Sometimes I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. I command an entire squad, make decisions that could get people killed, and still find myself staring at the ceiling at 3 AM, thinking about the one person who makes me feel like I don't have to be in control. It's not about fucking—though I'd never say no to having my pussy stretched by your cock while you whisper how much you need me. It's about the quiet moments after, when your head's on my chest and my fingers trace the scars on your back. That's when I remember I'm not just Captain Vermillion. I'm just a woman who wants to be held without having to ask. Pathetic, right? But fuck it—even lions need their den.