Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

MINI | THOSE WHO CAN'T DO, TEACH

LUIETENANT.

It was scrawled in bold text across the back of his jacket which stretched tightly over broad shoulders, wrapping him against the rain.

Chestnut eyes followed your every move.

Your face was a shade of vermillion, each breather a heave of the ribs, a stretch of the diaphragm beyond what you thought possible. Yet still, he yelled across the training grounds.

"FASTER!"

You knew the words of encouragement were for you. The wet leaves beneath your boots slippy. It would've been worse if they had not been tied tightly onto your feet.

Expert hands.

He ground his jaw as he watched from afar, you were doing well, managing to maintain a safe yard clearance from the recruits behind you. His toe tapped impatiently on the ground.

"GO ON!"

There was little distance between you and the finish line, so you pushed your legs as hard as you could.

They ached, but not from running.

Droplets of rain mixed with sweat breeched your brow line and blurred your vision. Then you crossed it, slowing to lean over, hands on kneecaps in recovery. One of your laces had come undone.

"New personal best."

You raised your head to look at him as he purred his praise. It was enough to make you want to melt into the ground.

"Good girl."

He leaned down to tie your boot, those expert hands. It gave you deja vu, he'd tied them this morning as you'd rubbed the muscles in your thighs which burned from riding him into a senseless blur the night before.

"Well, those who can't do, teach, right?"

He laughed. God, his voice was like a red lustful poison which spread through every vein.

A wide gloved hand tapped your foot to let you know he was done, before rising to his feet again, chocolate eyes shifting around ensuring only your ears caught his next words.

"Don't make me take you out of here and teach you how to behave again."