ONE SHOT | DISOBEDIENCE PROTOCOL
#SYNOPSIS. You disobeyed a direct order from the Colonel
#CHARACTER(S). Yandere! Human! Colonel Miles Quaritch
#WARNING(S). Spanking, non consensual, sexual assult, forced proximity, him just being a creep overall, unhealthy fixation, inappropriate touching, hint of voyeurism(?)maybe(?), rest of the tags are on the masterlist
The lab smelled like sterilized metal and the faint tang of sweat—your sweat. You'd been hunched over samples for hours, fingers twitching every time a distant squesk could be heard. That sound usually meant Quaritch was nearby, boots heavy on the polished floors.
Your spine went rigid when the door hissed open without a knock. The colonel’s shadow swallowed yours whole before he even stepped inside. "Still avoiding me, princess?"
His voice was gravel dragged over pavement, too close now—close enough you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Your throat tightened around nothing as his hand settled on your hip, possessive and warm.
Then his grip twisted, yanking you backward until your shoulders hit his chest, “ Orders were clear” His other hand snaked up to fist in your hair, pulling just shy of painful, “ No excursions outside the perimeter “ You hissed as he jerked your head back, “Yet here you are, smug as hell, waltzing back in covered in fucking pollen “
You sobbed, tears springing to your eyes before you could stop them. Your chest ached as each breath came out uneven, shaking, as though your body itself was betraying you. The weight of his presence pressed down on you.
Tears slipped free despite your efforts, blurring your vision as humiliation and fear tangled together in your throat.
His nose dragged along your neck, inhaling sharply,“ Smell like them, too”
You bucked violently—but the desk met your hips before you could gain momentum. The pencil skirt trapped your thighs, fabric biting into skin as he leaned his full weight against you. His exhale shuddered against your neck, humid and slow, before his tongue swiped a thick stripe from collarbone to jaw.
"Try that again," he murmured into your skin. His teeth grazed your earlobe, nipping just hard enough to make you freeze. The desk's edge dug into your stomach as he shifted, sealing your hips against cold metal while his free hand slid down your side—too slow, too deliberate—to grip your skirt's hem.
You jerked sideways, twisting with everything you had, but his thigh wedged between yours, pinning you harder. Heat bloomed where his cock pressed against the small of your back, unmistakable even through layers of fabric.
He exhaled sharply through his nose and rocked forward, dragging himself against you in a filthy, unhurried grind, “ Thought you'd like knowing how much this pisses me off”
You didn't answer—couldn't—your throat locked tight around an ugly, rising sob. The weight of him crushed your ribs with every breath, forcing the air out in stuttered gasps.
The sob broke free then—wet and ragged—as you twisted uselessly against him. Your palms burned from scrabbling at his thighs, nails catching denim but finding no purchase. "P-please," you choked, voice cracking mid-word like a snapped twig, "Dont do—”
Cold metal bit into your stomach as his palm slid down your spine—slow, deliberate—before gripping the hem of your skirt. A tear ripped through the air as he shoved it down past your thighs, “ Always knew you'd look pretty like this “ His calloused thumb pressed into the soft swell of your ass, kneading until you squirmed.
The first strike cracked like a gunshot, hissing through your teeth before the sting even registered, “Fuck—!" You arched, heels skidding against the floor, but his free hand anchored you in place, “ Ain't even started, sweetheart ”
His voice dripped honey-thick, that lazy drawl curling around each syllable as his palm came down again, harder this time. The heat bloomed in slow waves, each smack layering over the last until your skin burned raw.
"Help! Somebody—!" Your scream shattered against the lab's steel walls. Quaritch's breath hitched in amusement before his next swing landed with a wet smack, teeth gritted behind his grin, “ Louder, sweetheart. See if I care” Another cry tore loose, and his fingers dug into your hip, delivering two rapid-fire blows that made your knees buckle. The pain was a live wire now, snapping up your spine—so when your next scream choked into a sob, he merely hummed approvingly, rubbing circles into the throbbing flesh, “There we go. Knew you could be quiet when it counted”
Your forehead pressed onto the metal, tears dripping onto the keyboard below. His palm cradled your ass again, kneading the flesh, then suddenly flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing. The overhead lights blinded you for a second—long enough for his hand to hook under your chin, tilting your face up, "Look at that," he murmured, thumb swiping through the streaks of ruined mascara.
His grip was almost tender now, callouses catching on your damp skin as he studied you, “Ain't you a sight” The contrast was dizzying: the man who'd just painted your ass red now tracing the curve of your cheekbone like it was scripture.
You flinched when his thumb brushed your lower lip, smearing tear-salty and sticky gloss. His nostrils flared, pupils darkening as he leaned in—close enough to share breath, “ Still wanna holler?" That drawl dripped molasses-slow, mocking. His free hand slid down your ribs possessively, squeezing just shy of pain, “ Or you finally gonna obey?” The question curled like smoke between you.
His hips pinning yours against the console’s edge. One jerk of his wrist and your shirt ripped open, buttons pinging across the floor.
Your breath came in shallow gasps, each one hitching as his rough palms slid up your sides, fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. You shut your eyes tight, focusing—disconnecting—on the hum of the lab’s air vents, the flickering lights overhead, anything but the way his teeth scraped your shoulder.
‘ It’ll get worse if I keep fighting him ‘ The realization slithered through your panic like cold water. You forced your knees apart, letting your thighs fall slack against the desk, even as bile rose in your throat. Grace needed those samples. If I could keep him occupied—stay gentle, stay agreeable—then Grace would have one more day. One more chance to mend what had been fractured with the Omatikaya.
Tears spilled freely down your cheeks at the thought of Doctor Grace Augustine—your brilliant, red-haired mentor with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. She was relentless in her devotion to Pandora, to its forests and floating mountains, to every living thing that breathed beneath its sky.
And her students— Oh, how she loved them fiercely. She taught them, challenged them, and raised them. Grace believed in understanding, in respect, in coexistence, even when no one else would listen. Remembering her now made your chest ache— for Grace
His fingers stilled against your ribs, grip loosening. “Oh? Whats this now? ” His chuckle rumbled against your shoulder blade as his other hand slid up your thigh, fingertips skating over gooseflesh.
You swallowed the whimper threatening to spill out, forcing your voice steady, “ M sorry—wont disobey again” The words tasted like ash, but you let your legs fall wider, hips tilting up in silent surrender. His breath hitched—a sharp, satisfied sound—before his palm smoothed up your stomach, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.
Mile’s laugh was low, whiskey-warm as his fingers traced your jawline, “ There’s that good girl I know,” he drawled, dragging his knuckles down your throat. His other hand kneaded your inner thigh, rough fingertips skating dangerously close to where you burned hottest.
His voice dipped lower, honeyed with satisfaction, “Gonna remember this next time you think about wandering off, ain’tcha?” You nodded quickly, swallowing the bile in your throat, and let out a shaky breath, “ Y-yes, sir. Won’t—won’t happen again”
The words tasted like rust, but you forced your hips to stay lax, your thighs parted just enough for his wandering hand to drift lower. It was like watching yourself from outside your body—the way his fingers traced the lace edge of your panties with deliberate, maddening slowness, rough fingertips catching on the delicate fabric.
‘ Grace needs this— the na’vi too’ The thought anchored you, clinical and detached, even as your pulse fluttered under his palm.
The words tasted like copper when you forced them out, “I-I know I messed up, Miles” Your voice cracked—part performance, part genuine tremor—as his thumb brushed the damp lace between your thighs. His grip tightened, fingers digging into your hip just shy of bruising while his other hand traced idle circles on your inner thigh. The contrast was dizzying—the same hands that had split your skin with stinging slaps now stroking like you were something precious.
Miles hummed, low and satisfied, “Damn right you did”
His grip shifted, fingers digging under your knee as he hauled your leg over his broad shoulder without warning. The sudden movement wrenched a gasp from your throat—your spine arched off the desk.
His nose bumped against your damp panties, inhaling sharply before chuckling, rough and dark, “ Fuckin' soaked through," he muttered, tongue already pressing a wet stripe against the lace before you could even process the humiliation. His lips curled against your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you jerk—but his hands clamped down on your thighs.
The knock came like a gunshot—three sharp raps that made Quaritch go rigid, “ Colonel." Lyle's voice was tight through the door. "We got people. Whole crowd heard the ruckus, we got two minutes” His palm smacked against the metal frame again, urgent. Miles growled, nostrils flaring as his grip on your thighs turned vise-tight.
For one suspended second, you thought he might ignore it—his tongue flicked against your clit through the fabric, teasing—before he snarled and wrenched himself back.
Your leg slipped from his shoulder, bare skin smacking against cold metal as he straightened, adjusting his belt with one hand while the other dragged you upright by your forearm.
His thumb wiped roughly at your smeared lipstick before catching your chin, forcing your watery gaze up, “ This ain't over” The promise curled around you like smoke. Behind him, the door hissed open—Lyle's silhouette tense in the doorway—but Quaritch didn't turn.
His pupils were blown black, gaze raking over your dishevelment as if memorizing every undone button. "Clean yourself up," he ordered.
You hadn't realized your knees were shaking until he stepped back, his tactical vest brushing your exposed stomach as he moved past. The sudden absence of his body heat left you shuddering, fingers trembling against the desk's edge.
Lyle's jaw twitched as Quaritch strode past him, but his gaze—just for a fractured second—dropped to your thighs. His nostrils flared at the sight of your ripped skirt pooled around your ankles, your damp underwear sticking to your cunt making the shape obvious to his gaze.
His throat bobbed as he jerked his head away, but not before you caught the bulge straining against his fatigues.
