#hostage x captor

[yandere-daydreams]

file #3: the foot fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!nanami kento x reader (jjk)

length: 2.1k.

warning: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), foot jobs, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of kidnapping, unbalanced power dynamics, and cannot mention it enough: feet.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here.

Which was to say, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, not this physical location – the small kitchen of Nanami’s up-until-recently neglected apartment, back pressed against the rounded edge of a pristine marble countertop and hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles were beginning to turn white. That, you could explain in fifteen words or less: Psychotic Ex-Boyfriend Kidnaps Overly Trusting Partner To Roleplay Repressed Domestic Fantasies, with further elaboration possible if you ever got the chance to talk to anyone who wasn’t currently holding you hostage. That, as much as you hated it, was normal. You knew why you were here.

It was much less normal to have Nanami on one knee in front of you, head bowed and one of your feet sitting in the palm of his hand. You hadn’t decided whether it was good abnormal or bad abnormal, yet, but still – not normal.

It must’ve been a rough day. He always looked tired when he got home, but tonight, he seemed exhausted – blond hair in a state of styled disarray, tie gone and shirt already partially unbuttoned, the circles under his eyes just a shade darker than they had been that morning. There was a cut on his cheek, too, and a tear along the wrist of his sleeve. Usually, he would’ve tried to get you to fuss over the damage, to trade privileges like a few minutes of T.V. and the latest news about your friends and family and not being handcuffed to his bed whenever he couldn’t watch you himself for sex and domestic labor and the faux-reciprocation of his obsession, but you hadn’t been able to say anything, let alone do anything before he’d fallen into his current position at your feet, his cheek resting gingerly against the inside of your thigh and his pale face slightly pink. He hadn’t said anything, either. You were starting to think he never would.

Unable to find an explanation written on the back of his head, you turned your attention to yourself. You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner when he got home, because cooking meant he had to trust you with something more dangerous than a plastic spoon and you couldn’t go back to not being able to hold your own toothbrush, even if that meant having to trip over yourself to play housewife with your captor. You were dressed for housework, but that didn’t mean much. Nanami picked out all of your clothes, and he liked you in soft, pastel silk gowns and cutesy, garish vintage dresses. Your current dress was far from overly provocative – the neckline above your collarbones, the skirt falling to your knees. He’d seen you in it before, too, and never had this reaction.

The only new factor was your socks, but that would’ve been ridiculous. It was a new pair – a far cry from the thigh-highs and nylon stockings he usually bought for you. The material was thick and white and cottony, only ankle-high with ribbed hems and a lace trip. He was cupping the arch of your foot, his hand slotted in the tender space between the heel and the upper sole, and the plush fabric rubbed uncomfortably against your skin as he shifted his hold ever so slightly downward. More out of reflex than anything, you jerked back, your toes curling downward as you tried to weakly pull yourself out of his hold, and as if pulled out a trance, Nanami snapped up at you, tired eyes weary and lips slightly parted. Your eyes met his, and for a second, it was all you could do to stay still, to stay quiet, to not yell or scream or thrash until finally, Nanami’s weary expression broke into a slight grin, an airy laugh trickling past his lips as his stare fell back to your foot. “They’re… cute,” he started, slowly, nuzzling his cheek gingerly against your thigh. “I knew they would be, but—” A pause, a kiss to the tender patch just above your knee. “—you always manage to surprise me.”

You managed to smile shakily. “Sorry, Kento, I didn’t mean to distract you. Why don’t you sit somewhere a little more comfortable? I can start on—”

“In a minute.” Another hand was brought up and wrapped around your ankle, just above the lace trim of your sock. His forehead settled against your thigh as he lifted your foot gently and with an almost painful sort of delicacy, pressed the sole of your foot into the bulging tent in his pants that you’d been trying so hard to ignore. You felt his lazy grin press into your skin, and something cracked open in your chest.

This time, you couldn’t stifle your immediate reaction; lurching back, your hands finding the edge of the counter as you tried to pull away from him. It took nothing for him to keep you in place, though, and even worse – the ball of your heel pressed into his shaft as you tried to get away, rolling against his cock with a little too much force and drawing a low grunt from the base of Nanami’s throat. Instantly, you regretted moving at all. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Again.”

You fell silent. His head lulled forward, pressing into your thigh, and somehow, you managed to spit something out. “…I’m sorry, Kento?”

“Again, angel, please,” he muttered, his eyes falling shut. You didn’t move, but he didn’t need you to – his hips jutting forward, grinding stiltedly against the sole of your foot. Any vague illusion of wholesomeness was forgotten entirely as he fell onto his knees, unabashedly rutting against your leg with all the shame and all the pride of a stray animal, desperate for its twisted idea of affection. You made a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself, to focus on the white tiles of his kitchen (not quite dirty, but not as clean as they could be, either – you’d have to do the floors tomorrow), then the far wall (there was a layer of dust along the edge of the light switch fame – you could take care of that later on tonight), but it would’ve been impossible not to think about the wet, hot breath fanning over your thigh, the stiff cock throbbing against your foot. You thought would’ve gotten used to his—uh, his unwanted attention by now, gone numb to the feeling of his mouth on your neck and his fingers on your clit, but this was a type of fresh humiliation you weren’t familiar with, the kind of unthinkable debasement that made your face heat-up and your thought spiral down, down, down. When your paralysis persisted, Nanami grit his teeth, rocked your foot against the length of his cock without ever letting his hips stop moving – like he was trying to fuck a hole through your heel. It was a rough, jagged motion; almost clumsy, despite the fact that you’d never seen him so much as trip. It might’ve left you off-balance, if you hadn’t been holding onto the counter so tightly. You might’ve fallen, if you thought that you would be enough to make him stop.

You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to suck in a shuddering breath, but that was a mistake – showing any kind of weakness was a mistake. You felt one of his groping hands on your upper thigh, then your ass, finally finding the thin, flimsy material of your panties and pulling. There was no elegant way to strip you down, so he didn’t try to be elegant. There was a harsh tearing sound, the feeling of blunt nails scraping against unprotected skin, and then, scraps of ruined material were scattered on the floor at your feet, the skirt of your dress pushed up to your waist as he forced his face between your legs, mouth already open and tongue already lapping over your cunt.

It was a bad position; the distance too far, the angle too sharp, everything about strained and awkward and unnecessary, but Nanami didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care. His tongue ran over the length of your slit before he latched onto your clit and sucked. Instantly, it was too much – a strangled cry tearing past your lips as you buckled into yourself, your knees nearly giving out as another reverberating moan sent pangs of something sharp and electric stabbing into your core. Against your better judgement, your hands shot from the counter to his hair, your fingers soon knotted in a mess of blonde in a futile attempt to pry him away from you. He only melted into your hostile touch, one of his hands remaining on your ankle while the other found your hip, keeping you still and pliable as his attention dipped lower, the flat of his tongue pushing broad patterns into your entrance as the bridge of his nose ground lazily against your clit. “Love you,” he mumbled, his voice little more than a throaty, ragged murmur – almost too deep to be audible and constantly interrupted by the sound of your slick on his lips, on his tongue. You wished he wouldn’t talk. You wished he wouldn’t pretend to love you. You wished he wouldn’t force you to do the same. “You’re so—so pretty, and so perfect, and—”

A guttural moan cut him off, and his attention shifted, his head lulling back just far enough to stare up at you with eyes so soft and so tender, you could almost forget he was humping your leg like a bitch in heat. You were suddenly aware of your own distraught expression – all grit teeth and misty eyes, misery and pleasure flooding through your veins in tandem. You wanted to ask him not to look at you. You needed to ask him to stop, but—

You felt a frigid ache in your left wrist – the wrist he’d kept shackled to the bedpost for the first three weeks of your kidnapping. You tried to open your mouth, but your tongue was deathly dry, your throat stuffed with cotton, the feeling not entirely unsimilar to the residue left behind by the velvet gags he used to shove in your mouth when you didn’t want to lay there and let him break you. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything as he let out a final, primal groan – as you felt something thick and hot soak through the fabric of his dress pants and into your ridiculous, childish socks. He whined into your cunt, fingers burrowing into your waist as he dragged you that much closer to his mouth. His tongue fucked shallowly into your cunt, and a whine caught in your throat as your vision burnt white, as you came unwillingly on his tongue.

You couldn’t do it, anymore. With his hand still on your hip, his cum still searing into the sole of your foot, you collapsed. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground, and you hated him for it. You wished he’d let you crumble to the tile floor, wished he’d just watch and laugh as you curled into a ball and stayed there for the rest of the night, the rest of the week. You wished he’d—

Oh, god, you’d made yourself cry. Nanami let out a breathy chuckle as you sniffled and tried not to wail, kissing your tear-stained cheeks with a gentleness you couldn’t seem to link to the man who’d just cum to a pair of socks. “It’s alright, angel. You can let it out.” Another kiss, this one to your forehead. “Too much?”

You nodded, burying your face in his shoulder. You felt his arms wrap around you, keeping your body pressed into his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. There were a few seconds of quiet, unthinking solace before he lowered you onto your shared bed – a pair of shackles still hanging, unlocked and waiting, from the headboard. Immediately, you scrambled for the nearest pillow, burying your face in the plush material and sobbing openly. Nanami’s comfort came in the form of a wry grin, a pair of hands on your hips, turning you onto your stomach and starting on the buttons of your dress.

As he settled between your legs, his calloused fingertips skirting over your bare skin, you couldn’t help but wonder if the shackles had really been so bad.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Stockholm Syndrome

Summary - She was a spoil of war, a prize taken in a ruthless game. Yet, despite the twisted nature of their circumstances, she found herself unable to resist him. She didn't just want him, she ached for him, a deep longing that left her questioning why she was so drawn to him.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), stockholm syndrome, violence (brief), strong language

Word count - 2211

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Stockholm syndrome is a complex phenomenon in which hostages or victims form psychological bonds with their captors. 

This condition manifests in various ways but often includes developing strong emotional ties, empathy, or even loyalty to their abuser, despite potential harm or danger.

In my case, the dynamic was atypical. 

There was no traditional relationship or direct physical threat from him, instead, he functioned more like an unconventional security blanket. 

Though I was his prisoner, he refrained from physical contact, enforcing this rule with such severity that others were deterred from touching me, providing an unusual sense of safety in a chaotic environment.

This created a bizarre situation. The world around us was rife with rumours and accusations about his cruelty and ruthlessness. Yet, to me, he seemed to defy those perceptions.

The scene that unfolded before me was both chilling and surreal. Aemond, with a tone that cut through the air like a blade, interrogated a knight who had dared to touch me. His voice was sharp and commanding, echoing with authority.

"Did you touch her?" Aemond demanded, his eye cold as he scrutinized the knight kneeling before him. "Did you violate my command?"

The knight's apologies and pleas seemed desperate, spilling forth in a torrent of fear.

I stood in the background, trembling slightly, unsure whether my fear was rooted in the situation or the man himself.

"Did you or did you not?" Aemond pressed, crouching to bring himself eye-level with the knight. He drew his dagger and angled it menacingly towards the knight's neck.

"Answer truthfully, and I might spare you," Aemond said, his voice laden with menace. The sunlight glinted off his features, accentuating the ruthless edge of his demeanour.

"I...did, but I only meant to—" the knight began, but his words were abruptly cut off. 

The dagger sliced through the knight's throat with a sickening squelch, and he fell forward, lifeless in an instant.

A gasp of disbelief escaped my lips. Aemond's gaze flicked over to me momentarily, and then he addressed the gathering crowd.

"Let this be an example," he declared, his voice resonating with authority. "She is my prisoner. Anyone who dares to lay a hand on her is committing treason."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as Aemond turned on his heel, pausing briefly beside a quivering woman. He whispered something into her ear, and she nodded resolutely before hurrying towards me.

"The Prince Regent has instructed me to draw you a hot bath," she said, her voice gentle but firm as she pulled me away from the throng of onlookers.

My thoughts were numb as I followed her, my mind struggling to process the cold reality of my situation.

Upon entering the room, I saw her start preparing a large tub. Various oils and soaps were neatly arranged beside it. She turned to me with a nod, urging me to undress.

As I slipped out of my clothes and stepped into the clear, steaming water, I closed my eyes, allowing the warmth to envelop me and soothe my tense muscles. The soft hiss of the water and the faint scent of lavender and sandalwood filled the air, creating a momentary cocoon of calm.

The woman began to scrub my body with a cloth, but I pulled away gently. 

"I can do this on my own, thank you," I murmured. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I resumed my bathing, rubbing the cloth over my skin and letting it rest on the edge of the tub when I was finished. 

With my eyes closed again, I inhaled deeply, letting the soothing fragrances wash over me and momentarily escape the grim reality outside.

"Apologies," a voice interrupted my moment of peace. I turned towards the door to see Aemond standing there, clearly taken aback by the unexpected sight.

"It's alright," I replied softly, rising from the tub with water cascading down my body. I dressed slowly, acutely aware of his gaze fixed intently upon me.

When I faced him again, his eye was locked on mine with an intense, almost palpable scrutiny. My cheeks flushed under his gaze, which seemed both lustful and scrutinizing.

"Such a beauty," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unsettling mixture of admiration and desire. I tilted my head slightly, offering him a grateful smile.

My legs seemed to act on their own, moving towards him with a will of their own. 

As I stood before him, I hesitated for a brief moment, then slowly wrapped my arms around his neck. He flinched momentarily, caught off guard by the sudden contact, but then his demeanour shifted.

In an effortless motion, he lifted me into his arms, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His strength and control were evident as he held me close, and I felt a strange mix of comfort and unease in his embrace.

Driven by a sudden, inexplicable impulse, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. My wet hair, still damp from the bath, brushed against his face, tickling his skin. The boundaries, while still present, were momentarily eclipsed by a connection that defied the norms of captivity. 

Aemond's response was immediate and fervent. He didn't hesitate. He firmly guided us backwards, laying me back on the settee in the room. 

The luxurious fabric felt cool against my skin compared to the warmth of the bath. Our kiss continued, growing more intense with each passing second.

His hands cradled my face, thumbs brushing softly against my cheeks, guiding the kiss with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his gaze. The room seemed to fade away as the kiss consumed us, each movement and touch a blend of passion and gentleness. 

The combination of our proximity and the lingering scent of lavender and sandalwood created a heady atmosphere, heightening every sensation.

As we broke apart briefly, his eye locked onto mine, searching for something, perhaps an understanding or an answer. The air between us was charged with a mixture of desire and confusion, and I could feel my heart racing in response to the intensity of the moment.

His lips found mine again, more insistent this time, and I surrendered to the moment, my earlier hesitations melting away.

As if moving on their own, my hands began to remove the layers of fabric that separated us closing the distance between us with a growing urgency. 

Aemond hesitated, his eye narrowing as he stared at me, as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Don't look at me as if I'm an inconvenience," I said breathlessly, feeling the heat of his gaze as he continued to leer down at me.

His expression softened slightly, though confusion still lingered.

"I'm merely perplexed. You are a prisoner," he began, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "a spoil of war, if you will." 

His words hung in the air as I cocked my head to the side, trying to decipher his meaning.

"And yet," he continued, taking a deliberate step back, "here you are, naked and practically luring me into your arms."

I sat up, frustration and confusion swirling in my thoughts, the charged atmosphere between us shifting as I tried to understand the change in him.

"Do you not want this?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I pressed my legs together, a faint ache beginning to pool between my thighs, a physical reminder of the desire that still simmered within me.

His gaze remained fixed on me, dark and unreadable, as if he could see straight into my mind, deciphering every lewd thought that raced through it. 

The vulnerability of being laid bare before him, body and soul, sent a shiver down my spine, though whether it was from fear or longing, I couldn't tell.

"Would you not want to fuck your spoil of war?" I continued, challenging him even as I feared his answer. The words hung in the air, heavy with both invitation and accusation.

His expression hardened, and he took a slow, deliberate step closer. 

"I stole you," he began, his voice cold and measured, as if recounting a simple fact. "I slayed your kin ruthlessly," he added each word a reminder of the blood that had been spilled. "There is no one left but you," he finished, towering over me, his presence overwhelming.

"You're telling me you still want me, out of your own free will?" he questioned, his voice tinged with incredulity. 

His gaze bore into me, searching for something—weakness, perhaps, or the truth I was struggling to admit even to myself.

I swallowed hard, unable to meet his eye, the disappointment in myself settling in like a weight in my chest. The truth was undeniable, but I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. 

How could I want him after everything he had done? 

How could I crave the touch of the man who had destroyed everything I once held dear?

After a long silence, he leaned down, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair away from my face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, lingering as his thumb traced the outline of my lips, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"I will not let you go," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, a promise or a threat—I wasn't sure which.

"I know," I breathed, my hand moving to grasp his wrist, holding him there, as if to anchor myself. 

The words felt like a surrender, an admission that despite everything, I couldn't deny the pull between us. The line between desire and despair blurred, leaving only the raw, undeniable need that coursed through me.

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips as he replied, "Good."

Without another word, he pushed me back down onto the settee, his body looming over mine with a predatory intensity. My breath hitched as I bit down on my lip, trying to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. 

He began to stroke his cock, positioning himself between my legs with a deliberate slowness that made the anticipation almost unbearable.

With one fluid, powerful motion, he entered me. A low hiss slipped past my lips as he began to thrust, his rhythm quick and purposeful, each movement sending waves of pleasure and pain crashing through me. 

The settee creaked beneath us, a testament to the force of our unnatural union.

One of his hands slid to my throat, his grip firm but not constricting, while his head buried itself in the crook of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin, and I could feel the vibrations of his groans as he moved within me, his pace relentless.

My hands found their way to his back, fingers tracing the tense muscles that rippled with every thrust. I could feel his strength, each movement purposeful and commanding, as if he sought to imprint himself on every inch of me. 

Soft moans escaped my lips, unbidden, as the pleasure began to build, a slow-burning fire that threatened to consume me entirely. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting—needing—him deeper.

His rhythm never faltered, even as I tightened my walls around him, eliciting a low, guttural groan from deep within his chest. 

"Fuck," he hissed, the word rough and jagged, barely more than a breath. "You feel incredible."

The room around us blurred into a haze of skin against skin, the air thick with the sounds of our coupling, his deep groans, my breathless moans, the relentless creaking of the settee beneath us. 

It was a primal symphony, a raw, unfiltered expression of the need that had driven us to this point.

"Close," I managed to pant, the word barely audible as I felt the tight coil of release threatening to snap, the tension in my body reaching a fever pitch.

A low hum of acknowledgement rumbled through him, his pace quickening in response. Each thrust drove me closer to the edge, the pressure inside me mounting until I thought I might shatter from the intensity. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, the coil snapped. 

My release crashed over me in waves, a tidal surge of pleasure that left me gasping, my body arching beneath him as I cried out, the sound a mix of relief and ecstasy.

He wasn't far behind, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep within me, his body tensing as he found his own release. I could feel the heat of him spilling into me, the final, possessive thrusts as he rode out the last of his climax, his breath ragged in my ear.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the only sound in the room the harsh, uneven rhythm of our breathing. The intensity of what had just transpired left us both reeling.

He finally lifted his head from my neck, his eye dark and heavy-lidded as it met mine. 

Before I could even begin to process what this all meant, he leaned down and captured my lips in a sloppy almost desperate kiss, his hand still cradling my throat, as if to remind me that, no matter what, he would not let me go.

"My prize" he whispered the words an admiring murmur.

The paradoxes of Stockholm syndrome continued to shape our journey, an uncertain path where the lines between captive and companion blurred leaving us both lost in a maze of our own making.

A/n - Not sure that was enough warnings tbh I've never written anything of this specific nature so it feels kinda weird, it is inspired by a small something I wrote in my GOT imagines though!

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy

[harryspet]

Bimbo reader maybe / kinda like hostage situation where she is in a cabin with him and she has Stockholm syndrome 🥹

[warnings] dark!daddy!rafe x bimbo!little!reader, this takes place in a cabin though i realize now i don't even mention it lol, DUBCON, stockholm syndrome, implied kidnapping

18+ MDNI

“Have you been good today, hmm?”

Eagerly, you nodded, gazing up at your captor with hopeful eyes. You had been diligent, completing every task on the list he had assigned and waiting patiently for his return. Today was special, he had promised that, as a reward, he would finally let you out of your room.

“I have been, Daddy, I promise,” You answered obediently. You rose from your desk, crossing your bedroom, and handing him your homework, “Look, I did all my worksheets.”

“I see, get down on your knees baby while Daddy looks these over.”

You smiled weakly, holding onto his legs to steady yourself as you lowered yourself to the ground in front of him. You looked up at his figure, strong and imposing, and instinctively your hands found the button of his jeans. 

You recalled the effort you had put in throughout the day: matching baby animals with their mothers, coloring vibrant butterflies from Africa, tracing the alphabet with charming illustrations, and rhyming words by pairing pictures of objects that sounded alike. Each task was completed with care in sparkling pink ink, while you wore a plaid skirt that barely covered your white underwear.

Rafe was kind to let your mind be occupied while he was away. It kept you mentally stimulated. A little girl like you shouldn’t have to concern herself with adult matters, but there was still so much to learn.

“You did such a good job, baby. Tell Daddy something you learned.”

Unzipping his pants, you freed his cock from his jeans. Wrapping your hands around the thick base of him, Rafe’s lips parted and he gave you a look of wanting, of anticipation, “Uh, uhm, something I learned ….oh!” Something came to your mind just as you brought your lips closer to his tip, “I learned about patterns. Patterns repeat in a certain way. Like red-blue-red-blue, that’s a pattern!”

Strong hands caressed your cheek as beautiful blue eyes stared down at you, “What a smart little bunny. You make Daddy so hard, baby,” He groaned huskily as your mouth filled with spit and you took his tip inside your mouth, “Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

It wasn’t your favorite thing to do with Rafe. Prying your mouth open often made your jaw ache and the taste …you didn’t love the taste. However, Rafe would get mad if you didn’t swallow. . Over time, you had perfected the art of swallowing him and forcing a smile through the discomfort. It wasn’t pleasant, but you had learned that keeping him happy meant he would finish quickly.

“I love that fucking mouth,” Rafe grunted as you swirled your tongue around him. You pumped him with your hands as your mouth focused on his moth sensitive area, “Smart little bunny. So good at sucking my cock.”

Rafe had a habit of talking to himself while you were with him, and you had come to accept it as part of the routine. He preferred to grab your head and push himself deeper when he was close, which was the only way he wanted to finish. That’s when you often found yourself struggling to catch your breath, with tears usually welling up in your eyes as you waited for him to let you breathe again. When he finally did, you felt a wave of relief and focused on maintaining a composed appearance. You tried to stifle your coughs and gave him a look that conveyed your gratitude.

“Good girl,” He’d usually say as he rubbed himself across your lips, tapping himself against your cheeks as he made a mess of you, “What do you say?”

“Thank you, Daddy, for letting me suck your cock.”

“You’re welcome, bunny.”

“Does that mean I-I can leave my room today?”

Rafe nodded his head as he concealed himself again, looking down at you as he zipped his pants, “You’re just so excited, aren’t you?”

You nodded your head quickly, practically bouncing in place, “Yes, yes, I’m super–really excited!”

“You want up?” He held his hands out to you, a comforting gesture. You placed your hands in his and Rafe helped you to your feet before lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your legs around him and he carried you towards the door. 

You were smart to always obey your Daddy.

+

hope you enjoyed!

rafe cameron masterlist

[sytoran]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑!

howdy! it's two weeks till october, and that means kinktober season. i've planned a very elaborate (and spicy) menu for you lot. it's my first ever kinktober event, so don't be too harsh on me. stay tuned for the good stuff!

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

🎃 minors dni! for the rest of yall please be mindful of warnings and tags before reading (a lot of these fics may contain sensitive/triggering stuff!)

🎃 all fics will be dom!reader x sub!marvel women. (mainly wanda maximoff and natasha romanoff). don't like, don't read.

🎃 posts relating to this kinktober event will be tagged as 'sytoran's kinktober 2023'

🎃 i generally like to write reader as more masc-representing, and only either fem!reader or gender-neutral!reader (no male!readers)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 — 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

🎃 OCTOBER 001.

somnophilia | CW!wanda x beefy!avenger!reader summary: after a particularly taxing work day, there's no better stress relief than your cute little bunny sleeping half-naked in your bed. cont: mild non-con, vaginal fingering, begging, daddy kink

🎃 OCTOBER 003.

blowjob | secretary!natalie rushman x ceo!reader summary: natasha's mission to retrieve a thumbdrive file involves seducing a high-ranking executive, and the seduction goes smoothly. a little too well, in fact, that she doesn't notice you're not all you seem to be. cont: reader has a cock, power play, begging

🎃 OCTOBER 005.

thigh-riding | IW!wife!wanda x gn!reader summary: you've always loved writing stories since young, but the tale of you and your wife writes itself, and it ends with a sweet happy-ever-after. cont: soft sex, established relationship, romance + fluff

🎃 OCTOBER 007. [POSTPONED]

stockholm syndrome | AOU!wanda x hydra!reader summary: after being taken as hostage by HYDRA's runaway assasin, newbie avenger wanda is prepared for pretty much anything, except developing feelings for her captor. cont: reader has a metal prosthetic arm, humiliation, degradation

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎 — 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 009.

mermaphilia | mermaid!wanda x pirate!reader summary: as captain of a notorious gang of pirates, you've got a reputation of steel, but when there's a pretty little mermaid presenting herself for you, there's no chance in hell you're not saying yes. cont: sweet talk, begging, humiliation, overstimulation

🎃 OCTOBER 011.

size kink | roomate!natasha x werewolf!reader summary: despite your countless pleads for natasha to stay away during the full moon, she decides to brave the beast and be right by your side during your transformation. she gets a lot more than what she bargained for. cont: (very) rough sex, reader has a cock, breeding, creampie

🎃 OCTOBER 013.

knife play | bimbo!wanda x ghostface!reader summary: for years on end you've chased sweet revenge. from being your high school bully to the fount of your desires, wanda maximoff is your esteemed salvation and utter demise. today, you plan on taking it all back. cont: dubious consent, degradation, fingering

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 — 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 015.

tit-fucking | milf!natasha x amab!reader summary: your wife thinks you've been acting a little off lately. she tries possible solutions to lighten your mood, but eventually it comes down to the 'hard' truth that you wanna fuck her tits. cont: reader has a cock, teasing, possessiveness, praise

🎃 OCTOBER 017.

breeding press | housewife!wanda x amab!reader summary: your wife looks a little too good on a particular weekday morning. spoiler alert - you end up late for work that day. cont: reader has a cock, daddy kink, possessiveness, marking

🎃 OCTOBER 019.

public sex | milf!natasha x mechanic!reader summary: natasha's had a completely shit day, and the last straw is when her car breaks down on the way home. the unbelievably sexy mechanic who shows up to fix her car makes it an unforgettable night. cont: daddy kink, horniness, hot mechanic stuff

🎃 OCTOBER 021.

wall sex | cheerleader!natasha x footballer!reader summary: natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player, both on the field and with the ladies. however, she's always been good at getting what she wants. cont: very long fic, squirting strap-on, cunnilingus

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 — 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 023.

exhibitionism | agent!peggy x lieutenant!reader summary: there's nothing quite like a classic 1940s sapphic romance, except the element of 'forbidden' doesn't apply to you; you're eating your wife out under her office desk as she speaks to - or least, attempts to speak to - her military soldiers. cont: office sex, cunnilingus, fingering, edging

🎃 OCTOBER 025. [POSTPONED]

aphrodisiac | witch!agatha x hunter!reader summary: during one of your hunting sessions in the woods, you stumble across a little wooden shack that wasn't there before. your curiosity gets the better of you, but you aren't prepared for what lies beyond. cont: non-con, sex pollen, riding, power bottom

🎃 OCTOBER 027. [POSTPONED]

caught masturbation | college!kate x professor!reader summary: kate's your best student, diligently attentive in your lectures. who knew that there were hidden intentions behind all that attention she paid to your teaching. or more specifically, you. cont: age gap, professor kink, humiliation, fingering

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 — 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 029. [POSTPONED]

brat-taming | bimbo!wanda x sugarmommy!reader summary: what was supposed to be a relaxing day off at the bar turned awry when your pretty little girlfriend stepped in. wanda has a little too much fun toying with those sleazy men, so it's up to you to teach her a lesson. cont: bathroom sex, spanking, hair-pulling, degradation

🎃 OCTOBER 030. [POSTPONED]

omegaverse | omega!natasha x alpha!reader summary: while visiting your sister, kate, at the avengers compound, you stumble into none other than the black widow. there's big reputations, miscommunications, sexual tensions, and a whole lot of hot sex. cont: flirting, seduction, heat/rut, mating bite

🎃 OCTOBER 031. [POSTPONED]

mirror sex | barbie!wanda x gynecologist!reader summary: a sequel to 'doctor's orders'. wanda's curious nature to explore her new body intimately leads you to purchase a full-length mirror in your shared apartment. you teach her everything she needs to know. cont: fingering, guided masturbation, power play

credits to @cafekitsune for the line dividers i will be using

do not copy, edit, or translate my works.

kinktober requests || main masterlist || ao3

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐁𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 8: ROLEPLAY

könig x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat.

cw: f!reader, roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (könig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating. 

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 9: WITCH!READER ⇾

The answer is unyielding and finite; ❝ no ❞. 

König was consistent in his promise to separate work from pleasure, so to speak. He refused to amalgamate something as pretty and delicate as you with something as ruinous and hideous as war— as his job. 

KorTac and Task Force 141 were unaware of your existence. König assured you it was for your protection. The less his allies knew about his valuable and beloved, his adversaries knew little still. Despite this, he offered you insight into his hostile world through a minute embrasure; the Scottish bomb disposal expert, Soap, the handsome Gaz who König colloquially named ‘helicopter boy’. Ghost. 

Still, he insisted upon keeping you pure. Scratch free, barren from the agonising shrapnel of grief and the devastating shells of brutal warfare. 

So when you pose the idea, quiet and shy in your approach, of König wearing his tactical uniform and treating you like a captive… The ‘no’ is adamant. However, as with everything you do or say to König, the idea worms its way into his mind. 

Days pass, but the thought seems to stick with König. He’s unsettled, fidgety almost. You suppose he thinks he’s being subtle, but with a frame as enormous as König lugs around, it’s almost impossible for the pitiful giant to do anything indistinctly. One nervous bob of his knee appears to set off avalanches in Tibet. 

When you return from work, everything is still, and abnormally quiet. It’s unusual for the house to be vacant upon your return from work, König always at the door as if ready to spring and remove the damn laptop bag that threatened to pop your shoulder from its socket as though it were an incendiary with a lit fuse. Nevertheless, the lights are off today, and the TV is silent. 

Creeping forward into the apartment, the door slowly swings shut behind you. The click of the lock setting into place isn’t alien to you– but neither is it, it seems, to your attacker. Poised and lethally swift, your assailant leaps from the shadows of the dimly lit apartment and smothers your mouth before a scream can even bubble past your trembling lips. Soft hushes breathe against your ear before terror can truly kick in, a familiar lilting accent turning your knees soft beneath your weight.

“You are to do as I say when I say it, Meine Perle.” König sounds so relaxed, as though he’s not breaking a sweat beneath the tactical vest you can feel digging into your shoulder blades. With a fizzling arousal skittering up your vertebrae and trembling beneath his touch, you nod your head slightly. It earns you praise, whispering a quiet ‘good girl’ against your hairline. 

So in tune with König’s non-verbal commands, you kneel as though he had barked the order when you feel him tap your shoulder absentmindedly. It’s foreign, the disregard König shows to your knees by making you settle on the hardwood floor in front of the entrance door– usually he would situate a pillow beneath you to ensure you didn’t bruise. Not today. You were his hostage. His plaything. 

Gazing up at the startling bulk of the behemoth standing before you, a thrill prickles at the nape of your neck when you watch him unzip his camo trousers deftly. It’s as though your taste buds tingle with anticipation as König pulls his already leaking cock from them, the leather of his gloves protesting quietly as he grips his length hard. 

“Open your mouth.” It’s an order. A threat. Excitement rouses between your thighs as you do just that, gazing up at your captor demurely and situating your palms on your lap. He’s unforgiving, winding your hair around his fingers and violently pulling your mouth onto his twitching cock. 

You barely register what’s happened before the rumble of his groan reaches your ears. A quiet ‘fuck’. 

Then he’s pushing, using the heel of his palm on the curve of your skull to sink you down his length before you’re ready. Firm, velvety flesh hits the back of your throat and sends you reeling, tears welling in your eyes as you gag around him, attempting to draw back. 

“Stop,” he barks, the frigidity of his tone triggering sparks in your abdomen– so unlike König. He halts your retreat, shoving you forward onto his cock until your nose is buried in the thatch of dark curls at the base of his shaft. Salt burns in the back of your throat, and tears spill down your cheeks. There’s a gleam in his eye that tells you he’s grinning. 

“If you value the air in your lungs,” König murmurs, voice sticky and thick with arousal as he rocks his hips slightly, your nose bumping his pubic bone and the head of his dick nudging your at your gag reflex, “it’ll do you good to stay put.” 

Heaving breaths through your nose, you flinch as König raises his leather-clad palm. It strikes downwards, connecting with your cheek harder than you suppose you’d both anticipated– because König lets out a sadistic groan of bliss, head lilting to the side slightly as he tries to bury himself further down your throat. It crushes your nose into his abdomen, and you feel the skin stretched above the bridge wrinkle. 

“Shit–” you hear him heave, the fingers in your hair tightening mercilessly, “I felt that in my cock.” The murmured admission, a slight deviation from that character König was attempting to play. Glee buries itself at the base of your spine, pulses in your clit. 

“Again,” he snaps back into character, with his dick buried as far down your throat as possible. Again, he lifts his wrist, bringing it down with a brutal smack against your cheek. The skin prickles, and you heave against the intrusion of his cock until tears spill down your cheeks. 

König’s lungs rattle with the force of his growl. His eyes are dark behind the mask, pleasure swallowing the pretty jade-green of his irises and he watched you choke on his length. 

Of course he’s getting off on you kneeling in front of him, dick buried in your throat and making a mess of your work makeup— but he can feel the vibrations of his slaps in your mouth around him. It’s making his nostrils flare; you can hear it. 

“A-gain.”

The crack that sounds against your cheekbone this time makes you whimper with the pain that follows. König loses control of himself, it seems, grasping desperately at your skull to hold you in place while fucking into your throat wildly. His head rolls back, grip bruising as his whole body seems to seize. 

Cum spills down your throat, heavy and thick and plentiful. König sounds almost pained by the force his orgasm is ripped from him, groaning loudly and high pitched to your ears as you gag around him again, the squeezing of your throat muscles adding to his bliss. 

“Hah—“ he gasps, pulling himself from your mouth to allow you to breathe. It’s not pretty, the ridiculous sounds of your frantic breathing, but when König kneels in front of you and cradles you in his massive arms, you feel precious. Priceless. 

König presses kisses to your temple, pushes your hair from your face and tells you just that. 

“Meine Perle.” 

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[plutoswritingplanet]

You Started It pt. 2(Buggy The Clown x F!Reader)

a/n: GMFU, that's all i have to say. this chapter was strongly inspired by the song Shikayat from the movie Gangubai Kathiawadi,

Warnings: General Asshole Behavior from The Man Of The Hour, Hostage Situation, Light Bondage (lmao), Some Good Old Smexual Tension.

Summary: The time for your great performance finally arrives, but the culmination will surprise both you and your captor.

Part 1.

You awake to the sound of music. Drums, trumpets and bells fill your ears, shaking you from some pleasant dream, where you could run free with your brother and his crew. Instead, your forehead aches from the way the bars of your prison dug into it, while you slept. Your legs are sore as well, dangling above the floor, wooden planks leaving marks on your thighs. Your joints crack, as you try to straighten yourself to the best of your capacity, an unpleasant shiver running up your back. Groggily, you wipe left-over tears from your eyes. The music wires itself into your brain, like a bug drilling inside your skull.

Then, someone yells. You know the voice all too well. The music stops immediately, and with a quickened pulse, you hear footsteps approaching the door to the backroom.

He waltzes in, a spring in his step betraying his barely contained excitement. It's been a week since your faithful conversation, and you haven't been moved from your spot above ground. Like a bird in a cage, he has kept you locked, visiting even more often than before. To feed you, give you some water, drink in the sight of you, pester you with questions you had no intention of answering. Truly, your purpose here must've shifted from solely being a Hostage, to providing Entertainment. Just like he's said when you first got here.

"Hostage!" he exclaims, as soon, as the door closes behind him.

"Captain" you answer, voice tired and still traced with the remnants of sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He's not bothered by your sarcasm. You're not sure if he even registered it, with his giddy state.

"Today's your big day!" he jumps a few steps in your direction, wobbling on the balls of his feet,

At your confused, if slightly annoyed expression, he raises his hands, and that's when you notice the elephant in the room. A costume, folded neatly in his arms, one, you're without a doubt expected to wear. It's pink, baby pink and frilly to say the least. You can see an ungodly amount of ruffles, and sequins, and small golden bells. It makes your face involuntarily scrunch up. Never in a million years you'd be caught wearing such a pink thing of your own accord. But, as much as you hate the sight before you, the show must go on. You know it, and he most definitely knows so, too.

You flinch, when the Clown throws the costume to the side, lets it collide onto the table, bells ringing loudly. Then, he produces a key from the pocket of his trousers

"Be good, or else" he warns, and you nod, because what else can you do.

The soft click of the lock is like music to your ears, and as soon as the man opens the door, you nearly moan at the feeling of your legs finally being able to stretch. He watches from the side, as you unfurl yourself from the cage, limb by limb. Oh, the feeling of solid ground under your feet is almost too much

"I really cooped you up in there…" he muses to himself, and you contain the venomous look you were about to throw him.

Instead, you opt for stretching out your sore muscles, rising your hands as far above your head as you possibly can, and try to ignore the spark in his eyes, as he watches your shirt ride up your stomach, Finally, he clears his throat, crosses the room to the table and gathers the costume back in his arms

"Don't take long" he winks and points his chin towards the dressing room screen, tucked away against one of the walls.

Grabbing the amassing of fabric from his arms, and trying really hard not to touch him, you retreat to hide behind it. The screen is big enough to cover your body, but your head peeks above, and you shoot a cautious look towards the clown. To his credit, he hasn't moved any closer, rummaging through one of the chests at the end of the room. Your eyes catch a glimpse of something metallic and very sharp, disappearing into the inside pocket of his coat, and your heart jumps to your throat.

Your hands now shaking, you lay out the fabric, trying to get a good look at the costume, before you have to inevitably put it on your body. As you look at the full garb, it doesn't look as intimidating, as before. The ruffles, although pink and obnoxious, are flowing nicely with the entirety of the outfit. It is, however, much more revealing, than you've anticipated, and against your better judgement, you throw a single, judgy look towards the Clown, who immediately catches your eye at the other side of the screen

"Chop-chop, we haven't got all day" he smiles at you, full teeth on display.

Shaking your head, you begin to undress, movements slightly skittish, from the sudden anxiety running up your spine. The outfit slides against your body with ease, the fit being slightly too big on your figure. The expanse of your stomach lays bare, ruffles from the hem of the skimpy top tickling your ribs. Your legs are also, almost completely exposed, the lower half of the costume turning out to be a skirt with rather deep cutouts on the sides. It's a shame you don't have a mirror anywhere nearby, although perhaps it's for the best. You don't know if you could stomach to look at yourself in this ridiculous getup

"Ready, Hostage?" his voice startles you against your will, and after a couple of deep breaths, you step out from behind the screen.

His face remains blank, but his eyes feverishly run all across your body, taking in the image in utter silence. Again, anxiety rises in your gut, this time however, you begin to worry that somehow, this isn't enough. That this isn't the vision he has conjured up in his head, and anything deviating from his vision was sure to anger him beyond belief. You bite your lip in anticipation, as he slowly starts to walk towards you. Then, to your utter confusion, he kneels down just in front of you.

Silence envelops the two of you like a blanket made of tar. It pours into your lungs, making you unable to breathe. His hands are steady, as he reaches out and places them on one of your ankles. Your mismatched shoe slides off your foot under his gentle tug. Then, the other one. Your bare feet hit the floor and that's when you realize, you've begun to shiver

"The audience will love you" he breathes, voice quiet and reserved, almost unrecognizable from his regular, flashy persona.

Then, his hands retract to the inside of his coat. Your breath hitches, as he pulls out a golden cuff adorned with the same, small bells, which are currently attached to the rest of your outfit. Your brows furrow, and another, unexplainable feeling blossoms in your stomach, as you watch him lean down to clasp the cuff around your ankle, the second one following closely behind. His hands linger for a moment, and another surge of trembles runs through you. He's warm, and his fingers are calloused, but somehow, your skin doesn't seem to mind. If anything, you'd risk saying the way he softly slides his digits up your calf is enjoyable. Troubling and confusing, yes, but enjoyable nonetheless.

You sway in your place, as he rises from his knees

"Give me your hands, Hostage" since when has this nickname become so affectionate on his lips, you can't remember.

One part of your brain reasons, that it's a recent development, caused by the time you were forced to spend in his grasp. The other, more treacherous part supplies, that this strange intonation has been there from the very start. You were just too stubborn to notice it.

The tremors running through your hands, as you raise them to present to him, are honestly embarrassing. Your head hangs low, to shield your face from his gaze. It's no use, he can see right through you. The flush in your cheeks, your mouth falling slightly open, the shine in your eyes. He eats it up like a man starved. Reactions, that's what he's after, and with the way you've been acting, you've given him quite the show already.

It's quiet again, safe for the occasional jingle of the bells, as he gently locks two bracelets around your wrists, identical to the ones on your feet. His fingers toy with the golden clasp, brushing against your running pulse. Tension builds in your stomach, as his eyes finally look up to yours. You would've believed you were solitary in your confusing feelings, if his breath didn't come out in quick gasps through his painted lips. Lips, which in this quiet moment seem much too appetizing than they had any right to be.

"You look perfect" his breath brushes against your face, "There's just one little thing, that's missing, Hostage."

Your brows scrunch together, as you watch him reach into his pocket yet again. A beautiful silken scarf slides between his palms. It's pink as well, adorned with constellations stitched in with a shiny thread. Your confusion deepens, when he grabs your hand and turns your wrist up. Then, your heart drops.

Between the rows of small bells, you can see a golden loop attached to the cuff, identical looking back at you from your other wrist. You try to voice your protest, try to wring out your hand, but his grip on you tightens, and he tuts quietly under his breath.

"Can't have you flying away now, can I?" he weaves the scarf between the loops, and ties your hands together, leaving the fabric to drape in between

"How the hell do you expect me to perform with my hands tied?" your voice comes out much weaker than you've anticipated, betraying your growing fear.

To that, he looks up with a grin, yet his eyes remain cold, causing your whole body to shiver.

"You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

His finger detaches again, flying towards your nose and pushing it hard enough to make your entire face scrunch up. Then, he grabs a handful of the fabric, tugs on it to check the binds, and starts walking towards the door, not sparing you as much as a glance. And you follow, obediently, trying to make his head explode with your brain.

It's your fault, really, the feeling of disappointment and anger swirling around in your head. All this sudden quiet intimacy has clouded your judgement, and you've forgotten who you're truly dealing with. Oh, how you wish you could do anything to hurt him. How you wish, your brother would rescue you already, free you from this prison, not only physically, but mentally as well, so you won't have to think about this stupid, homicidal clown ever again.

If he senses you fuming behind him, he doesn't comment. And why would he? You're still following him, as he drags you through the stage, right to the middle of your future dance floor.

Your eyes dart around the place, trying to find anything, anyone, who could help you escape this predicament. To your surprise, and later, horror, the Circus is completely empty. Not a soul shares your fate. Not the public, not his Freaks, not even the Announcer. The silence makes goosebumps erupt all across your flesh, and words get stuck in your throat, as Buggy turns to face you with an unsettling grin plastered across his lips.

"I thought a private performance would be much more appropriate for you, my Hostage" his smile widens at your expression.

You want to scream at him, punch him in his stupid face, but all you can manage is glare daggers at his stupid face. Suddenly, the lights flicker on, startling you, as beams of light flow around you, only to fall right on the two of you. Buggy grabs your face, squishing your cheeks between his palms. His enthusiasm would be contagious, if you weren't scared shitless by this entire situation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a one-of-a-kind performance" he whispers inches from your face, "My dearest Hostage will dance for her life… and for your entertainment."

He lets go of you, forcefully showing you away, and you take a step back to stabilize yourself. The lights focus solely on you, and in the brightness surrounding you, you realize, you can't see anything besides the middle of the dance floor. Cackling like a madman, the Clown steps back, his hands clasped in front of his chest. You almost call out for him, as he slides into the shadows, but any sound dies on your tongue.

You're alone, again. Your breath quickens, as your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. This is not at all how you've envisioned this performance to go. Well, above all things, you didn't expect it would happen at all. Your brother should have freed you by now, and while you had your utmost faith in him, you couldn't shake the feeling of deeply seated worry. Which is why, you had to endure this torture. So you can see your brother again, when he finally comes for you. With a determined expression, you nod your head at the darkness and raise your hands, getting into, what you hope would look, like a dancing stance.

He holds you in anticipation for a moment longer, as any great showman should. And then, music floods the stadium. Bells and violins, distorted slightly by what you assume is an old gramophone. You recognize the song, thankfully, your face falling slightly, as you remember the meaning. A love song, of course, about hatred and affection. Bitter-sweet. Your limbs feel heavy and awkward, but you start to move nonetheless.

He wants a private show? You'll give him one, he won't forget.

The rhythm picks up and so do the movements of your hips. Bells jingle all around you, as you slide from one place to another, clouds of dust flying around your feet. The scarf turns out to be a major distraction, as you're unused to being bound. It takes you a while to get the hang of it, but once you do, you make the fabric dance with you, flowing around your body with satisfying grace. The song becomes even faster, and you twist and turn, ruffles jumping, as you run, accompanied by the bells. Your feet start to hurt from the roughness of the floor, but you ignore it completely.

The song drops before the second verse, and you follow the rhythm to the floor. Using all the acrobatics you've picked up through the years, you begin to writhe in the sand, adding a clap and a stomp, bells jingling to the music. That's when you finally see him, crouched down right in front you, watching your dance with a tilt to his head and something terrifying swirling behind his eyes. It makes you falter in your choreography, makes your guts twist with a feeling too close to arousal.

Then, a glint of something silver catches your eye. It swishes through the air, and plants itself right between your legs. A knife. Sharp and polished to perfection, it embeds itself into the wooden floor, splinters flying from the impact. The scream you let out would make a Banshee cringe, as you push yourself as far as you can from the weapon

"Now, now" Buggy calls out across from you, his silhouette barely visible in the darkness" The show must go on, Hostage."

He sounds terrifying, like some demon from your darkest dreams. But the music still plays, and you'll be damned, if this is what takes you down. So, you wipe your forehead with the silk scarf, contort your body and stand up, straight as a chord. Now, it's no longer a simple performance. Your blood boils inside you, fear giving space to anger and, strangely, some sort of misplaced ambition. You want to impress him, you want to make him frustrated, angry. Dust flows around you, as you resume your dance, movements much more confident, violent even.

He stalks you from the shadows, producing another knife from his pocket. It shines, when he lets it fly in your direction, but you don't even flinch, when it swishes right by your ear. Then another, grazes your torso, as you bend backwards. This one nicks you right below your ribs. You can feel blood running down the length of your stomach. No matter. Your eyes still follow him, and he steps closer to the light. Another knife, inches from your left foot. And closer he stalks. You can see the tips of his shoes enter the spotlight.

That's all it takes for you to make a decision. You won't play this torturous game any longer, and as the music nears its climax, you close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands flying to the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly.

You're panting, so is he, as you stare at each other, all innocence gone from your respective expressions. Fury, oh, fury, you're not sure if you want to kill him, or kiss him, and as he produces one last knife from his pocket, the sentiment seems to be mutual

"You started it" a growl frees itself from the depths of your chest, and under your tight grip on his shirt, he shudders violently.

There's heat pooling into those blue eyes irises of his, enveloping you completely in the moment. But then, his eyes follow your scowl down to your lips, and you realize, you've never tasted face paint. What an interesting experience it would be.

This moment of tension is broken almost immediately, as clouds of smoke fill the tent, seemingly out of nowhere. Suddenly, something yanks you backwards by your arm, something puts a knife in your hand and something yells for you to run. So you do, you turn from the Clown, his figure drowned in smoke, and you run as fast as you can, without looking back. He screams some words you're too scared to decipher, his voice breaking. A disembodied hand flies in your direction, but you dodge it expertly. One more tug from the hand gripping your arm, and you fall through a thick curtain.

The sun outside the Circus tent blinds you, nearly making you lose your footing, but a pair of strong arms hold you in place, and a familiar head of ginger hair turns around to face you

"Come on, the ship is not far" Nami yells, and you can't contain the smile blossoming on your lips.

The Hostage, freed at last… Or so she hopes

[killerpancakeburger]

I'm the powder, you’re the fuse

SUMMARY: Soap finds out that his girlfriend is a skilled mercenary. And that he likes it... a lot.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Established relationship, Badass!Reader, Smitten!Soap.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, misogynistic comments/insults, mention of: blood, death, kidnapping/hostage taking, torture, weapons, suggestive content (Soap is Horny), military inaccuracies, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: yes I am still writing the civilian fic with Ghost and Soap... but then I had this idea and thought I could finish it ""quickly"". Written on mobile so if there are mistakes feel free to tell me!!

Soap let out a yawn big enough to dislocate his jaw, staring at his captain with mild resentment.

“This couldn’t hae waited til after breakfast, sir?”

“‘Fraid It could not, John. Actually in just a few minutes you'll be barking at me to know why we haven't gotten a move on already.”

Johnny looked back at his superior with perplexity, before glancing over at his teammates around the table, hoping for a scrap of information. Ghost remained imperturbable while Gaz shrugged.

“We received this video thirty minutes ago. Addressed to a certain Sergeant MacTavish.”

His captain turned on the projector and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him. It was his teammates’ turn to glance at him questioningly, and to him to shrug with ignorance.

The Scottish soldier rubbed his face in an attempt to get rid of his lasting drowsiness as the video projected on the white screen facing them was starting.

A group of armed men in balaclavas were occupying a room. The one in the front spouted the classic ransom demand in exchange for a hostage. Nothing worth being summoned at the crack of dawn for.

Then the spokesman moved aside, revealing their detainee, bound to a chair and gagged, shooting daggers at her captors, and Soap almost knocked over the table with how brutally he stood up. Carried away by white-hot fury, he slammed his hands on the table.

“Fuckin’ - what the fuck is this!? When did this happen? Where are those fucking bastards? I -”

Rage had roughened his usually smooth voice, granting it a gravelly pitch, turning his shout into a growl.

“Control yourself, Sergeant”, interrupted Price, “It's not over yet.”

On the screen, the same man as before grabbed your hair, ignoring your murderous glare, forcing you to look at the camera, and coaxed you with disdain before taking off your gag:

“Come on doll, gonna have to beg real pretty for your man to get him to rescue you.”

The second your mouth was freed, you snarled at him, baring your teeth like you were about to bite.

“I'm gonna rip your throat out with my bare hands, you f-”

“Fuck, someone muzzle that rabid bitch”, swore your agressor, your belligerence clearly having thrown a wrench in his plans.

Soap could not help the flare of pride soaring in his chest at the view of your defiance and your grit.

After receiving their orders, the team left the room to prepare themselves for the assault. 

“A friend of yours?” asked Gaz, while Ghost questioned “Ya know her?”

“That's mah girl”, admitted the Scotsman, a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away. The cat was out of the bag. For your own sake, you had been a well-kept secret, but it was blatant that it didn’t protect you.

“Been together for a year. Never meant to drag her into this, though.”

“She sounds like a bloody riot, mate.” teased Garrick.

“She doesn't seem fazed to be taken hostage. Mainly pissed.” pointed out Ghost, wary.

“She's fearless.” admitted Soap with an enamored little smile. “Doesn't mean we don’t have to get her out of this though.”

His expression shifted from fondness to cold determination.

“‘F course.”

“We've got your back.”

“Gaz? You copy?” called Ghost over coms.

The afornamed was tasked with overwatch. His response arrived, marked by hesitation.

“...  I don't think she needs our help, guys.”

“The fuck s’that supposed to mean?” grumbled the Lieutenant.

“It'd be better if you'd see for yourselves. Third window on the right, second floor.”

Ghost took out a pair of binoculars and pointed them at the given position.

“Fooking hell…”

The expletive was mumbled with a mix of surprise and… awe?

“What? What! Lemme see L.T.!” pleaded Soap.

Ghost quickly passed him the tool, eager to make him shut up. The sergeant hastened to shove them against his face. His gaze took in the sight in front of him and he let out an appreciative whistle.

“Steamin’ jesus…”

He drank in the view that was your bloody display of fierce skill and deadly efficiency. You staggered between the enemies with fluidity, making them seem like clumsy amateurs. Slicing a throat there, shooting a head here, he watched with fascination as you used a dead attacker as a human shield.

“I think I'm hard.”

“TMI,  Soap.” 

Gaz coupled his comment with a gagging noise.

“Can ye blame me! Mah lass is oot there bein’ a bonafide badass ‘n’ that's the hottest shit a've ever seen.”

“M not blaming you for being a horny bastard, I'm blaming you for not keeping it to yourself.”

“If you two are done bickering, we could go pick her up.” groaned Ghost.

Letting Garrick past, he grabbed Soap by the shoulder as he was walking by him.

“You knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going out with a killer.”

“Nae, but it turned out to be a good thing, didn’t it? Cannae imagine how badly this would have ended with a civilian. The wounds, the trauma…”

Ghost let out one of his grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.”

Positioning themselves near that final entrance, Soap nodded in response to Ghost's hand signal, waiting for him to break the door down. They were still on their gard in case some of the assailants survived.

In the ensuing silence, your voice reached his ears through the wall he was propped against.

“Come on doll”, you taunted, imitating your captor's scornful tone from earlier, sickly sweet then venomous. “Tell me who you work for and I won't gouge out your remaining eye.”

Johnny gulped. Eavesdropping on this definitely did not help with the… situation in his pants.

The racket produced by Ghost dealing with the door had the merit to make him focus once again. 

His body moving automatically, his training taking over, Soap charged into the room, pointing his rifle at the only person left standing there. Like a reflection of himself, you were aiming your own firearm at him. Your eyebrows were frowned in concentration, your eyes glinting with cold determination. Then recognition dawned on your face, and you heaved a sigh of relief, lowering your weapon.

“It's you! You scared the shit out of me.”

Relief flooded through him at the sight of you, bruised, battered, and blood-spattered, but alive. He tossed his gun aside as you put down yours, ready to embrace you, but Ghost's voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Back off, Soap.”

An order. Johnny stared at him in shock.

“What the hell, L.T.?”, he hissed in his direction.

You docilely raised your hands in the air as the masked man lined up the end of his gun's barrel with your head.

“Worst rescue party ever”, you mumbled to yourself.

“Sorry, Johnny”, grumbled Skullface, not sounding sorry in the slightest, never taking his eyes off you. “But do your usual conquests take down a dozen armed men on their own?”

Illustrating his words, he gestured with his rifle to the ground littered with corpses. The man you had started to interrogate - the only one left alive - whined in pain.

“So what's your deal? Ya a mole? Shagging Johnny for intel?”

“Ghost!” Soap gasped, offended for himself as much as for you. “M not some clueless newbie!”

You made a face at the question. You understood where he was coming from, hell you’d do the same if the roles were reversed, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed sharing details of your sordid past, especially with a stranger. The less people knew about it, the better.

“I used to be a mercenary for a family who did organized crime. Been clean for years though.”

“Oh yeah? They let you leave just like that?”

“The boss’ daughter had a soft spot for me.”

The lieutenant stared at you for a few more seconds, as if judging the veracity of your statements through sight alone, before lowering his weapon.

A resounding “Bonnie!” rang out. Next thing you knew, your boyfriend's muscular arms closed around you, causing you to yelp, pain running through you at the overeager contact. Soap cursed and apologized profusely.

“Bloody hell, a'm sorry, didnae mean tae hurt ye. Are ye alright? Show me where it hurts. If those bastards leid a hand on ye, I swear-”

There was something both flattering and arousing with how the more Soap lost his cool, the more pronounced his accent became, and the rougher his voice sounded. You placed a finger across his mouth to put an end to his verbal onslaught, an endeared smile on your own.

“At ease, soldier. I'm OK, just some bruised ribs and a busted eyebrow.” you summarized while pointing to the trickle of dried blood on the side of your face.

He leaned his forehead against yours, a gesture that felt terribly intimate, an adoring grin adorning his lips.

“Cannae believe ye wiped out those sorry fuckers all on yer own. Fuck, that's hot.” he confessed in a subdued tone.

You threw your head back in laughter, only to wince when your sore ribs manifested themselves.

“Never heard that one before. Could get used to it, though.”

You laced your fingers behind his neck, nonchalantly leaning against him, not fighting back an impish smile. Soap's hands grabbed your hips in response. Your roguish expression must have gotten the better of his restraint, because one breath later, he was hungrily pressing his mouth against yours. You replied in kind, swiftly deciding you did not care for his colleagues’ presence, and he moaned in appreciation.

After a minute or two, you broke the kiss against your will, remembering an issue that needed to be solved. You smiled, amused by the vision that was Soap chasing your lips blindly, then pouting when you refused him.

“So you guys are gonna take care of the bodies, right…? I can deal with one or two, but this is a bit much.”

The last soldier, the one you didn’t hear from yet, a pretty man with dark skin that Soap would later introduce as Gaz, assured you that they would handle it.

Transferring your attention back to Johnny, you noticed a trace of guilt in those ocean eyes of his, as he was staring at you.

“Something wrong?”

“Ye not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” you frowned.

“It's mah fault if those bastards took ye.”

“Oh, Johnny…” you sighed wistfully, cupping his face. “I knew what the risks were when I chose to date a soldier. Plus, there will always be a chance that my past catches up to me. I was pretty fucking mad when I got a hood shoved on my head and my arms twisted behind my back before getting hauled away in the middle of the fucking night, but not at you.”

Once they gathered all the intel they needed and dragged away the only survivor, the team and you left the building. Your testimony was required for the mission report, so you accompanied them without protest, longing for the care that would be provided by their medical facility.

As you were walking to their vehicule, hand in hand with Soap, you noted how he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His cerulean eyes kept greedily roaming all over you, like you were a vision so dream-like it was making him doubt your reality, like you would vanish the second he stopped contemplating you.

“Yer one badass lass, y'know that? ‘M so proud o’ ye. Proud tae be yers.”

A/N: Ghost's "grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.” " is based on my grandma 💀

[gatitties]

Can I get a one punch man saitama genos and garou accidentally saving a female reader from a villains or monster attack and the reader becomes madly in love with them and like stars following them and clingy to their art etc

─Saitama, Genos & Garou x reader

─Summary: You think that the person who saved you needs all the love in the world even if it was an accident.

─Warnings: none

─ In this world of heroes and villains you consider that you have a superpower, the superpower of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

─ Somehow you find yourself involved in battles that do not concern you, being just another civilian who is rescued, it has happened to you several times, but you usually go unnoticed and flee from danger before someone decides to use you as a hostage.

─ It didn't happen like that when Saitama saved you, although he didn't even see you, he destroyed that huge stone that was going to crush you when defeating a villain, your eyes could only look fascinated at the shine of his bald head and his bored expression.

─ You thanked him in different languages and he just gave you a thumbs up without knowing how to respond when he didn't even notice you in the first place.

─ He was certainly happy thinking that he had gotten a fan, but you went a little too far.

─ You went crazy looking for information about your now favorite hero and love, you sighed every time you saw him knock down enemies with a single blow.

─ Saitama met you more times a day than he did with Genos, and he lived with the cyborg.

─ You always tried to start a conversation with him, no matter how brief, you love the simple interaction.

─ Saitama will run away from you, seriously, he appreciates your letters and gifts but you are reaching an extreme, the man wants to lead a fairly peaceful life and you are a whirlwind of emotions.

─ Genos got a taste of his own medicine when he prevented a pile of rubble from falling on you, he hadn't noticed that you were the only person there, he just diverted the pieces of building for a battle strategy.

─ You didn't need anything else, once he realized that there were civilians, he apologized and helped you get to the nearest hospital to check if you had any injuries.

─ You were creating imaginary scenarios with the cyborg throughout the medical checkup and immediately sought to have more interactions with him.

─ It's difficult for Genos to reject some of your offers once you manage to establish some kind of friendly relationship, although he feels that you are being a little suffocating with your affection.

─ Appreciate your enthusiasm and affection, but seriously, relax a little, his brain will short-circuit from the amount of love you show him.

─ This boy has zero experience in romantic relationships so he is a little lost when it comes to reciprocating at first.

─ You will take care of that as long as he ends up accepting you as a partner, since he is still confused by your sudden appearance in his life, especially when he has such clear life goals, he doesn't know if you could distract him from his occupations.

─ He doesn't want to make you feel bad so he won't ignore your signs of affection like Saitama, ironically he has more heart than his bald friend.

─ In general he is a good boy and he will accept your love bombing, but he also has clear goals for himself, and he lets you know if you really want to be part of his life.

─ This idiot surely saw you and he was even the one who planned to use you as a hostage, but someone beat him to it and put a knife against your throat before he could do anything.

─ Fuck everything, the cheap villain was his priority now and he forgot about you, no one would take away a target even if it was a hostage, speaking of capricious boys…

─ Of course the whim of fighting your captor indirectly saved you, although he didn't look at you when you fell to the ground or help you after he broke the other guy's face, but your heart experienced an instant crush.

─ Garou had the feeling that someone was after him after that day, he thought that some rival was after him only to find... you with a love letter in your hands?

─ You looked at each other in an uncomfortable silence and he decided to leave without saying anything, but your spirits did not falter, you tried by all possible means to spend as much time as possible with him to establish a relationship.

─ The man simply got used to having you by his side, ranting about anything or receiving compliments for any little thing he did.

─ He was so embarrassed, not only because the sight of him as a villain would be destroyed, but because he was not used to receiving so much praise and affection.

─ You may have a rather negative reaction towards your love, he doesn't feel confident enough to start something and you also came out of nowhere, but now that he knows you a little more he won't kick you out of his life either, at least for now…

─ Don't expect any signs of affection from him, he's a tough guy and has to look tough.

─ He constantly reminds you that he's not a good person and what his goals are right now, but he gives up when he sees that the look in your eyes clouded by love, won't scare you away so easily, although he might like that.

[cybsoo2]

blind fight

╰┈➤ synopsis — Poor Beomgyu is scared of storms. The thunder threatens his pride, and the lightning leaves him with a sudden switch of personality. He just hopes his hostage doesn't mind taking care of her captor.

╰┈➤ pairing —yandere!beomgyu x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 1.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, verbal abuse, small section of violence, strong language, run girl run.

Thunder strikes down the sun. The chaos it creates is a cacophony of loud noises and bright lights. Beomgyu hesitates for only a second, a hitch of his breath and halted movements before he continues on his tirade. 

“Are you fucking stupid!?” A mix of anger and amusement make up his expression. “Running off in the middle of the night. It’s dangerous out there! Anyone could have gotten a hold of you and, fuck– How many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick skull!” He draws closer to where you cower in the corner. You keep your eyes on him as you crawl backwards, bringing some sort of distance between you and his stone-cold stare. At the sight of you scampering away like prey from its predator, Beomgyu makes a sudden move to seize you. He takes your wrists in both hands and slams your back against the wall. “Do you want to test me? Is that it?” His psycho stare stabs into you and a sick sense of terror seems to have tripped into your stomach. 

“No! No, I-” A rushed response falls from your lips only to be interrupted. 

“You like hurting me don’t you? Does it give you a sick sense of satisfaction?” He leaves no room for you to respond before his dangerous delusions continue their rampage. “You need me don’t you understand! You need me! You’d be dead in a ditch if you didn’t have me!” His screams shake your body. A growing fear begins to fester deep in your heart. You can feel your throat tightening, unable to stumble out even the simplest of apologies. 

The second strike of thunder is worse than the first. This time Beomgyu finds himself fumbling over his words. The teases he taunted you with are now trapped in his throat. He can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his anxiety eclipses. 

“You’re sick! Why do you keep hurting me like this?” His words are weak. Voice trembling under the terror of the storm. His hands loosen their grip only slightly. His body betraying him as it shrinks down to appear even smaller than you. He tries to use his cold words to regain control, but a crash of thunder beats him to it. 

He flinches back at the flash of light. Rapidly blinking back the blue tears that threaten to fall. In his eyes, all he can see is the light. An attack of blinding brightness burns deep into his eyes. It takes control of his thoughts and eats at his emotions. He struggles to see past the terror of the storm, and for a second, he forgets what he was so angry about. 

“You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.” 

The fourth strike is what ends him. Beomgyu collapses at your feet, crying and crumpled up into a ball. He has the bottom of your pajama pants clutched tight in his hold. Trying to find an anchor while fighting through his fear.  His fists shake and his knuckles whiten with the force of his grip. This small action is as much for himself as it is for you. While he lays like a pathetic pile on the floor, he still holds you tight in fear that you’ll run away again. 

He utters his last words before he loses his breath to the sobs that shake his body, “I’m all you have. Why can’t you understand that?” With those final words, the fight flees from his body. All his anger has bled him dry only to be replaced with a bout of sadness. 

You peer down at him in shock. It’s a pitiful sight to see, him sobbing at your feet begging you not to leave while you hold all the power in the palm of your hand. You could run away right now and he wouldn’t have the strength to stop you. You can’t help but let out a little laugh at how pathetic he is. His rageful rant was rather hypocritical wasn’t it? You can see through all the lies he’s strung through his sentences. Lies of how he’s your only hope. Lies that you need him. Lies that you love him. When really it’s all the opposite. 

Lovesickness is a dying disease. Beomgyu clings to you like a second skin. His bittersweet affections are suffocating. He sets up unrealistic rules so long as you stay by his side. He can’t live without you and he refuses to accept that. 

Escaping a life-like hell is all you’ve ever wanted. Failed attempt after failed attempt filled you with desperation. Now a miracle has shown you mercy. Beomgyu is powerless, paralyzed by fear and succumbing to his internal emotions. 

After struggling to get out of his grip, you take a step away from the boy that’s bawling at your feet. You walk backwards into the dark hall behind you. Closer to the door and further away from the life you once lived. You reach for the door handle, freedom at the tips of your fingers. The apartment is dark and decaying, it’s slowly killing your soul to live like this. You can see the light shining through the cracks of the door. Heaven holds out its hand, trying to take you in its arms and away from earth. Crying is all you can do, because wishing on a star finally filled you with wonder. Your heart is so happy now that you’ve been given a chance to escape your cage. To fly free like the birds you watched from the window. So why can’t you open the door?

Your doubt doubles down and you make the regretful choice to take one last look. Your eyes immediately meet his. His eyes are but sunken circles, drained of colour and stained with sadness. Six steps away and he’s already accepted your escape. His soul is slowly dying with every step you take. His heart still beating but body bleeding out in betrayal. Tears trail down his face. He looks pretty with a pink nose and pathetic look in his eyes. Under the last bit of moonlight, he looks like the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. This sliver of vulnerability makes you see him in a different light. He’s fragile and troubled but oh-so beautiful. 

His love is a little rough, it leaves marks like red kisses. And his life is a little lost, abandoned as a boy and searching for a soulmate. But, Beomgyu is worth loving, and who would do that if not you?

You take a step back into your lowly life. Walking towards the inconsolable boy, you kneel down to be on his level. You hold out your hand, offering up your heart for him to keep. 

Beomgyu looks up at you through thick lashes. He blinks back his tears and a look of confusion crosses his face. His eyes lock in on the hand that hovers over his own. Hesitantly, he grips your cold flesh in his hand. Even after everything, you still chose to stay. With that realization, he breaks down completely. Throwing himself into your arms and crying away all his tears until the drought. Beomgyu clings to you, clutching you tightly and trying to get closer. He cries into the crook of your neck, not holding back. It’s an ugly expression but he doesn’t care. He won’t hide his heart away any longer. He’ll bare his brutal truths and be the most honest man you’ll ever meet. Because as long as he’s a lovesick loser, you’ll stay by his side for forever to come.

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Encore.

Pairing: Yandere!Fontaine Trio x Lumine (Genshin).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Kidnapping, Nonconsensual Touching, Loss of Bodily Autonomy, Implied Stalking, and Bondage.

Lumine felt the heat of the fire, first.

She’d been left too close to it – its mild warmth allowed to build and burrow into something strong enough to sear. Her arms got the worst of it where they were bound behind the back of her chair, and then to a lesser degree, her legs, still somewhat affected by the damp, bone-deep chill that came with spending any amount of time in the tunnels that ran underneath Fontaine with any amount of bare skin. Clearly, her yet-to-be-decided kidnappers were either unconcerned with her comfort or, more worryingly, overconcerned to the point of unintentional negligence. She’d been held hostage plenty of times, but neither the Fatui nor the Abyss had ever bothered to keep a hearth lit in her cell.

Less alien, though, were the restraints she’d woken up bound by. Her wrists were tied behind her back with some kind of heavy, coarse rope, and she was blindfolded – the cloth thick enough to smother everything but the vaguest outline of the room she’d been left in. She grit her teeth, testing the rope’s durability before turning her mind towards solutions more creative than brute-strength. She didn’t have a weapon, and her elemental powers ranged from unhelpful (she doubted dosing herself with water or sprouting weeds would do her much good) to hazardous, lest she accidentally electrocute herself while trying to wear through the rope. If she’d known that she’d be in a situation like this, she would’ve gone to Natlan first. At least, then, she’d stand a chance of burning through her restraints without—

“Ah. Careful, there, darling. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself so early on.”

Lumine didn’t realize she’d been unconsciously pulling at her bondage until she stopped moving entirely, going rigid. It hadn’t occurred to her that there’d be a guard – someone waiting for when she came-to.

And, even if it had, she never would’ve imagined that guard’s voice sounding so familiar.

It took her a second to find her tongue, another to dredge up the motivation to use it. Even then, her voice was uncharacteristically meek – weak from disuse and muted by unwillingness. “…Lyney?”

“The one and only!” He was, evidently, not quite so downcast. She felt gloved fingertips skirt over her temples before finding the blindfold’s knot and gracefully undoing it. The cloth was pulled away with a dramatic flourish, and Lumine blinked against the dim light – practically nonexistent save for the gentle glow of the fire – before turning her attention toward her surroundings. She’d been right – they were keeping her underground. Stone embraced them on all sides, the walls unadorned and the furniture limited to a wooden worktable against the far wall, the hearth burning into her back, and the surprisingly nice armchair she’d been restrained to. There was a single exit, but even if she hadn’t been so firmly rooted to where she was, it wouldn’t have been a possibility. Left posed on the threshold, poised and waiting to be acknowledged, was Lynette – her unblinking gaze fixed on Lumine. As always, her expression was blank, ambivalent, but the way her tail thrashed at her feet conveyed… something. Lumine couldn’t be sure what, just yet.

Lyney cleared his throat, and with more than a little hesitation, Lumine turned back to him – her eyes already narrowed into a barbed glare. Considering the context, he was astonishingly casual (by his own standards, anyway). A dazzlingly bright smile was painted across his lips, his posture closer to that of a performer preparing to take the stage than a captor preparing to interrogate his prisoner. He was trying to act like himself, like she would’ve expected him to, but that might’ve been part of it – an attempt to disarm her. She bristled, curling her hands into fists and reminding herself that until she got out of here, he wasn’t a friend behaving strangely, but an enemy waiting for his chance to strike.

But, of course, he saw through her aggression as easily as she saw through his lack thereof, his smile taking on a slightly sympathetic note. “There’s really no need for that,” he said, with an airy laugh. “The last thing we want to do is fight you. Look, Lynette and I aren’t even carrying weapons. I can’t say the same for the guards down the hall, though – something to keep in mind if you’re thinking about making a run for it.”

She scowled, falling deeper into her anger where she couldn’t feign apathy. “Untie me.”

“So demanding, dear. Is that any way to speak to your host?” Another laugh, this one more full-bodied than the last. “Are you really in that much of a rush to leave?”

She was. This was already more civil than she had to be. “Why am I here?”

Lyney’s grin widened, his back straightening. He glanced towards Lynette, who responded with a shallow nod, before answering. “We heard you were going to leave Fontaine.”

Lumine remained unimpressed. “…and?”

“And,” Lyney went on, audibly eager. “You’ve done so much for our family, and for Lynette and I, and everyone was so distraught to hear you’d be going so soon. After some deliberation, we decided it would be better if you—” A pause, a dramatic rolling gesture, “—simply didn’t.”

She felt something at the base of her throat tighten. She’d had problems like this, before – Venti inviting her to Angel’s Share more and more often as her time in Mondstadt came to an end, Ningguang sending her on the most menial of errands to try and prolong her stay in Liyue – but she was used to the bittersweet sentimentality of friends, and the sour tinge that came with adding the element of distance into relationships that were once so close-knit. She was significantly less used to those friends trying to keep her around by force.

“I can’t stay in Fontaine forever,” she said, plainly. “You of all people should understand why.”

“Oh, of course not, we’d never ask you to stay in Fontaine.” He edged closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he rounded closer to the hearth. “Only that you stay with us. Father’s been very generous, too. She’s given us permission to use our information networks to keep searching for your brother, so there’s no need for you to keep travelling all alone and putting yourself in so much danger—” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, a slow shake of his head. “Just the thought alone is terrifying, isn’t it, Lynette?”

In her doorway, Lynette perked to attention. For a moment, she seemed unsure of whether or not she was meant to answer, but she made up her mind quickly enough. “…it is, brother.”

The cold blade of betrayal pierced Lumine’s chest, the strike sudden and deep. She did what she could to steel herself, to suppress her reaction, but more than she would’ve liked managed to seep through her defenses; a new stiffness to her shoulders, tension her jaw, little tells they’d both be able to pick up on. Admittedly, Lynette’s duplicity carried more weight than her twin’s. Lyney had always reminded her of Aether – bright and energetic, effortlessly charming and painstakingly emotional. Conversely, Lumine saw herself in Lynette. They both carried a sort of quiet coolness; an edge buried underneath thick layers of measured distance and calculated disregard. She’d thought (albeit, unfoundedly) that it might’ve been enough to breed some kind of unspoken respect between them. Or, some kind of mutual understanding, at least. Something strong enough to stop her from doing something like this. She must’ve been wrong, though.

(She had to be wrong. If she wasn’t, then she would’ve started considering the other commonalities her and Lynette shared, would’ve started to imagine what it would’ve been like if the roles had been reversed, it had been Aether rather than Lyney, if she would’ve gone along with an idea so delusional just because it’d come from the person she loved most. She would’ve had to admit, if only to herself, that the answer would’ve been yes, of course, without a second thought. The more time she spent away from him, the fewer things she wouldn’t do just to see his smile again.)

“He says your name in his sleep.” One of Lynette’s pointed ears twitched, her tail curling around her ankle, like she was biting back a smile. Her actual expression remained blank. “Frequently.”

Lumine heard Lyney huff behind her. “Well, I don’t think she really needs to know—”

“Loudly, too,” Lynette cut in, seamlessly. “It wakes me up, sometimes.”

To his credit, Lyney made a hasty recovery. His presence shifted behind her – disappearing momentarily before reforming at her side, his hand now on the arm of her chair. Carefully, he lowered himself to her height – as if hovering just outside of her peripheral wasn’t enough. “What my dear sister is trying to say,” he started, choosing the path of civility. Lumine had never noticed just how violently she disliked the saccharine cadence he so often spoke in, not before he’d decided he was only going to use it to coo at her with all the affection and all the patronizing confidence of an owner, savoring an excuse to talk down to a pet. “Is that we’re both very happy to have you here. She’d never say it out loud, but Lynette’s been especially impatient – she spent all of yesterday at the city’s gates, waiting for you to get back from your last commission.”

“Only because you asked me to, brother.”

“The only thing I’ve ever asked you to do is—”

Lyney pulled away from her, snapping toward his sister, and before he could realize he’d made a mistake, Lumine acted. She drove her heel into the ground and in response, a jagged spike of geo-infused earth broke through the stone immediately behind her, cutting through the rope binding her wrists and spearing the back of her chair, stopping less than full inch from impaling the base of her spine. Just as quickly, Lynette summoned her weapon, but it was too late – Lumine was already on her feet, her own sword already pulled from the gaps in reality and clenched in one hand while the other sent out a pulse of electro, creating a barrier of ozone and electricity between her and them. The edge of Lynette’s lips turned downward, the ghost of a scowl, while Lyney regained his composure, moving to take a step toward her before thinking better of it and, instead, moving to the left, placing himself between her and the doorway.

Lumine was unperturbed. “Drop your weapons and stand aside. I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”

“Oh, we can’t do that, love.” It was amazing, really – how he could be the only unarmed man in a room and still sound so condescending. “I’ve already told you about the guards, haven’t I? They’re not going to be as nice to you as we are.”

“I can deal with guards.”

“Always so stubborn. Even if we got on our hands and knees and begged, you’d probably still insist on making a fuss.” He stopped, laughed, the noise breathy and surprisingly remorseful. “I’ve always admired that about you, though. I know the same goes for Lynette, too.” 

Lynette’s gaze shifted to him, but only for a split second. A reluctant nod was all she provided by way of confirmation, but it was enough to earn the flash of a smile from Lyney before he went on. “Be honest, Lumine – is the idea of being with us really so unbearable?”

It was, but there was something about his tone that made her hesitant to say so. It was a lilt – cloying and desperate, just on the verge of cracking but not quite so dull as to be mistaken for total hopelessness. It was a tone she recognized, albeit not one she’d ever spoken in herself. It was a tone she remembered Aether using, any time he couldn’t stand not to get his way.

Lumine saw red.

It was clumsy, really, too rushed to be anything but doomed from the start – the unbalanced stance she took while preparing to charge, how rigidly she held her weapon as she imagined all the ways she could plunge her sword into his lying chest. A strong enough breeze could’ve thrown her off, but there couldn’t have been a breeze this far underground, and she wasn’t thrown – she was tripped. Her foot caught on a sleek sheet of ice that hadn’t been there the second prior, and before she could catch herself, it was creeping upward, encasing her ankle, her calf. The ice cracked as she fell to her knees, shattered entirely as another body barreled into her back and forced her to the ground. She moved to throw it off, but the blade of a sword was already pressed to her throat, Lynette purring contentedly behind her. “Please drop your weapon,” she said, her voice impassive in spite of the audible delight reverberating against Lumine’s back. When Lumine hesitated, she angled her blade upward, threatening to cut into the underside of Lumine’s chin. “There’s only so many times we’re going to ask, Lumine.”

Gritting her teeth, she let go of her sword, glaring miserably as it clattered to the floor. Rather than respond, she looked towards the doorway – to Freminet where he kneeled on one knee, his palm pressed to the floor and a trail of ice creeping outward from the point of contact. He was making a point not to look at her, with his eyes fixed on the ground and a small, metal box tucked under his free arm. “…I’m sorry,” he muttered, and for a second, she thought he was talking to her, that someone might actually admit how wrong this was. But, that meager hope was quickly snuffed out as he picked himself up and approached Lyney, offering him the metal box. “The trail tests ran longer than I was expecting. I meant to finish before she woke up.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s not as if any of this would be possible if it weren’t for you.” The box was accepted, Freminet pulled into a short, tight hug. Eventually, he pulled himself out of Lyney’s arms, earning a chirping laugh. “It’s alright – I know you’re happy, too. Go and see her, Lynette and I will take care of the rest.”

There was a moment of stalled reluctance, but soon enough, Freminet did as he was told. Lynette made herself busy – setting down her sword in favor of gathering Lumine’s wrists behind her back –as he kneeled in front of her, the faintest possible blush painted over his pale features. “Are you hurt?” She bared her teeth, and he flinched back, smiling. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t be, huh? It’s not like someone like me could ever do anything that’d hurt someone like you.”

His eyes shifted upward to his sister. Distantly, Lumine heard something unlatch, felt cool metal press into her wrists, but it was hard to focus on that when Freminet’s faint smile was quickly brightening, his attention darting back to her in an instant. “We were more worried about you hurting yourself, to be honest. We could take away your sword, sure, but finding a way to deal with your elemental abilities would’ve been trickier. It was Lyney’s idea, but, uh—” His eyes dropped pointedly to the floor. “—I did most of the work, to be honest.”

She opened her mouth, prepared to spit out something vile and hateful, but Lynette distracted her, letting go of her arms and shifting off her back. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed herself up and looked at her wrists, now encased by a pair of well-polished, silver cuffs – each inscribed with runes too small and too intricate for her to recognize at a glance. If she’d been in a better mood, she would’ve had to stifle a laugh. There was no chain, let alone something to tether her to. If they thought weighing down her hands would be enough to stop her from getting out of there, they were more delusional than she’d assumed.

Almost giddily, Freminet caught her hand, slotting it against his cheek. She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “It’s alright,” he said, smiling, melting into her palm. “Try anything you’d like to. I promise, we won’t be mad.”

It felt wrong. It was wrong, but if only for a moment, frustration managed to overshadow her rationality. Again, she called for her electro – not enough to kill, just enough to stun – and—

And, to Freminet’s apparent delight, nothing happened.

Something in her chest cracked open and spilled out. Anemo was next, then hydro, geo, anything—  but all of it seemed suddenly beyond her reach, as intangible as it’d been when she first arrived to Teyvat. Her despair must’ve leaked onto her expression; Lynette’s purring grew louder as she nuzzled shamelessly into Lumine’s shoulder, and Lyney appeared at her side, his smile a mirror of that he wore after a particularly enthusiastic standing ovation. “It’s fantastic, Freminet, fantastic.” He was latching onto her side before she could stop him, any trepidation he might’ve once had now entirely gone. She tried to throw her elbow into his stomach, but he caught her by the arm effortlessly, pulling her against him and into a kiss so hasty and so forceful, she could feel her lips bruising by the time he pulled away, still grinning like a maniac. “You couldn’t possibly imagine how long I’ve been waiting to do that, my love.” And then, with his nails burrowing into her skin, “Or to call you that. Archons, it’s felt like an eternity.”

She was too stunned to think, let alone say anything, but Lynette was kind enough to take up the mantle. “Selfish as always, brother. You promised to hold yourself back.”

“I only promised to try, dear sister. And besides,” An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Our of terror or rage or some awful combination, she shut her eyes, but that wasn’t enough to block out the sound of his voice, to numb the feeling of his mouth moving against the side of her neck as he went on, eager to the point of cruelty.

“We have more than enough time to learn to share.”

[chaotic-birds]

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck. 

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time. 

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left. 

“There is?” the guy questions and turns. 

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby. 

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls. 

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go. 

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part II

Part 1

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations :)

Word count: 1695

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, arrow wounds, horse jokes.

Two uneventful days went by for the Bad Batch Gang. They began to think the weird interaction in Valentine really was just that, nothing more.

“Why can’t I try a rifle?” Meggy kicked at a rock in her path.

“Because a rifle doesn’t work on small game.” Echo smirked, adjusting the shotgun in his elbow.. “There won’t be anything left of the critter. Plus, a bow is a great weapon. I’d have one too if I could.”

The youngest and oldest siblings picked their way quietly through the forest just north of camp. They’d managed to grab one squirrel all morning, but the forest was unusually quiet today. “Let’s head back, hopefully Crosshair had better luck.”

“No luck for you today, I’m afraid.” A strangers voice startled the pair as a towering figure stepped out from behind a tree. The blue-jacketed man from town. His revolver raised toward Echo.

Meggy froze, Echo raised his shotgun. “Stay away.”

“Don’t be a fool, we know that’s birdshot.” A scar-faced man appeared. Followed by three other armed men. “Just drop it.”

Echo let out a frustrated groan placed his shotgun on the dirt.

“Are you okay, kid?” one of the three goons asked, a young black man with a scarf.

“She’s exactly where she belongs.” Echo spat.

“Hey I wasn’t asking you!”

Meggy stood silently, still frozen.

“See? She’s terrified!” Another spoke up with a thick irish accent. “We outta blow your other arm off, kidnapper.”

“This is a misunderstanding, we saved-”

“Quiet!” The man in blue growled. “Walk back to camp, we’re gonna meet your friends. Sean, take the kid to the horses and wait for the signal.”

-

Arthur was somewhat relieved to see only two figures as he pushed his hostage into the kidnapper’s camp, but that only meant the remaining two were unaccounted for still. Theone with the red scarf was chopping firewood while the glasses-wearing one was grooming a horse on the farther end of camp.

“Hands up, drop the ax.” Arthur called from the edge of the clearing, gun still trained on the one-armed man’s back, using him as a shield. Lenny, John, and Javier fanned out on either side, weapons drawn.

“Weapons on the ground, or Lefty gets it. This is your only warning.” He put a hand on Echo’s shoulder and pulled him backward.

“Your knife too.” Lenny barked at Hunter.

With a nod from their leader the three gang members gathered the two new hostages.

-

Sean and Meggy watched the others disappear into the trees.

“Alright kid, let’s go. You’re safe now.” Sean beckoned the girl toward the horses where they were to wait for the signal. She did not follow. When the irishman turned around, her bow was trained on him.

“No, no. I’m here to save you kid. Meghan, right? We’re bringing you home!” He stammered.

“I am home.” She curled her lip, and let the arrow fly.

-

It had been ten whole minutes since Arthur had whistled for Sean to bring down the horses. “Where is that bastard?” Arthur said under his breath.

They had their hostages kneeling on the forest floor as Javier bound their hands. The trio eyed their captors with an intense vitriol but said nothing. It was abundantly obvious these were no run of the mill outlaws, these were battle-trained men. Arthur was not going to let his guard down.

Just then the sound of hoof steps came from behind. Sean led them from his steed, an arrow was embedded firmly in his thigh.

“Where’s the girl?!” Javier opened his arms in confusion.

“She got away!” Sean spat, grimacing and pressing on his thigh where the arrow shaft bounced with every stride of his mount.

“You gotta be kidding me, Sean. You had ONE job!” Arthur groaned.

“Goddamnit.” John cursed.

“She SHOT me!” Sean motioned to the arrow, as if no one had noticed it.

Arthur glanced at the hostages. Their intense, angry stares held a new smugness at the news that the girl had escaped. He drew a pained sigh. “Javier, Lenny, take these fellas to the sheriff in Valentine. Sean, John, ride with me we’re gonna find that girl.” He holstered his revolver and mounted up.

Sean nodded stiffly.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked in a low voice as he neared the horses.

“Not to worry, English, takes a lot more than one arrow to take out a Maguire.” He choked out.

“Leave it in, nothing we can do about it till we get back to camp.”

Sean’s positive demeanor wilted then, realizing he’d have to ride with an impaled thigh for another couple hours at the very least.

Javier and John mounted, guns still drawn, and walked Hunter, Echo, and Tech down the trail toward Valentine. The rest rode in the opposite direction.

-

Meggy ran like she had never run in her life. Her boots catching on branches almost took her out several times, but she didn’t let it slow her. Crosshair and Wrecker were somewhere out here, she had to warn them about what was going on.

“Meggy!” A raspy voice hissed out of nowhere.

Meggy stopped in her tracks. Confusion written on her face.

“Up here.”

Meggy looked up, Crosshair was perched high up in a Douglas Fir.

“Crosshair!” The girl said as loudly as she dared. “They took Echo!”

“I know, I saw the whole thing. Climb up here, they’re coming back.”

Meggy had never climbed a tree before, but she had to be brave. She clambered one branch at a time until she was a few levels below her brother, then decided it was enough.

“Where’s Wrecker?” She breathed hard from the exertion.

“I don’t know.”

As if on cue their brother appeared through the tree trunks below, striding back toward camp with an armful of game traps he’d retrieved.

“Psssst Wrecker!” Meggy hissed.

“He can’t hear you.” Crosshair threw a pine cone down toward his half-deaf brother’s head with pinpoint accuracy.

“OW!” Wrecker turned and looked up. “Hey! What are you two doing in a tree?!”

Meggy and Cross motioned him to be quiet and beckoned him up.

The three siblings balanced on their branches, the one Wrecker was on creaking concerningly. Holding their breath, they watched the bounty hunters searching for them in the forest below. Crosshair held his rifle ready to retaliate at the slightest glance in their direction, Meggy and Wrecker could do nothing but wait.

After several, slow, agonizing minutes, the men moved on.

“Who’s that?” Wrecker whispered.

“I don’t know but they have Echo!” Meggy tried to hold in a sob.

“We’ll get him back.” Wrecker growled. “Come on.” He started back down the tree.

“Stop. There are too many of them. We need a plan.” Crosshair hissed.

“Let’s go back to camp.” Wrecker suggested. “We’ll get Hunter and Tech and then get Echo.”

-

An hour of searching yielded no results, the bounty had fled. Arthur knew when the trail had run cold, and this one was ice.

“Don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last, English.” Sean gasped in pain for the twelfth time. It was time to give up. Even if they did find the bounty, Sean would be no help bringing them in, and he wasn’t confident with the marksman and the bruiser being the ones unaccounted for.

“John, get Sean home. I’ll meet the others in town.”

-

The cell in the Sheriff’s office reeked of must and the unwashed fabric of the thin mattress on the floor. Hunter, Tech, and Echo sat on the ground as far away from it as possible.

On their way in, Hunter had noticed Meggy’s bounty poster… her reward was more money than they ever would’ve imagined. Why all this fuss over one kid? Why couldn’t they just be left alone?

“The Van der Linde Gang.” Tech thoughtfully mumbled to himself.

“The Van der Linde Gang?” Echo scoffed. “What’s that?”

“I read about them in the paper, I have a hunch that’s who we’re dealing with.” Tech said softly, eyeing the deputy at the desk across the room.

“How do you know that?” Hunter whispered.

“The one calling the shots, I believe his name is Arthur Morgan, has a vicious reputation. He is one of Dutch Van der Linde’s right hand men.”

“Yeah he’s the one we ran in to in town.” Hunter said in a worried hush.

“QUIET IN THERE!” The Deputy scolded.

They fell silent for a few minutes.

“How long have we been here?” Echo whispered

Tech, the only one who wore a watch, checked it. “Four hours.”

Echo sighed.

“I SAID QUIET! Final warning.” The Deputy hit the table with his fist.

-

Wrecker, Crosshair, and Meggy ducked through the underbrush as quickly and quietly as possible. Stopping every so often to listen for their pursuers. When they arrived at camp they waited and watched for at least an hour, making sure the bounty hunters were not around.

“Is it safe yet?” Meggy dared a whisper.

“We need a plan, first.” Wrecker scratched his chin.

Crosshair’s uncanny stillness finally broke. “I’ll tack up Havoc. Wrecker and Meggy get Murray* on the wagon. We’ll go to town and carefully scope it out to see if we can figure out where they took them.���

(*Murray is Marauder’s nickname)

Meggy and Wrecker nodded and the troop finally stood from their hiding place. Meggy looked up at Crosshair, his brow was knotted with deep concern. She gently tugged on his sleeve. “We’re gonna find them, Crosshair, don’t worry.” She smiled.

The marksman nodded back but barely looked at her.

Soon enough they were on the road. Wrecker drove the wagon while crosshair took up the rear on his mount, and Meggy was relinquished to riding in an empty crate to stay out of sight. She jostled inside, now that the adrenaline had worn off the reality of the situation was beginning to set in. A few stray tears slid down her face. The universe had just given her a family and now it was trying to take it away. Maybe it really would’ve been better for everyone if she just stayed at that stupid school.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup

Author’s note:

Hello beautiful readers! So many of you have given me such good ideas for this AU. This is a kind of “I’m making it up as I go” story with several solid story beats I’m working toward. That being said I’d love to hear more detail ideas for this crossover if you have them! And I will try to incorporate them in.

For example: someone suggested that Gonky be their disabled dog and I love that so much, I want to figure out how to ret con it in. Stuff like that.

Anyway thank you for reading and for all the enthusiasm!’ I read every single tag, reblog, and reply (multiple times).

[hoe4hotchner]

Bound by the sea | [A.H]

Pairing: Pirate!Hotch x fem!Reader

CW: Is this maybe enemies to lovers??? Perhaps, I don't know, because Hotch isn’t really an enemy as much as he just kidnapped you. Kidnapping, non-consensual captivity, emotional distress, hints of violence, violence, manipulation, power dynamics, light danger, robbery, plundering, alcohol consumption, mild aggression, emotional tension, hints of romance, weapons. Loneliness, blood. Hotch is a brutal pirate when he steals from people, Y/N used twice, I mention rum a lot, and there’s a moment in the latter half of the story where I really wanted Hotch to say, "Minions, tonight we steal the moon!"—if you can spot it, you're a legend. No sex, but I hint at the possibility of rape twice if you're not careful as a pirate—not mentioned directly, you have to read between the lines. Maybe there’s a wedding, who knows? Pirate talk—is that even a warning

WC: 15.5k

Summary: Hotch is a pirate, he kidnaps you, you adapt to the life and fall in love with him.

A/N: I'm sorry this is so long, but I got carried away and couldn't stop. Enjoy!

Based on this moodboard

           The night was thick with the scent of saltwater and the hum of the ocean beneath you, a blanket of inky darkness stretching over the horizon. Waves rocked the ship gently, a deceptive lull to the chaos you’d been thrown into. You sat in the dimly lit cabin, your wrists bound together with rope rougher than what was necessary, and the memory of how you’d gotten here was still a vivid blur.

     ��     One moment, you had been safe in your bed on your father's estate - untouchable, or so you thought. And the next, you were dragged away from the safety of your home by men who smelled a little too much of rum and sea air, with no explanation other than your value as a hostage.

           Your captor - Captain Aaron Hotchner - was the man behind it all. He had led the raid on your father’s estate, taking you as a prize, a bargaining chip to use against the very people you called family. You had heard of Captain Hotchner before - feared and revered across the seas, known for his cruelty and cunning. But nothing had prepared you for the man himself.

           The door to the cabin creaked open, and your heart raced as the figure of Captain Hotchner stepped inside, his silhouette imposing against the lantern's flickering light. He was tall, dressed in his dark, weather-worn captain's coat, his eyes gleaming with intensity and amusement as they landed on you.

           "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and unsettlingly calm. "I trust you’re settling in well."

           You glared at him, feeling the fire of anger in your chest rise. “You kidnapped me,” you spat, trying to tug at your bindings though it was no use. "How do you expect me to settle in when you’ve stolen me from my home?"

           Hotch smiled - an infuriating, almost charming smile that didn't belong on the face of a pirate. He stepped closer, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor until he was standing in front of you, towering over you with a confidence that made your skin prickle.

           "Kidnapped, stolen - such harsh words," he mused, crossing his arms casually. "I prefer to think of it as... relocation. You’re safe here, aren’t you?"

           Safe? The very idea made you laugh bitterly. “You’re a pirate. I’m your prisoner. How could I possibly be safe?”

           He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if considering your words. "You wound me," he said with mock offense. "I’ve taken you from the dangers of the land - away from a world of treachery and deception. Your father has enemies, you know. He’s made more than a few people unhappy. Here, under my care, no harm will come to you."

           You stared at him, incredulous. He truly believed what he was saying - like he had done you a favor by dragging you away in the dead of night.

           “And what do you want in return?” you demanded, your voice sharp. “My father’s ransom?”

           Hotch’s smile widened, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took another step forward, kneeling before you so he was at your eye level. You tried not to shrink back, but there was something undeniably intimidating about him - something dark and unyielding.

           “Your father’s wealth, his power... perhaps,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But you, my dear, are far more valuable than any gold or ransom.”

           Your breath hitched at his words, and you stared at him, trying to decipher his intentions. The way he spoke, the way his eyes held yours - it was unnerving. There was a dangerous charm to him, a magnetic pull that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t understand.

           “I don’t understand,” you whispered, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

           Captain Hotchner leaned in closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. “You will,” he murmured, his voice was dark and teasing as if he held all the cards and you were merely a pawn in his game of chess. “In time, you’ll see that there's a reason for everything I do, that being here, with me, is far better than anything your former life could offer.”

           You shook your head, your chest tight with anger and fear. “You’re mad,” you said with a laugh, your voice was barely above a whisper.

           “Am I?” he asked, his smile never faltering. “Or am I the only person being truly truthful with you, are you just too used to your comfortable, sheltered life to see that there’s more to the world than you’ve been told?”

           You wanted to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, that there was nothing good about being held captive by a pirate who acted as charming as he was dangerous. But the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his fingers brushed against your arm, sent a shiver down your spine. There was something intoxicating about him, something that made your skin tingle under his touch, even though every rational part of you knew you should be terrified, that you should fight.

           “You’ll come around,” he said softly, his voice a promise laced with darkness. “You’ll see that I’m not your enemy, no matter what you’ve been taught to believe.”

           You shook your head again, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his proximity. “I’ll never trust you.”

           Captain Hotchner chuckled softly, his hand coming up to tilt your chin so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. “We’ll see about that,” he whispered, his tone soft yet menacing. “For now, I suggest you get some rest. You’ll need your strength in the days to come.”

           And with that, he stood, giving you one last, lingering look before turning to leave the cabin. The door creaked shut behind him, and you were left alone once more, your heart racing and your mind swirling with confusion and anger.

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The quiet after his departure felt heavier than the moments before. Your mind was a storm of conflicting emotions - fear, anger, and something else, something unsettling that lingered in your chest. Aaron Hotchner was no ordinary pirate. He was calm and controlled - far more composed than the brash, ruthless men you had imagined when thinking of the pirates in the stories your father used to tell you about. And that made him infinitely more dangerous.

           You tried to settle into the small cot in the corner of the cabin, though the ropes binding your wrists made it difficult. Sleep seemed impossible, with thoughts of escape and Captain Hotchner's strange charm keeping you on edge. You needed a plan - anything to break free from the hold he seemed to have, not just over your body but your mind as well.

           Hours passed, or perhaps it was minutes - you had lost all sense of time. The creaking of the ship, the distant voices of the crew, and the gentle rocking of the waves became a maddening rhythm that you couldn’t escape. Every sound reminded you of where you were, trapped aboard a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean with no way out.

           Just as your frustration reached its peak, the door creaked open again. You shot up, heart pounding, expecting to see Hotch again. Instead, it was one of his crewmembers, a gruff man with a scar running down his cheek. He held a tray with food and water, setting it down on the small wooden table in the corner without a word. His eyes lingered on you for a moment - an unsettling, assessing look - but he said nothing and left just as quickly as he had come.

           You stared at the tray. The food was simple - bread, cheese, and some sort of dried meat - but your stomach growled in protest at the sight. Still, you hesitated, unsure if eating meant giving in to your captors somehow, letting them win this small battle. But the gnawing hunger eventually overpowered your pride, and you carefully tore a piece of bread, your eyes flicking nervously toward the door as if the captain would appear again.

           Hours seemed to pass like this—alone with your thoughts, pacing the small cabin. The door remained closed, and every creak of the ship made you jump. You knew Captain Hotchner was playing some kind of game with you, keeping you waiting, on edge. It was a test of endurance, and you were determined not to break.

           But when the door finally opened again, your heart still leapt into your throat. This time, it was him.

           Captain Hotchner strode into the room with the same quiet authority as before. He had discarded his heavy coat, revealing a simple white shirt, the top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, but it did nothing to soften the intensity of his presence. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it as his eyes swept over you.

           “You didn’t eat much,” he observed, his voice casual but with that underlying edge.

           “I’m not hungry,” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest defensively to the best of your ability.

           Captain Hotchner's lips twitched in a smile that was more knowing than amused. He pushed off from the door and crossed the small room in a few strides, standing close enough that you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. There was something predatory in the way he moved.

           “You’re strong-willed,” he said softly, his voice was almost admiring. “I expected no less from someone like you.”

           Your heart raced at his proximity, but you refused to back down. “Someone like me?” you repeated, your voice shaking slightly despite your efforts to remain steady. “What do you mean by that?”

           He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. You flinched, fearing the worst, but didn’t pull away, determined not to show weakness.

           “Someone raised in luxury,” he murmured, his hand lingering as he spoke. “Used to having things your way. Butlers and maids waiting on your beg and call. It’s fascinating to watch how you adapt, how you try to hold on to that sense of control even when it’s been taken from you.”

           His words were like a challenge, one you couldn’t help but rise to.

           “I won’t adapt,” you snapped at him, your voice sharper now. “I won’t fall into whatever twisted game you’re playing.”

           He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He withdrew his hand but remained close, his eyes never leaving yours. “Oh, I think you will,” he said, his tone was light but firm as if he had no doubt. “In time, you’ll see that this life - this ship and my crew - is not so different from the world you knew. There are rules, there’s power, and there are choices you'll have to make along the way.”

           “Choices?” you scoffed, incredulous. “You think I have a choice in any of this?”

           Captain Hotchner leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his breath against your cheek. “There’s always a choice,” he whispered, his voice low with a tint of danger to it. “You can choose to fight me, resist, and make this more difficult for yourself. Or... you can choose to see things my way.”

           Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find words. The weight of his gaze, the intensity of his presence - it was overwhelming. And yet, beneath the fear and anger, there was something else. Something you didn’t want to admit to yourself.

           “I’ll never see things your way,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

           Captain Hotchner's smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll see about that, now won't we?” he said softly, his fingers brushing your cheek before he pulled away entirely. He straightened, his expression once again unreadable.

           “We’ll be docking soon,” he said, his tone shifting back to something more businesslike. “I suggest you prepare yourself.”

           “Docking? Where are you taking me?” you demanded, panic rising again.

           He didn’t answer immediately. He turned toward the door but paused just before opening it, glancing back at you with that same infuriating smile. “You’ll see soon enough.”

                                 ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           You stared at the door long after it closed, his parting words echoing in your mind like a dark promise. "You'll see soon enough." What did that even mean? Your thoughts churned with anxiety, but behind the fear, there was a wave of simmering anger - anger at Hotch for taking you, for speaking to you like he had all the control, and anger at yourself for the strange pull you felt whenever he was near.

           With a frustrated sigh, you tugged at the ropes around your wrists. They were tightly knotted, the rough fibers digging and burning into your skin, but you knew that getting out of them wasn’t going to be easy. Your eyes darted around the small cabin, searching for anything that could help. There was a chair, a desk, and a small and dull knife on the tray of food. If you could just get to it, maybe you’d have a chance.

           But the thought of escape wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. What would happen after? You were on a ship in the middle of the sea, surrounded by men who followed Captain Hotchner without question. Even if you managed to free yourself, where would you go?

           The door creaked open again before you could formulate a plan. You instinctively straightened, tension rippling through your body, but it wasn’t the captain this time. One of his crewmembers - this time a man with a crooked smile and a rough beard - entered the room, carrying what looked like a set of clothes.

           “The captain said you'd be needing this,” he said, tossing the bundle onto the bed without preamble.

           You eyed the clothes suspiciously, then looked back at the man. “What for?”

           The man grinned, his teeth yellowed and uneven. “For when we dock, missy. Can’t have you wandering around in that fancy dress. Might draw too much attention, y'know?”

           “And where exactly are we docking?” you asked, though you doubted you���d get a straight answer.

           The man just chuckled. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, echoing Captain Hotchner's earlier words. Without another word, he moved toward you, and before you could react, he reached down and began untying the ropes around your wrists.

           You flinched instinctively, unsure of his intentions, but his hands worked deftly, loosening the bindings until they fell away. The relief was immediate, the dull ache in your arms easing as you rubbed your sore wrists, shooting the man a wary glance.

           He stood up, giving you a crooked smile. “Don’t think about runnin’,” he warned, though there was no malice in his voice. “There’s nowhere to go but the sea. The captain will be feedin' ya to the sharks if you do.”

           With that, he turned and left, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

           You glanced down at the clothes - a simple tunic and trousers, nothing like the finely embroidered dress you’d been wearing when you were taken. The material was coarse but practical, the kind of thing someone working on a ship might wear. You supposed they wanted you to blend in, to look like one of them. The thought made your stomach twist, but you realized you didn’t have much choice. Captain Hotchner was right about one thing - you could fight and make this harder for yourself, or you could play along, at least until you figured out a way to turn the tables.

           With a sigh, you slipped off your dress and changed into the clothes, the rough fabric scratching against your skin. You had barely finished adjusting the trousers when you heard footsteps again, and before you could react, the door swung open.

           This time, it was in fact, Captain Hotchner.

           He stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the change of attire with a faint smile. “Much better,” he said, his voice carrying that same quiet authority. “You’ll find it easier to move around like that.”

           “I didn’t exactly have a choice or an opportunity to move around before, did I?” you shot back, crossing your arms defensively.

           His smile deepened, though it was more like a smirk. “No, you didn’t.” He stepped further into the cabin, closing the door behind him, and the tension in the room thickened immediately. His presence was overwhelming, as it always was, but now there was something more - something almost... possessive in the way he looked at you.

           “I’m not your prisoner,” you said, trying to sound strong, though your voice wavered slightly.

           Captain Hotchner's eyes darkened, his smile fading as he took another step toward you. “Aren’t you?” he asked, his voice was low, almost a whisper, although you could sense a hint of amusement in his tone. “You’re on my ship and in my world now. You’ll find that things here don’t work the way they do in yours.”

           His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you took a small step back, your heart racing. “And what exactly do you want from me?” you demanded, your voice firmer this time. “What’s your plan, Captain?”

           Captain Hotchner tilted his head, studying you for a long moment before answering. “I want you to see things my way,” he said simply. “To understand that what happens here - what we do - it’s all for survival. For power. You’re no different from us. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

           You shook your head, incredulous. “You kidnapped me! That’s not survival, that’s-”

           “Necessary,” He interrupted, his tone was cold and final. “Everything I do is necessary.”

           Your jaw clenched in frustration. He wasn’t just a pirate - he was something more dangerous. Someone who believed he was in the right, no matter how twisted his actions were. Someone who everyone feared in some way or the other. And that made him nearly impossible to reason with.

           Before you could retort, the captain stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and despite yourself, your breath hitched.

           “You’ll come to understand in time,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours. “They all did. You’re not my prisoner. You’re part of something much bigger now.”

           Your heart pounded in your chest, and you wanted to push him away, to fight back, but something about his voice, his presence - it made you hesitate.

           “I don’t want to be part of this,” you whispered, though the conviction in your voice had wavered.

           Captain Hotchner's hand lingered near your face, his fingers ghosting over your cheek for just a moment longer before he pulled back. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said softly, turning toward the door. “You already are.”

           You stood frozen, staring at the door long after it closed behind him, your mind racing with a storm of conflicting emotions. The gentle brush of his fingers against your skin lingered, as if the ghost of his touch was still there, seeping into your thoughts. Part of you wanted to scream, to lash out at the unfairness of your situation, at him - for being so impossibly frustrating, so self-assured in his warped view of things. But another part, a quieter part, couldn’t shake the unsettling pull you felt toward him, despite everything.

           You hated that part.

           With a deep breath, you sat down on the bed, your hands gripping the edge of the rough wooden frame, knuckles turning white at the sheer force of your grip. You couldn't let him get into your head. He may have you physically trapped, but you weren’t going to let him manipulate you. You had to find a way out, even if that meant playing along for now.

           As time passed, the ship swayed gently beneath you, the sounds of waves crashing against the hull and the muffled voices of the crew filling the silence of the cabin. Your mind wandered, thoughts drifting back to Captain Hotchner. The man was infuriatingly complex - dangerous and controlling, yet oddly gentle in his actions toward you. He had the power to command an entire crew of ruthless pirates, the power to kill, but something about the way he spoke to you, how he lingered, suggested he wasn’t just a ruthless villain like everyone made him out to be.

           But he was still your captor.

           A soft knock interrupted your thoughts. You tensed, expecting to see Hotch again, but instead, the door creaked open, revealing a younger crewmember. His clothes were worn, his hair tangled, and his face had a nervous energy about it. He stepped inside cautiously, holding a tray of food.

           “Captain’s orders,” he said quietly, placing the tray on the table near the bed with the other barely touched tray of food. “He said you should eat.”

           You didn’t respond, your eyes narrowing as you glanced at the tray. Bread, cheese, and what looked like some sort of stew this time. Simple but more than you expected from pirates. The boy shifted awkwardly under your gaze, looking down at his boots.

           “You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked, offering a nervous smile.

           You shook your head, still suspicious. “Why do you follow him?” you asked abruptly, catching him off guard. “Captain Hotchner. Why do you all listen to him?”

           The boy blinked, surprised by your question. He hesitated before answering, his voice quiet. “Captain Hotchner… he’s not like other pirates i've met. He takes care of us. He protects us. A lot of us wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.” He glanced around the cabin, almost as if making sure Hotch wasn’t listening. “He has his reasons for everything. You may not see it now, but the captain… he’s not as bad as you might think.”

           You bit your lip, his words stirring something inside you. Was it loyalty that kept them all in line? Or fear?

           Before you could respond, the boy gave you a small nod and turned to leave. “Just… eat something, alright? You’re gonna need your strength.”

           Once the door clicked shut, you stared at the tray for a long moment, your stomach growling despite the tension that gripped you. You finally relented, picking up the bread and taking a small bite. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to clear your head, giving you some much-needed focus.

           As you ate, your thoughts circled back to the captain. You couldn’t let him win. If the crew saw him as a protector, as someone to be followed, there had to be a way to use that to your advantage. Maybe you could earn their trust too. Maybe you could find a crack in his armor, something that would give you leverage.

           But first, you had to play along. You had to be smart.

           Later, as the ship rocked gently and the sounds of the crew faded into the evening, you laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Captain Hotchner's words echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of the battle ahead.

           “You’re part of this now.”

           Maybe you were. But that didn’t mean you had to accept it.

           With that thought, you drifted off into an uneasy sleep, knowing that tomorrow, you’d have to face the captain again - and somehow, find a way to turn the tides in your favor.

                            ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The next morning, you woke to the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the small cabin window. The sound of footsteps and muted conversations echoed from above deck, reminding you once again of where you were, it had in fact not just been a nightmare that you were trapped on a pirate ship. The reality of it weighed heavily on your chest, but you swallowed the anxiety, forcing yourself to rise and steady your mind.

           You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken.

           The door creaked open before you could prepare yourself and Captain Hotchner stepped inside, as if summoned by your thoughts, his presence commanding the room. He didn’t say anything at first, simply letting his eyes sweep over you as if assessing. His dark hair was tousled slightly, the sea breeze having its way - you could only imagine the wind having blown through it as he steered the ship - but he still looked as composed as ever.

           "Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice rich and calm, as though he hadn’t abducted you and was holding you captive onboard his ship.

           You refused to give him the satisfaction of answering him. Instead, you crossed your arms and leveled him with a steady glare, one you hoped conveyed more strength than you felt.

           Captain Hotchner's lips quirked slightly, that infuriating smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Still defiant, I see."

           He stepped closer, but instead of looming over you, he walked past, his fingers brushing along the edge of the table as he observed the mostly empty plate from last night’s meal.

           "You ate," he noted, almost as if pleased. "Good. I need you strong."

           "For what?" you snapped, tired of his vague answers. "What’s your plan? To keep me locked in this cabin forever while you and your crew plunder villages and kill innocent people? Or is there something worse waiting for me? Cause if so, you might as well kill me now."

           He turned then, his expression was unreadable as his eyes bore into yours. "You’ll see soon enough."

           His nonchalance infuriated you. It wasn’t just that he had taken you - it was the way he acted as if you were already part of his world, as if you would eventually bend to him.

           "You’re a monster," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

           To your surprise, Captain Hotchner didn’t seem angered by the accusation. Instead, he tilted his head, watching you closely, his expression softening just slightly.

           "Maybe I am," he said after a pause, his voice was quiet. "But that doesn’t change anything. You belong here now."

           You clenched your fists, your pulse quickening at his words. "I don’t belong to anyone," you shot back, your voice shaking with both rage and defiance.

           Hotch’s eyes darkened, but his expression remained calm. "You’ll change your mind soon enough, just you wait and see."

           With that, he stepped closer, his figure once again towering over you. His presence was suffocating, and yet, there was something in his gaze that drew you in, a strange pull that you hated to acknowledge.

           "I can see the fire in you," the captain murmured, his voice lower now, as if he was telling you a secret, it was almost tender. "It’s what makes you interesting. But if you think you can escape or fight me off, you’ll find yourself sorely mistaken. I'm sure Scully already told you about the sharks."

           Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. He wasn’t threatening you - not in the traditional way and certainly not in the way you’d expect from a pirate. No, this was different. It was as if he truly believed that you would eventually choose to stay, that you’d give in willingly.

           "You’re wrong," you whispered, your voice was barely audible.

           Captain Hotchner's eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, a gesture that sent a shiver down your spine.

           "Perhaps," he murmured, his thumb grazing your cheek lightly before he pulled away. "But time will tell."

           "And I'm always right," He muttered under his breath. And with that, he turned and left the cabin, leaving you alone once more, your heart racing and your mind spinning. What could all of this mean?

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The days passed slowly aboard the ship. The crew seemed to give you space, not daring to question their captain's decision to keep you. But you noticed the way they looked at you when they thought you weren’t paying attention - they were curious, perhaps even wary of you. You were the captain’s captive, after all, and no one dared question the captain.

           Captain Hotchner visited you often in the cabin, sometimes bringing you meals to ensure you ate something, other times simply sitting in the cabin, watching you in silence. He never pushed you, never forced you into anything - not like you'd heard tales of what pirates usually did to their captives - but his presence was a constant reminder of your imprisonment. He was always calm and always composed around you, as if he was waiting for something - for you to break, perhaps.

           But you refused. You wouldn’t let him win.

           One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the cabin, you heard a knock at the door. It wasn’t the captain this time this time. Instead, it was the young boy from a couple of days ago.

           "The captain wants to see you," he said, his voice shaky.

           You stood, your heart pounding. You hadn’t been out of the cabin all day, and the idea of facing Hotch in front of the rest of the crew made your stomach twist with anxiety. But you couldn’t stay hidden forever.

           The boy led you above deck, where the cool sea breeze hit your face, a contrast to the stuffy air in your cabin. The ship was alive with movement - sails being adjusted, ropes being pulled, boards being mopped, and the creaking of the wood beneath your feet. And there, at the helm, stood Captain Hotchner, his hands resting on the wheel as he gazed out at the open sea.

           When he noticed you, he smiled - calm, assured, and maddeningly in control.

           "Come," he called, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "There’s something I want you to see."

           Despite your reluctance, you stepped closer, your eyes narrowing as you tried to figure out what he was planning. The captain didn’t speak right away. Instead, he nodded toward the horizon, where a small island was visible in the distance.

           "That’s our destination," he said quietly. "A place where no one will find you."

           Your breath caught in your throat as the full weight of his words settled over you. This wasn’t just about keeping you captive. This was about taking you away, far from anything familiar. Far from escape.

           "You’re mad if you think I'm staying there," you whispered, shaking your head. "I’ll never—"

           "Yes, you will," he interrupted, his voice steady but firm. "Because whether you like it or not, this is your life now. And besides, the elements will take care of you sooner rather than later if you try to escape." He shrugged at the last part.

           You stared at him, your heart pounding as a mixture of fear and anger welled up inside you. You wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to yell. But even as you opened your mouth to argue, you realized something terrifying, no words wanted to come out.

           A part of you didn’t want to leave.

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The journey to the island felt endless, the tension between you and the captain hung like a storm cloud. Every day, you were met with the same dark horizon, the endless expanse of ocean offering no solace. But the island grew larger with each passing moment, and with that came a haunting promise of your new reality.

           When you finally arrived, the crew worked swiftly to anchor the ship just offshore, lowering a small rowboat into the water. Captain Hotchner approached you in the cabin, his expression unreadable as he gestured toward the door.

           “It’s time.”

           You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you stood. There was no escaping this. If you didn't move your own legs, he would have someone move them for you. You were far from anything familiar, and the chances of finding help on this isolated island were slimer than you prefered. Still, you couldn't show your fear - not to him, not to his crew.

           The rowboat swayed slightly as you stepped into it, and the captain followed, settling in beside you as a few men from the crew lowered you down into the water. Two of his men rowed in silence, their eyes downcast, avoiding your gaze as if they knew something you didn’t. Captain Hotchner sat across from you, his arms resting on his knees, his eyes watching you carefully. His calm demeanor only heightened your anxiety, as if he had already anticipated your every move.

           The boat glided smoothly toward the shore, rocking softly with the waves, and when it touched the sand, the captain was the first to stand, offering you his hand. You hesitated, the stubborn part of you wanting to refuse, but the logical side winning, not wanting to fall into the water. You took his hand, letting him help you out of the boat.

           As your feet sank into the soft sand, you took in the sight of the island. It wasn’t large - just enough to support a dense forest and a stretch of beach. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was the only noise, apart from the distant calls of seabirds. It was eerily quiet, an isolated paradise... or a prison.

           Captain Hotchner walked ahead, leading you up the beach toward the treeline. "Come," he called over his shoulder, not waiting for you to catch up. You followed reluctantly, the sand giving way to a narrow path that led through the trees.

           Your heart pounded in your chest as you stepped into the shade of the forest, the thick canopy blocking out most of the sunlight. The path wound deeper into the island, and after what felt like an eternity, you finally emerged into a small clearing.

           In the center of the clearing stood a humble cabin, tucked away in the foliage like a hidden secret. It was rustic, with weathered wood and a thatched roof, but it was clear it had been maintained.

           “You’ll stay here,” the captain said, his voice calm as if he were simply giving a tour. “It’s safe, isolated. No one will find you, not even my men.”

           You stared at him, disbelief and anger swirling within you. “You’re serious?!” you spat. “You plan to keep me here like some kind of... animal in a zoo?”

           He met your gaze, his expression steady. “You’re not an animal,” he said quietly, his tone almost soothing. “You’re protected. No one will harm you here.” You couldn't think of anyone who would harm you, but him.

           The absurdity of his words made you laugh bitterly. “Protected? You took me, and now you’re isolating me on a deserted island. How is that protection? If anything I will go insane.”

           Captain Hotchner didn’t flinch at your accusation. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because I won’t let anyone take you from me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You belong to me now.”

           His words sent a chill down your spine, and you took an instinctive step back. The rational part of you screamed that this was insane, that you needed to find a way out, but there was something in his gaze - something dark and possessive - that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t fully understand.

           He watched you for a moment longer before turning toward the cabin. He pushed open the door, revealing a simple interior: a bed, a small table, and a few shelves stocked with supplies and books. It was far from luxurious, but it was clear he had prepared this place specifically for you.

           “I’ll leave you to settle in,” Captain Hotchner said, his voice softer now. “But don’t think about trying to escape. You won’t get far.”

           Before you could respond, he turned and walked back down the path, leaving you standing in the doorway of the cabin alone with your racing thoughts.

           You stepped inside, glancing around the small space, your mind reeling. It was all too much to process. You were on a deserted island, trapped by a man who believed you belonged to him. And yet, despite the fear and anger simmering inside you, there was a small part of you that wondered what would happen if you stayed. If you stopped fighting.

           That thought terrified you.

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           Days passed, and you fell into an uneasy routine. Captain Hotchner would visit the cabin daily, bringing supplies, checking in on you, always watching you with that same intense gaze. His presence felt suffocating. He seemed to be waiting for something, waiting for you to stop resisting him.

           And the worst part was, you felt yourself weakening. The isolation, the quiet of the island, and the strange charm Hotch carried as he arrived - it all started to wear on you. You hated him for what he’d done, but there was no denying the magnetic pull he had over you. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke - it was impossible to ignore, and you were starting to feel it too.

           One evening, as the sun began to set, the captain arrived at the cabin once more. This time, however, he didn’t bring supplies. Instead, he sat down at the small table, gesturing for you to join him.

           Reluctantly, you sat across from him, your arms crossed as you eyed him warily.

           “You’re adjusting,” he noted.

           “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended.

           Captain Hotchner's lips quirked slightly. “True. But I can see it in you - in your eyes, you’re beginning to accept this.”

           Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “I’ll never accept this,” you said quietly, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

           Captain Hotchner leaned forward, his eyes locking onto yours. “You will,” he said softly. “And when you do, you’ll realize that this is where you were always meant to be.”

           You stared at him, your pulse quickening as the weight of his words settled over you. There was something terrifying in the way he spoke, as if he truly believed that this was your fate.

                             ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           Days turned into weeks on the island, the crash of waves and the endless whisper of wind through the trees becoming your only companions as Captain Hotchner started visiting less frequently. The small, confined space of the cabin that had once felt like a prison now felt like a strange kind of refuge. The fight inside you, that spark of rebellion, had dulled over time, replaced by a heavy sense of resignation as you'd given into your loneliness. You had started to long for his visits.

           You knew, logically, that this wasn’t right - nothing about this was right. And yet, the more time you spent on the island, the more his words echoed in your mind. “You belong here now.” It was ridiculous, but there was a part of you that started to believe it. You had no way of knowing how long you would remain here, and the idea of constantly fighting him seemed... exhausting. So, bit by bit, you stopped resisting.

           When Hotch visited, you stopped turning your back to him. You no longer flinched when he stood close, and your anger no longer flared when he spoke to you in that infuriatingly calm, slick voice. You even started responding to him, not with defiance, but with quiet conversation, as if the simple exchange of words could anchor you to some semblance of normalcy.

           One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Captain Hotchner arrived at the cabin. He lingered at the doorway, watching you for a moment, before stepping inside.

           You sat on the edge of the bed, your hands folded in your lap. You had stopped fighting your reality. It didn’t mean you had fully accepted it, but it was easier than constantly resisting.

           He took a few steps closer, his gaze never leaving you. “I think it’s time,” he said softly.

           You blinked, looking up at him. “Time for what?”

           He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “To return to the ship.”

           A strange mix of emotions surged through you - fear, uncertainty, but also... relief. The island had felt like a prison, but in truth, it had also been a place of isolation, you felt lonely. Going back to the ship meant returning to the world, in a way, even if it was under the captain's constant control.

           “I thought you were going to leave me here forever,” you said quietly, unable to hide the wariness in your voice.

           His lips curled into a small smile. “I told you before. You’re not a prisoner. You’re with me, I just needed you to realize.”

           His words should have sent a chill down your spine, but instead, they settled over you like a blanket of inevitability. You stood, smoothing your hands over your garments, and nodded once. “Alright.”

           Captain Hotchner seemed pleased with your response. Without another word, he turned and led the way out of the cabin, down the path toward the beach where his men waited with the small rowboat. You followed behind him, your heart pounding in your chest as the sound of the waves grew louder.

          When you reached the shore, the captain turned to face you, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of resistance. But you had none left to offer. You stepped into the rowboat with him, the familiar sway beneath your feet sending a strange sense of déjà vu through your body, although the rocking motion made you feel nauseous after not spending time on the water for so long.

           As the crew rowed you back toward the ship, you couldn’t help but look at Hotch. There was something about him, something dark and powerful, but also compelling. He had taken everything from you - your freedom, your choices - and yet, he made it seem as though he had given you everything, a place, a purpose.

           When the rowboat reached the side of the ship, Hotch climbed up first, offering you his hand as you hesitated on the edge of the boat. You glanced up at him, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. For a brief moment, you thought about refusing, about fighting again. But the fight had long since faded. So, you took his hand.

           The ship felt both familiar and foreign as you stepped aboard. The crew glanced at you, their expressions carefully neutral, but you could sense their curiosity. They had all watched your arrival, your defiance, and now... they saw your surrender. You wondered if they pitied you, or if they admired your resilience for lasting this long. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore.

           Captain Hotchner's hand lingered on your arm as he led you toward the cabin you had first been brought to all those weeks ago. “You’ll stay in here again,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s certainly more comfortable than the island.”

           You didn’t argue. You simply nodded, stepping into the cabin once more. The space hadn’t changed - it was still simple, still confining - but it felt different now. You felt different now.

           As you sat down on the edge of the bed, the captain stood in the doorway, watching you with that same intense gaze. “You’ve made the right choice,” he said softly.

           You met his eyes, feeling a strange mix of emotions churn inside you - fear, anger, but also... something else. Something you couldn’t name.

           “I didn’t have a choice,” you whispered, though the words lacked the bitterness they once carried.

           His lips twitched into a smile. “You always had a choice,” he murmured, turning to leave. But before he stepped out, he glanced back at you one last time. “You’ll understand that soon enough.”

           With that, the door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin once again. This time, however, it felt different. This time, the weight of the situation pressed down on you, but instead of fighting it... you let it settle over you like the setting sun on the horizon.

           Because in your heart, you knew that no matter how much you resisted, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise - you were already his.

                             ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a silvery glow across the deck of the ship. The ocean was calm, the gentle lapping of waves against the hull creating a soothing rhythm that filled the air. You stood at the helm, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety as Captain Hotchner approached, his silhouette framed by the stars. He had asked you to meet him there as soon as the rest of the crew went to sleep. It was his turn to take the night shift tonight.

           “Tonight, we’re going to learn how to navigate by the stars,” he said, his voice smooth and confident, yet somehow soothing in the stillness of the night.

           “Navigate?” you echoed, looking up at him. The deep blue color of the sea shimmered under the moonlight, and the vast expanse of stars overhead made your head spin - but in a good way.

           He stepped closer, his presence both comforting and commanding. “Yes, it’s essential out here. Come here.”

           You took a hesitant step toward him, drawn by the warmth of his body. Your body stiffened as he wrapped his arm around you - but soon relaxed. He crouched down to your level as he pointed upward, his finger tracing the outline of a constellation. “This is the North Star. It’s your guide,” he explained, his voice low as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you.

           You squinted up at the stars, trying to find the North Star among the vastness. “How do you know which one it is?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of your hesitation.

           “It’s the brightest star in that direction,” he replied, you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Follow me.”

           Captain Hotchner moved with a fluid grace, guiding you as he pointed out more constellations, the big dipper, Cassiopeia, and so on, his finger dancing through the air. You found yourself captivated, not just by the stars but by the way he spoke with passion, his voice steady and filled with knowledge.

           “Each star tells a story,” he continued, gesturing toward a cluster that resembled a ship’s sails. “These stars will help you determine your course.”

           As he spoke, you couldn’t help but admire him - his hair tousled from the slumber he had just awoken from, the way his eyes glinted with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You felt a strange mix of admiration and something deeper, a connection that seemed to spark in the space between you.

           “Now, grab the helm,” he instructed, pulling you from your thoughts.

           With a deep breath, you stepped up to the wheel, placing your hands on the cool wood. Captain Hotchner stood behind you, close enough that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. “Keep her steady,” he said, his voice low and reassuring.

           You concentrated, focusing on the gentle movements of the waves and the stars above, trying to align everything as he had shown you. The ship swayed softly beneath your hands as the pull from the waves made you steer slightly off course, although you quickly aligned her back up. The sound of the water lapping against the sides created a tranquil atmosphere.

           “Good,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of approval. The praise made you feel good. “Now, look at the compass. That will help you find your direction.”

           As you navigated, you felt his presence envelop you, a heady mix of mentorship and intimacy that left you breathless. His hand brushed against your arm as he leaned over to adjust your grip, and you felt a warmth radiate through you, the boundaries of your situation blurring with every shared moment.

           “Feel the wind,” he instructed, his voice a soft command that pulled your attention back to the task at hand. “It can also tell you which way to go.”

           You turned your head slightly, the scent of the ocean mingling with his musky cologne and faint hint of rum, intoxicating and overwhelming. The ship felt alive beneath you, the moonlit water stretching endlessly before you.

           As you learned to navigate, Captain Hotchner explained the importance of trusting your instincts. “Out here, it’s not just about what you see; it’s about what you feel,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

           “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

           “There’s a rhythm to the sea,” he replied, the warmth of his breath brushing against your ear. “You have to learn to listen.”

           He guided your hands on the wheel, showing you how to respond to the subtle shifts in the wind and water. As the minutes stretched into hours, and the morning sun started to rise, the connection between you deepened, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, feeling a strange sense of safety despite the uncertainty of how you had gotten there.

           “Now, plot a course for Scully when he wakes up to take over,” he instructed, pointing to the next destination on the map. The sunlight illuminated the parchment, and you felt drawn to it, wanting to understand the paths you would take.

           With his finger, Captain Hotchner traced a line across the map, explaining how to navigate from one point to another. His proximity, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he commanded the space around you.

           “Why do you keep teaching me all this?” you asked suddenly, unable to contain your curiosity.

           He paused, glancing at you with a serious expression. “Because I see potential in you,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re stronger than you think.”

           You met his gaze, feeling a strange flutter in your chest. “And what if I don’t want to be here?”

           His expression softened, but there was an underlying resolve in his eyes. “That we’ll figure it out once we're back at the mainland. You don’t have to stay if you truly don’t want to.”

           His words resonated deep within you, the weight of them heavy with meaning. You realized then that despite everything, despite his earlier words and mysterious ways, he wanted you to find your path, even if it meant leaving him behind.

           As the darkness evaporated completely, you found solace in the rhythm of the waves and the warmth of his presence beside you. The stars that had twinkled overhead now gave room for the clouds, each one a silent witness to your growing connection - a bond forged in the depths of the sea and the mysteries of the night.

           And in that moment, you accepted your fate, not with resignation, but with a tentative hope that perhaps, in navigating these uncharted waters together, you would find a way to reclaim a piece of yourself.

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           As the moon began its ascend, the horizon slowly darkening with the first hints of night, casting a soft glow over the ship. The calm waters were a deceptive facade, and you sensed a change in the air. The closer you got to your destination, the more you noticed the captain's demeanor shift.

           He stood at the helm, eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon, a tension palpable in his stance. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing beneath the surface, a storm of emotions that had nothing to do with the weather.

           “Hotch?” you called, stepping closer to him. “Is everything okay?”

           He turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Just keep an eye out for land,” he said, his voice clipped. The warmth that had lingered between you during the navigation lesson had vanished, replaced by a cold seriousness that sent a shiver down your spine.

           As you stood beside him, the anticipation of what lay ahead settled heavily in your stomach. It was your first plundering, and the thrill mixed with fear was almost intoxicating. Yet, you could see the turmoil in Captain Hotchner's eyes, a flicker of concern that made you question everything you thought you knew about him.

           “Are you sure you want me there?” you asked hesitantly, biting your lip. “I mean, it’s going to be…”

           “Brutal,” he finished, the word hanging in the air like a heavy fog. He turned fully to face you, the intensity in his gaze both captivating and unnerving. “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

           Your heart sank at his words, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. “I can handle it. I’ve been through tough situations before,” you insisted, trying to muster some semblance of confidence.

           He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like anything you’ve faced before. It’s one thing to learn navigation; it’s another to watch lives being taken.”

           “I need to know what I’m getting into,” you pressed, stepping closer, your voice low. “You can’t keep me sheltered forever. How do you expect me to make a choice?”

           The captain's eyes softened momentarily, but the tension returned as he glanced back at the horizon. “You think you want to see this, but trust me, once you do, you can’t unsee it. You can never return to the calm life you used to live.” His voice was low, filled with a sincerity that tugged at your heart.

           As the ship glided over the water, you watched the way his shoulders tightened and his hands clenched around the wheel. It was clear he was torn between wanting to protect you and letting you tag along, knowing that you deserved to make your own choices.

           “Isn’t that the life we’ve chosen? To be part of this?” you asked, trying to pierce through the protective wall he had erected around himself. “To experience everything, the good and the bad?”

           He turned to you then, his eyes boring into yours, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within them. “I can’t just leave you behind, not when you mean something to me. But I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt either.”

           His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth flush through you, surprising and thrilling all at once. “You don’t have to worry about me,” you said, determination hardening your voice. “I can prove myself.”

           Captain Hotchner regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. But you stay close to me. No matter what happens, you follow my lead and don't stray off course.”

           Relief washed over you, and you felt a surge of determination. “I will,” you promised, knowing that this was your chance to show him that you were more than just a pretty face.

           The outlines of land began to emerge on the horizon. Captain Hotchner's posture shifted, his focus sharpening as he prepared the crew for what lay ahead. You could feel the palpable tension in the air as excitement mixed with apprehension among the crew members.

           “Gather round!” He commanded, his voice ringing out, firm and authoritative. “We’re nearing our target. Keep your wits about you. No matter what happens, remember our plan.”

           You stood at his side, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in the sight of the distant shoreline. The anticipation of the unknown filled you with adrenaline, and you felt your resolve strengthening.

           As the ship approached the shore, you caught glimpses of the settlement - a small harbor bustling with activity, unaware of the storm that was about to descend upon it. The excitement among the crew grew, shouts of encouragement and camaraderie ringing out in the crisp air. Yet, you noticed Captain Hotchner's expression darkening, his jaw set tight as he stared at the land ahead.

           “Captain?” you asked quietly, concern creeping into your voice. “Are you okay?”

           He glanced at you, the weight of his worry evident. “Just remember what I said,” he replied, the edge of urgency creeping back into his tone. “Stick close. Do not get separated from me.”

           With a nod, you swallowed your fear, determination solidifying your resolve. You were ready to face whatever came next, and as the ship anchored near the shore, you felt the thrill of the unknown course through you. Captain Hotchner may have been concerned - concerned enough to give you a dagger without proper training, but you were ready to prove your strength - not just to him, but to yourself.

           As the crew prepared to disembark, Captain Hotchner's gaze locked onto yours, a silent communication passing between you.

           With the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the captain by your side, you stepped toward the unknown.

                           ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The ship’s hull creaked gently against the waves as you and the crew gathered at the edge, readying to disembark. A mix of anticipation and anxiety filled the air, creating a charged atmosphere among the men. Captain Hotchner stood at the forefront, his expression sharp and serious as he glanced back at you, ensuring you were close at hand. The tension hung heavy in the salty breeze.

           “Remember what I said,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Follow my lead, and stay out of trouble.”

           You nodded, determination surging within you. You had made it this far; there was no turning back now. The sound of swords being unsheathed and the chatter of excitement reverberated through the crew, setting your heart racing.

           As the boat hit the dock, the crew leapt off, landing with a soft thud on the cobblestone. You followed closely behind the captain, who took the lead with an ease that was both reassuring and intimidating. The bustling settlement before you was alive with the sounds of daily life - merchants hawking their goods, fishermen repairing nets, and children playing in the streets. It was unaware of the looming darkness of what was about to unfold.

           “Stay close,” Captain Hotchner repeated, his eyes scanning the scene like a hawk. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his hand twitched near the hilt of his sword, ready for anything.

           As you moved deeper into the settlement, the crew fanned out, each member slipping into the chaos of the marketplace, eyes sharp for potential plunder. Hotch led you to a narrow alleyway, away from prying eyes. “We’ll take them by surprise,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder at you. “You’ll want to stay behind me.”

           Your pulse raced as you nodded, adrenaline flooding your veins. You watched as he signaled to the crew, and the air shifted, becoming thick with anticipation.

           In an instant, a loud crash erupted from the other end of the alley, the sound of swords clashing and shouts echoing off the walls. Your heart raced as Captain Hotchner surged forward, pulling you with him. The scene exploded into chaos; you caught glimpses of the crew engaging with startled townsfolk, swords drawn and commands shouted, the atmosphere charged with urgency.

           “Now!” The captain barked, and without thinking, you followed, your feet moving of their own accord as you rushed into the fray, adrenaline flooding your senses.

           You were surprised by the immediate chaos - people were scrambling, their screams mingling with the sound of clashing steel. Captain Hotchner fought with a precise brutality, each movement calculated and fluid, his strength commanding the attention of everyone around him. You tried to keep up, your heart racing as you glanced around, taking in the frantic scene.

           “Stay behind me!” He shouted again, slicing through an attacker with deft precision, his eyes fierce as they met yours for a brief moment, no reaction to the blood pouring from the wound as he retracted his sword and watched the man fall to the ground.

           You complied, but a part of you ached to contribute more, to prove yourself. You wished you had a sword. You moved to the side, narrowly avoiding a flurry of limbs and chaos. In the distance, you saw a merchant attempting to flee, clutching a leather bag filled with valuables. Instinct - that you didn't know where came from - kicked in, and you made a snap decision.

           With a quick glance at Captain Hotchner, who was engaged in a fierce struggle, you dashed toward the merchant, your heart pounding. You lunged for the bag, grabbing it just as he turned, shock and fear etched across his face.

           “Stop!” he yelled, but your instincts propelled you forward, the thrill of the moment consuming you. You turned to run, adrenaline pushing you faster than you ever thought possible.

           But before you could escape, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you back. You gasped, recognizing Hotch’s voice as he growled, “What are you doing?”

           The world around you seemed to freeze for a heartbeat, your heart racing as you stared into his stormy eyes. “I - I thought I could help,” you stammered, breathless from both fear and exhilaration.

           “Help?” he snapped, shaking his head in frustration. “You need to be careful! You can’t just run off like that! He could've had a revolver.”

           His grip softened slightly, and in that moment, you could see the worry etched across his features. “I didn’t want you getting hurt,” he said, quieter now, urgency still lacing his tone.

           Before you could respond, the sounds of battle erupted around you, the tide of chaos swaying back and forth as the crew pressed forward. Captain Hotchner glanced back at the fray, assessing the situation, his focus sharpening. “Stay close to me,” he commanded again, and you nodded, heart racing as you fell back into step beside him. "This time I mean it!"

           As you moved through the streets, it became clear that the plundering was brutal. Crew members shouted orders and taunts, and the weight of the violence around you pressed down like a heavy fog. You witnessed townsfolk being restrained, their protests muffled, and the fear in their eyes struck a chord deep within you as you watched the crew take a little more than material things.

           Captain Hotchner's gaze flicked back to you frequently, assessing your reaction to the chaos. You could see the conflict in his expression, the internal battle raging beneath the surface. He fought fiercely, but you sensed he was also trying to shield you from the worst of it.

           “Remember, this is survival,” he reminded you, his voice steady but low. “They won’t think twice about defending themselves.”

           As the crew moved forward, your heart sank at the sight of a young boy cowering in the corner, clutching a wooden toy. Something snapped within you, the innocence of the scene starkly juxtaposed against the brutality around it.

           “Hotch, we can’t-” you began, but he shook his head, his expression hardening.

           “It’s too late,” he said, urgency building. “We have to keep moving.”

           You watched helplessly as the crew continued to gather their loot, your heart aching at the destruction of lives and homes. Fires burning and blood pooling. This wasn’t the adventure you had imagined; it was a nightmare, a side of pirate life you hadn’t been prepared for.

           As the battle raged on, you felt the weight of your decisions crushing down on you. You thought you wanted to prove yourself, but now all you wanted was to escape the chaos. You turned back to Hotch, desperation creeping into your voice. “We need to stop this.”

           He glanced at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “We can’t stop now. If we leave without what we came for, they’ll be ready for us next time. We’re pirates; this is how it works.”

           The truth of his words struck hard, and you nodded, heart heavy with the burden of your choices. You stayed by his side, but as the plundering continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the darkness of this life was creeping into your soul.

           With each passing moment, you saw the line between right and wrong blurring, and you realized you were far deeper into this life than you ever expected. As the chaos continued around you, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

                            ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The air on the ship was electric with excitement and chaos as the crew celebrated their successful plundering. Laughter and shouts echoed off the wooden planks, the scent of salt and rum mingling in the air as bottles were uncorked and food was hastily laid out. The harmony among the crew members was palpable, their spirits lifted by the thrill of the day’s chaos and victory.

           You stood at the edge of the deck, the festivity swirling around you like a storm. As you watched the crew dance and drink, a knot of unease settled in your stomach. Despite the cheers and laughter, the images of the plundering lingered in your mind - the fear in the eyes of the townsfolk, the innocence of the boy you’d tried to protect. The celebration felt hollow, a facade to mask the darker reality of piracy.

           “Y/N!” one of the crew called out, waving a half-empty bottle of rum in your direction. “Come join us! You’ve earned it!”

           You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Just as you were about to decline, Captain Hotchner's voice sliced through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Y/N, come to my cabin.”

           Your heart sank as you turned to face him. His expression was serious, an intensity in his eyes that made your stomach flip. The crew’s laughter faded into the background as he stepped closer, his demeanor shifting from the charming pirate you had begun to know to the authoritative captain you had initially encountered.

           “Now!” he commanded, voice low but firm, “we need to talk.”

           Before you could respond, he took your arm and led you away from the raucous celebration, the sounds of the crew fading into a distant hum. You followed him to his cabin, the door creaking ominously as he pushed it open. The space was dimly lit, a flickering lantern casting shadows on the wooden walls, and it felt suddenly suffocating.

           As the door shut behind you, the captain turned to face you, crossing his arms over his chest. “What were you thinking out there?” His voice was calm, but the intensity in his gaze told you he was anything but relaxed.

           “I was trying to help!” you protested, the words spilling out before you could think better of them. “I couldn’t just stand by while that merchant was getting away. I wanted to do something!”

           Captain Hotchner's expression softened for a brief moment, but it quickly hardened again. “Help? You put yourself in danger. Do you have any idea how reckless that was?” His voice rose slightly, frustration seeping through.

           You opened your mouth to argue, but the weight of his words hit you like a cold wave. The truth was, you hadn’t thought it through. The adrenaline of the moment had blinded you to the risks. “I just - I thought I could make a difference,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

           He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily as he turned away to stare out the small porthole. “This isn’t a game. This life is brutal, and I won’t have you caught in the crossfire. You’re not ready for what we do out there. Maybe you should just stay back on the ship next time?” He raised a brow, waiting for your response

           The disappointment in his voice stung more than you expected. “I can handle myself,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

           He turned back to you, his expression conflicted. “You think so? You think you can just jump in and help without understanding the consequences?”

           A silence fell between you, thick and uncomfortable. You felt the weight of your actions pressing down on you, the fear and chaos of the day crashing over you like a wave. “I’m trying to learn,” you finally said, looking him in the eye, you felt ashamed, only wanting to prove yourself to him. “But I want to be a part of this crew, Hotch. I want to prove myself to you.”

           Captain Hotchner studied you for a long moment. “It’s not just about proving yourself. It’s about survival, both for you and for the crew. If you’re not careful, you could get yourself killed.”

           You felt a spark of defiance. “I can take care of myself. I just want you to trust me!”

           His gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, the pirate captain seemed to fade away, revealing the man you’d begun to connect with. “Trust is earned, not given,” he replied, his voice more gentle now. “And you have to be patient. It takes time to understand this life and the choices we make.”

           You nodded, your heart aching with the weight of his words. “I know that now. I just… I wanted to help you.”

           He stepped closer, his demeanor shifting as he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate your spirit. But you need to learn to pick your battles. Next time, trust me to lead. I know what I'm doing.”

           You met his gaze, feeling a rush of emotions swirling between you - fear, admiration, and something deeper. “I will,” you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

           With a sigh, he stepped back, the tension easing slightly. “Good. Now, let’s go rejoin the crew. They’ll be wondering where we’ve gone.”

           As he turned to leave, you felt a flicker of warmth in your chest. Maybe this life wasn’t as bleak as it seemed, not if you had the captain to guide you. You followed him back to the deck, the sounds of celebration filling the air once more, a mix of laughter and music that felt almost comforting now.

           As you stepped back into the chaos, the crew erupted in cheers, raising their bottles in salute as you and Hotch made your way to the makeshift feast. The stress of the scolding faded into the background, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of friendship wash over you as you mingled with the rest of the crew.

           You took your place among the pirates, the day’s events still heavy in your mind but lightened by the shared joy around you. As the rum flowed and stories were exchanged, you caught Captain Hotchner watching you from a distance, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

           You realized that amidst the chaos of piracy, perhaps you had found a place where you could belong, even if the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty. You raised your own mug of rum, joining the crew in their cheers, and for the first time since you’d boarded the ship, you felt a flicker of hope amidst the darkness.

                          ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           Weeks passed since your first plundering, each day blending into the next as you settled into life aboard the ship. Under Captain Hotcher's careful guidance, you began to learn the ropes - both literally and figuratively. Navigating the ship, understanding the intricacies of sailing, and grasping the art of plundering were no longer foreign concepts; they were becoming second nature to you.

           The crew’s initial skepticism had faded and was replaced by grudging respect as they witnessed your transformation. You no longer flinched at the sight of a dagger or the sound of chaos that followed a successful raid. Instead, you embraced the thrill, your heart racing in sync with the beat of the crew’s revelry.

           During plundering missions, you stood shoulder to shoulder with Hotch, no longer a mere bystander but an active participant. You learned to wield a cutlass with a surprising degree of skill, and your instincts sharpened with every encounter. Captain Hotchner would often watch you with a mixture of pride and admiration as you navigated the chaos, striking fear into the hearts of those who crossed your path.

           On one particularly moonlit night, the ship sailed toward a small coastal village rumored to hold a wealth of riches. The anticipation hung in the air like a charged current, electrifying every member of the crew. As the ship anchored just offshore, you gathered with the crew.

           “Tonight, we show them the true meaning of fear,” the captain declared, his voice commanding. The crew cheered in response, and you felt a thrill course through your veins at his words. You were no longer just the captain's captive; you were becoming a pirate in your own right.

           As the rowboats slid through the calm water, the darkness enveloped you, broken only by the glimmering stars above. You sat across from Hotch, the familiar tension between you sparking like static. The rhythmic sound of the oars hitting the water steadied your heartbeat as you prepared yourself for what was to come.

           The village came into view, its thatched roofs and flickering lanterns casting a warm glow that seemed to mock the impending chaos. “Remember,” he whispered, leaning closer so only you could hear, “we strike fast, we strike hard. Don’t hesitate. You kill or be killed.”

           “I won’t,” you replied, determination burning in your chest. You could feel the cutlass at your side, a reminder of how far you’d come from the tiny dagger.

           Once ashore, the crew scattered into the shadows, each member moving with practiced precision. Captain Hotchner led the way, and you followed closely, adrenaline coursing through your veins. As you approached the first house, the faint sound of laughter and music drifted out from within, oblivious to the storm about to be unleashed.

           With a nod from Hotch, you surged forward, bursting through the door with the crew at your back. The revelry inside came to a screeching halt, eyes widening in fear as the sight of armed pirates invaded their celebration.

           “Get what you can! Make it quick!” Captain Hotchner barked, his voice echoing through the room. The crew sprang into action, chaos erupting as they ransacked the place. You moved with purpose, your heart racing, snatching up valuables and shoving them into your bag with surprising efficiency.

           The fear on the villagers' faces no longer haunted you; instead, it fueled a fire within. You could see the respect in the eyes of your crew as you maneuvered through the chaos, your instincts guiding you as you followed the captain's lead.

           As the plundering continued, you found yourself confronting a group of villagers who attempted to fight back. They were desperate, eyes wild with fear and determination. For a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your mind was this what you truly wanted?

           But then you caught sight of Hotch, his fierce presence commanding the room as he skillfully dispatched any who dared to challenge him. The thought of failing him ignited a fierce determination in your heart.

           With a battle cry, you lunged forward, the cutlass slicing through the air as you took down one of the villagers. The rush of adrenaline surged through you - he was your first - a heady mixture of fear and exhilaration. As the fight unfolded, you fought with a newfound ferocity, striking alongside the crew, your name echoing through the streets.

           When the raid came to a close, the crew gathered back at the ship, laden with treasures and stories of glory. You stood among them, panting from the exertion, a wide grin plastered across your face.

           Hotch approached you, his expression a mix of pride and approval. “You handled yourself well tonight,” he said, a glimmer of admiration shining in his eyes.

           “Thanks, Captain,” you replied, your heart swelling at his praise. “I couldn’t have done it without your training.”

           He smirked, the familiar glint of mischief in his gaze. “You’re becoming quite the pirate, I must say. The crew is starting to fear you as much as they do me. Perhaps I should grant you a little more authority around here.”

           You laughed, the sound bubbling up from within. “Maybe we should take over the seas together then.”

           Captain Hotchner's gaze turned serious, and he stepped closer. “You know this life isn’t without its dangers, right? There’s a fine line between fear and respect.”

           “I understand,” you replied, the weight of his words settling in your heart. “But I want to be a part of it, Hotch. I want to stand by your side.”

           His expression softened, and for a moment, the pirate façade slipped away, revealing the man you were beginning to care for deeply. “Then stay sharp. You’ve proven yourself tonight, but there’s always more to learn.”

           As the crew celebrated behind you, the warmth of his gaze lingered, igniting a spark of something more. You realized that in this world of chaos and piracy, you had found a place not only among the crew but also in Hotch’s heart.

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           As the ship sailed back towards mainland, the air was thick with anticipation. You stood at the bow, the salty breeze whipping through your hair as you watched the shoreline come into view. Each passing day had brought you closer to the crew and, unexpectedly, to Hotch. There was an undeniable chemistry between you, a tension that hung in the air like a heavy fog. You were not planning on returning to your old life, although opportunity finally presented itself.

           You often caught him stealing glances in your direction, his expression a mix of admiration and something deeper - something unspoken - he feared what your choice would be. But you were both reluctant to acknowledge it, caught in the tangled web of your new lives as pirates. Each shared laugh and stolen moment made your heart race, but neither of you dared to voice what simmered beneath the surface.

           As the ship docked in the bustling port town, excitement crackled in the air. Merchants called out to passersby, and children chased each other along the docks, laughter ringing like music. But amidst the joyful chaos, something else caught your eye. You spotted wanted posters plastered on the walls, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

           Your heart sank as you approached one of them, your breath hitching in your throat. The top half featured a striking image of Hotch, the sharp lines of his jaw and the fierce determination in his eyes captured perfectly. The poster detailed his crimes - a notorious pirate captain feared and respected on the seas. But it was the second poster, the one hanging just below it, that sent shockwaves through you.

           The drawing depicted you, an artistic rendering that portrayed your fierce spirit and defiance. The bold letters below read, “WANTED: The Queen of pirates. Infamous for her ruthlessness and trickery. Reward: 500 gold pieces.”

           “Pirate Queen?” you whispered, your heart racing. Disbelief washed over you. Was this really what people thought of you. You wondered what your dad would think if he knew. You were a part of this world now - dangerous and exhilarating - your old life was miles away and there was no point in trying to return to it now.

           Captain Hotchner joined you, his gaze drawn to the posters. He chuckled softly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Looks like you’ve made quite the name for yourself.”

           “Yeah, well… I didn’t ask for it,” you said, a half-smile creeping onto your lips. “I just wanted to me and be by your side.”

           The moment hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken feelings. The captain turned to face you fully, his expression serious. “And you’ve proven yourself more than capable. You’re as feared as I am now, and that’s no small feat.”

           You swallowed hard, the weight of his words making your heart race. “Do you think I’m ready for this life, Captain?”

           “More than ready,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve shown incredible strength and adaptability. But it’s not just about being a pirate; it’s about what comes next.”

           “What do you mean?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

           He hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “You have to be careful. With this notoriety comes danger. People will come after you, and not just for the bounty. They’ll want to take what’s yours.” You knew what he was refering to, but didn't mentioned it further.

           “I can handle myself, Hotch,” you insisted, a fire igniting within you. “I’ve learned from the best.”

           His lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes betrayed a hint of concern. “I know you can. But there are still things that can hurt you - more than just blades and guns.”

           As the crowd around you swelled, a wave of excitement and apprehension surged through you. “What if they don’t want me back? What if they only see the bounty?” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the commotion.

           Captain Hotchner's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his presence radiating warmth. “You’re not just a pirate to me. You’re - ” He paused, searching your eyes as if weighing his words carefully. “You’re more than that. You’ve earned your place among us. You belong here.”

           Before you could respond, a loud cheer erupted from the crew, drawing both your attention and your momentary connection to a close. They were celebrating the plunder, reveling in the spoils of victory. Captain Hotchner rolled his eyes at them, plundering the mainland was not part of the plan.

           As you returned to the ship, your thoughts kept drifting back to Hotch. The way he looked at you, the intensity of his gaze, made your heart race. You knew he felt something for you, too. What would happen when the thrill of the chase subsided? What would it mean to fall in love with a pirate captain?

           As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you caught Hotch’s eye across the deck. He raised his glass toward you, a silent acknowledgment that felt heavy with meaning. You raised your own glass in return, a flicker of hope igniting within you.

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           With each passing day, you found your place among the crew, earning their respect and admiration as you carved out your identity as a pirate. Yet, no matter how fierce you became, Hotch’s teasing nickname for you remained: the Pirate Queen.

           “You know,” he’d say, leaning against the railing, a smirk on his lips, “I think you should start addressing me as your royal captain from now on. You can’t just go around being the Pirate Queen without showing proper respect to your pirate king.”

           You rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at him. “King? Is that what you think you are? Hardly seems fitting for a man who wears so much leather and jewellery and has a sword by his side wherever he goes.”

           “Oh, I’ll show you just how kingly I can be,” he’d respond, laughter dancing in his deep voice, before effortlessly dodging your playful attempts to hit him.

           The banter had become a comforting routine, one that brought you closer to him even as it reminded you of the reality of your situation. But as the days turned into weeks, the lighthearted teasing took on a new depth. You began to wonder if the title of “Pirate Queen” might hold more weight than just a playful jab.

           One night, as the crew settled around a fire on the beach after a successful raid, you watched the captain from across the flames. He was animatedly recounting tales of his past exploits - most of them before any of the men in his current crew knew him - his charisma drawing everyone in. Your heart swelled with affection as you admired him - the way he commanded attention, the strength he exuded, and the genuine care he showed for his crew.

           It was then that you caught his eye. His gaze held yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and in that moment, the atmosphere shifted. The laughter around you faded into a dull hum, and the crackling fire was the only sound that echoed in the silence between you.           

           “Hey, Pirate Queen,” he called out, breaking the spell, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity. “You’re not going to let me do all the talking, are you? A good queen needs to share her wisdom, after all.”

           You stood, brushing sand off your clothes as you moved closer to the fire. “Well, my wisdom is to never trust a captain who thinks he’s a king.”

           The captain chuckled, a warm, rich sound that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe you should consider trusting him a little more, then.”

           The banter continued, but the playful tone shifted slightly, and you could sense a change in the air. A few days later, as you stood at the helm, navigating the ship under the stars, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Hotch joined you, his presence steadying, and for a moment, you simply enjoyed the quiet of the night.

           “I know I joke about you being the Pirate Queen,” he began, leaning against the railing beside you, the moonlight reflecting off the water and illuminating his sharp features. “But it’s not just a title to me.”

           Your heart raced at his seriousness, and you turned to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”

           He hesitated, and the weight of his words hung in the air. “You’ve become more than just a crewmate. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, and you’ve earned the respect of everyone on this ship. But you’ve also shown me a side of you that’s fierce, courageous, and unapologetically yourself.”

           You felt your cheeks heat, and you looked away, overwhelmed. “Hotch…”

           “I’m serious,” he continued, his tone earnest. “You’re more than just a pirate. You’re my partner, and I want you to be my Pirate Queen - officially. I’m not asking for a title, but for you to stand by my side, not just as a member of the crew, but as someone I care about.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, surprise mingling with joy. “You really mean that?”

           He stepped closer, the space between you charged with unspoken feelings. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. You’re not just another pirate to me, and I don’t want you to ever feel that way.”

           “I’ve never felt like just another pirate,” you admitted, your heart racing as his words settled over you. “But being your Pirate Queen? That’s a lot to take in.”

           “Take your time,” he said softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

           As the ship rocked gently beneath you, you felt the weight of the world slip away. You were no longer just a kidnapped girl - no longer just a pirate seeking adventure. You were becoming something more, something powerful, and the man beside you made you feel like you could conquer anything.

           Hotch’s hand brushed against yours, a tentative gesture filled with promise.

           “Then I guess I’ll have to live up to that title,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “Just remember, I won’t be an easy queen to rule.”

           Captain Hotchner chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

                              ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

           The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the ship as the crew bustled about in excited anticipation. After weeks of plundering and celebrating, the time had finally come to solidify your bond with Captain Hotchner in a way that was both thrilling and unconventional - a pirate wedding. The ship had never seen such a spectacle, and the crew was eager to make it memorable.

           Brightly colored flags fluttered from the mast, and makeshift decorations adorned the deck. Lanterns were hung with care, and the air was filled with the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread, mingling with the salty breeze. The crew had spent the morning preparing, and the excitement was palpable as they exchanged stories and laughter of Captain Hotchner and the Pirate Queen, anticipating the upcoming ceremony.

           As you stood at the helm, taking in the scene, a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. It felt surreal to be preparing for a wedding on the open sea, surrounded by pirates. But more than that, it was the thought of becoming Captain Hotchner's wife - of finally acknowledging the love that had blossomed amidst the chaos and adventure - that set your heart racing.

           “Are you ready, my Pirate Queen?” Hotch’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see him standing behind you, clad in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, his signature leather jacket hanging open to reveal a glimpse of his toned physique. He looked dashing, a sharp difference to the rugged lifestyle of a pirate, yet he still exuded that dangerous charm that had drawn you to him in the first place.

           You smiled, trying to contain the flurry of emotions swirling inside you. “I am, but I can’t help feeling a bit nervous.”

           “Don’t be,” he said, stepping closer. “We’re surrounded by our crew, and they wouldn’t want anything more than to see us happy. Plus, if things go awry, we can always plunder the wedding gifts and elope somewhere.” He winked.

           You chuckled, grateful for his ability to lighten the mood. “You always know how to make me laugh, Captain.”

           As the hour drew near, the crew gathered on deck, their faces lit with excitement. A makeshift altar had been constructed from driftwood and adorned with flowers collected from distant shores. Scully, stood at the front, a grin splitting his face as he prepared to officiate the ceremony.

           “Gather ‘round, ye scallywags!” Scully called, his voice booming over the sounds of the waves. “Today, we celebrate the union of Captain Hotchner and his Pirate Queen! It be a rare occasion for a pirate to tie the knot, so let’s make it a day to remember!”

           The crew erupted into cheers and laughter, and you took a deep breath, glancing at Hotch. His expression was serious, but there was a glimmer of joy in his eyes.

           “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, through storms and calm seas, to share in all plunders and treasures?” Scully asked, his tone both lighthearted and sincere.

           “I do,” Hotch said, his voice steady and resolute, and you felt your heart swell with affection.

           “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to face the fiercest foes together and cherish the spoils of life?” Scully now turned to you, and the crew leaned in, eager to hear your response.

           “I do,” you replied, your voice ringing clear as you gazed into Captain Hotchner's eyes.

           As Scully continued with the ceremony, you exchanged vows that were filled with promises of loyalty and adventure. You spoke of standing together through every tempest and sharing both the spoils of victory and the burdens of defeat.

           When it came time to exchange rings, Hotch reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple, weathered band. It wasn’t the traditional diamond, but it was perfect - crafted from the same metal as the ship itself, signifying your bond with the sea and each other.

           With a gentle touch, he slid the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “With this ring, I promise to cherish you, to protect you, and to always navigate the stormy seas together.”

           You smiled through misty eyes as you placed a matching band on his finger. “With this ring, I promise to stand by you, to share in your adventures, and to always be your Pirate Queen.” You winked at him as you mentioned the nickname

           “By the power vested in me by the seas and the crew of this ship, I now pronounce you Captain and Captain Pirate Queen! Ye may kiss your bride!”

           The crew erupted into cheers and whistles as Captain Hotchner stepped forward, his hands cradling your face. The kiss was soft but filled with force and passion as he pressed his lips to yours, sealing your vows in front of your motley crew.

           When you finally pulled away, laughter and applause surrounded you. You were married - partners in crime, in life, and now, officially in love.

           As the celebration kicked into high gear, with songs sung and rum shared, you felt a sense of belonging envelop you like the warm sun setting on the horizon. You were not just a pirate; you were Captain Hotchner’s Pirate Queen, and together, you were ready to face whatever adventures the sea would throw your way.

           As the night wore on and the stars twinkled overhead, you danced together on the deck, the laughter of your crew echoing around you. With Hotch holding you close, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of plundering and love - together, forever bound by the sea.

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 09: Human shield/hostage

Simon Riley x gn! reader

You’d fucked up.

It was as simple as that and if you somehow get out of this alive you knew Simon was going to have your fucking head for worrying him. That and he’d make your life a living hell of PT and combat training.

You don’t even know how you’re managing to think about your potentially grim and annoying future when there’s a gun barrel pressed into the back of your neck, digging into the cervical column of your spine. 

Your knees sting from the cool cement you’ve been kneeling on for what feels like hours. They’re bloody and scraped to shit and your feet have long gone numb, attempts to wiggle your toes thwarted by the tingling pins and needles. 

Your wrists and hands are hardly faring any better, the thick rope having cut off circulation and rubbed the skin bloody and raw from your escape attempt. The one that had earned you the butt of a rifle to the gut so hard you’d almost thrown up. 

Sticky blood still drips down your forehead from where you’d been struck, pouring into your eye and rendering you half-blind. 

Whatever plans your captors have are derailed when Simon, no, the Ghost barrels into the room, an entity out for blood. He stops the second he assesses the situation, placing his hands up in a surrendering gesture when the muzzle of the captor's rifle digs more harshly into your spine. 

To the untrained eye, Ghost looked as calm as possible, seemingly barely phased by the scene in front of him. To you who knew him better than any living person, however, you knew that was far from the case.  

You’re glad Ghost is wearing his hood, he’s always had such an expressive face. You’d seen the way his eyes, the ones that always stared at you so softly, had widened in panic before he’d composed himself. 

He’s trying to defuse the situation or stall long enough for a sniper to get a good shot, which is unlikely given the incredibly small windows. 

It had been nothing short of a miracle that you and Ghost had even been deployed on the same mission (lack of available personnel), and you couldn’t be more thankful if you tried. Not because you thought he’d be able to save you, no matter how much you hoped, but because selfishly it gave you one last opportunity to drink him in. 

Desperately you prayed that Simon wouldn’t be forced to watch your brains splatter against the floor, though you can’t help but be glad that the last thing you see will be his eyes. The eyes that keep flickering back to yours to reassure you, though you think it's more for his benefit as he too memorises your features desperately. 

It’s also his way of silently apologising for putting on such a cold front. Training indicated he had to pretend not to know you very well, otherwise, the first instance of his true feelings shining through would result poorly for the both of you. It would give the enemy even more leverage over the situation. 

You can’t run the risk of nodding along or giving any indication that you understand and trust him more than anything, you just have to let it shine through on your mostly impassive face. They wouldn’t get to witness any of your panic, you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

Negotiations don’t seem to be getting anywhere when you finally tune back into the conversation. The situation is incredibly grim and just as you are about to accept your death an ear-shattering shot echoes through the room. 

You’d never be able to truly remember the next few seconds if you tried, adrenaline kicking into overdrive when your body hits the floor covered in blood before your brain registers that you are very not dead despite the gunfire. 

Everyone turns to the man holding the gun to your head in confusion. One, two, three, four seconds pass as it registers that he had not been the one to fire. Instead, it’s his body hitting the floor with a thud as red sprays from his skull. 

Those four seconds are all Ghost needs before he raises his rifle and takes out the other three men with a yell. It doesn’t take another four before he’s sliding onto his knees beside you, taking your head into his hands and pulling you against his chest as he pleads for you not to be dead. 

Your eyes open through the blood that’s drenched your upper half and Simon inhales shakily in relief when you finally murmur that it’s not yours. Your face is buried against his neck and his arms ensnare your shoulders, holding you crushingly tight against him as his shoulders shake slightly. 

You feel, because you can’t see anything past his vest, his head turn and his nose press tightly to your hairline as his breathing slowly evens out. 

“S’ok. I’m ok, you saved me” Your voice is hoarse with unshed tears and stress that finally burst forth as the dam wall you’d been keeping up crumbles. Simon mumbles something but it’s too soft for you to hear, you don’t ask him to repeat it because you understand the sentiment. 

His comms flare to life but Simon ignores them in favour of clutching you tighter against him, it takes you gently nudging him to answer for him to relent his grip even a little as he has to pull away a little to answer. Though he’s diving back against you almost instantly, this time he pulls off his mask, letting the bare skin of his nose press against your pounding pulse point. 

You don’t make any move to push him away, even as your arms and legs ache from the position because you understand. You don’t doubt you’d be just as clingy and desperate had the roles been reversed. 

Chin resting on his shoulder you speak softly and slowly, just for him. It’s a bunch of random nonsense that you won’t remember later but it doesn’t matter. It’s just another way to reassure him and you that you’re still alive and breathing. 

That you aren’t going anywhere. Not yet, and if the world lets you have your way, not ever. 

[mistyresolve]

| Hostage - Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word count - 1.9K

Summary - When y/n is taken hostage because she is their combat analyst and knows a significant amount of information in regards to the 141, Ghost goes ballistic. Driven by fear and anger he locates you and is able to rescue you but the fear lingers and he struggles to wrestle his feelings back down.  

Warnings/Tags - Violence and blood, allusions to a brief panic attack  

A/N - I’m thinking of doing an epilogue to this but I’m really on the fence  

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Ghost feared very little. Knew that very little could actually kill him, and even fewer people could do the same. He knew he wasn’t invincible, and someday his luck would run out. Someday his heart would stop, and his blood would run cold. He couldn’t run from the inevitable; thus, he welcomed death with open arms like one would an old friend. He didn’t have a death wish though. He was merely passive towards it. Sometimes he liked the thrill a brush with death gave him. It reminded him he was alive, that his heart did indeed beat like everyone else’s. 

When it came to you, it was an entirely different story. The very idea of you being hurt, and dying, scared the shit out of him. The thought of you leaving him behind plagued him. Even in his sleep, nightmares of you taking your last breaths in his arms would force him from sleep. He’d spend the rest of the night watching you sleep, watching your chest rise and fall, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. He feared for the day he wasn’t able to protect you. 

A day like today. 

“Ghost,” Price spoke slowly and low like he was talking to a wide animal. Which wasn’t that far off, “We’ll get them back, we just need more information. We can’t run in there blind and deaf.” 

Price might as well have been talking to a brick wall because all Ghost could hear was ringing. An incessant, grating sound that shrouded him from all sense and reason. He remained utterly silent, seeth in his own wrath. The wrath he was sure to bring down on everyone and anyone who stood in his way. The 141 was well aware of this and stood aside as Ghost stalked to the door, his shoulders rolled and taut ready for a fight. He had turned so wholly maniacal that even Soap was disturbed by the look in his eye and backed down. Ghost went AWOL, but the 141 provided as much support as they could. They were able to give him updates and new information over the radio, but they were never able to catch up with his unrelenting pace. Instead, they only stumbled over his messes. Their own anxiety and unease about the meaning behind it all grew. It was as if humanity abandoned him as he tracked—No. As he hunted down the men who took you, smelling their blood in the air and following the scent. Ghost spared no one. If someone wasn't giving him the information he’d slay them and move to the next. If the next person wasn’t giving him information fast enough they were executed.   

When he finally located you, you were in a warehouse, he communicated back into the radio for the first time to tell the rest of the 141. 

The captors had yet to start drawing blood, but only because they were trying a psychological approach. It had already been three hours. Three very long hours. You were a combat analyst, you weren’t a trained soldier like the 141. And you sure as hell wasn’t prepared for something like this. He didn’t let himself think too hard about the possibilities. He didn’t let himself think about the probability of finding you dead inside the warehouse. You had crucial information on the 141 that they wanted, and he could only hope that information was keeping you alive. 

He slaughtered his way into the building, leaving nothing but carnage behind him. When he got visuals on you, alive, he nearly collapsed. Not completely unharmed though.

You were soaked from waterboarding. They had used ice-cold water, and somehow it was colder still. The big industrial fans hanging from the roof blew cool air, but it was only amplified tenfold for you. He could hear your shivering, see how your lips had turned a scary shade of blue. Your hair stuck to your face in wet clumps. Your hands were bound to a chair, your fingers curling into your palms in search of any warmth. Your eyes burned holes into whoever stood in front of you.     

“Where. Are. The 141. Hiding?” Your captor asked again, the same question he’s been asking from the very beginning. He forced your head back, getting ready to place the towel. He hadn’t gotten anything out of you yet, but he could tell you were breaking. 

You bit out a smile, although it was more of an act of you baring your teeth at him, “Go to hell,” Your teeth chattered, despite your best efforts. Before the captor could place to sopping towel back over your face he emerges. 

It’s almost as if Ghost was made from the shadows themselves with the way he seems to materialize out of them. The way they clung to him. He couldn’t remember losing his handgun, but at some point, he’d resorted to knives. 

You knew he wasn’t here for your blood but alarms and warnings went off in your very bones. They screamed, Danger! Danger!       

Ghost was every bit his reputation at this moment. His eyes were wide and unseeing. His movements were swift and snappy like elastics were snapping in his limbs. He’d taken his time when he dragged the blade across the man's throat, wanting to keep him alive to feel every ounce of agony at his life quite literally drained from him. 

The speed at which he moved in front of you almost made you think him inhuman. He uncuffed you and pulled you into his arms, squeezing you hard enough that you thought he was going to break bones. He was panting, almost unable to catch his breath. You could almost smell his fear; that and the blood that was surely hiding among the black dye of his clothes.  

You repeatedly murmured, “I’m okay. I’m okay,”  into his shoulder. Not sure if you were comforting him, or yourself. Both, you very quickly realized. As whatever came over him in those few hours of your life in danger, ebbed from his veins, he finally, finally returned to his body. Before it had felt like he was watching himself from outside his body, watching himself from someone else perceptive. Someone may have thought he wasn’t a mundane soldier, but a vessel for whatever god wished to experience true unchecked rage. 

But he was human.

He felt true terror today, and his body was starting to feel the effects of it. He kept repeating, “I’m sorry,” like they were the only words he could remember. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, and his skin felt too tight and itchy. You let him hold you, let him feel your heartbeat against his.   

The 141 arrived with a medic. Simon immediately stepped aside, allowing the professional to assess you. She’d immediately announced hypothermia and called for a medevac. She’d wrapped a reflective blanket around your shoulders and removed her own jacket and put it on top.  

Once Simon was completely and utterly sure you were in good hands, he’d stumbled to the wall, choosing a spot where he was obscured from your view. Everyone’s view. He’d fallen to his knees then, his strength leaving him. They cracked against the concrete, but he welcomed the sharp pain. He’d lifted his mask and thrown up. 

It had been a long, long while since he’d had a reaction like this. Where panic and hysteria claimed him. Guilt and self-loathing suffocated him. Filled his chest, and bubbled up into his throat.  

He let this happen. He wasn’t careful enough. He got too comfortable. 

And this was the result. 

It was his fault. 

His fault. His fault. His fault.   

He clenched his jaw, fighting back hot tears. He leaned his back against the wall, rested his arms on his knees, and let his head hang between his legs. If circumstances were different he would have crawled into the safety of your arms and begged you to make this feeling stop. To make it go away. It was a selfish thought, he knew that. Knew that you were one who needed comfort and reassurance right now. Knew that you needed him just as much, but he didn’t want you to see this. For if you looked into his eyes, you’d be faced with the reality that he truly had had no idea what to do. He came looking with no plan and hardly any direction. He’d once again gotten lucky by following breadcrumbs and whispers to find you.  

He almost lost you.  

You were alive, yes, but what if he’d come an hour later? A minute?  

The 141 knew where he was. Had watched him as he melted back into the shadows, but respected Simon’s silent request for solitary. They understood that he needed to wade through these emotions on his own and that no matter what they said or did wasn’t going to fix it. 

When he heard the familiar sound of a chopper overhead he forced himself to collect himself. Allowing himself 10 more seconds before remasking, and finding you. The medic and Price were escorting you to the front doors. 

“Simon,” Soap appeared at his side, Ghost jerked his attention to him, “There is nothing you could have done differently.” 

He didn’t say anything, but his silence was enough for Soap to understand that he disagreed. With that, he made his way over to you taking Price’s place at your side. 

You were still shaking but you held your head high with your shoulders squared. Simon could have cried at the sight. To see you were defiant in the face of it all was enough to ease the tiniest bit of worry from his shoulders. He knew you weren’t totally unaffected and it was going to take you years to repair the damages, but here you were walking out of this building on your own two feet. 

The medic tried to tell him he couldn’t come with but he downright refused to leave you, “Try and tell me no.”, and she must have known immediately she wasn’t going to win because she let him in anyway. 

He held your hand in his the entire flight to the nearest hospital, eyes darting about. He stayed at your side the entire time you were in the hospital too. He slept in the chair beside your bed, or at least pretended to until you drifted off into sleep, but was wide awake and alert for the rest of the night. Only leaving when Soap came for a visit the next day with clothes for him, telling him he’d take the next shift. Simon changed and came right back to the room. Only this time when he sat in the chair with the hood of his sweater pulled over his head, did he sleep. Finding some solace in knowing Soap was here too.  

Tomorrow he was going to have a meeting with Price about his insubordination. And about the ramage he went on. Tomorrow he was going to have to tell Price about how he’d completely lost himself, didn’t even remember half of it.   

Epilogue

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A/N - Price isn’t mad, he’s worried 

[leth-writes]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Warnings: discussions of violence and being held hostage, but it's quite brief.

let me know if anyone wants more!

Simon x reader who was held hostage

Simon first met you while he was on a mission; he was clearing out the rest of the building when he spotted you, a final hostage tied to a chair and badly beaten. 

When you saw him, you absolutely lost your mind, whimpering and crying and begging him not to hurt you. You’re hyperventilating, trying so hard to see through your horribly bruised face, nose broken and bleeding heavily, and all you can see in the dim light is this hulking figure with a gun and a face shaped like a skull.

He swears softly, under his breath, and informs the rest of the 141 he’s found another hostage. It’s up to him to calm you down and get you out before the fighting kicks back up again. 

He’s got his hands up, gun on the ground, as he slowly approaches, ready to cut the ropes binding you with a knife.

You freak out even harder, screaming and pleading, fully convinced he’s going to slit your throat or torture you even worse. You’d already told your captors they had the wrong person, that you didn’t know anything, and they’d obviously sent in the most intimidating man they had in the building.

He’s trying to calm you down, low voice attempting to croon out soft reassurances, but the mask is really ramping up your panic until you can’t even focus on what he’s saying. As a result, he’s forced to pull it off.

The sight of his heavily ringed eyes and chiseled, handsome face is enough to snap you out of your panic attack, and it’s then you notice the small British flag on his arm. 

You burst back into tears and he’s convinced he’s just managed to scare you worse, until you start thanking him over and over again.

He cuts you out of the binds and you rocket into his chest, blubbering and burying your face deep into his chest. He’s rubbing your back as you cry.

The two of you meet up again so you can treat him for saving you, you insisted, and the rest is history

He works so hard not to scare you; all he can see in his nightmares is your horrified face that dreary day you met.

He never wears the mask around you. Ever. 

Tells you everything about him, paying special attention to all the stupid little mistakes he’s ever made, just to convince you not to view him as this intimidating myth; he doesn’t want you being scared of him, not like everyone else.

Does his best to protect you. You already know everything about him, but he makes sure his fellow teammates know your name and that you have ways to contact them, just in case something happens. Definitely threatens them to make sure they don’t contact you needlessly or scare you off with their brash, intimidating demeanors.