crack and splinter against the cold tiles.

“Calm down,” he says to himself, thawing his arm with his Pyro. The sudden change in temperature hurts, but that doesn’t compare to what he’s feeling right now. “Y/N will be back. Calm down. Patience.”

It’s pouring uncontrollably outside. You shiver, shaking with each desperate step you take to get far, far away from the orphanage—from Lyney. The rain has melted the ice that’s crawling all over your face and fingers, but you can still feel it humming under your skin as if one wrong move and you’d kill something.

How ironic. Goading Lyney into using his Vision led to you getting yours. What a fucking joke.

You navigate through the crowd, hiding your Vision and speeding through. The gods have perceived you and blessed you because you’re worthy. Why only now? Why is it that it’s only when you’ve accepted you’re not worthy compared to Lyney?

You are still weak. You said it aloud, but you know more than anyone that it was not meant for Lyney.

A door swing opens, and you nearly slam onto it, if not for you skidding to a halt a second off.

The woman with brown locks and bright eyes who opened the door blinked curiously. “Hey, kid. What are you doing out here in this thunderstorm?”

You must look like a sight. Bruised and freezing, as flighty as a frightened animal. “I—U-Uhm…”

You’re given no script to follow this time. What should you say? What do you do?

You can feel all your limbs trembling. No—you can barely feel at all. “I’m fine. Miss. I was just… playing. I mean, running back home.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, taking it upon herself to ruin her dry dress and usher you inside. “Don’t worry. Come. Seek shelter here while waiting for it to die down.”

“I’m fine,” you try to say, but the inviting warmth inside has your next words dying. “You don’t have to do this, miss… I’m…”

Dangerous. Nearly killed the person that warmed his way through your heart. You frightened him. You frighten yourself.

“None of that.” She pokes your forehead, making you blink up at her in bewilderment. “You think too hard for your age. Come, I have tea and spare clothes.”

You obediently sit. Perhaps tea will help. With how tight you’re clutching your Vision, its frost is beginning to crawl up your arms.

i found it rly interesting lyney doesn’t wanna become the next successor, so i used it for plot! >:) ty for reading!!! if u reached all the way here im giving u a kiss on ur forehead

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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shima-draws · 2 months

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I've been teasing her for months!! But at long last her ref is complete 🌷

I actually DON'T have a 5 page essay on her backstory this time (like I did for Ilari LMAO) but I do have some info about her if anybody is curious!

Name: Ione

Age: 25

Hair color: Silver

Eye color: Orangish-yellow

Element: Light

Grabbing info from the few posts I've talked about her already, Ione was originally a very famous singer, pretty much an idol within the world of ATS. She'd hold huge concerts that were always sold out and people from around the world would flock to see her perform. Eventually tho all of the attention started to attract the wrong kinds of people, and sooner or later Ione was "scouted" by a very rich man who wanted her all to himself. She was manipulated and blackmailed into signing a contract with him that would essentially end her touring and make it so that she would become a private singer for him. He basically chained her with this contract and so she disappeared from the public eye.

Ione soon discovered that other people with similar talents had also been gathered and trapped by this man's contracts. Among them was a prodigy violin player who she grew very close with. The two of them struggled under the demands of this man, and eventually violin boy started to get physically abused by him 😭 Things escalated to the point where Ione decided she wanted OUT and was determined to do anything to escape. This led to a very...traumatic event that caused her to go mute by choice.

When Ione finally makes her escape, thankfully she's changed so much that people don't recognize her in public (mostly her hair! It used to be short and didn't cover one of her eyes before). Shortly after she runs into Nahu and his group, and is unceremoniously recruited to join them lol (Nahu can be VERY persuasive). Ione communicates with them through sign language, which luckily a couple of them are fluent in--Ezio and Sage to be specific. They then teach the others in the group sign language too. It takes Nahu a bit to get the hang of it bc he has like, no attention span whatsoever, but being a dragon elemental helps since his senses are super attuned all the time, so he can generally tell what Ione is feeling and what she's trying to convey when she talks to him :")

Over time Ione grows closer with them, and like everybody else is hit with the Found Family, and realizes that yeah. She'd do absolutely ANYTHING for this group of crazy weirdos. She starts to fall in love with Nahu (bc who WOULDN'T), and slowly gains the courage to use her voice again. This leads to secret meetings with Sage, who helps her relearn how to use her vocal cords.

Eventually her past catches up with her, of course, but the group all bands together to set her free from it. She has to face off against violin boy, who thought she'd abandoned him and got Messed Up Mentally as a result, so THAT'S a thing she's gotta deal with. But she's able to reach him by singing for the first time in over five years, and everyone absolutely loses their shit at how beautiful her voice is and they all cry and it’s very emotional!!

Even after regaining her voice she still prefers to stay quiet most of the time, as that is what she's comfortable with, but she's totally okay with speaking when she needs to. Also I need to mention this but bc she used to be like. An idol. Obviously her routines consisted of both song and dance so she's a pretty good dancer. Out of everyone in the group, Ione is the ONLY person Ezio will dance with (and he is a very VERY good dancer himself, but will only dance with someone who can keep up with him, which Ione can). Everyone is very jealous of this, ESPECIALLY Nahu lol bc he wants to dance with Ezio too 😂

Ione's a light elemental! I haven't given a LOT of thought into her powers yet but I do know that her singing makes her stronger and also gives her powers a boost, which in turn helps the rest of the group. She also can ride on these light waves--I will have to draw them sometime bc I can't really explain them in words, it'd be better to show them visually lol

And that's her!! My flower light mute girl <33333

#Original character #Character art #Character design #Fantasy #Flowers #Character reference #OC art #Art #Digital art #Shima arts #Shima's OCs #Among the Stars #ATS #Ione #IDK HOW ELSE TO TAG THIS ONE LOL #shima-draws

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naeverse · 4 months

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Helping Hands

🎖️staring: ColonelMiguel x Soldier Fem!Reader

��preview:

“It's because you are too quick to touch what you truly desire instead of building up to it.” He said matter-of-factly, his voice, gravelly and rough and making your stomach flutter.

“Just like shooting at the range, so quick to press that trigger, you haven't even perfected your form yet.” He smirked, placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you under him.

“It seems you need more than just practice, Muñeca. Seems you need a lesson on self-control and discipline…”

🪖 summary:

You've been a part of Colonel Miguel O'Hara's team for a while now, but so far, you haven't made a good impression. It seems you can't do anything right without the assistance of your colonel by your side. Even though your COL is helpful, he's cold and stern, always making sure you know how much of a disappointment you are to your squad. You feel like a failure to your team, despite trying your hardest, and even more so to yourself due to your inability to satisfy your own sexual needs. But, just like with everything else…

Your Colonel is here to help.

🎖️ tw/cw: Big Dick Miguel, Breast Worship, Caught Masturbating, Clitoris Stimulation, Dirty Talk, Dominate, High Sensitivity, Public Sex, Shower Sex, Face Slapping, Size Difference, Spanking, Standing, Submissive, Rough, Unprotected, Wall sex, etc…

🤎 Pet names: Muñeca (Doll), Princesa (Princess), Chica (Girl)

🪖rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🎖️Word Count: 10.8k

(I do not own any of the photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

“Cease fire!”

The bellowing voice of your Colonel, Miguel O'Hara, shouted across the shooting range. Your finger instantly froze upon the trigger of your pistol, turning to look at him through your protective shades.

Your Colonel studied the untouched target before shaking his head in disapproval. You heaved a sigh, lowering your weapon.

You, honestly, weren't that skilled in the force. You struggled in hand-to-hand combat, always ending up on your ass with a bruise somewhere on your body. Always slipped or hurt yourself when running through the elaborate obstacle course on base and took too long to disable a practice bomb which would have resulted in you and your team's death.

Many on your force don't know why your Colonel still hasn't dropped you, even you pondered the thought.

By your teammates, which were mostly men, you were given the name. ‘Slip-up.’ They always teased you, saying that if you couldn't do your part in the force, at least they had something to look at whilst they worked.

Their insults hurt and although you loved being a part of the team, you couldn't help feeling annoyed and frustrated all the time when it came to your abilities. You always tried your hardest but despite it, you still were, honestly,

Ass…

But, even though you already saw yourself as an utter failure, Colonel O'Hara always added more salt to the already gaping wound. He made sure you recognized every debacle you made, especially, right now with your inability to aim properly.

“Where’s your head at, soldier!?” He shouted, walking over to you, his beige shirt clinging to every muscle in his large torso. His hardened pecs, broad shoulders, and defined 6-pack accentuated under the cloth as he approached you.

You honestly didn’t know what your problem was, except that you’ve been here with Miguel since the crack of dawn and you still haven’t gotten a single shot on the damn target.

“My apologies, Colonel.” You hastily replied, causing him to scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “Get your act together. You won’t be able to apologize if the enemy has already shot you dead.” He snapped, causing you to give him a nod.

He looked you over before sighing. “Get in position.” He commanded. You briskly followed his order, drawing up your weapon, bending your knees, and closed one eye.

“Do not fire.” He told you, his heavy footfalls beginning to move around you. Your heart was, oddly, beating rapidly in your chest. You didn’t know if it was due to the overwhelming anxiety, you always felt when you were under the stern Colonel's gaze, or the fact that he was so drop-dead gorgeous that you didn’t want to make yourself look like an even bigger fool than you already had.

“Your form is all wrong.” He commented, placing his large hands on your waist from behind. Your breath hitched, a deep blush covering your cheeks as he shifted your hips, turning it to the right. “You are too tense. Loosen up.” He whispered; his sharp cheekbone pressed into your cheek. His voice was deep and seemed to resonate through your entire being.

You could feel yourself heating up like an ignited furnace, shakily exhaling to calm yourself. You rolled your shoulders to relax in hopes of having better control of your planted feet in the dirt and your weapon in your hand, but it felt impossible with him being so close.

You gasped when you felt his combat boot abruptly kick your legs further apart, his hands tightening on your waist. “You need to widen your legs, and get your head in the game.” He said against your ear, loud enough to be heard through the heavy-duty headphones that adorned them.

His calloused fingers lingered on the fabric of your dark green, brown, and beige camo shirt before he pulled away, leaving his scorching touch imprinted on your hips. “Open your eyes, soldier. Do you think that is a telescope you are looking through? You chose the wrong profession then, kid." He teased with a deep chuckle, making you clench your jaw.

You opened both of your eyes, peering through your glasses at the target.

“Now, that you got your head out of your ass…” Colonel O'Hara muttered, standing beside you with his arms crossed.

“Fire!”

He commanded, your trigger finger going rampant as you fired repeatedly. The splitting sounds of the pistol were muffled due to your headphones, but still loud nonetheless. With every shot, your body recoiled back. Not enough to throw you off balance, but enough to send another burst of adrenaline through you that urged you to click the trigger again and again.

You continued firing until Colonel O'Hara's voice boomed across the yard.

“Cease fire!”

He yelled once more, your finger lifting off of the addicting trigger. You stood up from your position and watched your superior observe the damage you had made on the target. When he walked over to you, his bronze, chiseled face was so stern and devoid of emotion that you couldn't tell if you had made a shot or not.

“Good job, kid. You hit the board at least.” He said with a tight-lipped smile. It didn't seem like he was disappointed anymore.

‘Progress…?’

You pondered as you breathed a sigh of relief. Miguel observed your small being before him with stern eyes. "You did better today." He said, reaching over and taking the pistol from you. Compared to the weapon in his hands, he made it look like a mere plaything as he carried it with so much confidence.

“Now hit the showers. I expect you to be out in 20.” He ordered. You nodded, giving him a departed salute. You removed your shooting gear, placing them in their respective places by the range before hightailing it to the showers.

You didn't want Colonel O'Hara to call you back for anything.

You were so exhausted from shooting the same gun and staring at the black silhouetted targets that your vision was a little wonky.

You sighed, stepping into the locker room and walking over to yours. The locker rooms were gender mixed. Males and females showered together due to there, honestly, not being many women in your force. To save money, your base went the cheap way out and blended the two.

Colonel O'Hara had his respective team with you being a part of it. You could count on your fingers just how many females were in your force, making you feel a little out of place sometimes amongst the men, especially with their excessive teasing.

You undressed, placing your beige combat boots, camo shirt, pants, and undergarments into your locker and grabbing a towel to cover your nude body. Once you acquired all of your bathing essentials, you exited the lockers to enter the showers.

The showers were like cubicles. Each held a shower head plastered on the wall but with no curtains.

There were only three showers that had a curtain but those were always occupied, thankfully, the room was empty upon your entrance.

‘I can finally enjoy a peaceful shower.’

You thought, remembering all of the other times you used the shower room and how it was always filled with men, playing and bathing with each other in the nude as if everything was fine. You could never wrap your head around how comfortable they could be to shower beside one another and converse like normal.

You could never…

Always deciding to postpone your bathtime or endure it and shower in the farthest cubicle away from everyone, but even then you were still teased.

So with a huge grin, you happily drew back the curtain and stepped into the shower. You placed your bathroom items onto a small shelf and hung up the towel that was worn around your body before turning on the water.

You gasped, the water was always ice cold upon turning it on. You didn't know if to be thankful for the sudden rush of alertness or irritated by the amount of shivering you always did afterward. Nonetheless, when the temperature changed to be a perfect blend of warm and hot, you melted upon contact with the satisfying liquid.

You sighed, running your hands through your hair and feeling all your sore muscles from the long training with Colonel O’Hara, relax. You proceeded on cleaning yourself, filling your washcloth with your bodywash and beginning to wash up.

Whilst enjoying the heat and bathing yourself, you began to remember everything from this morning - the harsh training, the endless shouts from the stern Latino, and the frustration of not hitting that damn target came flooding in.

Before you could beat yourself up, you started to focus more on your Colonel than how much of an ass shooter you were.

How he carried himself with so much confidence, and always looked like his muscles packed pounds on his body, causing him to walk so heavily and wide. Being in the military, you've been with your force even at the worst of times. Experienced moments where you were starved, under extreme elements, and times where you had to go days without properly bathing or doing so at all.

You've seen Colonel O'Hara at his worst, and even then he made starving and reeking of musk look good.

It was also rare that you even saw him nude.

Colonel O'Hara was a male who hated to be caught with his pants down, literally.

He despised being seen as weak and vulnerable so during his time of bathing, he woke up at the crack of dawn to shower. You heard him one time, leaving his room, which was apart from the bunks, you and the normal soldiers resided in, to go to the shower room.

But the one time you've seen him fully was on a mission. One that the Colonel had selected you to participate in, himself.

During a long journey, everyone took turns to shower or take a quick bath in a river, waterfall, or whatever water source was nearby, your team would use to your disposal.

On this particular mission, a lake was the nearest form of bath system your team could use. You got paired to freshen up with the last group which happened, your Colonel joined at the last minute.

The man was ripped, you knew that. You can see it through any piece of clothing he wore, but surprisingly even his ass looked good.

You didn't think you were much of an ass girl until you caught sight of his when he was bathing in the lake that day. How his ass had the perfect mixture of muscular and plumpness was blasphemy, and to top it off, his back muscles seemed to flex and bulge with every movement he made. He was even packing in the front.

How his large, veiny hands ran the water over his body, his palms brushing over his pecs, abs, and biceps, and the look of pure concentration on his chiseled face made the scene even more hotter. His golden-brown body seemed to glisten despite the lack of proper cleaning the lake did for anyone's body that day.

It was a miracle no one saw you, it would have been embarrassing with how much ogling you were doing. You could hardly bathe yourself without sparing him occasional glances that left you certain when the gods sculpted your sexy Colonel, they were playing favorites.

He was perfect…

His honeyed body was sculpted with bulging muscles, sinewy limbs, taut abs and thighs, a few scars littered his being here and there, but even still, those scars intensified his attractiveness.

As you stood, washing off the soap studs that coated your body, just recalling the memories and thinking of how magnificent of a specimen your COL was, your core throbbed in desire.

You've secretly felt this way about your Colonel ever since you were assigned to him. How could you not when he traversed any land as if he owned it, whether it was on the battlefield or just walking to catch a meal at the base cafeteria.

When Colonel O'Hara was in the room, you, everyone, even the damn fly on the wall knew he was there. He just had that aura about him that demanded attention even though he was the type to strongly despise it.

The warm water continued to run down your body, washing away the soap that covered it. But it wasn't as hot as his touch that still was permanently burned into your sides, and you couldn't stop thinking about how right his hands felt on you…

His calloused fingertips pressed into your hips, his large hands engulfing your waist like you were a mere doll. If only the guy knew how much control he had over you, in the, not so, professional way.

Now, he even had you fingering yourself just by the mere thought of him. Your fingers thrusted up into your warm entrance, wishing it was his thick ones that were touching you. Your other hand found the shower wall, trying to stabilize yourself under the running water as you fingered yourself.

You moaned, eyes closed tightly whilst you chased that trembling ache, that pleasurable high that had been caused by that hunk of a giant down at the shooting range. You wiggled another finger inside, emitting a loud cry to burst from your chest.

But your two fingers weren't enough...

The only thing that could cure the burning longing in the pit of your stomach was the enormity in between that man's legs.

The massiveness that was off limits to you.

The forbidden meat that you couldn't taste…

You gritted your teeth in frustration, continuing to chase that high that you knew you couldn't ever reach. You didn't know how long you'd been in the shower, fingering yourself with the knowledge that you could never seem to get yourself to release.

You felt it once when you were with your first boyfriend but after you broke up and got into the military, nothing!

You feel the rush, the spasming, the addicting pleasure and trembling of your legs but that was it.

Not in a long time had you felt that satisfying crash of ecstasy. You’ve always got to the peak of it, but never could get over it, always leaving you sexually frustrated; but you try.

Goodness, you do try…

“Oh, fuck.” You whined, gripping the wall whilst thrusting your two fingers inside of your dripping pussy. The sensation felt so good, the feeling of being full, and that delicious friction with every penetration of your fingers made your eyes flutter.

You were so adamant about this being the day you made yourself climax that you didn't even hear the heavy footfalls on the tile flooring of the shower room.

You were too consumed by the pleasure and of that sexy view that was engraved in your mind of Miguel bathing in that lake. His massive, broad body, gorgeous ass, and enormous cock. How it wasn't even fully erect and it was big.

You imagined him here with you, his fingers being what was inside of you, feeling the stretch of his thick digits as he pounded them into you at such speeds that it was inhumane. How his cock would do even more damage, drilling into you until you saw stars and could barely remember your own name.

But you would be certain to know this.

He'll make sure of it.

Moaning and crying it out at the top of your lungs as he pounded into you mercilessly, dominating and controlling you like he did. Every. Single. Day.

“Oh yes. Fuck- Miguel!" You whined loudly, completely blinded by your erotic act that was being driven and led by your sexy Colonel.

You were so immersed in what you were doing, you didn't even notice when the curtains were drawn back.

You didn't know what had happened, just that the shower looked a little brighter than before, and the sudden rush of cool air on your bare backside made you shiver.

Completely dazed, you turned around to make eye contact with the Colonel himself.

His beige muscle shirt, camo cargo pants, and tan combat boots still adorning his massive frame. Even though he'd found you in the worst way possible, his face was emotionless, a still painting in a museum.

“I thought I told you to be out in 20.” He sternly said, his deep voice bouncing off the secluded shower room. Your bottom lip trembled, your hand instantly drawing away from your core. Your evident slick glistening on your fingers as you noticed his dark eyes shift to them and back to your face.

You didn't know what to say…

‘Sorry, I didn't come out sooner, Colonel. I was so busy fingering myself to the thought of you that I lost track of time.’

That's a one-way ticket straight to a Non-Judicial Punishment and no telling what your consequence would be.

So you just stood there, completely nude and with the shower running, still trying to make sense of what the hell was happening with your foggy brain.

Honestly, you were still stuck in la la land, seeing Miguel bathing in that lake and having a perfect view, not at all attentive to what was happening before you.

Your Colonel scoffed, looking you over. “Soldier! I asked you a fucking question!” He shouted, making you jump, and snapping you out of your trance.

Finally, you realized what the hell was happening.

‘Oh shit! Miguel, just caught me-

to him!'

You wanted nothing more than the walls to swallow you whole.

Your hands hastily turned off the shower and covered your sensitive areas, your cheeks a deep red. “O-Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry.” You said, about to go into a spurge of apologies when Miguel stopped you.

“I don't want to hear a fucking apology, I want to hear what the hell you were doing.” He declared angrily, his bushy eyebrows drawn low over his dark eyes. You gulped, quivering before him because you couldn't possibly tell him what you were doing.

You'll die from embarrassment…

“I-I can't-”

“Don't give me that bullshit, soldier.” He spat, stepping closer to you in the tiled cubicle. Your eyes widened as he cornered you to the wall.

“Tell me what you were doing.” He said through gritted teeth. He looked furious and that it made you scared beyond anything.

Of course, you've seen your Colonel angry, it was honestly his default setting, but directed towards you was a different story.

You gulped, your pupils trembling under his intense gaze.

“I-I was…t-touching myself.” You confessed with a blush, averting your gaze which only seemed to make him angrier. “You know how I feel about that. Eyes on me.” He sternly spat, as it took everything to meet his gaze once more.

His cold face and amber orbs held little to no sign of what his next reaction, response, or move would be.

It made everything even scarier.

“So you're telling me, you were in here for almost an hour and you still haven't released?”

He asked in a nonchalant tone as if he hadn't asked something so erotic. You gulped, your arms tightening around your body to hide your sensitive areas even more, your cheeks reddening even more.

“C-Colonel I-”

“Y/N.” He said your name so coldly that your entire body tensed up.

He hardly addressed you by name and when he did, you knew you fucked up.

“Answer the damn question. It's a simple yes Colonel or no Colonel.” He demanded, his large frame towering over you, making you feel so small. “N-No, Colonel. I-I haven't.” You admitted, biting your bottom lip anxiously. You probably spilled your guts here in this shower more than ever in your entire lifetime.

You felt like one of Colonel O'Hara's targets whom he strapped to a chair to interrogate, except he didn't even pull out a single weapon and you were already blabbering your deepest secrets to him.

How pathetic were you...?

After your confession, he just stood there looking down at you, your stomach clenching and your heart beating so loud in your chest, that you were certain he could hear it.

Until he smirked, looking you up and down. “Don't tell me you can't do that right either, soldier.” He teased, making your entire body burn up in embarrassment. “N-No, it's not like that.” You stammered, your hair completely soaked and your body dripping with water from your previous shower.

You just felt like you had to defend yourself in front of your Colonel. It felt like every time he was around, you couldn't do anything right. You were certain your COL had been taking notes on all of the things you couldn’t seem to do and you didn't want pleasing yourself to be added to the list.

“I-I just can't, okay.” You told him with a dejected sigh. He tilted his head, a deep chuckle rumbling from the depth of his chest. His eyes taking in your small form compared to his massiveness. “It's simply because you are too quick to touch what you truly desire instead of building up to it.” He merely said, his voice, gravelly and rough and making your stomach flutter.

“Just like shooting at the range, so quick to press the trigger, you haven't even perfected your form yet.” He smirked, placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you under him.

“It seems you need more than just practice, Muñeca. Seems you need a lesson on self-control and discipline.” He whispered into your ear, his lips against your skin making you shudder.

You didn't know what he could mean. The only thing filling your brain was another round of harsh training of push-ups, pull-ups, and laps around the whole damn base.

A training so extreme you didn't know if you could even handle going through it, especially after the long, one-on-one training at the shooting range.

You wet your lips, gazing up at your COL's hardened, defined face. Even from this angle, which was usually an ugly one on others, he looked good.

“W-What do you mean?” You inquired, you knew better than to make an excuse or complain about your exhaustion.

Colonel O'Hara would work anyone overtime if you bitched.

He smirked, turning to draw the curtains back before meeting your perplexed gaze.

“I'm talking about a lesson of pleasure, Muñeca.”

Your eyes shot open, staring at him in utter shock.

This had to be a dream.

You were ready to hear the thunderous voices of one of the lieutenants anytime now, waking you and your fellow soldiers up from your deep slumbers to start your day of training and missions.

But either the lieutenants were sleeping in, or this moment was real.

Nonetheless, you were about to lose your shit.

“P-Pleasure?” You fumbled over your words, your backside already pressed against the wall. Miguel hummed, stepping closely up to you, sandwiching you between him and the white tiles.

You instantly lost the ability to breathe, not due to his enormous frame crushing you into the wall, but the fact you could feel every one of his defined chest muscles against your body through his shirt.

The hardness and solidity of them were enough to reawaken that desire in your core.

You bit your lip, his dark hair falling over his face whilst he loomed over you. “How long has this been happening, soldier?” He asked in the same stern tone as if he was demanding you to shoot another clip into a target. You gulped, peering up at him, trying to keep eye contact. “Since my last relationship, sir.”

“So before enlisting?” You gave him a curt nod. He hummed, looking you over before his dark eyes lingered upon your shield arms. “Stand up straight, hands at your side. You know the drill.” He spat harshly inside of the small cubicle shower.

Just his mere tone was enough to control and completely dominate you. Your arms shakingly moved from over your breasts to rest on your sides as you stood erect, the mere position changes thrusting your bare breast forward.

You bit your lip, hoping he didn't notice how perky and hard they were, but you should have been ashamed to think otherwise.

His gaze instantly was directed to your breasts, a smirk spreading across his tanned lips. “You turned on, Muñeca, or is your little body just cold?” He laughed, making you blush.

You hoped that was a rhetorical question because you didn't want to answer it.

His tanned hands left the wall to cup your bare breasts. The roughness of his palms on your supple flesh was enough to make you drip a puddle onto the tiled flooring.

You whined, wincing a little at how painfully hard and sensitive your tits were. He fondled them softly, testing the waters, but you couldn't help but squirm in his hold. “When was the last time you gave these babies attention, hmm?” He asked, squeezing the sensitive flesh in his hands and brushing his thumb along your nipples.

Honestly, you couldn't remember. You hardly paid attention to your chest when it came to pleasing yourself. Like your Colonel said, you just dove right into where you needed it the most, ignoring everything else.

“I-I can't remember.” You responded, causing him to click his tongue. “So impatient. Just like you and that gun.” He said, continuing to caress your highly sensitive breasts in his hands.

“But we are going to fix that, even if it takes all afternoon until the sun sets and when it rises in the morning of the next day.”

He whispered into your ear.

“You'll learn to be patient, chica.”

He spat before lowering to bring one of your swollen nipples to his mouth.

Pleasure like never before hit you like a freight train. His skilled tongue swirled around your hardened pebble, teasing and flicking it as you melted under his ministrations. His other hand worked in tandem with his sucking, rolling your other nipple with his thumb in time with his tongue.

You mewled and whined, grasping for anything when your hand found a railing. Your head fell back against the wall as he pleased your chest, his towering body bent over to suck at your breasts. Sloppily sucking and coating your pebbled flesh with his saliva with every taste like he was starved predator finally seizing its prey.

Your legs trembled, the feeling so familiar, as your eyes fluttered. Your grip on the metal bar tightening.

“C-Colonel.” You called out to him, your thighs coated with your essence.

You needed him, more of him.

He hummed in response, but not ceasing his suckles. Your face became flushed, your core, completely soakened and desiring to be filled.

Longing to be fondled by his skillful hands.

For him to play with your pussy like he handles his guns, so rough, yet attentive, and proficient.

“I-I want you to touch me, d-down there.” You said in a trembling voice.

He suddenly bit your sensitive nub, his teeth capturing your nipple, emitting a cry from you as he tugged away to look up at you. He shook his head, rising to his full height. Your eyes followed him, his figure looming over you once more. “Soldier, you haven't been listening to a thing I've said, have you?” He said in a gravelly tone, almost disappointed and a little angry. Your cheeks reddened, your lips quivering. “I-I'm sorry-”

Your words were cut off when his hands slammed onto the wall on either side of your head. The sound was deafening and your heart felt like it had jumped out your chest. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice sinister and gut-wrenching.

"Rush me again and I won't hesitate to punish you." He snarled into your ear. His words sliced through the closed space, sharp and precise, leaving wounds that stung like the cut of a razor into your skin.

It terrified you and left your body a little shaken.

You felt his eyes, look you up and down, taking in your trembling form. "Now keep that little mouth of yours shut, unless you are addressed, soldier." He sternly said before pulling away.

Silence except for the thudding of your loud beating heart filled your cubicle. You weren't able to alleviate your quivering being, as the next words he uttered, shook you to your very core.

"Turn around.”

He commanded, making your eyes widen in shock and worry. You were stuck between desire and utter terror.

However, you followed his order.

You didn't want to anger him any further.

You turned around, shakingly placing your hands on the shower wall, your bare backside to him.

Your Colonel was a scary man, an even scarier one when he's on a mission; but you never thought even in the bedroom he could keep his same ominousness.

Your ears and sense of touch were on high alert. You felt colder than before whilst the incessant small drips of water from the showerhead were slowly driving you crazy.

The suspense was suffocating, to the point you were begging for something to happen, anything!

"You are so needy, chica."

He said from behind you, the sound of him unfastening his belt and zipper filling the shower after his words. Your heart skipped a beat, fingers flexing against the wall. You wanted so much to turn around and see the magnificence behind you, but you knew he would punish you if you did.

"Despite your...neediness, I need you to listen. To obey my commands, chica." He uttered, a sharp gasp escaping your lips when you felt his hands on your waist, his bare chest against your back, and his cock poking into the back of your thigh. You whimpered softly, your juices spilling down your legs.

"And what did I tell you, hmm?" He urged, moving his cock into the gap between your thighs, brushing his length along your slick folds.

You knew this was a trap. He wanted to see what you would do, now that his impressive cock was right where you wanted it most...

You moaned, gripping the wall, and trying to find your words. "T-To be p-patient." You said through breathy gasps. He hummed in agreement. "Good, soldier, and what did you do despite my command?" He asked into your ear, his lips brushing the lobe and making you shudder under him.

All you've ever wanted was him, making his demand for patience utterly impossible.

It was despicable how, in spite of your Colonel’s knowledge of your intense desire to feel his touch, his cock, his body against your own, he was ordering you to wait. You pressed your forehead into the shower wall, biting your lip and ignoring his question.

You didn't want to wait.

You couldn't, not with your body practically begging for him, and your arousal leaking onto his cock and down your thighs.

You shook your head, grinding onto his shaft that was nestled between your legs, failing his test horribly. With every gyrate of your hips, his mushroom head brushed into your clit over and over again. The feeling was so good and pleasurable it urged you to move your hips faster, chasing that sweet sensation.

Miguel's deep groan into your ear only made you quicken your pace until his deadly grip on your hips forced you to stop. "Fuck, Chica. You just can't seem to listen, can you?" He spat harshly into your ear. You whimpered, feeling him move his cock from between your thighs to press it along the curve of your ass. "I-I'm sorry."

"Stop with the fucking apologies." He growled, his hands lowering to grope your rear tightly, emitting a cry from your lips. "All you do is apologize but do the same damn things." He hissed, feeling his dark eyes look you over, a deep chuckle passing his lips. "You are practically shaking in my hands, but it's not from fear, is it, you little slut?

It was as if he had punched you right in the gut. You knew your Colonel was observant, from being alongside him from the one mission you were allowed to participate in. You remembered the usefulness of the skill, but you wished right now that he wasn't.

He was capturing everything and didn't hesitate to bring it out into the open.

Indeed, you were trembling and quivering under him. The desire and lust for him were overwhelming, and just his mere touch was causing you pleasure. "N-No. I-It's not...f-fear" You honestly replied, shamelessly lowering your head against the wall. He snickered, feeling his defined chest rumble against your bare back. "Shit, you want this so damn bad, don't you? Want my cock inside of you?" He inquired, only making your stomach tighten in want.

It was as if he had read your mind. Knew all your dirty thoughts. You bit your lip, unable to confess something so embarrassing.

A sudden harsh slap to your ass made you jolt and cry out in a mixture of ecstasy and agony. Miguel's large hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you flush against his hardened chest.

"Answer me, soldier." He said harshly into your ear, his hand giving your neck a warning squeeze, briefly cutting your oxygen before your lungs were filled once more. "You are aching to be fucked? Yes or no?" He asked through gritted teeth whilst you were gasping desperately for air. Your hands left the wall to grasp tightly around his massive wrist and forearm, his limbs looking so humongous in your hands.

Despite his roughness, this was all you've ever wanted. What you've desired. You found yourself frantically nodding, his hand still snug around your throat, fingers pressing into your neck. "Y-Yes." You panted, causing him to groan, the sound so very sexy in your ear.

"And yet, you are faced with a predicament aren't you, Chica? Believe you can't cum, is that right?" He asked in a teasing voice, your face reddening at his recollection of your embarrassing secret.

You nodded, his other hand leaving your waist to slap your ass once more. "With words."

"Yes!" You cried out, feeling him tug you back against him. "Isn't that a shame that you cannot handle it yourself? You want me to do it for you?" You bit your lip, squeezing your thighs tightly together. "T-That's...correct sir." You whispered, his hand around your waist beginning to explore your body, caressing your thighs, stomach, and hips.

He took your sensitive breast into his hand, tweaking the tender nub and groping the supple flesh roughly, drawing a wince and whine from your parted lips. "That makes you selfish." He sternly said, tightening his hold around your neck, even a little bit of his strength left you gasping for air. "We could get in a hell of a lot of trouble if we are caught and yet, you still crave me." He stated, reading you like an open book.

Were you that easy to read?

You thought you were careful with your attraction towards your superior. You made sure the only time you pleasured yourself to him was somewhere secluded and away from everyone, that when you were ogling at him, no one was watching. So how the hell was he doing this?

Unveiling all of your deep secrets without you even having to open your mouth.

It was bothering you so much…

You wet your lips, nodding slowly. "Y-Yes...I-I still do." You told him, his hand still enclosed around your throat and continuing his sensual play on your breasts with his other. "Y-You make it impossible not to, sir." You rasped, trying to keep your voice stable in his hold.

Silence filled the shower room after your confession leaving you nervous about whether he'll leave or not.

You did, technically, admit that the two of you could get into serious trouble if you continued, yet due to your blinding lust for him, you didn't care.

Even if you didn't, your Colonel could lose everything.

Does he think less of you now?

Did that make you even more of a slut in his eyes?

Your mind was swirling, trying to ponder what the hell was going to happen. However, the more you thought, the more your worries intensified.

Suddenly, a blur of movements occurred, everything happening so fast that you were unable to keep up.

Miguel spun you around, turning you to face him, sometime during the movement, he turned on the shower. The water cascaded down your bare beings and dripped off every sexy and tantalizing contour of both of your bodies.

Your eyes roamed his massive frame, finally seeing him fully. His coppery, scarred, and muscular body was in front of you, as everything about him was big. His shoulders, chest, arms, hands, and even his cock.

Your eyes shakingly looked down at the monster between his legs. The enormity you've been dreaming about and lusting for since you've become a part of his team.

You thought it was big when you saw it at the lake, a few feet away from you, but nothing could prepare you for how it'll look in front of you.

Like his enormous frame and towering height, his cock was impressively thick and long. The tawny, sensitive skin was covered in veins with a bulging one that ran down the underside of it. His tip was a flushed, angry brown, already dripping with pre-cum.

A patch of coarse dark brown hair, adorning the top of his well-endowed shaft, trailed an irresistible path up to his navel and hairy toned chest. Even though you've fantasized about his cock regularly, in reality, it was even more astonishing.

He stepped up to you under the water, his gaze predatory behind his dark hair that had become a drenched nest upon his head, wet chocolate strands sticking to his forehead. He took your throat into his large, calloused hand once again, your body welcoming the oddly pleasurable sensation.

"Widen your legs."

He said in a deep voice, his lips drawn down in his usual permanent scowl, regardless of his mood. Your heart leaped at the command, hastily widening your stance, your backside flush against the tiled wall. You shuddered as the steamy air of the shower graced your throbbing core.

His other hand fell down your stomach, tracing patterns as he went. You shakingly exhaled, his touch felt so foreign, yet satisfying all at once. "You are so desperate to cum, Muñeca, that you skip all of the delicious parts." He chuckled, returning to his lecturing. His hand occasionally squeezed around your throat, cutting off your oxygen, before bestowing you with the gratifying air once more.

Your eyes rolled, hands springing up to grab his massive forearm in your hands; although, your fingers couldn't enclose around the bulging limb. He teasingly trailed his other hand along your body, finding your sensitive breasts again, drawing a hiss from your lips. "So, tell me. How do you do it, hmm?" He asked, rolling the hardened pebble under his calloused thumb.

You moaned loudly, squirming in his hold. The sensations, a blend of pain and pleasure due to your heightened sensitivity, leaving you indecisive on the satisfaction of his touch. "H-How do I -gosh do what?"

"Touch yourself. Where do you start?" He asked once more, his fingers continuing to tweak and fondle with your breasts. Your cheeks reddened, eyes opening to gaze up at him to see his serious and stern ones staring right back.

You didn't know why he enjoyed hearing you speak. He knew where you started, it was the sole reason he was here.

But with trembling lips, you responded to your COL. "D-Down there." You panted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

"So, I was correct. You don't know how to please yourself." He uttered, his hand moving from your throat, leaving behind his warmth and burning touch.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words. You hated to hear that from him.

Something else that you couldn't do without need of assistance, and it was always his.

Whether it was shooting a gun, learning how to not trip over your own feet whilst running or discovering the weakness of your opponent in a fistfight.

He was always there, assisting you with your troubles but making sure you knew how much of a failure you were as he did.

But this was even more embarrassing than any of your other inabilities.

This was something you shouldn't need help with. You should be able to satisfy yourself on your own.

Why the hell did you depend on him so much?!

It was so damn frustrating...

"A-Apparently so." You whispered dejectedly, instantly gaining his attention. "Then let's fix that." He uttered, his hands moving up to caress your breasts, his touch gentle for the first time.

You sucked in a breath. "You want to start with these babies." He whispered, thumbs ghosting over your tender nipples. "Go slow, feel the sensations, and once you are ready." He gave them a sudden tug, pinching them harshly. You moaned loudly, back arching off of the wall.

A fire felt like it had sparked underneath your skin, a blinding sensation washing over you. Your eyes fluttered, looking up at him to see his cold eyes staring back.

He smirked, leaning towards you and placing an open mouth kiss on your shoulder. Your breath hitched. "The goal is to slow down. Enjoy the moment." He whispered into your skin, trailing more of his searing kisses along your collarbones, the water falling upon your bodies.

You wanted so much to touch him, to feel his musculature under your palms. But, honestly, even though you were practically dazed with pleasure,

You knew your place and his…

He sucked softly at your skin, licking up a trail of water droplets up to your neck. You moaned; the sensations so intense. He wrapped his lips around the pulse point of your neck, continuing his sucking, but keeping you unmarked.

You didn't know to be thankful or upset due to his cautiousness of sucking such pretty love bites onto your throat. It would had been wonderful to see them there, knowing it was from him.

You gasp escaped your lips when you felt his heavy cock against your abdomen, throbbing and twitching in desire. Your stomach coiled up in a delectable burn, a feeling that was a distant memory. Your moans came out breathy and airy, and your soppy entrance pulsated in want.

Miguel could feel it.

You were ready for more.

He gave your throat a final lap, before pulling away. His eyes stared at you, seeming a little darker than before. "Then…

You touch."

He whispered, his thick fingers trailing a teasing line down your stomach until finally, his two fingers found your bud of nerves.

You jolted, hands flinging up to grasp his biceps. You moaned at his touch and the feeling of how solid his muscles were. His fingers moved in a circular pace, swirling the saturated bud. You writhed and squirmed, bringing a smirk to his lips.

"Is this living up to your dirty thoughts, Muñeca?" He inquired with a chuckle. You blushed horribly, remembering your loud cries with his name included and how he probably heard. You frantically nodded, unable to speak.

His fingers were as skillful as you thought, fondling and caressing your bud and sending waves of tingles sprouting throughout your body.

Your legs trembled, your chest heaving whilst your breathing increased. He pressed a finger into your bud making you choke out a moan, nails piercing his biceps. He snickered, lifting your leg and exposing your pussy even more for his play.

He quickened his pace, his fingers rubbing your engorged clit at such high speeds you saw stars.

He hadn't even inserted a finger yet and you were already feeling that high approaching, that pleasurable crash that you always deemed impossible.

But you should have known he'll take you there…

And even further…

He widened your slick folds, replacing his fingers with his thumb, pressing the thick digit into your exposed clit, and inserting two fingers into your soppy entrance. His movement, becoming even more erratic inside of you.

You cried out loudly, looking down at his hand that was moving so fast against your clit and thrusting inside of you. You’ve never felt such speeds, unable to do so yourself, as the intensity of it was brutal. Your juices splashed everywhere, dripping onto the floor whilst he continued his assault.

Moans became stuck in your throat, your gut started to tighten, and your eyes rolled so fiercely you saw white. "Yes, chica, just like that." He growled. "Cum for me." He snarled, and you lost control.

Your limbs felt like jelly, thighs convulsing and pussy clenching around his fingers as you came in hot juicy spurts. Your arousal gushed out, spilling down your thighs and coating his hand. You shook uncontrollably, becoming a trembling leaf in his arms and unable to utter a word.

Miguel continued to please you through your orgasm, driving you over the limit and making you cream until you couldn't anymore.

"This what you wanted, chica?" He asked through growls, running his slick fingers through your wet folds upon your fading orgasm. You were highly sensitive, whimpering and nodding frantically. "Yes, g-goodness yes." You whined, practically on the verge of tears by the sheer intensity.

He laughed at your glossy eyes and flushed cheeks. He smirked, looking at you. "Had enough?" He asked, dark eyes following you.

Honestly, you wanted to nod.

Just the thought of going through another burst of pleasure was exhausting, yet your core throbbed in desire for more of that addicting sensation.

"N-No...I-I can take more." You said through trembling lips. His smirk broadened across his tanned lips. The sight, breathtaking.

"That's what I like to hear, soldier." He said, drawing his hand from between your legs to take hold of your neck once more. You gasped, his thumb tracing patterns across the base of your throat. Your hands fell into place on his forearm, his entire body, mostly his chest, covered in a sensual tangle of dark brown hair.

His rugged look exciting you even more.

Upon coming down from your high, your numbness faded away allowing you to feel and become aware of your surroundings again. His hands were calloused against your throat and skin, rough after years of handwork and harsh labor. Even his manly scent of musk and sweat reawakened that desire inside the pit of your stomach.

Everything about your Colonel you adored, the burning wish deep inside that he would grace you with the feeling of his cock; because, at the moment, the longing to be fucked by him was the only thing on your mind.

Your COL, lowered your leg, running his palm along your thigh to grip your hip. "Want to be fucked by a real man, soldier?" He inquired with a smirk. "I doubt that ex of yours fucked you like I can." He uttered, his voice dripped with confidence, making your stomach flutter.

It seemed as if your COL secretly enjoyed hearing you confess to that erotic question. That burning and so very enticing inquiry.

He knew how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him, yet this was his second time questioning your desires.

"Yes, I-I want you to fuck me." You uttered through trembling lips, gazing up at your massive Colonel. His dark eyes were cold but held a hint of amusement, peering down at you like a mere ant.

The shower was completely silent, except for the running water that dripped around your naked bodies. Time was the last thing on any of your minds as he gave you that rare smirk that ignited the butterflies in your belly, making them fly rampant.

He pressed his thumb into your throat, your breathing turning more into a wheeze. "Don't expect me to be gentle." He said gruffly, his other hand trailing down your body to rest on your rear, his rough palm squeezing your supple cheek. A strangled moan escaped your lips, your core throbbing at his warning and touch.

"I-I didn't want you to." You replied through gasps of air, his smirk broadening.

He didn’t utter a word, using his other hand to lift your leg, hoisting it up over his right shoulder. You gasped, turning to the side and resting both hands on the shower wall. Miguel smirked, grasping your leg and pulling you towards him. You whimpered, biting your lip at the heat and hardness of his cock brushing against your core.

“Remember, Soldier…” He whispered, moving his hand from your throat to take your hair into his tight grip. He yanked your head towards him, making you wince.

“You asked for this.”

He uttered sinisterly before a sharp delightful, yet painful sensation shot through your body. You choked on a moan, feeling his large tip sink inside of you. You held onto the wall for dear life, his grip around your leg dangerously constricting. “Fuck, you are tight.” He snarled into your ear.

Just his tip was inside and your walls felt like they were being stretched to the extreme, despite being soaking wet. You whimpered, burrowing your face into your inner elbow, as his cock throbbed inside of you with every clench of your walls.

“T-Too big, C-Colonel.” You said into your arm, your words muffled, but intelligible. He groaned, the sound resonating from the depths of his chest. "Mierda, you can take it.” He growled, his cock straining inside of your tight walls. You whined, the sensation of the extreme stretch of your walls was so strong that you could feel the tingles in your toes.

It was almost hard to stand…

"Relax, Princesa. Loosen up." He whispered into your ear. Although he uttered the same words from the shooting range, it sounded so much sexier coming from his lips, causing your stuffed entrance to quiver. He groaned, gradually sinking more of his cock inside of you upon your walls easing up. You choked out a moan, fingers flexing against the tiled walls.

"Now, take a deep breath." He rasped, his large hand completely enclosed around your ankle that rested on his right shoulder. You tried painstakingly to focus on your breathing until you found the capability to do so.

You inhaled through your nose and upon exhaling, he pushed the rest of his enormity into your tight walls; his tip pressing against your cervix. You screamed in shock and at the burst of pleasure and pain.

His cock was enormous resting snugly inside of your inners as he held your body tightly against his massive one. Every twitch of his shaft felt like it was in your throat whilst the coarse hair of his cock, brushed against your sensitive bud.

You moaned softly at the overwhelming sensations, tensing around him. Deep grunts passed his parted lips at every choke of his cock by your clenching walls. “Ay cono- you are squeezing me so good." He gasped, his eyes fluttering whilst you whimpered into your arm.

His hardened pecs rose and fell against your raised leg with every breath he took, the feeling only increasing the pleasurable sensations in your core.

Without warning, he slowly pulled out to his mushroom head and plunged back in with the force of a jackhammer, the impact, resonating. You cried out as he soon found a merciless pace inside of you.

With the first snaps of his hips, it instantly took your breath away and made your brain mush. The thrusts that followed were a blur. Your eyes rolled uncontrollably whilst he fucked you senselessly.

You couldn't scream, moan, or cry, every thrust stole your breath away like it wasn't yours to begin with. Your Colonel took you again and again, never ceasing his pace and you were slowly losing your mind with every slam of his cock into your pussy.

“Still believe you can't cum?" He grunted into your ear, hoisting your leg up higher and widening them. You silently moaned, the blood rushing to your ears causing his dirty question to be left unanswered as his cock burrowed deeper inside of you with each snap of his hips.

You pulled away from your arm, drunkenly looking down at the magnificent sight of his cock rapidly thrusting into you. His tanned shaft moved so fast that it was a blur.

You still couldn’t believe this was happening, looking up at your Colonel with a desire to see his face and engrave this surreal moment into your brain.

His dark eyes, blown with lust, met yours, his tanned lips parted while he rutted into you with all his might. His balls smacked into your thigh with every thrust, causing the most pornographic flesh-slapping sounds to fill the tiled cubicle. The water from the shower splashed off your Colonel’s back to pool at your feet, but your eyes stayed trained on Miguel despite the shower blinding your vision.

Your stomach began to burn unbearingly, like a ball of tangled yarn tightening with each passing moment. You couldn’t think, only focusing on the blinding pleasure that was bringing you closer and closer to that blissful end. “C-Colonel…” You were only able to whimper through the overwhelming ecstasy.

“Have to cum, soldier?” He inquired causing you frantically nodded. He chuckled, increasing his pace and snaking his other hand to your front, rubbing frantic circles onto your clit. You screamed out and instantly became undone in his burly arms.

Your eyes rolled back, convulsing harshly in his arms as your release came crashing into you like a tidal wave. Your pussy fluttered around his cock, clenching him tightly and earning a sexy groan from Miguel into your ear. “Fuck- There we go.” He whispered, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm.

The sensations were blinding and so good. It left you wanting more of the forgotten feeling.

Your legs trembled horribly, leaving you unable to hold yourself up; but it was as if your COL knew you and your body, although this being the first time he’d ever touched you.

He hastily pulled out and lowered your leg from his shoulder, making you gasp. He chuckled, leaving you to balance on your jelly legs. "Tired yet?” He inquired. “Knowing a little thing like you, I don’t think you can handle another round.” He taunted, giving you that teasing glare of his.

The look he gave you when the other members of your squad were around.

Challenging you to push your limits, to not look weak, and most of all…

To not disappoint him…

You hated that look because it was a complete and utter mindfuck.

And every single time…

He got you.

You hastily shook your head, resting against the wall to stabilize yourself. “No, sir. I-I’m fine.” You breathlessly replied.

His smirk broadened, as like always, you’ve run right into his trap. “Good.” He uttered, suddenly, hoisting you up and pressing your backside against the wall. His large hands rested underneath your thighs and effortlessly held you up.

You gasped at the abrupt action, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your hands on his scarred and coarse-haired chest. You met his piercing gaze, his usual confidence, dripping from his very being.

“I’m just getting started with you, soldier.”

He said, not giving you time to react before pushing his length back inside of you. You instantly cried out, your arms flinging around his thick neck. He groaned, his one hand pressing into the wall, his fingers digging into your thigh. "Fuck, you feel good.” He growled, soon finding a relentless pace once again.

With every drive of his hips, your backside slammed into the wall, leaving you certain your back would be bruised later. Your eyes rolled over and over again, his cock continuously touching deep inside of you, making your toes curl so much that it hurt.

He handled your body like a ragdoll, pounding his enormous shaft into you whilst holding you in his arms like you weighed absolutely nothing. The water continued to cascade down your bodies, now completely cold, but neither of you could feel a thing; too blinded with pleasure and of each other.

He took your jaw in his hand, turning your face to look at him. Your eyes fluttered horribly, his thrusting never ceasing. "Tell me this soldier.” He said through grunts, “Do you always moan my name when you please yourself?” He uttered and even during your fucked-out state, your flushed face turned a deep red in embarrassment.

His words clarified his presence during your failed pleasure session.

You didn’t know to be ashamed of him, your Colonel, overhearing you in such a state, or thankful, since now he was bestowing upon you the pleasure your body had been craving. Nonetheless, you tried to find the words in your scrambled brain to respond.

“Y-Yes.” You truthfully stammered. “I-I’m sorry.” You added, your reddened cheeks intensifying as he continued to move inside of you.

A breathtaking grunt that sounded like a chuckle, passed his lips, his amber eyes staring into yours. “What did I tell you about apologizing, hmm?” He inquired, his cock and words only causing the pit of your stomach to tighten once again.

“T-that you don’t w-want to hear them.”

“Correct, Princesa.” He replied, his eyes roaming your face, before sternness washed over his facial features.

"Let me hear it again."

He snarled, making your heart drop. His tone was the same when he was training you on the field, or barking orders to the rest of your squad. His gravelly, rough tone was rooted into your mind and shook you to your very core.

Suddenly, you felt sober and alert for the first time since he touched you.

“W-What!?” You exclaimed in shock. He scoffed, pressing you against the wall, leveraging you, and continuing his inhumane pace. "You heard me.

Say my name, soldier."

He groaned, the water from the showerhead continuing to spill down onto the two of you, blinding your already glazed sight.

You instantly couldn’t speak. Every plunge of his cock inside of your soppy pussy snatched the words from your lips and left your mind a complete mess once again. At your speechlessness, he abruptly slapped you, a sizzling sting filling your left cheek. Your face snapped to the right, a loud broken moan erupting from your throat.

You instantly became alert, your vision still a little hazy as he gripped your rosy cheeks in his hand, turning to face him.

"Fucking say it!"

He demanded, your stomach coiling at the desperate grunts that he was trying to keep hidden behind his gritted teeth.

"M-Miguel- fuck." You were finally able to muster. Saliva that was unable to be swallowed began to drip down the corners of your mouth and behind his clamped hand.

The sexy vein in his forehead started to bulge, his abs clenching against your stomach. "Hmm, say it again."

"M-Miguel! Mmm, Miguel, p-please!" You cried out. You didn’t know what you were pleading for, the reasoning completely unknown. The only thing clear in your fogged mind was your desire for him.

More of him.

Your words seemed to turn him on even more, a hot groan falling from his parted lips, his pace increasing. “Such a good girl for me, soldier.” He gasped, his hips snapping into you at such erratic and unwavering speeds, despite the duration of fucking he'd been doing into you. "Mmm, you are such a good little soldier for me.” He babbled, his fingers pressing into your face whilst your eyes rolled uncontrollably.

Your walls fluttered around his cock, contracting and gripping him tightly. For the first time since his assault on your pussy, his hips faltered, a curse spilling from his lips. "Mierda- I'm close." He rasped, yet, you couldn't take it anymore.

Shockwaves engulfed your body, overwhelming and suffocating you in its electrified grip. Your back arched against the wall, whining and rambling through tears. "I'm cumming. 'm cumming." You sobbed, his cock attacking your G-spot one final time as you squirted in lengthy bursts.

The feeling was something you never felt before. It was different from when you came the first time with his mere fingers and the second on his cock.

Your eyes blurred, your mouth falling slack whilst tears spilled down your cheeks. Your essence sprayed onto him, coating his cock, abs, and thighs with your juices.

He cursed, moving his hand from your face to wrap his burly arms around your body. "Shit, Princesa, you are cumming so well for me." He growled. "I should reward you, shouldn't I?" He inquired breathlessly, a smirk spreading across his bronze, chiseled face.

You didn't need to answer, not like you could anyway, because it seemed your Colonel knew it already.

You were thankful for the implant that was placed into your arm upon enlisting as you knew exactly what your COL was planning.

He took your legs into his hands, placing them onto his broad shoulders, and pressed your backside into the wall. You tighten your grip around his neck, trying to prepare yourself, but it was useless.

Like a jackhammer, he hungrily plowed into you. You silently screamed, his cock rapidly disappearing in and out of your pussy. "Oh yes- going to fill you up so well, little soldier." He breathlessly groaned, his cock effortlessly pressing into your G-spot over and over again.

You were so sensitive, trembling and shaking in his arms. You sobbed at the intensity until your walls gripped him one final time.

"Ay, coño!" He exclaimed, in a low, guttural groan before spilling his seed inside of you. Your eyes rolled, his warm essence coating your walls and filling you up, just like he promised.

Your face scrunched up in pure ecstasy at the mind-numbing sensation, causing you to meet your peak once again. You trembled in his tight hold, eyes rolling whilst your release poured down your legs.

His load seemed to be endless as he emptied himself inside of you until the very last drop. He let out a shaky groan, burrowing the bridge of his nose into the crook of your neck, and holding you against the wall.

The both of you caught your breath, his cock softening inside of your full walls. The shower smelled strongly of sex and sweat. The icy cold water continuing to rain down upon your bodies, your beings finally recognizing the chilliness, but too tired to do anything about it.

When the two of you had finally gotten your strength, your Colonel lifted you from his shaft and onto the floor. His cum instantly began to spill down your jelly legs, the feeling making you tingle all over.

To stabilize you, his large, calloused hands were glued to your hips, just like they were at the shooting range.

Feeling just right, and as if they belonged there.

"Hope you learned something today, Soldier." He uttered, his voice taking on his usual commanding tone. You thickly gulped, looking up at the massive male with half-hooded eyes.

You weakly nodded. "Y-Yes...I have, Colonel." You whispered, bringing a tight-lipped smile to his lips.

"I'm glad to hear that." He said, pulling away from you and drawing the curtains back. Your warm body was instantly graced with a chilled breeze at his action, making you shudder.

The shower room was, thankfully, still vacant as his pile of clothes and boots were sitting just outside of the cubicle.

Before his large frame left you to clean up, he looked over his broad shoulder, his dark eyes on you. "I don't want you pleasing yourself anymore, soldier." He simply said, his words surprising you and making your stomach flutter.

"M-May I ask...why?" You hesitantly asked, still out of breath from the heated sex the two of you shared. He licked his lips, turning to you fully in the doorway of your shower cubicle, his eyes looking you up and down.

"Why, that pussy of yours has my name on it." He replied, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his large chest. “I’m the only one that gets to pleasure you.” He chuckled, looking you up and down. “Also because…

I’m the only one who can.”

He uttered, his eyes glued to every part of you. You couldn’t believe what he’d just said, staring at him in utter shock.

A small smirk spread across his lips at your stunned expression. "Now pick your mouth off the floor and get your ass out here in 20." He said, his usual stern voice, holding a bit of amusement. "Take any longer and I won't hesitate to come back and drill that order into your head until you understand. Got it, soldier?"

You bit your lip, cheeks turning a rosy red as you nodded. He pushed off the wall, simply picking up his clothes and walking towards the lockers.

You took in the last of his gorgeous ass, muscular backside, towering height, and confident stride as he disappeared around the corner and into the locker room.

You were still unable to believe that you, the forces' slip-up, were allowed to get a taste of that hunk of a man; and was able to climax so many times with him, despite the numerous times you tried and failed on your own.

You grinned, deep blush staining your cheeks whilst pulling the curtains closed. You turned back towards the cold shower, rotating the knob to the right in hopes of there still being warm water left.

Upon waiting, you couldn't resist recalling everything from that state of pure bliss that you just shared with your Colonel.

The moment, honestly, one of your sex dreams came to life.

Just thinking about it, made your leaking sensitive area throb to life once more.

Even as you stood under the water, muscles spent and core still dripping with his cum, an erotic thought filled your mind…

'Maybe showering a little longer than 20 minutes wouldn't be so bad...'

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'Helping Hands.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog! Love you guys!

Also my request box is open, if anyone is interested!!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x you #miguel x reader smut #astv miguel #Colonel Miguel

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nights-at-crystarium · 8 months

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You know what, I assume that people always read my pinned, or notice the pointer "new reader? start here" in every new Fragments' episode. I might be deluding myself. So hi hello lemme TALK ABOUT MY COMIC.

Before I get too rambly (and I mean RAMBLY), here's a quick intro. Fragments is a comic focused on feels and slice of life, made by a queer guy, aiming to ~character study~ the main cast (Vivi, Raha, Alisaie, Feo Ul) and fill in the gaps in canon (or linger in canon moments that needed more air imo), the tone ranging from angst to fluff to meme. Good punches require a good windup, so please don't expect angst anytime soon :3c

The story's segmented (fragmented, heh) into episodes. Episodes 1-11 take place in ARR, you can enjoy them with no worry about spoilers. Episode 12 onward is ShB, with all the spoilers and lorebending.

My storytelling style assumes you haven't only played through ShB, but know it like the back of your hand, i.e. it's for nerds and thinkers. Of course there's plenty of silly moments that don't require any deep knowledge, but the overarching story does. Often I skip canon events, only hinting that they took place, simply because I don't wanna retell the msq 1:1, I've got plenty of original scenes waiting to be drawn. You're in for a treat if you like obsessing over emotional and moral implications of things. And, yes, this's a story about a morally grey mc. Don't expect to be spoon-fed "and this's why that thing's bad, kids".

Currently I've outlined all the main story beats up until post EW, so it's like, not being winged as I go. Yes I refine things here and there, but I know where I'm going. I'm going ham!!!! With the lorebending post ShB. Initially I didn't plan to, but the more I learned about Vivi and personally grew as a writer, the more courage I got to "divorce" from canon. The general xiv story may still be good wherever it's headed, but it's not suited for an established wolgraha, so I'm making food for myself.

Everyone imagines the lil scenes from their wol's life, I'm taking that a tiiiiiny step further. Fragments tells a cohesive story that's looking to be the longest project at least in our corner. I can and will hyperfixate on this for years.

I started out just like many others, being hit with ShB like a truck, I wanted to put a catboy under a microscope and rotate him forever. Although I'd already been drawing for decades, I didn't have the comic-making skills yet, or eloquence to write the dialogue, so I spent the first half of 2022 self-studying, just because I needed a mouth to be able to scream about my ship.

Vivi didn't exist prior to my obsession with Exarch. He was made for this, he started out as a reagent (or a foil, now that I know fancy writing terms) for a rich and fun chemistry, and keep myself entertained for years, first and foremost.

Me, a fool: okay let's make a guy that falls in love with Exarch in this particular moment, what kinda life must he have led to- Me: ....oh no

The chemistry quickly bubbled up and exploded in my face, involving not only Exarch, but other characters (first as a means to subtly tell about Vivi, then they also demanded their own screentime), and here I am, sitting with a massive script on my hands, drawing my blorbos every day. Thanks for enabling that btw.

I care about characters a lot. I ask a lot of whys and hows. I'm critical-minded and burned on many bad stories that did their characters dirty, and I wanna be an opposing example. What I'm doing is extremely ambitious and risky, yes, but I can only invite you to tag along and see if I stick to my word.

The internet's a cruel and unforgiving place nowadays, and here I am, pitting my passion against what feels like decaying humanity. I'm making this comic to keep myself happy above all else, being sincere and cringe because life's too short to be anything else.

Thanks for reading this, and if you haven't yet, read Fragments here!

#ffxiv #vivien rell #crystal exarch #g'raha tia #wol x g'raha tia #wolgraha #own: next lvl #fragments talk

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ghouljams · 6 months

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Reverse Fae!AU feat. Witch!Price and Fae!Witch

I know they didn't win the poll but I wanted them to win and it's my blog so you're getting them first. Also as a penance for being gone for the last half of last week. Please accept my humble intro of these two.

It's not often you meet someone foolish enough to wander into your domain. Not just Summer, no you get the feeling this man was determined to land himself right in your court. You tip your head to watch him from your throne, stretch your legs with a hum, all the sunshine in the world couldn't pull the ache from your bones. He's quite nice to look at, you suppose, he stands proudly and looks around with clear eyes. It's the beard, you like the beard. And the rough edges of his hands, they speak to his profession.

He’s a long way from the safety of witches. He slips the hat from his head as he makes his way towards the steps to your throne. He stops just at the bottom of them, like he’s waiting for your invitation. Well, he won’t find one of those here. Although, you suppose it’s nice to see someone new. Someone interesting.

"You’re so far off your path," you tell the interloper, the witch, or- hm, the men these days like to be called something different don't they? Sorcerer? But witch is a profession, a title, and he seems smart enough to know that. He breathes magic, exhales it and draws it in. You can feel it circle through his body, seeping into his musculature and clinging to his blood. Witch, the air hisses. "How did you get here?" You ask him, settling your cheek against your hand.

"I walked," he tells you, the plainest thing in the world, "picked a direction and made the world take me where I wanted."

"To my court," it's fae magic, stolen magic, that he's talking about. You can feel it in him, chained to his bones and pacified, no wonder your usual safe guards let him through.

"Where else would I find you?" He asks, settling his foot on the first stair. It's rhetorical, there's nowhere else you'd be. The summer sun, the court's prized possession, queen of the golden throne. He takes another step, unafraid of your heat.

"Why do you want to find me? Are you trying to die?" Your threats seem to hold no bite, your teeth filed down, your claws dulled.

"To you?" You wish he'd stop climbing the stairs towards you, wish he wouldn't look at you like that, "wouldn't that be something." His eyes are so warm, reverent, they seem to touch on every part of you. You’d think you, of anyone, would be able to handle the heat of them, and yet you feel their absence. How awful. How terrifying.

"You think I won't kill you where you stand?" You try to steel yourself, your resolve. You don't care for foolish men, and yet it isn't hubris that drives him. No, you sense a purpose behind his movements. You need to get this witch out of here.

"You won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm interesting," his voice is deep, rumbling, you tip your head back to look him in the eye as he makes it to the top step and stands in front of your throne, "and you haven't seen anything interesting in a long time."

It tells you nothing, gives you no information on the man in front of you, no strings to work with, no answers to spin. You don't like it, but he's right. It's been ages since anyone interrupted your watch, since anyone but the few wardens of this place spoke to you. Your curiosity will be your undoing. This man will be your undoing.

He’s taller than you’d thought. Colder. Winter clings to him. A shiver creeps down your spine, exhilarating and unfamiliar. He bows his head to you in greeting, a sincere gesture with a sly smile. A wolf’s smile. You find yourself smiling in return.

"That’s a good look on you,” He tells you, and you feel your face heat. Another unfamiliar feeling, it matches the rapid pace of your heart as he steps closer. You press back against your throne, away from him. You have nowhere else to go. He clicks his tongue in disapproval, tips his head forward to look down at you. “No need to get shy on me sweetheart, I’ll be gentle.”

He drops to his knees, and you press the ball of your foot against his mouth to shut him up. His words are starting to get too close to something you can’t touch. Something you can’t imagine a witch would want anything to do with, not with the fae at least. He doesn't move, just stares up at you, waiting. His patience against yours, both of you testing the other's next move. You feel his fingers slip against your ankle, edging themselves under the heavy iron shackle there.

“Who are you?” You try not to wince when the iron shifts, the tentative edges of fear are starting to drag themselves over your skin. He moves from your foot to press his lips against the knobby bone of your ankle. His fingers are quick, seeping magic under your skin, breaking heat over cold iron.

“John Price,” He tells you, and you feel the weight of his name settle more heavily over your shoulders than any chains could, “I’m the man that’s going to steal the Sun.”

“What?” Your breath catches as his magic clicks in the lock. You feel your magic rush at you as the shackle falls dead on the ground. It hits you so suddenly your head swims and your vision fuzzes. You tip forward and he catches you, lifts you up over his shoulder and out of your former prison.

“Well, suppose that needs amending, some present tense perhaps,” He chuckles, and you feel your stomach flutter, “I’m stealing you, any objections?”

“None, thank you,” You whisper, feeling another bond settle in place. One you never hope to pay back. His shoulder is firm, his hands gentle on your skin, you wrap your arms around his middle and rest your cheek against his back. It's been so long since you were out of that chair, how could you not thank him? He hums, like he expected that.

“You’re very welcome.” His thumbs rub against the back of your thighs, and you feel yourself starting to purr. "Let's get you home, something as pretty as you has no sense being locked away."

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luveline · 2 years

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ZOMBIE AU YES steve and you but reluctant allies - forced to travel together and when you get stuck in a tight spot, you fully believe he's going to leave you behind. but steve does what he does best, he comes back

tysm for ur request! reluctant friends to lovers arc starts now. tw for zombie typical gore, violence + apocalypse struggles (near enoigh starvation, weight loss, isolation) this got longer than it was meant to

It's not that you don't like Steve. Though maybe that's what he thinks. He doesn't seem to like you all that much.

Steve Harrington is pretty. He's a pretty boy. You hadn't expected him to be able to fight or defend, or even run all that fast. He'd proved you wrong on each account eventually — "I ran track, idiot," — but the reluctance of your pairing has remained.

You can't like everyone. You and Steve simply don't fit. You didn't in high school and you don't now, and you know in reality that he doesn't like you. Not really. He tolerates you and he shares with you because you have more chance of surviving together than apart.

He searches the waste of Indiana for his friends. You follow. You have nothing else to do.

You're scouring for supplies in a mall not unlike the Starcourt in Hawkins. You imagine it's as desolate and derelict as this one. Escalators frozen in time, storefronts destroyed by time. Dangerous. There's a thousand places for a zombie to be dwelling. They aren't good at hiding, obviously, but you're also not good at finding them. Steve says you have poor observational skills.

"Yes, well, I'd hardly have any reason to need them if it weren't for the end of the world," you mutter.

"Why do you talk like that?"

"Like what?" you ask with a scowl.

"Like- like a rich girl. A really rich girl."

"I don't sound anything like you."

"Weak insult based in sexism. Next."

You drop the shirt you'd been looking at. "Right, I forgot. Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, progressive."

He meets your gaze and smiles at you. He does this, sometimes, where he forgets he doesn't like you. Then something happens, a disagreement or an argument, and you're back to square one, Steve and his burden.

"I'm very progressive." He looks between you and the shirt he's holding, a men's cut, plain with long sleeves. It looks warm. "I think this'll fit. Come here."

You step over a fallen mannequin and let him hold the shirt to your abdomen.

"You're losing weight," he murmurs.

"Lucky me."

His hand touches your shoulder and he draws very close. "Bad news."

"I had it to lose."

"You need all the help you can get." He doesn't bother saying why. You're both more than aware of how dire the food situation is getting. If you can't find anything worth eating here, you're probably fucked. You might be fine. (You're fucked.)

You take the shirt. "Do you think it's silly to put it on now?"

"Definitely. I'll turn around."

He turns. You put your bag on the floor and quickly take off your outerwear. Your shirt smells bad because you smell worse, the strong smell of sweat no matter how much you scrub at it lingering. The fabric is imbued with a permanent odour.

New t-shirt in place, you preen at the feeling of new cotton over your skin.

"Are you done?"

"No-"

"Hurry. We need to move."

You always 'need to move'. You think Steve says it to sound cool.

You pull your clothes back on and hang your backpack from your aching shoulders. Over time, the bag feels heavier. Funny, as it's contents constantly lighten.

"We haven't found anything for you yet," you say.

Your shirt had needed replacing, it was thin and stained with a seam slowly unthreading. Steve's pants are worse. The zip is tied closed with a hair tie and the cuffs are pulling apart.

Steve reveals a pair he'd already set aside. "Tada."

"Put them on!"

"Sheesh, hold your horses."

"You could've been changing while I was. You always nag about wasting daylight."

"And leave us both defenseless. Good idea." His tone suggests a genuineness he doesn't possess.

You stand guard. Steve changes. You have that intrusive thought to turn and look at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the shucking of fabric. Intrusive, unreal. You don't look because you're not a pervert. You do, however, wonder about it. His naked legs, his thighs.

You shake your head and bite the inside of your lip to stave off bad thoughts. Stupid.

"Let's go."

Out of the clothing store and back to the walkways. You and Steve skulk with your backs to each other and some space between you, watching the open shutters for zombies or other people. You don't know which is scarier.

The mall is wrecked. Smashed glass, mysterious liquids, no electricity. Daylight streams in bright and unhindered by the huge skylights above. Nature struggles to fall in with it, but it does. Birds nest in the rafters, bugs cling to the walls. You suppress chills at the scuttling sounds of vermin and almost trip over an upended rack of stuffies outside of the toy store.

"You okay?" Steve asks. You don't know if he's looking at you, your eyes pinned on the stairwell across the way. Accidental or otherwise, making noise is a signal to the zombies that you're here.

If there's anybody here, they definitely would've heard you.

You don't answer Steve's question. He doesn't ask again.

"There's, like, a hot pretzel stand to the right," he says, intrigued.

You check what's in front of you one last time and then catch up to Steve. You'd love to take his arm, not because you think he'd let you or anything, but it's easy to miss touching people and he's right there in front of you.

"Under the shutter," he says quietly.

You crawl under and emerge in the dark. Steve joins you with his torch already in hand, flashing light quickly in all four corners of the room.

"This might be a bad idea," you whisper.

"It's okay. I doubt zombies can crawl."

"If they can?"

Predictably, Steve ignores you.

He weaves between untouched chairs and tables. You catch onto the end of his shirt and he's generous enough to pretend you haven't, the two of you making your way to the front counter. There might've been edible food behind the glass once but now it's all infested. It's disgusting.

You've seen a lot worse.

"That's gross," Steve says.

You tap the display and a dead fly falls off of the glass.

"Lift the counter?" you whisper.

You make your way to the employees only door. "Be careful," he reminds you under his breath, "be quiet. You have your knife out?"

"Got it."

He throws the door open quick and looks around. There's a walk-in freezer to the left, an old couch in the middle, and a storage area to the right. Steve again checks each corner with the flashlight, the both of you holding your breath. You're holding the knife so tightly you can feel each divot of the grip moulding your skin.

"I think we're clear."

"I think we need another torch," you mumble.

It's really scary in the dark.

"They'll have batteries somewhere," Steve says. You think he might be humouring your fear. He's likely tired of having to reassure you.

Again, you grab his shirt. It's too dark to navigate the room without him.

Steve leads you to the staff kitchenette, opening the cabinets one by one. There's mugs in one, plates in another. Untouched by dust.

He has you hold the torch while he searches through drawers of kitchen tools and equipment.

"Do you miss pretzels?" you ask.

"Mm. With the cinnamon sugar."

"You like cinnamon?"

He pushes aside what looks like an ice cube tray of all things and finds an old key. He offers it to you with a peculiar smile, as if to say What do you think that does?

"Everyone likes cinnamon," he says.

"Not everybody."

"Everybody I knew did. Robin fucking loves cinnamon. At Christmas, she'd make me take her out for warm cinnamon cookies and... frozen cokes." His tone had started soft. It ends strangled.

"Frozen cokes? In winter? Isn't that sorta weird?" you ask.

He shuts the drawer harshly and doesn't answer. Your attempt to cut the tension backfires once again with him. Who could've guessed.

The next drawer is a motherlode.

"Yes," you say, cheeks taken by a sudden smile.

There's enough batteries to power your torch for a year. Steve tears open the packet and holds a hand up without looking at you. You scramble to open your bag and pull out your torch. Bigger and heavier than his is, it illuminates larger spaces and makes for less nerve-wracking supply runs, but it eats batteries like no tomorrow.

Steve cracks open your proffered torch and loads it up with batteries. The light flickers on before he's put the closing back into place.

He shines it straight in your eyes.

"Nice," you grumble.

"Now you got your own you can quit clinging," he says. "Why don't you go look in the freezer?"

"It'll all be spoiled. There hasn't been electricity in forever."

"Might find a can of something," he says with a shrug.

"If you want me to leave you alone, just say that."

"I want you to leave me alone."

You huff and spin away. Your torch shines over the couch, an ugly mess of floral pattern that went out of fashion a decade ago but is surprisingly new for a staff room. You drop yourself into it and stare at the ceiling for a while, dust motes drifting in the ray of torch light like snowflakes. You haven't seen snow in a long enough time that you're surprised you can remember what it feels like. If you close your eyes, stick out your tongue, a cold like ice feels sharp on your taste buds.

Steve cusses to himself. You sit up and find him sucking on an injured finger.

"Need help?" you ask.

He sticks his knife into the top of a cardboard box. "What did I tell you? Go look in the freezer."

"Steve, there's not gonna be anything in there."

"I worked in a place like this before. Just look."

You roll your eyes, feel super guilty about rolling your eyes, and then roll your eyes again when he says, "Don't be lazy."

"I'm not," you defend. Your whining falls on deaf ears.

The freezer door handle is fucked. You pull and pull until your palms burn and can't get it to unlock. Changing tactics, you press all of your weight forward and feel something click like it's not supposed to. The door crashes forward and you fall to one knee with a startled shriek.

Your heart slams between your ribs. When you're trying to be hypervigilant of every small sound, every movement, every change in your environment, sudden events are like a shot of adrenaline.

You land on one hand. Your torch flickers further in the room.

"Fuck," you mutter.

"What happened?" Steve asks, his footsteps fast and moving toward you.

You scramble forward to grab the torch before he can see you've broken it. You're ashamed at your own idiocy — you burn with it, a flush of heat in your cheeks that. Steve won't lie to you to make you feel better, so if the torch is broken he's gonna call you an idiot for it.

"Nothing!" you call.

The smell hits you like a freight train. Spoiled milk. Shelves and shelves of spoiled milk and batter. You gag and throw a hand over your nose. It smells almost as bad as a zombie, and they smell like fresh hell.

"Y/N," Steve says.

You throw your eyes over your shoulder and realise the door has closed behind you. There's a sound of a jiggling door handle on the other side. From your side it doesn't move.

A sinking feeling begins.

"Steve," you say, hitting your torch against your thigh. The light flickers off completely. You gawp.

"Can you open the door?"

You push your weight against it urgently. The handle doesn't want to move.

"I can't get it," you say, panicked.

"Push it inward."

"I am!"

"Okay, alright. Hold your horses."

"Steve, it won't open."

"I heard you the first time. Don't worry. I'm gonna get it open."

You throw yourself at the door. Steve must guess from the sound. "Stop," he says, frustration seeping into his low tenor, "that's not gonna work. It's hinged inward. Stand back, okay? I'm gonna force it."

"It's dark in here," you murmur pleadingly, moving away from the door.

"What?"

Your own fast breathing echoes around you. You hit the torch with the meat of your palm and the light flickers. You hit it again and it dissapears. You shouldn't be so scared, but the door closed means your trapped and the dark feels so oppressive now. Dark means you die, because you won't see a zombie before it bites you.

You realise that there's more than one person breathing.

Or rather, an illusion of breathing. A moan.

Your blood turns to ice as you spin. Your torchlight flicker flicker flickers, illuminating the face of somebody long dead.

"Oh my god," you say. It sticks to your throat like each word has been dipped in honey. Or ichor. "Fuck, Steve! Steve!"

"What?" he shouts back, equally freaked.

One eye opens. The other remains closed. One second, you can see the open socket, half an eyeball. The next, pitch darkness filled only by the grind of clicking teeth. Your breath catches in your throat and you keen as you walk backwards, the torch shaking in your hand.

The light flicks back on with your movement.

The zombie's face appears in front of yours.

You scream and fall flat on your butt, backpack preventing you from slamming onto your back. The torch turns off. You scrabble for your knife — where the fuck is your knife? Where's your knife?

Steve hammers against the door. "What the fuck?"

"There's a fucking geek in here!" you squeal, throat tight. You can barely get the words out. The zombie can't see you in the dark but it can hear you, it can smell you, and it's footsteps draw closer, one after another.

"Steve, get me out of here!" you beg.

He doesn't answer.

"Steve?" You don't sound like yourself. You're not sure you've ever made this sound before.

Nothing.

Your hands shake hard. You can't feel them as you bring the torch into your lap. You try to find the catch in the dark. When you can't you mess with the lens, screwing it tight to the right. You feel it move in, spinning back on.

The light exposes the zombies gained distance. He towers over you and you can't speak, can't breathe, can't sob. You hold your arms in front of your face and hope it won't hurt.

The door slams open. You get pushed roughly into the zombie's legs, the breath knocked from your chest.

You crumple in on yourself.

Footsteps slide with a rubber screech over the linoleum and you search the floor for your torch, breath coming in shirt pants. Your hand closes around it and you flick the switch with little success. Broken again. You must've loosened a fuse.

"Steve," you say desperately. Please don't die.

The zombie makes a noise like retching, Steve groans in extertion and then there's a sound of wetness, a sinking. A body falls to the floor.

Silence.

You flinch as he turns on his torch and shines it in your face.

"Oh, thank god."

Steve leans down and helps you up into his arms. You struggle to catch your breath, your face pressed hard into his chest. You can't cry though you desperately want to, too busy fighting for air.

Steve holds you, hands at your back. "It's okay. You got it, dummy, just take it slow."

You nod. You can't really focus as he pulls you out of the freezer. The air noticeably changes from brain matter to plain old stale.

"I thought you-" You swallow against an aching throat. "I thought you were gonna leave me."

"Why would you think that?" Steve asks.

"I was- I-" you stammer to a halt.

Your arms move of their own accord, over his shoulders and behind. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, hot tears spreading over his skin as you pull him in close, as close as you can.

Steve's hand is slow at first, hesitant against your shoulder. Your backpack stops him from hugging you properly, but you think maybe he might try otherwise.

"I wouldn't have left you here," he says.

There's hints. Confusion, sincerity. A rawness. You can't see his face, his torch pointed up at the ceiling, only where the light kisses his brow, the bridge of his nose.

Steve let's you cling until you've caught your breath.

"Let's sit down," he says.

He encourages you onto the old couch and shoves his small torch between the cushions. You miss his touch as soon as he leaves, an anxiety at being left alone dawns like a yawning chasm between you. Your relief when he returns can't be understated: you feel like a spent, abused nerve.

Cortisol and adrenaline crash through your veins. All that's left to do is come down. Hard, when you don't feel completely safe. Haven't felt completely safe in a long time. Steve's return helps.

"Don't touch the rim. It's sharp," he says, pressing an open can into your hand.

"Steve, is this-"

He passes you a spoon. "Sure is."

You don't have the luxury of nausea. Life or death situations start to wear off quicker when you're hungry, half-starved, and after a few good mouthfuls of pudding you're starting to feel better. Not perfect, not any less afraid, but there's a door between you and the zombie's dead dead body, and a door with a chair propped under the handle between you and the rest of the world. And there's Steve, a spoon between his lips with your poor torch in hand.

"You left your knife on the table. Do you know how stupid that is?" he asks, a spoon hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes."

"Hm." He whacks the torch with his spoon. "Shit."

"I'm sorry."

"About the knife? You should be. You were totally defenseless."

"The torch."

He puts your torch down on the floor besides your gathered things. "Couldn't be helped."

"How'd you open the door?"

"Running start."

You sniffle and eat another spoonful of pudding. The last thing you'd eaten was half a gronala bar in the early hours of the morning when Steve had insisted you'd need your energy. It had been a year out of date and chalk in your mouth. The pudding may as well be straight molten gold for how valuable it feels.

It goes down soft. Calms your aching throat. By the time you've finished you almost feel settled. Almost.

"Steve... I'm sorry. For thinking you'd leave me. That's not fair. I mean, I know-" Why is it hard to talk to him? He's the only perosn you've had for company in God knows how long and you're still fumbling for the right thing to say. "You wouldn't do something like that to me. You have morals."

"I would do anything for my friends," he says, like he's disagreeing. "I would do anything to see them again. See them safe. Anything."

You bite your tongue. Tears sting. Hypocritical tears, because haven't you had that thought before? You'd do anything to get what you want. You'd do anything to live. Steve doesn't owe you anything.

"I didn't think you'd come back," you confess sheepishly.

"I'm always gonna come back for you."

You look up at him, finding his eyes illuminated in the dim light sweet and soft and brown.

"I want you to be safe."

"Are you saying I'm your friend?" you ask.

He glares at you. "Are we in middle school?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? What, I have to invite you to my birthday party or something? We need to go rollerblading together?"

"You're an asshole."

He snorts. "Asshole just saved your life."

"I didn't even wanna go in there, if you remember. I expressly said that I didn't wanna go in the freezer. It's your fault I was even in there in the first place."

"That's ridiculous. And a low blow. And fuck you."

"Not very friendly."

He laughs abruptly. It's a pretty sound, made golden by it's genuineness. Steve does sarcastic snickers and mocking chuckles, and none have ever sounded as his true laugh does now.

"I'll show you friendly," he mutters.

You raise your eyebrows. He moves enough to make the couch shift, upheaving your empty can and spoon. They fall together with a metallic clinking.

You watch mournfully. "I kind of wish I hadn't eaten it that fast. When's the last time we had sugar?"

"Don't speak too soon."

Steve shows you the stash. An entire box of pudding, enough to feed you both for a month, though the sugar might rot your teeth.

"We'll be sick of it in a week," Steve promises.

You're not so sure. Chocolate is chocolate, whether it's eaten during the zombie apocalypse or not.

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