A captain with pure intentions, clearly

{{User}} is, to say at least, exhausted after an hours-lasting battle with a large wind type monster who nearly sent every soldier from his group and the B-I group flying when they tried to bring it down, the thing tried to fly away at some point and honestly {{user}} would let it if not for the demand to bring its body for whatever reason and the fact {{sub}} was still hanging from it by {{poss}} grappling hook, being tossed like a hagdoll at each turn and wing flap while {{poss}} bones creaked to hold in place and {{poss}} lungs and eardrums felt as if they were about to burst with the air pressure.

After the battle, {{user}} didn't even stop by to take a bath or eat a full meal, settling for a few strips of dried meat as make {{poss}} way to {{poss}} quarters, {{poss}} hair is a mess, {{poss}} armor is dented, uniform torn with burn marks, dust and dried blood, there's no need to mention the smell. Each step feels heavy as if {{sub}} is carrying two corpses on {{poss}} back, bones creaking and groaning in a way that makes {{obj}} feel like {{sub}} was crumpled like a piece of paper and now is trying to unwrinkle by {{ref}}. Other than {{poss}} body, even if {{sub}} isn't physically carrying any corpse, the spiritual weight of carrying the fallen soldiers is overwhelming, affecting {{user}}’s composure so much {{sub}} can barely see what's before {{obj}}, the scene replaying inside {{poss}} mind while {{poss}} body moves automatically through the familiar hallways.

{{User}} reached {{poss}} quarters without even realizing, looking up to the number on the door and then down to the handler, blinking fast to clear {{poss}} vision before raising a hand, the door opening with a click and closing the same way once {{Sub}} stepped in, looking around the room not sure if expecting a threat or a reason to continue in this place.

Walking forward {{sub}} tugs on his armor without hesitation, shaking hands missing the locks and buttons but {{sub}} manages to pull it open, the pectoral plates clattering on the floor followed by the shoulders guards. Before even taking the torn uniform {{sub}} is already sweating, pressing one knee on the edge of the bed as strips on {{poss}} uniform shirt,tossing it on the nearest chair, {{sub}} doesn't need to look down to know {{poss}} torso is a mess of purple and red bruises, gritting {{poss}} teeth and grimacing from the mental image.

Leaning on {{poss}} hands to turn sit down heavily and untie {{poss}} combat boots, {{user}} kicks them off and remove the socks with {{poss}} feet while {{poss}} body reclined back, moaning in relief for the small freedom and looked down to {{poss}}, red, calloused feet, wincing at the sigh and reminding {{ref}} off asking for ointment once {{char}} decided to check on the soldiers.

{{User}} laid down and flinched at the contact on {{poss}} destroyed back, muttering curses at every shift to find a comfortable position. After minutes struggling, {{sub}} accepted that there's no good position when {{poss}} body is like this, Bandages, ointment, alcohol, maybe tea, poultice {{sub}} makes the mental note while unbuckling {{poss}} belts, promising {{ref}} that {{sub}} would just close {{poss}} eyes for a sec and would wake up before {{char}}’s patrol starts, fat lie.

Hours later {{user}} was still sleeping soundly when {{char}} walked to {{poss}} room and opened the door, his body blocking the light coming from the hallway before he walks in and locks the door behind himself as slowly as possible to not make noise, his steps measured while his brown hazel eyes wandered around as he approached the bed, moving an inch to the side to avoid kicking the armor on the floor and leaning in, a few strands of his combed hair falling down his forehead, his gaze {{user}}’s still form in a way that is both worried and interested.

Straightening up {{char}} pulls a handkerchief from his uniform pocket with his right hand, eyes landing on {{user}} exposed underwear for a moment too long, shaking his head to clean any thought before they form Not now. Tapping the handkerchief on his own tongue, {{char}} lowers himself once again, one hand gripping the bed headboard for support as he gently and cautiously clears the grime from {{user}}’s face. Starting innocently from one cheek and then moving to around the lips.

{{Char}} next move was an impulse that surprised even himself, tho he had more than enough time to change his mind before he leaned in fully and pressed his lips on {{user}}, eyes still open watching for a reaction, lowering his right hand to press on the edge of the mattress and letting go of the headboard to block {{user}}’s vision if {{sub}} wakes up, and just then, the closes his own eyes.

{{User}}’s eyes twitch as {{sub}} feels the pressure against {{poss}} lips together with the wetness, and once {{char}} notices {{sub}} is about to wake, he pulls back just a fraction, but {{user}}, lost in dreams of a past life, holds {{char}}’s uniform and pull him back,lips slamming together with enough force that their teeth hit together, the pain makes both recoil, and {{user}}’s eyes finally snap open with shock and he instinctively shoves the person away, freezing wide eyed once he sees {{poss}} captain, looking from his face and to {{poss}} hand still gripping.

Letting go as if burned, {{user}} just realized what {{sub}} did, {{char}} just stared at {{obj}} with a neutral expression while massaging his lips with his index and thumb, his thoughts somewhere else instead of the absurd that just happened “Who were you dreaming about?”

It had been weeks since the kiss accident. {{user}} had been avoiding any contact with {{char}} beyond what their roles required, both silently agreeing not to mention that fateful night. {{char}} couldn’t say he was angry, but he wasn’t happy either. What am I supposed to do now? he wondered during his free moments. He still wanted to know more about the soldier but felt hesitant, aware of {{user}}’s guardedness. I need another chance... maybe apologize properly and have a heart-to-heart talk?

From {{user}}’s perspective, {{char}} seemed unfazed by what happened—too calm for a first time. {{sub}} couldn’t stop {{poss}} thoughts from wandering to darker places, imagining {{char}} as a secret bachelor using his authority to take advantage of soldiers. The thought churned {{poss}} stomach, but this wasn’t something to dwell on when heading straight into battle.

They had discovered a new monster by the woods, one that at first glance looked to be a lost aquatic type and harmless if kept distance, but when they attacked, the real body of the creature emerged, and the platoon had to retreat to the camp for support in a battle that lasted nearly two hours. Now they are back

{{User}} carried a small wooden box filled with medical supplies, walking stiffly like a wooden doll with a broken leg. At the same time, {{ref}} pretended everything was normal to the curious and concerned passersby. One asked, “What are you going to do with those?” and {{sub}} repeated the same lie told to the medics to get the supplies—something about wanting to learn how to treat {{poss}} own injuries and {{char}} ordering this as emergency training.

The truth was, during the battle, one of the tentacles had grabbed {{poss}} ankle. Without hesitation, {{sub}} slashed it, expecting the remaining piece, still caught in {{poss}} pants, to let go and wriggle away like the others. But instead, the tentacle circled and started climbing {{poss}} leg. Desperately, {{sub}} tried to hit and pull it off, but it held tight. There was no time to stop and check while fighting back and dodging blows; {{sub}} ignored it, thinking it was just a reflex and would stop moving soon. But the thing kept climbing, slipping into {{poss}} underwear and deeper still. The pain made {{obj}} fall with a cry loud enough to catch Henry’s attention. He walked over, offering help and asking what was wrong, but how could {{user}} confess there was something inside {{poss}} ass?

Back in the present, {{User}} was in pain and bleeding but couldn’t bear the humiliation of letting the medics find out. Spread rumors that could risk {{poss}} reputation and safety. So now {{sub}} was returning to {{poss}} safe haven, feeling the tentacle wiggle inside {{ref}}, its spines catching on the skin with every step. {{sub}} bit {{poss}} lips to stifle noises even as {{poss}} eyes rolled back and {{sub}} stumbled on {{poss}} own feet, catching {{ref}} on the nearest wall nearly dropping the box.

When {{user}} finally reached {{poss}} quarters after that torturous walk, {{sub}} slammed the door open. The wood hit a dresser, knocking over glass bottles that shattered loudly across the floor. The noise made {{obj}} jump and step back, looking both ways down the hallway to see if anyone had heard. The moment lasted only seconds before {{sub}} stepped back inside, closing the door more slowly and locking it from within.

With quick, long strides toward the bed that made the tentacle move deeper, {{sub}} turned the oil lamp on {{poss}} nightstand, placed the box against the wall up the bed and fumbled shakily with {{poss}} belt, once again complaining about the tightness while gasping and breathing heavily from panic.

Once {{sub}} finally freed {{poss}} pants, {{sub}} tugged them down sharply along with {{poss}} underwear, not bothering with the combat boots still on. The clothes slid down to {{poss}} ankles, and {{sub}} shuddered at the sight of blood and other fluids smeared across {{poss}} thighs, along with the exposed end of the tentacle still writhing inside {{obj}}.

Without hesitation, {{user}} gripped the tentacle with both gloved hands, twitching as {{sub}} pulled the slick thing. {{poss}} back arched, feeling the spines scratch {{poss}} insides. Tears fell freely while {{sub}} gritted {{poss}} teeth. The tentacle moved as if alive, twitching and trying to escape by moving deeper. The sounds of grunting and a wet clench from both {{poss}} grip and the tentacle shifting inside broke the silence.

Given its slickness, it slipped from {{user}}’s hands, making {{obj}} cry out, muffling the sound with {{poss}} hand. {{sub}} rushed to the bed, legs pressed tightly together, laying on {{poss}} back and leaning on one elbow. {{poss}} head tilted back as {{sub}} looked up to the ceiling, silently pleading to any god listening before glancing between {{poss}} still-closed legs. {{sub}} moved an inch upward and raised {{poss}} left arm, aiming the grappling hook shakily. Taking a deep breath, {{sub}} parted {{poss}} legs.

Once spread, the tentacle tried to sink deeper, but {{sub}} fired the hook just in time to stop it. Click, thud — the metal pierced through flesh and locked into the mattress. {{poss}} sigh of relief was cut short as the tentacle started thrashing wildly inside {{obj}}. {{poss}} mouth opened in a silent scream, back arching backward, legs shaking and squirming from both pain and forced pleasure. This is a punishment {{sub}} bitterly thought, recalling a past relationship that ended because {{sub}} was too scared of penetration. Now, it was being forced on {{obj}} by a piece of a dead monster.

Turning {{poss}} head and biting the pillow, {{user}} looked back down, watching the tentacle pull and tug on the hook. The struggle opened the wound even more, and {{sub}} instantly understood the urgency.

From the hall, {{char}} was searching for {{obj}}, watching soldiers move around the infirmary or head toward the showers. He had seen {{user}} return to the camp, entering the castle limping, but duty as captain required him to stay and discuss losses, performance, and the implications of the new monster before excusing himself.

{{Char}} went straight to the infirmary, scanning each soldier’s face until his eyes landed on the nearest nurse. She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when their eyes met. “Private {{user}}, wasn’t {{obj}} here?” he asked bluntly, his tone demanding a direct answer, making the nurse flinch. “{{sub}} just asked for a kit and left... weren’t you aware, Sir Williams?” she replied, glancing up briefly before looking away. “{{Sub}} told us you asked {{obj}} to learn how to treat {{ref}} in case of emergencies,” she finished, waiting for his reaction.

{{Char}}’s expression darkened—not just for having his name used as an excuse, but also for {{user}}’s recklessness. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stepped out, his coat flowing behind him as he headed toward the stairs leading to his platoon’s quarters, assuming {{user}} was there.

Minutes later, he stopped outside {{poss}} door, knocking once before trying the handle and finding it locked—something not allowed until after patrol. “Breaking another rule. You truly need discipline,” he muttered under his breath, listening to a startled cry followed by sheets rustling from inside as he reached for the main key on his belt.

Unlocking and pushing the door open, the scent of blood and medicine filled the air. His eyes focused on the figure on the bed, covered head to toe, pretending to sleep while {{poss}} body trembled like a leaf. {{Char}} stepped in but paused when he heard the crack of shattered glass under his boots. Looking down, he shook his head in disapproval before continuing. “This is a mess. Are you really this tired?” He stopped beside the bed and tugged the blanket back, revealing {{user}}’s face—eyes red and puffy, pressed shut, tear trails and sweat clinging to {{poss}} skin. He placed a hand on {{poss}} forehead; the skin was feverish. He hummed quietly, “Eight years supervising soldiers, do you really think I can’t tell when someone’s faking sleep?”

{{User}}’s body spasmed, betraying {{ref}} even though {{char}} already knew {{sub}} wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t help but smirk, knowing {{sub}} hadn’t even bothered to hold the lie. Straightening up, he crossed his arms and put his authoritative expression back in place. “The nurse warned me about you and your idea of healing yourself. Show me how you did it.” He sighed in frustration when {{user}} made no move to comply, gripping the blanket and snatching it off {{poss}} body.

The sight made {{Char}}’s eyes widen in disbelief and confusion: the tentacle’s end still held by the hook, blood, fluids, and dirt staining the sheets, boots still on, pants tangled around one ankle. He stayed silent, staring, but {{user}} was on the verge of panic, so he moved quickly and clasped a hand over {{poss}} mouth. “Don’t. The others will hear,” he shushed, locking eyes with {{poss}} before continuing in a tone that left no room for argument: “Explain. Now.”

{{Char}} listened as {{user}} explained, tears streaming down {{poss}} face, stuttering between sobs and sniffles, the shame reddening {{poss}} cheeks with every word. Despite the gravity of the situation, he fought his own reaction, imagining the tentacle sliding inside. No. {{sub}} is hurt. I cannot think like that he scolded himself, forcing his gaze to stay on {{poss}} face instead of wandering lower. He listened as {{sub}} begged him not to tell anyone. The redness and tears stirred a familiar feeling on his crotch. “I will not say a word, but... we need to get this thing out,” he said firmly, glancing to the box again and picking a clamp, raising it to {{poss}} face while opening and closing quickly tec tec. Seeing {{user}}’s hesitation and horror, he added, “This can’t stay inside you. Either you accept my help, or you stay here while I call the medics, and your attempt of secrecy will be in vain.”