#looking at these lads blindfolded | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rabbittwist · 1 year

Text

Harsh Directive

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Summary: Holy shit this Drabble took way too long to make.

Word Count: I don’t even know.

MASTERLIST | Simon “Ghost” Riley

WARNING [blindfold, fingering, orgasm denial, rough sex, doggy style, creampie, creaming, slight knife play, slight choking kink, long drabble]

Operation: Via was a success.

The harsh week of cold and rain had settled in your gear nicely, your firearms in desperate need of a cleaning, and your knives looking pitifully dull. Your skin felt dry, covered in a layer of grime from not having a shower in so long, and your hair was definitely greasy, and flatter than when you had left. You needed a wash, some food, and resting time to get yourself back in order. Sure, the carrier gave you two of those three things, but the comfort of base was calling your name and singeing itself well into your brain; your own bed, your own food, your own— well, semi your own, shower— were the only things that would satisfy you, and you were willing to wait the next 3 hours of flight to reach your gratification.

You silently sat with your arms crossed and legs spread, leaning back into the aisle chair while purposefully pressing your back into the buckle to keep yourself in discomfort. You were refraining yourself from dozing off, maintaining a kink-free neck and back from the horrid sleeping posture you would surely put yourself in; you refuse to go through that torture ever again — training with a sore spine was a bigger pain than what you had anticipated, and the aftercare was difficult to manage when it’s just you massaging the bolts out of your neck and back. You grimaced at the memory of barely being able to climb out of bed and slide your uniform on, slowly gazing up to the roof while holding in a chuckle from the next flashback of almost falling while shoving your pants on.

Your eyes fixated on the lights above that lit the fuselage in a dim glow, aircraft nets swinging gently with the plane and knocking on the walls with soft clatters. It was quiet, unusually quiet, until you heard a loud snore croak in front of you and being followed up with another. Quirking a brow, you turned your attention to your front and on Gaz and Soap, who were completely knocked out in the seating across from yours. Gaz’s arms slumped crossed, and had his head tilted down to his twined legs, while Soap was widely spread and fully tilted back towards the ceiling.

Had it been any other situation, you would’ve laughed at the sight of their drooling faces and horrible postures, but the overwhelming drowsiness took over your complete being and left you oddly calm and collected. Just the sight of them made you envious of their sleep, but you would rather be safe than sorry in the long run during one of Price’s excruciating trainings. You blinked slowly away from the sight and to the cockpit doors, fighting the urge to nod off and instead pinching yourself with your vest’s clasps.

“Arrival will be in two hours. Weather is gloomy with possible heavy rain, so prepare for a stroll, lads. Again, arrival will be in two hours. Out.”

Price’s voice disturbed you aware, leaving you a bit more alive and conscious from the startling overcom. The static undertone helped waken your eyes as you heard it go in and out, tired tears pearling into your lashes from the sudden energy surge to stay aware, and soon being wiped away by your scarf. You felt lightly gleeful that home was so close, only needing to remain awake for— counting the time it would take to walk, as well— 2 and a half hours. You could do that.

A small smile formed on your lips, a hand bringing your scarf up to cover it and allow the subtly present scent of your detergent to sink in through your nose. Home. You were going to be home. You wouldn’t have to smell like dried blood and muddy earth anymore, or have to wear it on display. Until your next mission, of course. Either way, you were just glad you’d be going to base soon, and get the well deserved rest you needed.

A rough shot of cognizance rattled through your spine, your hands stiffening and the smile you had deflating as your hairs stood at attention. Your left side felt completely vulnerable all of a sudden, and you felt deeply discomforted by the abrupt exposure, now shifting in your seat to gain some comfort back. Your whole side burned. You felt every layer of protection cease to exist under the blazing stir that set on what felt like your very skin. You were being watched, and definitely not with sweet eyes.

You didn’t need to guess where it was coming from, or who the unforgiving glower belonged to — Soap and Gaz were out, and Price was in the bridge, so that left one out of the four personnel that could be watching you like an angry hawk. And to think you would have a happy time home.

You knew you wouldn’t get away with the stunt you pulled, despite hoping he would brush it off eventually. How could he? He never neglects your wrongs. He never lets your blunders slip by. He never forgets.

You knew it all too well.

Let’s just hope you make it out alright this time.

You were in deep shit the moment you set foot into base. The way your name instantly shot through the room when Ghost snapped for you to come see him tensed the whole squad, already knowing what the issue pertained to. You didn’t need to look back to acknowledge they were all sending weary eyes your way.

“I’ll get your whiskey ready, Hops.”

“Thanks, ‘Tavish. I’m gonna need it.”

Taking your time to get to the door, you threw your gear into a room on the way and let your hair down from its bun. The tingling sensation of your relaxed scalp gave you a short peace of mind as you massaged the sore muscles and succumbed to a false happy place. You thought of all the nice things you’d partake in now that you were home — a nice shower, some cooked food, and your own bed to nap in now that there were no missions to fling yourself into. How you would all sit around the living room and converse about stories of the past, like how they got their scars, type of thing, as you drank the better-than-nothing whiskey for where you were. Ghost barked gratingly for the second time, his voice sharper, louder — filled with impatience, and knocked you straight out of your comforting haven. You felt your nerves pile onto the tip of your tongue, biting your lower lip to sooth the hard beating of your organs, and making your way to your superior.

You passed through the living quarters and down the long hall towards the debriefing room, quietly wishing you could turn around and pretend like you didn’t hear as you watched the comforting bedroom lights glow teasingly into the corridor. You had blinked, just once, and magically appeared in front of the open door that led straight to your doom. You were an anxious mess, fumbling with your gloves as you pulled them off and set them on the counter just beside the door. Taking a deep breath, you began to reason with yourself, mumbling incoherent encouragements to get you to go into the room and power your way through whatever he would yell at you for. Come on, White, you got this. At least you aren’t at Death’s door.. I hope.

The door slammed shut behind you when you had eventually entered, your heart stammering from the harsh snap of wood-on-wood. It felt like you had left reality and entered the dark dungeons of Hell from how drastic the atmosphere shifted. Not even the light felt the same as it blinked inside from the covered windows, nor the speckles of dust that would cascade down to the floor. You focused on your breathing despite your lungs want to collapse from the underlying fear that now set the scene. They practically did when you felt the looming presence of a ghost standing just a few feet away from your back, and deathly silent rage surrounding you like a cloud of toxin.

You need to relax.

You grazed your eyes over to the center table, signature black gear already laid across it with dissected guns and removed armor plates. They looked to have just been cleaned and reapplied with oil, but the finish looked rather rushed and almost careless from how he set every part across the counter. The sight made a cold shudder slither up your spine; Ghost always took care of his artillery, never using rushed hands and little thought when cleaning and placing pieces. You had gotten to him. Bad.

You tore your eyes away from the table and burned them straight ahead, the sound of heavy boots slowly prowling close catching your attention and flooding your veins with mixed apprehension. You recognize that gait, know those boots. Oh fuck..

There was a clipping sound paired with rustling fabric before you saw his vest get tossed by the table with a loud clatter. You flinched at the raucous noise, standing even firmer at attention despite the soft look you tried to portray and mitigate your angered superior.

“Would you like me to put your stuff away with mine?” You asked with a built sweetness. What good would this do? Dig your grave a little deeper? Might as well and try to knock two birds with one stone; ease the tension, ease the Lieutenant.

“You defied a direct order.” He uttered, the underlying reverb in his throat startling your overly aware nerves as his boots heaved on the floor with every step behind you.

You grimaced at the failed attempt to improve the situation, your shoulders tightening and your hands becoming clammy. When you saw the back of his cotton warmer, his steps ceasing after appearing meters in front of you, you audibly sighed, “If we didn’t get those vials then, we would’ve never been able to ransack like that again.”

“You think I give a bloody fuck?” His tone reached deep into his chest, his head snapping just barely to the side. It was a silent command to stand and shut the fuck up.

You snapped your mouth closed, watching as the Lieutenant peered down to a hand and flexed it out to rid the tension in his burly toned arm; he looked as if he would be flexing out claws, his large hands twitching from the urge to grab you and slam you against the wall to teach you a lesson. He was shaking, even just slightly, and was positively fuming for your disregard of his command and jumping straight into a no-coms zone. He had no clue if you’d come back to him either just as you were, or in a fucking casket. “If I see you dead, (Y/n), I swear to whatever bloody fuckin’ god is up there that I’ll be proper fuckin’ shit-pissed. Stay alive. Don’t you dare come back to me strung up in medals.”

He turned fully towards you, his broad frame blocking the incoming light from the window behind him. You looked two sizes smaller than Ghost — his body could fully cover you from view — the size difference enforcing intimidation without even mentioning his burning anger.

"I gave you an order, White." He stalked towards you, every agonizing step forcing you back on instinct, "You don't just ignore your superior's orders— especially not in this line of business."

You bumped into something solid and stopped, your eye contact with the black-suited soldier imposing on your soul and bleeding out with your incoming submission, "I'm sorry, Ghost, I really am. But if we didn't get those vials—"

His fist slammed right next to your head and into whatever you backed up against, your words hitching in your throat as a cracking noise came from the object behind you.

"I don’t care about the fuckin' vials, Rabbit."

You felt your heart practically rip out of your chest with every beat, your eyes wide and your hands pressed flush against the now cracked wall with your back. Your mind screamed at you to run away, acting on your prey instincts from the threatening presence in the room. Yet, you remained silent, unmoving as the Lieutenant’s eyes bore into yours, daring you to take a step away like he knew what you were thinking.

“Do you remember what I asked of you,” Ghost pierced through your ears with an alarmingly rich sonorous hum, “when I had you flush against my door, right on your pretty little knees?”

You felt a boiling heat rush throughout your body, your eyes snapping open even wider in full awareness. The scent of cigarettes and husky cologne was more potent now that he was so close to your figure, a mixture of dirt and old blood evident in his musk.

It practically clouded your senses, a dazed look setting in your eye as the oh-so familiar scent plunged deep into your lungs, yet you still conjured up whatever shitty pride you had left against your dire situation, “Sir, please.. This isn’t the time.”

He grimaced down at your audacity, his accent flaring with obvious fire, “Fuckin’— Do you remember what I asked of you?”

You couldn’t hold eye contact any longer, your embarrassment overpowering your confidence and causing your head to turn away. Yes, you remembered. You remembered the whole ordeal.

The way he shakily purred your name as you bobbed your head up and down his length with soft teary eyes and a constantly bulging throat. How he forced a hand through your hair as he leaned all his built weight into the other, curling his body above you and into his skillfully tattooed arm as he stroked your locks carefully. This was different. This was sensual. He wasn’t rough, and his touches were all filled with the utmost delicate attention like he was handling one of his most precious weapons.

You let out a short, uneasy scoff, trying to divert the perverted memory, “What does that have to do with any of this?”

He flashed you a hard glare, your hope of him going along with your words disappearing instantaneously. When he knew you were firmly silenced, his voice cut through the quiet like a knife through butter, “I’m going to ask you one last time. Do you or do you not remember what I asked of you?”

“.. Of course I do,” You meekly gave in, your eyes scathing back up his body and to his gaze, “That was the last time we were alone together before Op: V.”

He gently combed his fingers through your hair as you continued to suck and lick, focusing on his veined v-line that kept going back and forth with every thrust of your head. He let out a rough groan as your tongue swept along the underside of his sex, his body visibly shuddering as he mumbled, “God damn it, love..” and gripping his supporting hand into a tight fist. He began to snarl incoherent praises, saying how good you were for him, and how he was so lucky to have you assigned under him as his rookie.

"Bun," He inquired, jaw clenching as his eyes gazed down at you with glints of abnormal longing, "Come back to me in one piece— bloody hell, please."

“Then why did you risk it?”

You curled your hands up behind you, looking at anything but him in an effort to ignore the question. You had no option, however, when Ghost called your name with a chilling rasp, your arms becoming littered with goosebumps as your hair stood on edge.

"It's.. It's just.."

You could feel his eyes spark with curiosity at your stutter, finding your nervous form a rare sight, and savoring it with every look over. Despite this, he remained firm with heavy superiority behind every word, "’s just what, White?"

".. I didn't want to get in trouble." You whispered, afraid the whole world would hear your confession.

The room went dead quiet, so much so you swore you could feel the air thicken and begin to choke you through each breath you took. Ghost had froze. He froze with a blank stare straight into your eyes, like he was processing word for word what you said. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, your mind repeated, never once breaking from his swirling gaze. You had no clue what he was thinking, what the subtle glints in his eyes meant as they showered around your body in tantalizingly slow look overs. You wanted him to say something, anything to keep you from basking in the silence and spiraling yourself into an overthinking mess.

You abruptly flinched as he pulled his head away from yours, his voice vibrating in a low pitch and deepening his accent, "What did you say?"

"I didn't want to get in trouble.." You repeated, gulping down a chunky lump in your throat.

He took another moment of pure silence before slowly peeling himself off you. You gawked after him as he went to trudge across the room towards his strewn about gear, looking through it with haste as you remained stuck to the wall. You stood in utter confusion, wondering what in the world was going to happen, until he snapped his fingers and pointed down by his side without giving you a single glance; "Here." You, of course, followed his instruction, and walked up quietly behind him to his side all the while picking at your fingers in nervous habit. You didn’t like not knowing what would happen next, and it seemed like everything he did was to play on your discomfort, taking his sweet yet rushed time to gather whatever he was seeking.

"Trying to get yourself out of trouble is what gets you in trouble. Fuckin' shit, White— you should know this by now."

You felt like a private all over again, being scolded by the second lieutenant during training for doing something slimly out of line, "I'm sorry, Ghost.."

He snapped his head towards you, giving you a scowl through his eyes like that was the last thing you should've said, "Sayin’ sorry won't fix anything when you're fuckin' dead."

You clamp your mouth shut as Ghost turned back to the table, pulling out one of his black cloths from a vest pocket. You were beyond anxious from each of his rushed actions, watching him flick the cloth out of its folds and holding it between his hands.

He turned to face you, watching you examine the black fabric in his hands with wide doe eyes, “Turn around.”

Without wanting to make matters worse, you comply and face your back towards him with a shaky turn. You hear his boots thud against the floor as he comes straight up to your behind, his close presence causing your back to feel oddly sensitive despite the zero contact. It worsened as you felt his firm chest graze your shoulder blades when he leaned forward, his breath seeping into your ear through his balaclava.

“Close your eyes.”

You felt a shiver creep nerve-by-nerve through your system, and how your whole spine became pleasurably tender from marinating in his close-up musk. Your eyes closed with the single flutter of your lids, your adrenaline accelerating from your lack of sight and creating a blissfully heavy sensation in your core.

You gently twitched when you felt what you assumed to be his arms graze past your shoulders, and place the black cloth over your eyes before tying it off securely behind your head. You didn’t dare remove it, and instead embraced the enhanced senses you were given, feeling every vein that split through and around his exposed forearms, and hear every low breath from behind his skull coverings.

“‘Only you were this well behaved on the mission. It’s really a shame, White.. qui-te the shame.”

You let your body tremble as his hands trailed painfully slow down your neck and to the dip in your back, his gloved fingertips grazing your quivering figure with rare delicacy. You relished in the rare attention, involuntarily leaning into his warmth with a soft, shaky sigh passing through your lips from the contact. You missed him. You missed all of him. His body was not something you could see yourself without, and that whole mission was absolute torture; running around to get the job done with little to no time with your ghost. The first night without him went fine, but after the second?

You were both aching for touch. It was becoming impossible to stay curled in your tents, and the overwhelming need for one another’s bodies burned your very cores with hot desire. One thing led to another and you both had your earbuds in, dialed on a private line, and letting yourselves confess your needy desires to the dark heavens above.

“Raise your arms above your head.”

You did as you were told, shakily lifting your arms straight up to the ceiling. His hands removed themselves from your sides and went for your wrists, bringing your arms behind your head and wrapping them around his neck. It stretched your body out nicely, his height forcing you on the balls of your feet and to the tips of your toes just to adjust with the position. Your fingers felt on something soft, something warm gliding under your tips as you stroked down the fabric material. The soft surface subtly rose with bumps as your nails lightly scratched what you remembered as his nape, feeling his locks peak out from under the balaclava, and gently feeling for it. A thick vein trailed up the side of his throat and caressed your exposed wrist, your pulse radiating with his at the sensation of his firm flesh. You were anxious, yet you could allow the Lieutenant to do as he pleased when he brought his palms down to your stomach.

You began dreading the blindfold, wanting to see everything he was doing to you, “Ghost.. Why do I have to wear this cloth?”

His tone reverberated along his throat in a growlish pitch, “So you can understand exactly what I saw when you went into that bloody building.”

“But I don’t see—”

His fingers dug into your v-line and forced a whimper from your chest, his voice burning low, violent, “That’s the fuckin’ point. I didn’t see anything, not a proper fuckin’ thing when you went into that warehouse.”

He leaned in close to your ear, his breath nipping against your shell with every hot exhale, “You’re going to feel exactly what I felt. You’re going to see exactly what I saw. Only you put yourself in this position, and you’re going to sit your ass through it just as I did.”

“Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?”

“Yes, Ghost—”

His grip tightened painfully through your warmers, a hiss falling with your sudden intake of air and shutting you up.

“It’s either yes Lieutenant, or yes sir.. You’ve forgotten your place, White, so you’re goin' to live in it until I see fit. So again, do I make myself fuckin’ clear, Sergeant?”

Had it not been for his leather gloves and your cotton warmer, you knew his nails would've punctured through your skin with how tight his grip on your body was. Did you wish that was the case? Abso-fucking-lutely.

You let his rough handling of you coax an answer from your lips as you finally gave in, your soft voice wavering in defeat, "Yes, Lieutenant.."

"Atta' girl.. Such a good obedient thing when you want ta’ be, ain't that right?"

Oh, if your insides weren't clenching before, they were definitely clenching now. It sounded so dirty, like he stripped you clean of any human title and dubbed you almost like a pet. The blindfold was tied snug against your eyes, unrelenting with how tight your heat was clinging to your insides, or how it made being called a good obedient thing by the predator behind you turn your mind into liquid. You could feel how his body encased your own, and how his skin was burning hot, muscles completely flexed and solid in restraint to keep himself together.

You sucked in a deep breath when you felt his big hands trail down to the buckle of your belt and slowly unclip it, "L—Lieutenant..?"

With a harsh tug, the belt came straight out of your pants and right to the floor, "'Won't be needin' this."

Picking up the bottom of your cotton shirt, he raised it up and over your chest, letting the hem rest messily along your collarbone as he pulled his hands fully off your body. You were stood right against his hard frame, your pants now unbuttoned and zipped down, and your pretty abdomen and covered tits on full display.

His gloved hands grazed down your neck and over your perking breasts, giving them little attention as he continued to trail his cold gloves along your warming skin. You wish he’d rip open your bra and pinch your nipples with unrelenting roughness, but when his leather palms glazed over your v-line, right over your panty line, you wiped that thought clean out of your head with a gentle sigh.

As if sensing your shifting emotions, he clicked his tongue and set his hands just on the hem of your cargo pants with a strict sneer, "Sergeant, keep yourself together."

You let out a shaky response, his firm command urging out a submission of acknowledgment, "Yes, sir."

“That’s my girl. My good, pretty little girl.. I think we should get started with your punishment."

His fingers made their way through your pants and straight to your clothed cunt, his gloves snagging gently against the silky fabric of your panties. His sudden assault caused a flinch to ripple through your body, your mind asking to any god above if this was truly what he said it would be right before he began his torture. You let out a soft squeak when you felt pressure begin to push against your covered slit, drawing small circles on the tip of your clit with his middle finger as it nestled right between your puffy cameltoe.

"Feels fuckin' good, doesn't it?" He murmured, keeping his other hand pinning your ass against his hips.

"Feelin' so right and perfect on my fingers.. Just how I felt when you followed and obeyed under my command like nothing could go wrong."

Noticing your pussy begin to grind against his fingers, he scoffed, settling his hardening arousal right against your ass, "Fuckin' hell..”

He let you continue to move your hips, his mask shifting right against the side of your cheek all the while he savored how your plump rear would shift and press against his thickening sex. He missed this. He missed you. How every morning you'd greet him with such warm eyes, and how every night you'd welcome him into your gushy insides with the most submissive pleas and cries. When you would whine and beg to be stuffed full of nothing but his thick cock, or when you’d put on something that begged for his instincts to grab you and taint your flesh and blood with nothing but him. It practically made him feral at just the remembrance.. But, as much as he wanted to indulge himself, Ghost knew he couldn't let you off the hook, not after firing him up and really showing how scary a tosser could be when it came to his woman.

"'s just like this, yeah? Seeing nothin', absolutely fuck all, and left with the pleasure of knowin' you're alright— knowin' you're in ear's length of coms."

With the increase of pressure on your hardened pearl, and the rougher grind of his large finger circling the pulsing nub, he began to push the little restraint you had on your voice, and forcing quiet groans and mewls past your trembling lips.

"'Felt so good— so fuckin' perfect, like nothin' could wrong me as long as you listened and stayed in contact."

All your mind could focus on was the overwhelming growth of slick and lust forming straight into your guts, and the death pulsing grip the Lieutenant had on your bruising skin. Your bucking hips became desperate, your need to feel your knot grow and snap intruding and releasing your lustful pheromones in the air like an animal searching for a mate— or better yet, to mate— and clinging to every little thing.

"And every single time you answered my call.. It was like music to my ears, Bun. 'Couldn't see you, yet could feel your hot breath right in my ear like you were fuckin' there, right stood next to me, just as it should've been."

You let out a strained gasp when you felt his finger push your panties away from your drooling cunt and forcing itself inside, the palm of his hand rubbing circles over your clit in his finger's stead. The grip you had on his balaclava disappeared, only for your fingers to run straight under the fabric and shakily grab at his hair to somewhat ground your slushing brain. His finger felt like it was stretching you out already, the leather glove aiding in the attack as his digit went in and out, curled and uncurled. You were getting drunk on just his hand, your back arching off Ghost's body as shocks of wrecking pleasure pulsed through your very bones.

A purr-like growl began to rumble inside his throat, his eyes never once leaving the sight of his hand stuffed down your trousers and finger fucking your weeping pussy, “It felt just like how you’re feeling now— so full and right. So euphoric to know you were right under the palm of my hand, and that nothing would come to stop us from getting home.”

You felt your tongue push past your lips when he injected another finger into your clenching hole, shoving right against your flexing cunt, “F—Fuck!”

His hand suddenly stopped moving, earning a needy whine from your pathetically crumbling body, “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Sergeant. If I hear another swear out of you, I’ll leave you as the dumb mess you are right on that couch.”

You felt your eyes widen behind the black cloth, needy pleas and cries straining for his continuous touch, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll behave, I promise!”

With a cocky smirk, he gradually began to set his pace back into your sex, sloppy ‘thank you’s and ‘more’s croaking from your drying throat, “Good girl.”

Your hips began to spasm, the tight knot you’ve been craving for forming at a rapid pace as his fingers hit knuckles-deep into your cunt. Your eyes began to roll up and become half-lidded, drool seeping down the corner of your lip when you let out a short cry from your pussy suddenly quivering and gripping around Ghost’s fingers.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, Bun— are you gonna cum already?” He mused, rubbing his palm harder against your hot clit.

You couldn’t even focus on what he was taunting over, being too caught up in the boiling heat that hit over and over against your insides. You were about to snap, your muscles contracting and retracting rapidly as your body convulsed. The hold you had on his hair was hard, your nails digging into his scalp with a vice grip, and the foggy look you gave to the blindfold screaming for release.

Ghost rubbed the hard edge of his mask right against your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your bruised hips in a forged comfort, “'Felt the same way when I heard you call in after my every order. How it felt so fuckin' warmin' to have you submit whenever I needed to hear your confirmation— without your daft tongue."

A harsh spike of snapping thread spread throughout your womb, flooding your lower half in fuzz and intense heat as your cervix quivered with every involuntary clench. You felt panic rise into your lungs, finding it harder and harder to keep your panting under control as you realized your ending point was being fucked out of you quicker than normal.

You slurred over every word, spreading your thighs out wider as your jaw began to tighten, "Cumming— Lieutenant, I'm gonna— no, I'm gonna—!”

His voice burled deep and rough, the accent you oh-so adored sounding like Satan’s damned temptation, “But then, oh then, did that comfort crumble right through my fingers.”

Just when you felt your eyes roll back into your head, your body fully prepared for your stuttering womb to snap, his touch disappeared in an instant, and the overflowing high that was soon to tip over washing away gruesomely fast. You were left empty, hollowed even, with how quick the change was as your body adjusted to being denied its pleasure. You were left in shock. What the hell just happened?

You could hear the devilish taunt of his voice as you glared into darkness with helpless teardrops forming in your eyes, “You really thought I’d let you burst, White? Bloody fuck, you’ve really been spoiled rotten.”

You sniffed as drops of your pearling tears fell from your eyes, “Th—That’s not fair..”

He couldn’t help the amused scoff that found its way through the mask, his hands grasping your luscious waist in a rough clutch, “'Didn’t tell you to talk.”

“I did what I had to do!”

He snapped, “Watch it, Sergeant.”

The commanding bark quieted your pleads, your sniffs and silent whimpers remaining as your only hope to get what you needed. You pressed your thighs back against his legs, trying to press more of your body into him as an offering, even going as far as to grind your ass against his dense arousal— you were acting like a bitch in heat, and it was getting to the point where even Ghost couldn’t see straight anymore from how slutty you were acting for his dick.

In one rapid moment, you could feel the leather covered fingertips hook around the front of your bra just milliseconds before it came ripping right off your torso. You gasped from his brute strength forcing your bra to come apart in his hands, the weight of your tits forcing out a small whimper of need before you felt the cool fabric of gloves cup the underside of your mounds in a firm hold.

"'Missed these slutty tits and how they fit into my hands just right. 'nd the way your nipples—" He finally brought his attention to your teats, giving them a painful pinch and pull, "— were always so excited to see me.."

You felt the hard skull covering press into the space between your neck and shoulder, listening to him take a deep inhale of your warm scent, "Damn proper perfection, and it's all for me to fuck and break."

You press further into his broad frame, your back flush against his snug fitted warmer. You couldn't get enough of him; you needed more with every passing second, and now with him practically milking your breasts with how he kept pulling and twisting your nipples, you were hopelessly in need of Ghost.

Your heart jarring to keep up with a healthy pace in spite of your embarrassment, you sputtered, "Please punish me more.."

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest, pulling his head back from your shoulder as one of his hands left your tit and grazed it up between your breasts to gently touch your neck, "Punishment isn't meant to be pleasurable, Sergeant."

You tilted your head to the side, allowing his fingers to brush against your pulse and lay comfortably around your throat, “I can’t help it when it’s you punishing me..”

He impulsively allowed his hand to wrap around your supple neck, that small ounce of control he had left finally splitting as his voice dropped down heavy octaves, "You're asking for it now, Bun.."

Swiftly, he released your throat and tore the blindfold right off your head, not giving your eyes a moment to adjust before grabbing onto the back of your bruising nape and pushing you towards the center of the room. You were tripping over your own feet to keep up with his large strides, your legs getting caught up with his in an intertwined mess. Your heart was beating in your ears and your mind was running wild with the varying scenarios that could play out right in this room like the many times before. You were practically dripping at the thought of being manhandled and fucked so stupid that you wouldn't be able to walk for the next few days— hopefully the next few weeks. You might even get your wish with how hasty he was being to get you into place just for him to abuse and litter with his crazed ardor. You brought your hands down to keep yourself steady when he finally got you into a comfortable spot; you were faced right in front of the coffee table, your eyes once again staring at his carelessly thrown about equipment.

Taking no more time to waste, he brutally shoved all his equipment off the table, and slammed your front onto the now clear countertop, breasts down, ass up. You gasped from suddenly being thrown around like a doll, hitting straight onto the wood with a slight bounce, and your pliable flesh rippling from the impact. You could feel the harsh coolness of the wood rub into your nipples, your breasts painfully aroused as your innocent nubs continued to tighten and perk.

In one jarring movement, Ghost had your pants down past your ankles, and your panties left disheveled on your blemished hips with heavy impatience. For the second time, he froze — even if it was only for a split second, you felt it. His hand flinched with a sudden stop against your naked thigh when he began to retract, and the hard breathing that echoed around the soldier had grown quiet for just that moment.

It was proper fucking magic. The way the straps of your underwear perfectly dipped into your glistening flesh, and how your puffy cameltoe was deliciously accentuated by the soft fabric of your cotton panties. It only made his mind spiral helplessly into a feral slop of what it once was, the remembrance of needing to punish you completely forgotten and thrown to the back of his mind. The hunger to ruin your full being was fucking with his brain to where even he was losing his cool.

Like countless times before, he retracted his knife from his chest holster and slammed the 11 inch MTECH right into the oak table, blistering up the surrounding wood layers. He engraved it right in front of your eyes, the brutal sound of the blade ripping straight into the countertop ringing in your ears as you watched his hand linger for just a moment to make sure you acknowledged it, before he let go of the tang with an agonizingly slow retraction — it was a warning.

An unclasping sound startled you out of your stare-off with his weapon, the noise of metal clinking together as his belt buckle laid lax against his thighs coaxing a noise out of you. You swore you were about to lose it when you heard him unbutton his pants, and the unzipping of zipper teeth graze painfully low behind your ass. He was drawing this out for as long as he could, and you knew it, too. From the amount of times he’s edged you, forced you to beg for what you wanted; to put it into perspective, you didn’t know how far gone you could go until you were once on the brink of passing out from the painful edging and needful crying, that’s how well you knew his tendencies.

The knife laid clattered with your torn lingerie, droplets of thick glossy honey dripping onto the long forgotten pile. Slapping of skin and squelching mush underlined heavy growls and sob-filled moans, the room filled with the damp smell of sex and pornish sounds of pleasure.

Through your broken cries, Ghost couldn’t help the snarl that rose from his throat when he felt your weeping cunt brutally hug onto his dick with need. He had lost himself the moment he sunk balls deep into your hole, letting his desire take full responsibility of fucking you till you were completely stuffed with all he could give. He became an animal, his only need being to shove you full with his cock in the most feral way possible. He needed to.

With a final harsh snap of his hips, the grip he had on your waist indented into your skin, and the hold that marked carnally around your neck dug even deeper into your pulse. He sloppily stilled with a small -plap- between your thighs, keeping flush against your raw sex as he took a moment to gather himself. Sweat lined your skins with a shear layer, heavily falling chests fueling the desperate pants for air that puffed against your exertions. You were on the brink of cumming, your pussy convulsing around his cock as you mewled quietly for him to let you release — this was the third time this round he stopped just before you could snap, and the many tears that drooled down your cheeks were evidence of such sin. You couldn’t even beg for it, you poor thing, that’s how far gone you were.

He shut you up with a violent slap on your plump thigh, earning a muffled cry as he made sure his pelvis pressed right into your clit insync.

“Ah ah ah, love— no whining for your fuckings, remember? You’ll take what I give you, and appreciate it like the proper sex whore you are.”

He drew out your orgasm for the next thirty minutes no matter how desperate you cried, or how fucked out you looked. He couldn’t bring himself to let you out of his room without making sure the only thing your body would remember was him and how he was the only one that could fuck you this good. No one could violently edge, or screw you dumb the way his dick could, and your body better fucking remember that.

You felt something hot glide right through your mounds, the moistened cotton of your panties dragging against your clit in slow, shuddering thrusts.

"Fuuckk.. Fuckin' Christ.." Ghost hissed through bared teeth, grinding himself firmly between your wettened thighs, "'Don't know how much longer I can take this.."

You could cry with how badly you needed him inside of you. It was becoming stressfully hard to keep back your curses and whines, and he was picking up on every little frustrated jolt your body made as he made it worse and worse. And it did worsen when you let out a choppy sob as you felt the warmth of his bulge pull away from your soiled underwear, your clit twitching in red searing need for his attention. It all washed away before you could start begging, when you felt a boiling hot heat prod against the very same bud, squealing out when you felt a warm substance smear across your panties up and down over the entrance to your insides.

His fingers hooked under your thin covering and pulled it to the side of your swollen lips, the cold air hitting your exposed inner flesh and causing it to spasm closed. You hiccuped with every passing breath, imagining what was waiting just mere inches away from your weeping hole; is it his fat cock, pulsing blue veins strapping up the underside of his painfully hard arousal? Or was it another teasing set of fingers to ready your cunt for his dick to bottom out inside you? He answered your question to the fullest when he pushed the bulb of his thick cock right between your folds, earning a shocked moan from your quivering lips.

Utterly pleased, he tilted his head back as he savored the way the tip of his aching dick began to slide back and forth against your sex, feeling every wettened, pulsing piece of your cunt. He ran a hand to the dip of your back as he carelessly hung the other at his side, pumping his happy trail with every slow, teasing roll of his hips against your ass.

A guttural sigh purred deep in his chest, one final 'Fuuck..' rumbling through his stitched balaclava before he stilled his hips, regaining some of his lost composure with every raspy breath.

"Time for the— hah..— main event, don't you think, Bun?"

You could only nod as an answer, your heart trying to steady itself while causing a lump to get caught in your throat. Your body was scorching, all too eager to get what you "deserved" and completely milk it for all you could. You were desperate for any friction, and it started showing as you settled your ass back on his twitching desire, small presses and shifting hips never once escaping his sharp eye.

He tutted his tongue in disapproval as he gave your ass a firm smack, letting his dense fingers sink into your plump rear and melt into your flesh, “Patience, little rabbit. All you have to do is say please, and I might consider giving you what you want."

You practically leapt at his offer, twisting your head back to face him with blown out eyes, "Please fuck me, Lieutenant! I can't take this anymore— it's been way too long since we've touched, and I need it! Please, please, please!"

Ghost couldn't help the chuckle that ran up his throat, pushing his glistening cockhead on your burning clit as he started to taunt your pathetic begging, "Who knew the stubborn White Rabbit could be taken down a few notches from just a bloody cock.. What would the team think?"

He slowly glides his fingertips up your spine, going straight from your Venus Dips to your delicate nape with taunting emotive trails of gentle leather kisses, “Not like that matters.. ‘Sides, if they even thought about my dangerous little bun all fucked out and sobbing.. Well, I can guarantee they’d rethink what Hell looked like.”

He leans down over your trembling figure, sliding a hand around to the front of your neck and keeping it in a snug grip, “I don’t give a fuck what the regulations say. You’re mine— all mine to adore..”

Your eyes began to blur with every word, ‘mine’ ringing through your ears like an angel’s love song. It sounded so comforting, so intoxicatingly beautiful that it would’ve brought you down on your knees to listen and hang over every lyric. It would’ve— should’ve been the case, except for the fact that in reality, it wasn’t a heavenly call, but was the Devil in disguise dangling your precious desires right in front of your face with every deep, luscious promise. Fucking Christ.. Who knew the Devil looked so good in black?

“Say it.. Say you’re mine, and I’ll give you my fuckin' cock to cry over just how you want.”

“I..”

You gathered your mush of a brain to at least spark some type of sense in you. You sputtered silent nonsense as you tried to please him, tried to give him an answer like the good girl you were. It felt impossible, but you managed with what little control you had over your dumbed-out mind, and responded with such a weak waver of song.

“I’m yours, Lieutenant..”

“That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

In one violent push, his cock plunged to the root in your mush, a sickening smack of wet skin signifying your glistening pussy lips now trembling around his dense girth. Had it not been for his tight grip around your pulsing neck, you would’ve screamed— screamed in absolute pleasure of finally feeling him to the fullest context. Your attention remained glued to the knife, the shiny serrated edge glinting at you in mockery of your pathetic cry. But did you care? Absolutely not. Simon Ghost Riley was stuffing your cunt full of his dick for the millionth time this month, and you would never feel even the slightest bit of shame in taking him. You were infatuated. You were drunk on him. You were in love with him.

Just like how he was in love with you, his pretty little Sergeant.

Flexing his muscled back with a satisfied sigh, he ran his strong hands down your waist and held it in a deathly clutch, “You’re not allowed to cum unless I tell you to. Is that understood?”

You felt your lungs tighten as a breathy sigh passed through your lips, “Yes, sir..”

“Good fuck bunny. Such a lovely piece of fuck meat, just for me.”

Wrapping your hair around a knuckles-white grip, he slammed away at your gushing insides in pure animalistic rage, delicious feral fapping and squelching noises dragging him on to fuck you as he set off with no soft pace. You gasped out only to whine and moan against every hard slap of your hips, the weight of his dick pinning right up into your cervix tipping you over already— his cock was long enough to reach far inside your cunt and push delectably into that one weak spot that sent you reeling; thick enough to leave you molded, gapping the shape of his cock as a momento of who fucks— who owns your very being, inside and out. God, you were in pure bliss. Feeling this man every night in his bed has left this hole in your chest, something you couldn’t quite describe without thinking about him doing you in and touching every inch of your body. He’s left his mark on you, forever attached to a ghost that guarded from the shadows, yet a man that bedded you in nothing but his deep primal musk. The sensations of his carnal sin would never excrete; your body, mind, and soul would remember the way he tastes, feels, and fucks for the rest of your life. But was that really a problem?

He leaned his broad frame over your glittering body, making sure each thrust was passionate, invigorating as he intimately kissed your guts with wild heat. You felt his abdomen graze your back with every pull of your hips towards his exposed pelvis, the feeling of hot cotton and tightened muscles looming above your figure as he pressed you further into the table. You were small compared to his burly size, a single hand able to make home around your neck in a clasp that could still touch at the back of your throat. His thighs that kept yours spread were thick, thrusting against them in a firm stance to ensure they stayed apart and around his dense muscles. His torso.. don’t even get started on his torso. The tight fit of his black shirt perfectly accentuated every crisp line of his abdominal muscles, his strong ribs and sharply cut v-line pressing neatly into the fabric around every tensed ab. You were a lucky girl to experience such a deadly built predator like himself rubbing and fucking into your poor subordinate body. He was the size of an ox compared to you, a small bunny.

He growled lowly in your ear as he tugged your head back into his shoulder, “Don’t you ever disobey me again.. Don’t you ever— fuck— go under my authority again.”

Pulling you back on his dick, he slammed into you after every rough word, “Is.. -plap- that.. -plap- under.. -plap- stood?”

Your nails dug straight into the wood, pressing your reddening cheek into his stitched mask in an attempt to ground yourself, “Gnngh! Yes, sir!”

Without another word, he let go of your hair and allowed your head to rest on the cold wood, swiftly taking hold of your arms and pulling them back towards him in a single clasp. He released your bruised waist from his vice clutch, only to grab onto your shoulder and pull you back on his cock as he rashly snarled, “Take it.. Take this fucking cock.”

The tip of his dick deliciously fucked into your tight pussy, the feeling of his happy trail pounding possessively into your ass gushing out more of your stringy honey. He never let up on his assault, making sure you savored this just as much as he was; the way his cock relentlessly claimed every inch of your guts, and marked your pink in glossy white precum. And how with each passing second, your moans grew louder, unfiltered by anything to hold your pleasure back and overpowering his raspy curses and growls.

He starts coming back to himself, slowly but surely, as he drove his hips into yours in a constant state. He began to have the ability to appreciate how he sunk into your sex inch-by thick-inch with mild resistance of your clenching walls, and how your body would jitter perfectly against his when he thrusted just at the right angle. You were so delicious on his dick, trying to milk him for his worth with the vice-like clench you had on his pumping arousal. How he managed to survive the mission was beyond him, but the reward afterwards was all worth the wait as he could finally refill your hole with his veiny, heavy cock.

Tears prickled into your soft lashes, a small hiccup jolting through your ragged breaths, “Oh, God..!”

His hips slowed just enough to where your voice would calm down, taking your chin in a harsh grasp as he removed his hold on your shoulder and forced you to look over at him. His eyes burned holes into yours, clear utter possession and want flaring around his deep leather browns as he watched pearl after pearl streak down your cheeks from your cute butterfly wings.

“You know, it’s very fuckin’ rude to moan another man’s name as I’m bottomin’ out in you, even if you’re praying to God himself.”

With a low scoff, he whispered against your burning ear as he turned your head back to his knife, “Like he could do any better..”

Your stuttering apology slurred into nothing but noise, too fucked out to even try as your mind focused on how his dick twitched inside of you and dragged against your insides. The overwhelming heat of your sex piled and piled, getting far too scorching that you were on the brink of calling it quits. And yet, at the thought of having this end, you couldn’t bring yourself to tap out and return to your original home plan. You were drunk on his cock, the feeling of every pulsing vein and curve of his twitching sex throwing you further and further into the lustful fog at the back of your mind.

Your soppy cunt sucked and squeezed on his dick, your end drawing near with every slap of your coated thighs, and every desperate tug at your aching arms. Your womb burned with the need to snap, your legs shaking violently as your body begged for release, to reach that plain of ecstasy that would make you see fuzzy white. It was driving you mad, the denial to cum earlier ravaging your nerves like a powerful source as he continued to fuck you straight into the table. You were overwhelmed by all the cloudy sensations of sin— his smell, his dick, his chest, his mask— him. It was like biting into the forbidden fruit when you met him behind closed doors, your bodies colliding and dancing in the fires of your own desires as you gave in to your intrusive thoughts of the ghost.

It was likewise for the shadow himself, feeling the wrongs of behaving in such an inappropriate manner with his subordinate, yet being unable to look away from your innocent eyes as he passed by. To him, you were the temptation, the taboo. You were the forbidden fruit that God himself placed before him— a perfect little angel all for him to ruin and claim with every searing touch. He knew he was trapped the moment he gave in and took your body as his with a simple little graze of his fingers across your naked back. He didn’t mean to get attached. He didn’t mean to always come crawling back to your door that sat just across the hall. But he wasn’t dumb. He knew once that innocent little spark ignited in his cold chest, he had to have you. Call it fiction, but it was like fate for you to be his, just as it was his to be yours.

Sliding his hand away from your neck, Ghost pulled up his balaclava just above the tip of his nose before returning his grip to your blemished throat, “You’re going to— fuckin’ shit— cum all over my cock, and scream out my name like the good little fuck rabbit you are. Copy that.”

“Copied..” You moaned as your eyes scathed away from the knife, accentuating the 'e' with a short, fucked-out purr.

He groaned at your weak answer, shoving his clenching jaw into your neck as he looked up at your glistening face, “That’s— That’s my fuckin’ bun.”

As his need grew, he couldn’t hold back the feral upbringing of possession before he sunk his teeth into your flesh, only enough to leave a gruesome mark for your later discovery when you would clean yourself up in the showers. The possessiveness in his affirmation only made your heart flutter as your stomach did flips from how his voice thundered low in a lustful pitch before he laid needful claim on your neck. It didn’t stop there, either, as his teeth made your neck his personal canvas with deep love bites and purpling hickeys— you were his muse, and his muse alone to show off.

Pulling back from yet another hickey with a sickening pop, he placed his skull covered forehead right into your trapezius with a carnal snarl, “In or out, pet.”

You gasped out for a shaky breath of air against his rough thrusts, looking up into the ceiling as you arched your back in acceptance, “In!”

That was all he needed to hear, his pounding into your raw cunt becoming a feral mess of loud squelching and quickened slaps as his abdomen clenched and heavy balls tightened with the need to cum. You weren’t far behind, not in the slightest, as your mushy pussy began to spasm with your pulsing clit, your womb a burning fire that was ready to spread in an instant.

“Oh— cumming! Cumming, cumming, cumming!”

“Say it— say my fuckin’ name. Scream my bloody fucking name to whatever god is listening as you cum.”

That was it. You tipped right over the edge and screamed out his name, screamed out Simon. Your womb stuttered with each thread snapping and flushing throughout your core in convulsing heats, your hips bucking back into his as your eyes crossed up before fluttering shut. His arms quickly encased your body, wrapping around your waist and hugging you close as he fucked into you and coursed you right into overstimulation. With your arms caged under him, and your twitching figure forcing gurgled noises past your lips, he bottomed out inside of your cunt, sharp thrusts pushing every last drop straight into your womb and filling you to the brim.

Strained pants and groans puffed through the air as you came down from your highs, your legs shaking and possibly put out of commission from the restless fucking you had been given. The Lieutenant laid over your worn out body, resting his arms on the table to keep from piling too much weight on your small figure. He gazed at the mess of your spoiled skin from his markings, surging with pride over what he had done to his girl as his panting began to return to normalcy.

His attention snapped down to you, however, when he felt one of your soft fingers delicately trace along his tattooed sleeve, your eyes foggy while you looked over your shaky work. To keep his returning arousal down was a fucking war, but he managed when he noticed a gushing sensation ripple around his softening cock.

Ghost slowly sat up, running his hands over your sweaty skin to see what mess he had left between your quivering legs, and oh boy, did another war tear right through him when he saw that you had creamed all over his pelvis. His seed had began to spill out of your stretched hole, mixing with your own exertion as it traveled down your thighs and leaked straight from the source.

“Fuckin’ hell.. What a mess.”

You could only listen as he pulled out of your cunt, still keeping his form over your body in a protective stance just before he gently picked you up off the table and placed you on his lap when he sat in a chair. He pulled you close to him, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you finally managed to catch your breath and fill back with your lost sanity.

Stroking your back with a careful thumb, he peered down at you and spoke with a soft rasp, “You okay, love?”

You swallowed a forming saliva, wetting your dried throat before responding with a weak voice, “I’m okay.. I just hope they didn’t hear..”

Ghost couldn’t help the smirk that wiped onto his lips, “Oh, I’m sure they did. From the way you screamed my name, there’s no way they didn’t hear you creaming on my dick.”

You shook your head and nuzzled into his bunched shirt, sighing contently despite the sinful activity that just took place, in the debriefing room, no less, “God damn it..”

“Let’s go, MacTavish! You’re taking two minutes longer than last time!”

“Yes, sir!”

Price watched as Gaz and Soap wrestled around in the dirt, trying to overthrow one another as the spar continued. Ghost stood silent, arms crossed as he watched the two Sergeants have at each other, noting all their flawed advances and misses.

The Captain flashed his eyes towards his Lieutenant, gazing over his attentive posture before going back to the training, “Where is White?”

“I told her to sleep in for today.” He responded, eyes never once leaving the two men.

“I wonder why..” Price muttered, running a hand down his face with an amused scoff before returning it to his side, “You’re lucky I sent those two off to help with the luggage.”

Ghost just barely gave him a side glance, his own amusement underlying his blank stare before looking back at Soap tackling Gaz.

With a sigh of defeat, he shook his head as he crossed his own arms, “Your way of punishment astounds me, Simon.”

At this, he couldn’t help but let out his own thoughts, a subtle joking tone playing in his voice, “A little harsh directive time and again saves you the trouble, Price.”

“Yeah— saves me the trouble, grants you the pleasure.”

5K notes · View notes

run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 1 year

Text

The Gift That Keeps On Giving (NSFW)

Summary: When Izzy is invited to dinner with the captain of the crew holding him for ransom, he gets a lot more than he bargained for (much to his delight).

Word Count: 5904

Izzy was on a ship. That much he knew. Large, rough hands held him by the arms, hauled him onto the ship and the winds steadily changed. He was on a ship and he was moving. He was also blindfolded. He could hear the crew moving around him, idle chatter that he couldn’t quite work out as they took their ship out to sea.

He was brought to a halt, his arms tugged against and forcing him to stand up straight. Footsteps approached, quality boots by the sound of it. The steps were mimicked by another pair of feet. Two people were approaching him.

A clap of hands. “Alright lads, what did you get me?” The voice sounded pleased. Authority dripped from their tone but not necessarily cruel.

“Blackbeard’s first mate, captain,” the man on his right spoke.

“Oh, come on now, show him some respect,” the first voice spoke again with a small tut. A few more approaching steps and Izzy could sense somebody standing in front of him. He held back a flinch when fingertips touched his cheeks, slipping under the cloth tied around his head.

He blinked as the blindfold was removed, adjusting to the late morning sun. His assumptions were correct. He was on a ship, sailing away from the port the Revenge had docked at last night, his arms held by two men and their, assumed, captain standing only a foot or two in front of him.

“This right there, is Israel Hands. Best sword in the Caribbean. I’m impressed,” you grinned, looking the man up and down before tossing the blindfold to your first mate, who stood just behind and to the right of you.

“Told you it was a fine gift,” your first mate preened, catching the cloth with ease and tucking it into their pocket.

“The best,” you agreed, flashing them a smile before turning your attention back to Izzy Hands.

He was dressed the way you had expected him to be, in all black and leather, his weapons having been removed when he was apprehended.

“What the fuck do you want?” Izzy demanded through gritted teeth.

You just smiled as he growled at you and your crew. You weren’t unreasonable, he was being held captive, you couldn’t expect him to be polite and pliant. It would have been a little disappointing if the infamous Israel Hands didn’t put up a fight.

“Well, no reason to keep you out of the loop. You’re a valuable resource, First Mate Hands. I’m sure your captain and crew will be willing to pay for your safe return,” you informed him.

“Blackbeard won’t pay a random, he’ll kill you,” Izzy scoffed. He sounded like he’s had this conversation before.

“I have faith in my crew,” you shrugged, unfazed. “Anyway, you needn’t worry for your wellbeing, harming you won’t increase the ransom. Play nice and you’ll be treated fairly.”

Izzy just glared, figuring you were patronising him. Talking to him like a child in the hopes he doesn’t fight too much.

“Where should we take him, Captain?” the man on his left asked.

You pondered it for a moment, looking him up and down again. The way you looked at him didn’t make him tense but it did make his spine tingle in an unfamiliar way, he decided it must be his body reacting to a threat. His biology had probably developed a sixth sense for it at this point.

“Put him in the hold, next to the other treasure,” you decided, sounding completely genuine, not like you were mocking him.

The crew didn’t seem surprised by this order, the two men apparently in charge of his captivity turning him around and marching him down into the ship.

Izzy didn’t fight too much, he wasn’t stupid and he had been in similar positions before. He was alone, massively outnumbered, and in the middle of the ocean. He had no chance of taking them on and winning. Maybe if your crew was more akin to Bonnet’s skeleton crew, but your ship was obviously a more typical pirate ship. Properly manned and armed. Even from his short time on the deck, he saw more crew members than the Revenge had.

He was escorted down to the hold and over to a well lit corner that was barred off like a cell. Izzy slowly took in the space as he was walked inside and released of his restraints. The cell door was already pulled shut and locked by the time he turned around.

“Do you read?” one of the men asked.

“What?” Izzy squinted at them, looking for the hidden meaning.

“Can you read? The captain wants to know.”

“...yes.”

“Any preferences?”

“...no.”

The two of them just nodded before leaving, the door to the hold closing behind them.

Izzy’s face scrunched up in confusion as he looked around his strange cell again. The corner cell was surprisingly…cosy, not a word he would usually use. There was a table and a single chair pressed against the wall. There was an actual cot rather than a shelf bed, with a stuffed pillow and a soft blanket. Fucking hell, this cot looked comfier than his one on the Revenge.

There was some material hanging by the cell bars, held back against the wall with a hook. Izzy frowned as he examined it, unhooking the material and pulling it out. He was amazed to find that it acted like a curtain on the inside of the cell, offering him some privacy.

What kind of brig was this?

“What the fuck?”

“First Mate Israel Hands?” you questioned your first mate as they followed you into your quarters.

“You’ve heard the rumours about Blackbeard, found out they were true when we were docked in the Republic. Sent some of the crew after their First Mate,” your first mate informed you.

“Brilliant,” you grinned, pouring you both a drink. “On the next raid, you get the first pick of the hoard. Take whatever the fuck you want,” you promised, handing them a glass.

“Thank you, Captain,” they raised their glass to you before taking a drink. “Knew you’d like him.”

“Let’s hope Blackbeard takes him time tracking him down,” you smirked against the rim of your glass.

Your first mate laughed, knowing you well. “Don’t go getting too possessive.”

“Me? Never!” you gasped dramatically before shooting them a playful wink.

About twenty minutes passed, by Izzy’s estimation, before a crewmember came down to the hold. They didn’t speak to him much but provided him with a decent supply of water and a book. All the crewmember really said was that the book was selected personally by the captain. Then they left him again.

Hours then passed before somebody else came for him. Hours that Izzy spent pacing the length of his cell and practically vibrating with confusion and stress. He had been in hostage situations before, plenty of pirates had, and he knew the average routine, he knew what to expect and how to react.

He had only been aboard this ship for the better part of a day but he couldn’t figure out what game they were playing. This wasn’t the standard kidnapping for ransom like he had experienced before and not knowing what to expect was like torture.

All Izzy was certain of was that this was a trap, and he refused to fall into it.

This time when somebody came for him, he recognised him as the person who stood behind the captain. Most likely the first mate.

“The Captain wants to see you for dinner,” they informed him. He only glared back, cautious more than anything, knowing better than to show weakness. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re inviting you for dinner and Chef is rather proud of what they put together. Be polite, eat your fill. You’ll be back here to sulk before you know it.”

There was snark in their words but a certain softness in their tone. Maybe soft was the best word to describe it but it didn’t sound like they meant him any harm.

Without any more prompting, the first mate opened the cell door and gestured for his hands. Izzy sighed and held his arms out in front of him, letting them cuff his wrists.

“Just a precaution. You were rather hostile boarding the ship. Don’t worry, the Captain understands and won’t hold it against you,” they excused.

Neither of them spoke as they led him up to the captain’s cabin. They knocked on the cabin door and waited for somebody on the other side to call out for them to enter, then walked Izzy into the cabin.

“Brought you your guest, Captain,” they announced, bringing Izzy to a halt a few feet away from the door.

“Thank you. Treated him kindly, I hope,” you placed a drink down as you crossed the cabin, approaching them.

“Of course, as ordered,” they nodded diligently.

“Go and enjoy your dinner, I can take it from here,” you dismissed them. Your first mate nodded, leaving without another word.

Izzy heard the cabin door close behind him and now your full attention was on him. All consuming but not oppressive.

“Mr Hands, I hope your quarters are to your liking. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to visit but I’m sure you understand how busy running a ship can be.” You were the perfect picture of a welcoming host, at least Izzy thought you were.

It was probably similar to something Bonnet would say to a prisoner. However, unlike Bonnet, you didn’t sound condescending and there was something imposing about you. You were being welcoming and friendly, but you were dangerous. Izzy could see that, had no doubt about it.

“That’s what you call a brig?” Izzy questioned with faux casualness.

“Oh God no,” you huffed, waving your hand dismissively like he had made a common but silly mistake. “We have a brig, of course, for those who have wronged us. You haven’t done anything wrong, you’re simply a treasure we wish to trade. Therefore, you belong in the hold, not the brig.”

He supposed your logic made sense in some demented way but now the confusion was written all over his face. You couldn’t exactly blame him for his cautiousness, you knew you ran things a little differently to most, some might even say you're eccentric, and if the rumours about Blackbeard’s ship were to be believed, it was very different to what Izzy would be used to.

“Now, I’m sure you’re hungry,” you clapped your hands together, pushing the evening on, not wanting the food to go cold.

Finally, Izzy noticed the table set with two full plates prepared. “Come, sit.” You pulled out a chair for him to sit on.

Izzy slowly approached, you didn’t rush him, and sat on the chair. He should probably play along, how bad could it be?

You flashed him an honest smile as you sat in the chair opposite him. You told him to enjoy and began to dig into your own meal. With his hands awkwardly cuffed together, Izzy picked at his food, only because you had given him another signal to eat something.

During dinner, Izzy watched you, trying to make sense of his situation.

You seemed kind enough, the perfect host really considering the situation, but he could see under that. Nobody becomes a pirate captain without the capability for ruthlessness, without the ability to carry out violence unapologetically and not let it drown them.

You commanded the respect of your crew without the use of threats, that told Izzy all he needed to know. They respected you, maybe even liked you, but trusted you would do whatever it takes to ensure they thrive. They might not fear your wrath, but they knew your enemies should.

Under the sincerity in your expression, he could see the darkness in your eyes, the look that told him his assumptions were right. You were kind and welcoming but would be able to be the exact opposite should you need to be, if Izzy gave you a reason to be. That tingle in his spine returned, making him sit up a little straighter.

You took your last bite and washed it down with some sweet wine. “You’ve barely eaten,” you observed, eyeing his plate.

He had managed some meat and potatoes but wasn’t much in the mood for a meal. “Not hungry.” Izzy expected frustration, a comment about how ungrateful he was.

“I imagine today’s events have soured your appetite,” you hummed your understanding. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been held captive but I remember not eating much either. Then again, the little food they did provide was barely edible.”

You finished your drink and stood from your seat. Walking around the table, you placed a hand on his shoulder. The light touch sent unfamiliar warmth through his body. “Come sit with me, Izzy,” you squeezed his shoulder gently before removing your hand and walking over to the little seating area.

Doing as he was told, Izzy stood and followed. You gestured to one of the two armchairs and he obeyed, taking his seat there. You sat in the armchair opposite him, a small table positioned between you both.

“What do you want?” Izzy asked. So far you had been relatively forthcoming but that only made him more suspicious. Surely, you were lying, because it would just be too easy if you were telling him the truth.

“I’ve told you. Ransom. A rather standard procedure,” you shrugged, lounging comfortably but authoritatively in your armchair. Your gaze never leaving him.

“Blackbeard won’t pay. He’ll burn your ship down,” Izzy sounded tired, and he supposed he was. He’d gone through all of this before, everyone too stupid or too arrogant to listen to him.

You sighed heavily, assessing him before standing again. You walked purposely around the small table between you both. He found himself sitting straighter as you approached, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin, folding his cuffed hands in his lap.

“For the last time, Hands, I’m not worried about that. Would you like to hear why?” The toes of your boots touched his with how close you were standing, your expression neutral and unrevealing as you watched him.

“Enlighten me,” Izzy intended to snap, to snarl, to push and prod you. Instead, his voice wavered embarrassingly.

“Firstly, Blackbeard does not scare me. I don’t underestimate him, I know he is a brilliant sailor and tactician, but so am I. The Queen Anne’s Revenge is a ship and a crew to be reckoned with but, once again, so is mine. May I remind you that Blackbeard is no longer aboard the Queen Anne, instead he is sailing on the Revenge with the Gentleman Pirate and his less than experienced crew. My crew wouldn’t act without doing their research first, ensuring we had the upper hand. Blackbeard is a force to be reckoned with but he is still just one man.”

Hands placed on the arms of Izzy’s chair, you lean over him. Your gaze hard and serious, tone steady but with a confusing underlying softness. This wasn’t a threat, it was an honest warning. You weren’t trying to scare him, you were just explaining yourself, sure and confident but not arrogant. Izzy remained still and silent under your stare.

“Their ship will be on the seabed before they can fire their first cannon,” you ensured, if that was the right word to use. Your fierce protectiveness of your crew and your ship was palpable.

You assessed the man beneath you, measuring his reaction. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he seemed flustered. A warm pink flush creeping up his neck and over his ears.

“They will not touch my ship, they certainly won’t burn it down. You’re in safe hands, Izzy.”

Izzy squirmed under your intensity, a tiny broken sound escaping his throat when one of your hands landed on his knee. It was like your palm set his nerves on fire even through the leather of his pants. It was only then that he realised how uncomfortable those unforgiving leather pants had become.

“I won’t let anyone cause harm to my ship, just as I won’t let anyone lay hands on you.” The hand on his knee moved slowly but steadily, sliding up the inside of his thigh.

Izzy would curse himself for the way his hips shifted tellingly or the way his hands curled into fists, but he could barely put together a coherent thought. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, couldn’t look anywhere but at your eyes. Dark with emotions he couldn’t name. His own eyes were wide and bright, unknown to him, you would even call them pleading. He didn’t even know what he was pleading for.

His eyes screwed shut as he threw his head back against the headrest of the chair, knuckles turning white as a moan slipped past his lips. His hips jutted up in surprise and pleasure, pressing harder into your hand that was now cupping his crotch.

You gave a small squeeze, drawing a gasp from him before still your hand completely. His chest rose and fell with a steadying breath before his muscles relaxed and his eyes fluttered open again.

You removed your hand then, using the same one to run your fingers tenderly through his hair. You let a small smile slip as he relaxed further under your touch before gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger, making sure he was looking at you and listening.

“Alright, Izzy. Listen up, now. Okay? This is the most important thing I’m going to say all evening,” your voice was softer now but with an edge that made him hang onto every word like it was gospel.

“You were brought onto this ship for ransom, nothing more untoward. This will only happen because it’s something we both want. Doing it or not, nothing changes. If you don’t want this, you simply go back to that space in the hold with your leftover dinner, books of your choosing, and some fresh water. Your treatment here will not change. Nobody will hurt you. I am not interested in people who are not interested in me. I am not interested in taking advantage in such a way, the only reason I’ve put hands on you in any way is that you appeared interested.”

Of course, you meant it. Your crew brought Izzy aboard your ship in the hopes that he will bring in a generous ransom. Of course, you admired Izzy’s reputation and thought he was plenty attractive, you wouldn’t deny that. However, even when you invited him for dinner, you had no goals other than conversation. You just couldn’t help yourself when you noticed the tightening of his pants, the obvious bulge of interest.

“But now I am asking and want an honest answer. Do you want this?” You watched him closely, holding him in place with a grip just light enough that he could easily pull away if he wanted.

Letting his mind race and jump to catch up, Izzy found himself staring at you. His response didn’t come quick and when most would have snapped or demanded an answer, you waited patiently, your expression giving nothing away.

“Yes.” Izzy felt his answer rise from his chest, heavy but as natural as breathing.

“Yes, what?” There was a hum of approval in your question.

“Yes…I want this,” Izzy answered again, sounding a little more cognizant.

“Then you’ll have it,” you smiled as you released his chin, dropping your hand back down to his crotch. “Change your mind at any time, just say it and we stop. Yes?”

Izzy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as you lazily began to undo the laces of his pants.

“I must be very lucky, to just so happen to dock in the same port as Israel Hands,” you hummed as you pulled him out of his pants. “To have you aboard my ship, sitting so prettily in my cabin.”

You stroked, slow and languid. He might even call it lazy, except you didn’t seem like the type to do anything halfheartedly. Your touches were far from disinterested, they were just unhurried. Like you had all the time in the world and wanted to spend it doing this.

“There you go, just relax,” you brought your other hand up to his hair again, already able to see how he liked having it played with. “It’s just us, let it out,” as you watched his face, you could see him biting down on his bottom lip, silencing himself.

Thankfully, your encouragement, your order, had him releasing his lip and moaning softly into the space between you both. You just watched him like he was something precious, something worth cherishing, as you undid him with nothing more than your hand.

Izzy gasped as you stroked him through his high. Unable to resist his mouth, the hand in his hair came around the back of his head as you lent down and caught his lips with your own. He whined into the kiss and you took it as a signal to take your hand away, easing off as he became oversensitive.

As you pulled away from him, you nipped at his bottom lip. Izzy breathed heavily, watching you through hooded eyes as you pulled a handkerchief out of your pocket and wiped your hand clean.

“Absolutely stunning, Israel,” you praised, true fondness written in your features. Izzy hummed, pleased, and let the rest of your praise wash over him as you, oh so kindly, tucked him back into his pants and laced them back up loosely.

Taking in his blissed out expression, you felt a wave of fondness rush over you. You then dropped to where his hands sat in his lap. “Let’s get these cuffs off of you, they can’t be comfortable.”

He just nodded, instinctively lifting his hands for you to assess the cuffs. “Promise to behave?” He nodded again.

“Very good,” you rewarded him with a smile as you pulled a key out of another pocket. You unlocked the cuffs and removed them, placing them on the little table behind you. “I have no doubts you know how to behave, I have a feeling you can be just the sweetest little thing,” you held his wrists in your hands, stroking your thumbs over the insides of them. The cuffs hadn’t been tight enough to leave marks.

Izzy stared up at you, the sensitive skin of his wrists tingling. He found that he wanted to be, for you. He didn’t think he was sweet, didn’t think himself capable, but he could follow orders. And if he happened to enjoy it, who was here to judge him for it?

“I think you should thank your captain for their hospitality, don’t you?” There was enough authority in your voice for it to register as an order, but there was a look on your face that told him he could say no. Just like you had promised him earlier.

“Yes,” Izzy breathed.

“Yes?”

“Yes…yes, Captain.”

It should feel wrong, calling anyone but Edward his captain, he wouldn’t even call Bonnet by that title. Yet he was already finding it too easy to offer you that respect. It sent a thrill through him.

You have his wrists a gentle squeeze for dropping them and turning away from him. You returned to your own armchair, sitting back comfortably. When Izzy didn’t move, you spread your legs lazily and patted your thigh.

The order registered immediately and Izzy was on his feet, standing between your legs. You didn’t need to say anything, just raise an eyebrow, and Izzy sank to his knees.

You ran fingers through his hair as he rested his head against your thigh. “Just sit for a moment, darling.”

He shifted, eyebrows pinching slightly, like he was feeling antsy or unsure. “Do you feel good?” you asked, giving a tiny tug to his hair to make him settle. His eyes fluttered shut and a soft sigh passed his reddened lips at the slight burn. He nodded, pressing his face against your thigh. “Then just enjoy it for a moment, we have plenty of time,” you promised.

It was quiet as the two of you sat like that. Your hand in his hair, gently running your nails over his scalp.

As Izzy knelt between your legs, head cushioned against your thigh, enjoying the quiet attention you gave him, he felt his thoughts drifting away. He couldn’t feel the hard floor under his knees, only cushioned by a rug. He felt like he was floating, a mindset he had never managed to fall into, never managed to maintain.

Izzy didn’t know how much time passed but you never hurried him. You waited until he shifted, until he appeared to be getting agitated, until he blinked up at you.

“Want some more?” Izzy nodded, nuzzling into your palm when you caressed his cheek. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“T’make you feel good too,” he slurred and you knew for a fact he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all day.

“You really are so sweet,” you cooed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He whined softly at the feeling.

You undid your pants, lifting your hips from the chair as you tugged the material down. As the waistband reached your lower thighs, Izzy tentatively reached up to assist you. “Good boy,” you approved, taking your own hands away and letting him pull your pants further down your legs.

Without prompting, Izzy shuffled closer, fitted between your legs like he belonged there. He kept his hands folded in his lap, looking up at you with hazy eyes, his pupils blown out like yours most likely were as well.

“So eager, sweetheart. Aren’t you just lovely?” you lounged back, bringing a hand down to pet his hair. He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Such a lovely pet,” you couldn’t help but coo at him, loving how he responded.

Izzy nuzzled his face against the crook of your thigh, not touching without explicit permission. “Go on then, pet,” you permitted, letting your legs part a little more, as much as your pants would allow.

Izzy happily got to work, his lips and tongue hot and diligent. Izzy hummed to himself, unable to get close enough. He lost himself in the task, spurred on by your satisfied breaths and little moans.

You were speaking, your tone soft and fond, praising him. He couldn’t focus on the exact words but he must have taken them in subconsciously because he was still preening and moaning against you. The sounds he was making made you think that he was enjoying this even more than you were.

The whole time, you pet and tugged at his hair, responding to his reactions until you knew just what he liked. And your praise never stopped.

He looked up at you through his lashes, flushed and eager, and that’s all it took for you. “Fuck,” you gasped, followed by various utterances of his name.

Izzy didn’t pull his mouth away until you pulled him off by his hair. You knew you were damned when you saw his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean.

“So lovely, pet. You have some hidden skills, don’t you?”

Izzy watched as your chest rose and fell, feeling a sense of pride that he was able to please you. You were still playing with his hair and he lent into it some more, his hips rolling against his will.

Your laugh was warm, not mocking, when you noticed that he had gotten hard again. In all honesty, he was surprised, he wasn’t a young man anymore.

“Oh, would you look at that,” you said, like he had done something wonderful, something worthy of attention and praise, like he wasn’t just some desperate dog. “Lovely,” you hummed as you slipped boot between his legs.

“Spread your knees, pet. Take care of yourself while I catch my breath,” you offered, slipping your boot forward as Izzy obediently spread his legs.

Izzy had already come this far so he didn’t need any more prompting to begin rutting against your boot. It was pathetic, his search for pressure, his face pressed into the inside of your thigh and moaning to himself. You didn’t seem put off by his desperation, just lounging in your chair, stroking his hair and caressing his face.

Here he was, on his knees in the captain’s cabin. Not even Blackbeard, another captain. Moaning and tutting, pathetic and desperate. He was disgusting. He could hear the nonexistent laughter, could hear all the comments the people he knew would make.

Just as he felt the tears pricking in his eyes, you ran the pad of your thumb under his eye. “You’re beautiful, Izzy. Could let you do this all day. Perhaps a pillow under your knees next time, can’t be comfortable,” your voice anchored him back to where he was. Your cabin, having him serve you but focusing on his pleasure just as much. Speaking to him kindly and sweetly. Seemingly cherishing, dare he think loving, him.

“So good, pet. Absolutely perfect, Israel.”

It was like being shot, the orgasm that tore through it. It came out of nowhere, hurtling towards him and colliding like a cannonball. You cooed and shushed him, holding his face in your hands as his hips jutted against your leg without his control.

As the ringing in his ears stopped, he could process your words. “There we go, pet. You did so good, so pretty.”

Izzy whined without even realising it. Something within him was spiralling out of control, ruined by you. You offered the guiding hand that he always wanted from Blackbeard, and yet you gave him the attention and softness he always craved. He didn’t know those things could co-exist, could come from the same person. Yet, here you were.

Izzy sighed softly as you cradled his face in your hands, leaning down to press your forehead against his. “You’re remarkable.” Izzy could sob with how sincere you sounded, like you really meant it.

Once again, Izzy wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the two of you just sitting in the quiet of the cabin. It was…peaceful, that floaty feeling coming back to him.

He hadn’t realised he had closed his eyes until he was opening them again. “There you are, love. Welcome back,” you weren’t taunting him, you were smiling and welcoming him back to his consciousness.

“C’mon, pet. Let’s stand up.”

You took his hands in yours as you stood from your chair, helping to pull him up to his feet on shaky legs. You dropped his hands and pulled up your pants, not looking even a little ashamed about how exposed you had been. You laced up your pants before taking in the flustered first mate in front of you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you offered, “I’ll have your clothes cleaned as well. I’m sure I can find something for you to wear in the meantime.”

Izzy just nodded, unable to find any words, before following you through the cabin. You led him into your bathroom and began preparing a bath. Izzy just watched as you prepared the bathroom for him. He wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop now, not thinking anyone would commit this much to a fuckery. For some incomprehensible reason, you were genuine about all of this.

Once the bath was ready, you began to unbutton his waistcoat. “Is this alright? I’ll leave you to wash up on your, if you’d like, or I can stay and help,” you folded the waistcoat, placing it down with care, not making a move to do anything else before he gave his answer.

“Stay.” It was selfish, Izzy felt it was anyway. He wanted you to stay, to help him do something as simple but as intimate as bathing, to take care of him.

You smiled at his answer before moving back to him. You helped him undress the rest of the way, not letting him lift a finger, folding each soiled item and placing them down with care. You took his hand as he stepped into the bath, a soft groan escaping him as he sank down in the warm water.

With a washcloth, you tenderly cleaned his skin. Then you moved to the head of the tub, washing his hair. Izzy found his eyes closing again, enjoying the feeling, smiling a little to himself when you began to hum quietly behind him.

Once he was clean, you helped him out of the bath and used a fluffy towel to start drying him off. He could only watch you, moving as you quietly told him to, wondering what you got out of this. For a second he wondered if this was some sort of strange humiliation tactic but that thought was quickly dismissed, because you were smiling at him adoringly.

Even now, that floaty feeling lingered in Izzy’s brain and, as you gently dried his hands, he realised that he felt safe. A ridiculous thing to feel, especially here, but it was true. You made him feel safe in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, sweetie,” you frowned, placing the towel down and bringing your hands to his face. “Are you alright? Is it too much?” He realised you were brushing away a couple of stray tears.

Izzy shook his head, quickly rubbing his eyes and sniffling.

He wanted to sob when you stepped away from him. He had ruined it. Anything about him you had thought was attractive or desirable must have disappeared now, now that he was crying other tenderness.

Then he felt something soft drape over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you covered up,” you spoke gently, helping him into a soft robe.

“Is something wrong?” You were in front of him again, tying his robe closed around him.

Izzy just shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, you’ve done nothing wrong.” At least the tears had stopped now. “You’re alright. I just have to ask you two things, okay? But I’m going to need you to speak.” He nodded.

“Do you regret what happened?”

“...no…”

“Good, just one more question. Do you want to go back to your space in the hold or would you like to stay here, where I’ll take care of you?”

Izzy blinked before letting his muscles relax again. “Stay here,” he answered, just pleased to hear that was an option. He couldn’t bear going back to the hold right now. Even if it was comfortable and warm down there, he didn’t want to be alone.

“Come on then, love,” you took hold of his hand and guided him back out into your cabin.

Izzy let you manoeuvre him. You changed into something more comfortable before showing him to the bed. You had him crawl in beside the wall before joining him. You asked if you could hold him and he nodded, he couldn’t remember the last time somebody held him as he slept.

Tucked up in your bed, under your sheets, Izzy felt right and safe in your arms. Whatever was to happen would happen and he’d worry about it later. For now, he wanted to just focus on this.

#israel hands x reader #izzy hands x reader #ofmd izzy #izzy hands #ofmd x reader #ofmd #our flag means death

238 notes · View notes

fiction-box · 2 years

Note

Omg thank you so much for doing my last request I absolutely LOVED it!!!!! Your characterization of Felix and Sylvain are so wonderfully on point and I'm still squealing over the part where Felix asks reader to teach him how to heal them dsjfkdjfj (and rolling my eyes over Sylvain's antics lmao. What an incorrigible lad (affectionate))

I hope you don't mind me coming back for more 👀 I've recently started replaying 3h so I'm having so many thoughts about my children <3 this one is an idea that came from a dream I had! Basically reader and Claude have been friends for a while (either childhood friends or they made friends at the beginning of the year). It's the white heron ball and they sneak off bc neither of them are so into all the pomp and circumstance. They're just goofing off in one of the nearby wings and making fun of the church's collection of paintings when Claude realizes in that moment that he's in love with the reader ;)

Extra details about reader if you'd like: they're not all that great at lying or scheming unlike Claude and they're basically his voice of reason/holder of the brain cell (when it comes to reigning him back from some of his more outlandish/dangerous schemes). They've also been secretly in love w Claude for at least a year before the ball hehe

Thank you again in advance and feel free to take the ending wherever you like!!

That is wonderful news! I value characterization as a point; if the character isn't depicted as themselves, the work isn't special. It could be about literally anyone, which is the opposite of what I want. Hopefully, I did the same thing this time!

Requests are open. The story will continue under the cut.

It was the month of the Garreg Mach Ball. In celebration of the festivities, members of the church had lined the cathedral with old paintings correlated to the Seiros faith.

You were never the most devout believer, Claude knew. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw you in the cathedral.

He had used this knowledge to his advantage, however, in order to devise a fun way to spend the night. Away from the ball itself, of course; neither of you were one for dancing.

“Can I open my eyes, now?”

“So impatient,” the Alliance noble teased. “Just trust me, okay? We’re almost there.”

“Claude, I don’t need to be blindfolded to know we’re crossing the bridge to the Cathedral right now. I know where I am and where I’m going, so there’s no need to restrict my vision,” you countered.

“Fine then. If you’re so confident, I guess you don’t need me to guide you.”

He took his hands away from yours and turned to walk away. Previously, you had been talked through your route and helped along the way. Of course, it was mainly so you wouldn’t trip on anything or veer off the planned course.

There were only two setbacks: One, moving with you blindfolded was a lot slower, and two, Claude had to walk backwards in order to do it right.

So he knew he only had to wait a moment before you-

“Come on, you know that’s not what I meant. But, I suppose if my hands are free, I can take off this blindfold.”

That wasn’t what he wanted you to say. You always were one to surprise him, though.

He realized you weren’t bluffing, either. It was only when your hands actually began to untie the knot behind your head that Claude reacted.

“Alright, fine. I’ll guide you. But you have to keep your eyes covered, alright?”

The only thing he got in response was a sigh and the sight of your hands returning to the position they were in when he held them earlier. Claude returned to his position as well, sliding your hands into his own and beginning to walk backwards to the cathedral.

“Careful, there’s a rock there. Move to your left- No, your other- Look, just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you suddenly forget which way is left!” he laughed.

“I…I’m doing my bes- ouch!”

Whoops. He had forgotten to direct you around that one.

“Sorry, my bad!”

Glancing around, he pointed his eyes back at the monastery. You weren’t even a quarter of the way across. At this pace, someone was going to see you two crossing the bridge and all of this would be pointless.

So, he let go of your hands and maneuvered around you.

“Seriously? I thought you said you would- woah! What-?”

He scooped you up into his arms and walked at a much more effective pace toward the cathedral. He felt your arms come to rest against his chest.

“Nope,” he grinned, “just some random person that saw us walking on the bridge and decided to carry you to our destination.”

“Claude? That is you, right?” you asked. It was a silly question in his head, but he supposed you were blindfolded. The key sense you had been using for identification was gone, and the noble could feel you tensing up.

“Ha-ha,” you quipped. Though the response meant you knew it was him, Claude noticed that the tension still didn’t leave your body. Interesting.

“Relax,” he tried to reassure you, “I’m not gonna drop you or anything.”

“Just…get us to wherever we’re going so I can take this thing off.”

Eventually, you rested your head against his chest. There was nowhere else to put it, he supposed, but he still hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

Maybe that's the reason, Claude thought. After all, he would be on edge too if he failed to identify someone he knew. Without your sight, you were left prone to people you didn’t know, or to others that wanted to hurt you.

A few more hurried paces brought the two of you to the entrance of the cathedral. Claude carried you inside, and once he found what he was after, he placed you back on your feet.

“Ready?”

“I’ve been inside the cathedral before. But I suppose if you really think there’s something-”

Swiftly, he pulled away the cloth tied around your head. He noted that, despite the low-light setting the two of you were in, you still had to squint and blink to let your eyes adjust. Moonlight was brighter than darkness, he supposed.

“I think you’re the one that needs to be patient. The amount of times you’ve caught me off guard tonight by cutting me off is getting out of hand.”

“Pretty sure I’m not needing to wait on anything else, for now. This is what I wanted to show you.”

His eyes followed yours when you took in your surroundings.

“Art,” you commented. You began to travel about the space, taking in as much of it as you could despite the heavy shadows cast by the moon.

Claude began to talk as you explored, “Yep. They pulled it out especially for the ball. Not for auction, so it’s likely just to show off.”

“Ha! To show off art like this?”

He turned to observe which piece had caught your eye.

“Raphael’s little sister could do better than this…scribble!” you scoffed. “What is this even meant to be?”

“Can’t you tell? It’s very clearly a…” he squinted at the label beneath the piece, “...“census count by early Nabateans.” Honestly, you’re so uncultured. How is it that you’re even still allowed around me?”

Laughter spills from your lips at his teasing, and he can’t help but want to hear more.

You moved to the other side of the room, following a path illuminated by the moon. He found himself led to a piece lit up just as brightly. It looked to be a painting of an older man, but all the colors ran together in unappealing locations.

“Alright then, oh great art connoisseur, try this one.”

“And no cheating!” you glared in mock-suspicion, moving your body so as to obstruct his view from the written description.

He looked at the painting a moment before coming to a conclusion, “Easy. That's just Professor Hanneman.”

“Pfft, what? Now you’re just grasping at straws.”

“No, I’m serious! Look-” the Riegan heir moved to stand on one of the pews a few paces away. He held the index finger of one of his hands out, then positioned the fingers on his other hand so that his fingertips were touching his thumb. After lifting his arms above his head and positioning so that the moon shone on them just right, he was satisfied.

“Alright, now turn around and tell me that’s not Hanneman.”

You did so, noticing that the shadows Claude created formed a makeshift mustache and monocle, respectively.

“How did you-? That truly resembles Professor Hanneman!” you gasped.

“See? Another point for the connoisseur!”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you!” you grinned, moving to help him down from the pew.

He took your arm in his, “Good, because now it’s your turn.”

“What? Hey-! S-Slow down!”

Claude led you down along the same wall you were observing at the right-most side of the cathedral. There was a sketch he saw that depicted all of the crests, which was where you both came to a sudden halt.

“This one? Okay, that’s art of all the crests, right?”

“Sure. If you’re boring.”

“Excuse me?”

“For example,” he pointed your eyes toward one part of the work in particular. “You might say this is the crest of Dominic, but if you look at it my way, I think it’s an eye.”

You squinted; you were probably trying to see it his way. Then, your own eyes widened.

“Oh! I see it now!”

“Great, then you can give it a go.”

“Hmm…” your eyes scanned over the page. They lingered on certain crests longer than others. Eventually, though, your eyes had made a full trip around the paper before settling on the Daphnel crest.

“This one. I can pick out a person in the middle holding a crown over their own head. Those two little squiggles at their sides are wings.”

“Woah, that one’s much better than mine. I’ve always thought it was a trident, but I suppose you’d have to disregard the dot in the middle for that to work.”

Your gaze went back to work scanning the crest, and Claude knew it was to try forming the image he described.

“...maybe. But then it would be between what? Waves? Two stones?”

At that last point, your expression lit up.

“Wait, that reminds me! There’s something I’ve always wanted to see.”

The archer trailed you at a light jog as you led the way away from the painting and out of the cathedral to the left balcony. He slowed his pace not much later. There weren’t many places for you to run off to from this enclosed area, after all. Once he saw where you were headed, though, he came to a walk.

You had paused in front of the Goddess Tower.

“This stone structure is always guarded,” you began, “and when it isn’t, it’s always locked when I try to get in.”

“Oh, is it, now? And here I thought you were above trespassing.”

Claude caught up to your side and laughed when you elbowed him. Your curiosity did have a tendency to get in the way of your morals, he knew. It was the reason he was able to pull you out here tonight, and it was the same reason you would chime in for some of his more outlandish ventures ever since you had met.

“Well? Don’t you want to go inside?”

Your mouth formed a pout. How cute; he’d have to try to elicit that reaction from you more often.

“You can try the handle if you’d like. I know it won’t work, but…I can think of more than a few things I’d trade away just to look inside.”

Interesting. Not only did you not seem to know what this place was, but you were also unaware it was unlocked right now.

He could have some fun with this.

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Besides,” he winked, “I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

Claude turned away from you as he closed the short distance to the door. Casually, he opened it and took a step inside.

“What-? How?”

Before he could respond, you had managed to close the distance and lightly push past him into the tower.

You must have really wanted in if you didn’t have anything else to say. Something told him you didn’t really care about getting your questions answered, either.

Intrigued as he was about the inside of the structure (he had always wondered what the interior looked like, too), Claude was nowhere near as interested as you were. He could deduce as much by how quickly you climbed the stairs. Soon, though, he heard your footsteps come to a halt.

“I don’t get it.”

When the house leader had made it to the top of the staircase, he understood what you meant.

The room was dark and gloomy. Nothing decorated the walls, and the only thing on the floor was the crest of Seiros. The cold stone of the room only made it feel even less welcoming. Thankfully, he found that there was no dust on any of their surroundings. Someone must have cleaned the place before it was unlocked.

He watched as you turned to him, brows furrowed, “Why would anyone care enough to keep a place like this under lock and surveillance?”

“Ah, you don’t know where you are, do you?” he teased.

“What, you mean this place really is special?”

“This is the Goddess Tower.” When he saw that the name didn’t bring any clarity to your expression, he continued, “From what I know, there’s a legend about this place. If a man and a woman come here on this night and pray for the same thing together, the Goddess will answer and grant them their wish.”

“Okay…” you paused. He could practically see the gears turning in your head.

“Don’t put too much faith in it, though. I’m pretty sure it’s just a rumor, anyway.”

“It must be,” you frowned, scanning the room one more time. “If I were the Goddess, I think I’d stay far away from this place. Why not pick somewhere more ethereal?”

He noticed you tense up and turn back to him, “Hang on, how come you knew about this and I didn’t? You heard a rumor, and you’re telling me you just…forgot to mention it to me?”

“My deepest apologies, my lady.” Claude altered his tone to sound mockingly high-brow and gave a sweeping, exaggerated bow. “I swear to you from now on that I will report any and all information I gather back to you. Whether it be true, false, or otherwise.”

“Good,” you giggled, “and you’d do well to remember it!”

As he moved further into the room, House Riegan’s heir noticed something attached to the wall. Something noticeably not stone.

“Hey, check this out.”

At the sound of his voice, you moved closer to what he was looking at.

It was a large wooden door. It expanded almost to the top of the room, its handle a heavy metal ring. The discovery was interesting, but Claude didn’t know where it would lead. There was nothing on the outside of the tower that he noticed resembled a second room.

You brushed your hand along it, “No keyhole. It can’t be locked.”

“Well, then. I think we both know what needs to happen next.”

Together, you both leaned against the doors and pushed. They were heavy and didn’t give easily, but they opened nonetheless.

There was a small ledge serving as a balcony. No railing protected you two from falling to the bottom, he noted, but what truly caught his attention was the view.

Granted, he had seen a great deal of sights from atop his wyvern, but that didn’t make this moment any less beautiful. The stars were glowing with constellations he could recognize. The moon was about a third of the way through its route in the sky and shone brighter than he remembered. He could make out trees and houses by moonlight, and the streetlamps from nearby towns glowed as earthly stars.

Your footsteps brought him out of his trance. The brunet watched as you moved out onto the balcony, bracing your hand against the wall to ground yourself. Once he noticed your widened eyes reflecting the light of the moon, Claude knew you, too, were captivated by the scene in front of you.

He almost wished you would look at him like that.

“Forget the paintings. I could’ve been staring at this all night?”

He flung his hand over his heart, “How cruel! I was under the impression that you and I were having fun tonight!” He sighed dramatically, “But, I suppose you don’t value my company as much as I do yours.”

Even that wasn’t enough to get you to tear your eyes away, it seemed.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just…”

You didn’t finish your thought, probably because you knew you didn’t have to. He turned his head back towards the other sight beyond the doors. Words weren’t enough to describe it, so his mind did its best to preserve the picture.

“I think I can understand why it’s guarded, now,” he admitted. At this, you finally turned to face him. “The church probably wouldn’t want all those young lovers stealing away up here and making wishes too often.”

You turned back to the view, nodding in agreement, “Lover or no, I know I would.”

Claude looked to you, and in that moment he wished he could keep the door unlocked. Only for you. He wanted no one else to know about this place, save for the two of you, and he wanted it to remain unguarded if only so you could make your way up here every night.

And he wished he could join you. Not just so you wouldn’t be alone, and not just because you were his friend, either. Whether it was a rumor or not, Claude wanted to share his wish with you here every year.

“Then I would, too.”

“Huh?” you looked back at him again. He had caught you off guard. Good.

“If you came up here all the time, I would always come with you.”

“That’s good. Part of me would need you to be here with me every time.”

He swore his heart stopped in his chest. To remedy its mistake, it began beating faster than it had before.

“Oh? And why is that?”

Your face broke into a smile, “Because clearly, I don’t know how to open the door.”

Now it was his turn to be caught off guard. By the time he had recovered, though, you had already run past him and down the staircase.

Oh, you knew exactly what you were doing.

The archer sped out of the tower, chasing the sound of your laughter. It echoed throughout the cathedral as you made your way toward the bridge.

In truth, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he caught up to you. But that was his favorite part of being with you: he got to live in the present.

You could both deal with the moment when it came. For now, Claude would enjoy the moment he was living in.

#fe claude #claude von riegan #claude x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fiction #fe3h #fe3h x reader #fe3h claude x reader #fe claude x reader #claude von riegan x reader #fe #fe16 #fluff #fe x reader

149 notes · View notes

litgwritersroom · 1 year

Note

There's a challenge in UK Love Island called a Snogathon where the boys are blindfolded and have to rate the girls kissing skills (but could switch it around). While it doesn't necessarily focus on one couple, that could be an interesting way to introduce drama and be a fun write, so for any season, any point in time, write that.

R.E.M.

S3 | Seb/MC | 4100+ words | @crimswnred

"Islanders, it's challenge time! Time to play Snogathon. The boys'll be blindfolded as the girls take it in turns to snog each of them, doing their best to impress. Lads, prepare to have your faces well and truly shifted off, it's snogging time! #gameon #tongueswagging"

Poppy tugged her hair behind her ear. Two weeks ago she would be probably telling you that there was no way in hell that she would be kissing random boys for imaginary points which were worth less than nothing. Being a timid introvert had always made her the weak link not only on the Island but in real life too. Her friends would always tell her she should try and put herself more "out there" and make "big decisions" without needing to think twice. That was the main reason she was on Love Island, after all.

From day one, she had chosen Camilo. He seemed the easier boy to get along with — Seb and Nicky were already coupled up, Harry reminded her too much of college fuckboys and Bill talked too much — and he showed some interest in her back. He was a nice, family-centred boy but unfortunately, his attention was divided.

When the blonde bombshell, Iona, made her decision to pick him, Poppy wasn't surprised. Iona had made a point of showing how much she wanted to get to know him and they even had a small talk on the terrace about him. It wasn't long until she picked him and Poppy was left single.

Instead of being dumped as everyone was expecting, though, Poppy got to stay. She should graft on the other boys yet she gravitated back towards Camilo. He always said the right thing at the right time, about how he wanted to stay in a couple with her, how it didn't make a difference if they were together or not. That Iona wasn't his priority.

And Poppy tried to believe it but there was always this little whisper in the back of her mind telling her he was lying. Sweet talking. Seb told her she was being silly. Of course, Camilo would want to couple up with her, he would say. According to the older man, she was sweet like honey, fresh like a breeze and probably the only girl there who could actually build a real relationship. Except for Elladine, after all, she was basically married to Nicky.

Seb always had a way to lift up her spirits. He was as quiet as her but every time he spoke, he really had something to say. She found him incredible, fascinating, to say the least, and the more she learnt about him the more she adored him. If there was one thing to be grateful for in Love Island, it was her friendship with Seb.

"Ok, the rules are super simple," Iona said out loud while standing next to the whiteboard with the girls' names in a horizontal line and the boys' names in a vertical one. She was wearing a purple one-piece that hugged her curves and had a cut right between her breasts, the wedges she had on made her a few centimetres taller. Her body looked like a sculpture under the sun and even Poppy could admit that.

It didn't matter how much Seb or Camilo tried to convince her, there was no way someone would look at Iona and choose Poppy. Camilo was either blind or liked his girl bland and, to be honest, Poppy didn't know which option was more offensive. She had nothing on Iona. Not even her big fluffy blonde hair with pink ends that she had dyed only to look cooler was close enough to Iona's pixie cut. She outdid Poppy in every category possible.

"The girls will snog every boy," Iona kept explaining the rules, inciting a fit of giggles in the girls. "And the boys, blindfolded and with noise-cancelling headphones, will rate each kiss from 1 to 10."

"Can we keep the blindfold for later?" Camilo shouted to the void, getting nothing but some nudges from the boys around him, some masculine laughs of approval and Iona's highly flirty giggle. Oh, great.

"Calm down, now, tiger," Iona purred. "And put your headphones on!"

Poppy watched Camilo roar laughter as he adjusted his headphones before she felt the cold touch of Elladine's hand on her shoulder. She turned to her, catching a glimpse of every other girl there staring back with pitiful looks in their eyes. Poor Poppy, she could almost hear them saying, not interesting enough to keep her boy's attention for more than a week. What a shame!

"Now, the first girl, please!" Iona called, pointing at Miki.

Miki untangled herself from AJ and climbed down the stairs of the patio until she was in front of the first boy, Harry, in her ugly velvet green heels she insisted on using even after Iona had told her they were not that cute. Poppy hugged Genevieve, in a way of giving back the empathy she had just shared, but the older woman was just smiling. A wild, totally fake smile that didn't fade out. Not even when Miki was really kissing Harry.

When they parted, Harry screwed his face to a thoughtful look. "Not that firm but also a little awkward… a solid 7."

Before those ugly shoes stepped toward the next boy, Miki frowned and mouthed what seemed to Poppy like an outrageous "a seven?". She shook her head and moved to Nicky, who seemed pretty scared of the whole challenge rather than just Miki.

Both Viv and Poppy got closer to Ella as they watched her kiss Nicky's face off. It was weird, at best, and he was so obviously trying to not make any contact, with both his arms glued to the sides of his torso — loyalty at best.

In the end, when they broke apart, he wiped his mouth and said, "Lips too harsh and the kiss was too forceful… I'll give it a 5."

The next boy was Camilo. Poppy watched as her couple and Miki messily kissed each other and she wondered if Camilo was always that ugly of a kisser. Oh, my god, did the public think the same? What if it was some kind of a meme? She frowned at that thought before her eyes caught something else.

Seb's shoulders were shaking and he had his hand over his mouth. It took her some time to finally click. He was laughing. She couldn't say it wasn't on brand for him to be laughing. She wondered if he was laughing at the scores or if Camilo was also a loud kisser. She needed to ask him about that later.

"Messy and… moist," Camilo said when Miki pulled apart again, "I'll have to give it a 6."

Miki huffed, not even thinking before moving to Bill. This time around, though, the kiss seemed more natural, showing how well they knew each other. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and Poppy guessed that was as far as romanticism could go in a challenge like this.

"Magical," Bill complimented as he let Miki's waist go. "Soft without losing the passion and tasted like mangoes. I love it. 9."

With a little squeal, Miki allowed herself to celebrate before she moved to the last boy. Seb. Poppy had to hold back a laugh as she watched them awkwardly kiss. As expected, though, their kiss lasted less than half the others.

Poppy knew the girls weren't so keen on getting to know Seb as they were with the other boys, after all, he had all that goth vibe going plus he was the oldest islander that season. Still, she never got why they saw those as anything but qualities.

"Three," Seb smirked, drawing gasps from all the girls. "Sorry, not my type of kiss." Yeah, that wouldn't make him more likeable. It was funny though.

Miki returned to her place next to the other girls, shoulders slumped. The others tried to cheer her with a shower of positive comments and justifications, like "It was just 'cause you were the first, huh!" and "You'll see, at least you weren't the last one!"

Elladine was called next and she did the same path as Miki had done. She got an 8 from Harry, a 10 from Nicky — Poppy wondered if the boys were recognizing their couples —, an 8 from Camilo and a nine from Bill. For some reason, Poppy's heart was still beating loud when she kissed Seb.

"5." He said when she stepped back. "A little weird and definitely not natural at all."

Well, that was better than three! Poppy thought as she watched Elladine only shake her head humorously and roll her eyes. She then left the lines of boys and made her way back to the girls.

The girls clapped as she returned, congratulations flooded her, even from Miki — although it seemed to be a little bit fake and jealous. They once again showered the returning girls with compliments and comments saying how hard Seb was to please. Poppy called him a brat, earning a few laughs and easing the tension between them.

AJ was next — 6, 6, 7, 8 and 6, in order — and then Genevieve — 10, 7, 8, 7 and 7, also in order —, making Poppy and Iona the only girls left. Yet, for some reason, Poppy had a feeling Iona wouldn't want to be last.

"Now the next girl," Iona said but didn't call anyone. Instead, she tiptoed to the beginning of the boy's line, trying to be as smooth as she possibly could.

She kissed Harry with all the passion she could have for someone she never looked twice. He seemed to like it, though, and, with a smile, she kissed her back. It lasted for a while before she pulled apart.

"Oh, wow," Harry commented, blushing. "Firm, confident, sexy… 9," he announced with a smile on his face.

Iona smiled back, only sparing an a-second-long look at Genevive, who had her arms crossed now. Poppy wondered if there was something happening there. It would make sense, after all, Iona was a single islander and the first bombshell, the reason for the girls to tremble and for couples to see their ruin. And, well, Harry wasn't that devoted to his couple, was he?

She moved to Nicky, and they kissed. Opposite to Harry, after a while, Nicky got stiffer, and the kiss ended soon after. She frowned, pulling back, and he awkwardly shuffled on his feet. "Sorry," he sighed, looking away even though he was blindfolded. "Hm… it was… brief… short but sweet, an 8."

And then, it was Camilo.

She wasted no time before kissing him. Mouth open, tongue in, making Camilo almost jump in surprise but he quickly recomposed. He kissed her back with the same fury, the same passion, nearly as if he had recognized her. Hand on her waist, falling almost too perfectly.

That was when it hit Poppy.

He had recognized her. They all had. She had a tongue piercing. They all could recognise her as soon as they tasted the metal nob against them. Camilo kissed Iona passionately knowing it was her. Actually, it looked like he knew exactly what to do with her mouth and Poppy wondered if they ever had done it before. Behind her back.

And then, they broke apart. "Exactly what I was expecting," Camilo remarked, voice dopey. "Bold, but soft at the same time. 10," he announced, at last. Oh, now Poppy was pissed.

Bill was next. He just wasn't that hard to please, to be honest, and he once again gave a 10 to their kiss with the commentary that it was good enough without being messy. The bar was low with that boy, Poppy concluded, a little more anxious now. Just imagine if she was the only one with a low score from Bill…

That's when a familiar voice invaded her mind. "You're thinking too much!"

She turned her attention to the boys again. Seb was next and Poppy's heart was beating so loud. Was that because she was mad? Was that because Iona didn't have a score lower than eight until now?

Iona kissed Seb, clearly doing her best to impress him. Almost as in instinct, Poppy raised her thumb to her lips, biting its fingertips. Seb looked unphased — but again, when did he not? It didn't take too long for him to break the kiss.

"Not the best kiss I ever had but well, I guess we win some and lose some," he commented, making Iona scowl. "A 5, I guess."

Sebastian was a fucking bitch but Poppy would be lying if she said she didn't love it.

Iona happily made her way back to her board and took note of her score. The biggest so far with 42 points, followed by Elladine with 40 and Viv with 39. AJ was next with 33 and then Miki, with 30. Poppy just prayed she wouldn't be lower than Miki.

"And the last girl…"

Following the cue, Poppy made her way to stand in front of Harry. She had her hair tied in a ponytail, so they couldn't feel it and was wearing her plain yellow bikini, so they couldn't feel any extra texture. She was usually shorter than the other girls, but she made a point of using high heels so the boys couldn't notice the difference.

Breath in, breath out, she got closer to Harry. He was thinner than most boys and also shorter than the rest but she kinda enjoyed the small height difference. She held his face between her palms and finished that torture, her heart beating like crazy from the adrenaline rush.

She kissed Harry for the first time ever. He tasted a little like a fruit salad, a mix of all the other girl's chapsticks, but she learnt to enjoy the taste against her lips. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a little self-conscious at first, her nerves testing her abilities, but soon enough she had let herself melt into the kiss. She was enjoying herself so much, she was smiling mid-kiss,

With a peck, she broke the kiss off and took a step back. Harry was silent for a second, looking like he was thinking way too much about the score. "Can I give her a halved score?"

The girls gasped and the boys whispered between them. Poppy just realized why after Iona stated: "You need to give her between one and ten, a half is lower than one."

"No!" Harry bit his lower lip. "Sorry, I meant… Can I give her nine and a half?"

Now, the girls were the ones whispering between them. Iona frowned and caught Poppy's eye, who only had a tiny little smile playing on the corner of her lips. "I am afraid you'll have to choose between nine and ten."

Harry puckered his lips. "Fine. Yeah, no… It was really good… And I have no idea who this is…" Harry giggled like a schoolboy. "Fuck it. 10, then."

The boys clapped at the score, causing Poppy to blush, even if they couldn't see her. She moved to the next one, doing her best to not be recognised — after all, that was the whole point of the game, right?

Poor Nick was once again stiff as a rock, looking like he wanted to be anywhere except there. Poppy held him gently and softly pressed her lips against his, trying to be as nice to him as possible. It took him some time but Nicky finally allowed himself to have a taste of her, allowing Poppy to deepen the kiss.

Nicky tasted different from the other boys. She couldn't quite put her finger on it but she actually enjoyed it and even envied Elladine for a second there before the thought escaped her mind and all she could pay attention to was the feeling of his tongue against hers.

She pulled apart with a sigh, making him smile. "Fuck…" he whispered and she tilted her head, even if he couldn't see her. He put his chin on his palm and rested two fingers on his lower lips. "Soft lips, not too desperate… good… technique… yeah, it's a 9." He announced, so sure of it that it made her heartbeat quicken.

Mouthing a 'thank you' he couldn't see, Poppy moved to the next boy, also known as her current couple, also known as Camilo. Suddenly, all the calm the other boys had made her feel vanished away from her body, taken away by this inexplicable fury she had burning inside.

He had given Iona a ten. The highest score there was and, well, the chances to get lower were much, much, bigger than tying it. With a deep breath, she got closer to him. His body was the same but as she stood on her tiptoes to close the space between them, it couldn't feel worse.

It was a bit odd, to say the least. She had done that before countless times and each one of their kisses had taken her breath away but now… now she was just challenge-nervous rather than excited and the only thing she could taste on his tongue was her own regret.

God, she regretted ever picking him at first. She regretted meeting him in the bathroom. She regretted believing him when he said he wanted to be with her. She regretted choosing him for the recoupling. She regretted trying to compete with Iona for him. He wasn't worth it. None of this was worth it.

Not her time, her best, her all. That was what she gave him and what did she receive back? A headache and many, many insecurities and trouble. Probably a bit of online exposure too but definitely not enough to justify it. Nothing would ever be enough to justify it.

With no need to think twice, Poppy cut the kiss short. Maybe not too short for the others to realise but short enough for her to make a point. They were over after that. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it coming. And as for Poppy… well, she would rather walk than spend another second with him.

"All right," he said, a humourless chuckle escaping him. He looked disappointed, a little sad even. "Yeah, definitely a great kiss… Not the best today, though. I'll have to give it a 9."

Jerk. Nine. Less than ten, that was for sure. Poppy bit her cheek as she fought the urge to turn and eye Iona, who probably had a triumphant smile. To be honest, if they wanted to couple up, Poppy wished them all the best but it was a sting to her ego nonetheless. But as Taylor Swift would say, 'the players gonna play', and Camilo was most definitely a player.

She had two boys waiting to be kissed now.

Chin high, Poppy moved to Bill. He seemed excited for another kiss, almost too excited. Deciding to leave Camilo and the Iona bullshit behind, she let a low chuckle escape her, giving up space for the positive vibes and confidence to come back.

She circled Bill's neck with her arms, capturing his lips with newfound energy she had never met before. The pain of a betrayed woman could do wonders, she guessed, as Bill's tongue explored hers in a dance of their own.

Kissing Bill was fun. That was the best way to describe it. While Harry's first kiss was as nerve-wrecking as teenagehood kisses and Nicky's were like sweethearts kissing in the front yard after a first date, Bill's was like kissing a stranger at a college party after drinking way too much. It was freeing somehow and exactly what she needed after Camilo's disaster.

When she broke apart, Bill leaned forward for a second, denouncing how little he truly wanted to let go, but Poppy pushed him slightly back.

"I think I know who that is… I'm giving her a 10!"

The boys sniggered around him. 'Mate… I don't think that was who you think it was," Nicky commented.

But Bill only huffed. "No way, I'm sure it is."

"No, mate, it really isn't." Seb concluded.

Poppy turned to him. With the sound of the boy's laughter serving her as a soundtrack, she moved towards him. Her heart was beating so fast it could jump her chest at any given minute. She tried to reason with it for an instant. Of course, she would be nervous, she concluded. Seb was probably the hardest to please of the boys and they were friends, so it wouldn't be anything but awkward.

However, somewhere deep down, she was aware that wasn't the whole truth.

She needed more than four points from Seb so she could beat Iona. Yet, that thought never crossed her mind as she got closer and closer to Seb. All she could think about was how inviting his lips were and how her heart was beating so fast she was certain it could stop at any given moment.

When she was about to touch him, though, she heard him whisper, softly enough to make her mistakenly think she was imagining it. "Hey Poppy, I was waiting."

For an instant it was like time had stopped. Poppy could swear no one moved while the words slowly sunk in her mind. Her eyes widened when it clicked. But, just as they had frozen it a second before, they probably fast-forwarded it soon after because next thing she knew, Seb was kissing her.

It didn't matter how they did it, though. They were kissing. Poppy's thoughts rushed inside her head and everything and nothing made sense at the same time, until there was nothing to think about anymore. Her mind was blank and Poppy let herself melt and be kissed by him.

Seb tasted like a hint of menthol cigarettes mixed with this breakfast's strawberries they had had that morning. Poppy didn't care about that. She was too busy focusing on the 'finally' feeling that was flooding over her at the moment. Absentmindedly, her fingers touched his face, entangling themselves in the hair on the back of his neck, holding his profile with her thumb.

He didn't mind the invasion of space. Instead, he welcomed it, and Poppy felt the icy tingling of his rings on the small of her back, pulling her close. Her chest was pressing against his naked torso, their bodies so close together they couldn't be told apart. If both their senses weren't too taken by each other, they would've heard the sound of the girls gasping, the whisperers that followed the great demonstration of affection.

But they didn't, so they didn't let go of each other. If she could, Poppy would kiss him forever. It was the best kiss she had ever had and it was like a surge of electricity was hitting her body over and over again. When people talked about perfect first kisses, they probably never meant something like that, in a reality show, in a challenge. But there was no other word Poppy would use to describe that kiss if not perfect.

"Hey, you two!" Iona called them out. "You can kiss in private later, now move on! We are all watching it!"

Poppy obeyed, begrudgingly breaking their kiss with a couple of pecks, happy to find Seb with swollen lips and a dopey smile playing on them. He sighed, satisfied, happily even, and cracked his knuckles with the giddiness of a young boy. "Now, that's a kiss," he commented, chuckling. "You girls have a lot to learn from that… It's going to be a 10."

The girls clapped, the boys did too, and Poppy watched as Iona wrote down her numbers. 48. The most among all of them.

Poppy returned to the girls and all of them once again showered her with compliments. Although, this time, she didn't feel a lot of truth in them. She couldn't care less, though. Kissing Seb had left her walking on air, head in the clouds… fuck, she felt good.

'`Now, to the final score!' Iona said immediately after the boys had taken off their headphones and blindfolds."With a score of 48 points, the winner is… Poppy."

You could tell there was no excitement whatsoever in Iona's voice. That didn't stop Poppy from celebrating with the other girls, though. They cheered and jumped and hugged, and Poppy laughed, even if they were the last one.

"Poppy was the last one?" Harry questioned, eyes shimmering. "Damn…"

"Oh, wow," Bill commented. "Good job, Poppy!"

"Killed it, girl," Nicky smiled.

"What did she get?" Camilo asked.

Poppy turned to him. He didn't seem happy. No, he seemed… pissed at something. Maybe it clicked for him that she took longer on the last kiss? The thought alone made her eyes stray from Camilo to Seb and they shared a knowing look.

"A date." Iona dryly responded. "So, who you're gonna take to the terrace date, Poppy?"

She looked at each and everyone's faces. The nervous looks from the girls, the hopeful looks from the boys. Nicky's and Elladine's encouraging smiles, Camilo's annoyed frown. But it didn't matter how much she searched for other faces, she always would come back to him.

"I pick Seb."

#litg #litg writers room #writers room #litg seb #litg fanfic #litg ff #love island the game #litg season 3 #crimswnred

82 notes · View notes