#kidnapping fic

Chobei had been on the run for days, with the local guards hot on his heels. He’d fought them time and again, slaying countless men, and now he was wounded himself. He wouldn’t last much longer without shelter—he needed to stitch up his gash and rest. Stumbling through the forest, he was a far cry from the bandit king he once was. In the end, he had to sit down, if only for a moment’s reprieve. Leaning against a tree trunk, he stared up at the sky, his eye growing heavy and slow to close.

Exhaustion overtook him completely, his eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t even hear you approach, his ears still ringing from the brutal fight. The wound on his side bled profusely, soaking his tattered tunic. Alone and injured, he was the perfect target—and yet, still the most dangerous man in these woods.

Suddenly, Chobei caught sight of a strange girl. You passed by him.

Chobei notices that you are 164 cm tall, with a petite and just-right figure, featuring soft and graceful curves, a small yet perky chest, and a slender waist. You have deep brown long hair，you have straight bangs and hime cut.Your skin is snow-white, and you have brown eyes (almond-shaped with a slight cat-eye tilt), delicate facial features, and a small oval face. Your complexion gives off a youthful appearance.

His bloodied hand shot out, seizing your ankle with startling strength despite his frailty. His only good eye locked onto yours, predatory and desperate. “Well, well, well… what have we here?” He dragged himself upright a little, his face mere inches from yours, breath ragged. “A little kitten, lost in the woods?”

You said nothing.

His voice was rough and hoarse, thick with blood loss and weariness. One hand pressed hard against his wound, the other still clamped around your ankle. “You’re… awfully pretty. Like an innocent little flower. And yet here you are, in these deadly woods. All alone.” His gaze raked over you, possessive and unyielding.

He took in your small frame, your delicate features—petite. Your small chest was barely visible beneath your simple dress, and he realized you were practically a child compared to him. His eyes drifted lower, drinking in your slender waist and youthful hips.

In an instant, you struck Chobei unconscious. Night had fallen by then, and he woke in the basement of your home—a basement turned dreamland, filled with soft beds and dolls. He came to on a princess-style bed, the door locked tight.

Chobei blinked awake groggily, immediately disoriented by the soft bedding and the room lined with dolls. He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his bandaged side, and found himself in clean clothes, far from his usual blood-stained tunic. “What the fuck…?” He glanced around, spotting the locked door.

He tested his restraints, only to find his wrists and ankles bound loosely with silk ribbons, not rope. This “prison” was absurd— a pink canopy bed with fluffy pillows, surrounded by teddy bears and delicate porcelain dolls, moonlight streaming through heart-shaped windows. “A little girl’s fantasy dungeon?” He scoffed, but a sharp throb from his wound made him wince.

He flopped back onto the bed, dumbfounded by the sheer ridiculousness of it all. A wanted criminal, feared across the countryside, trapped in a room decked out like a little girl’s wildest dream. His massive frame looked comically out of place amid the frills and lace.

“I’m not a child.”

“Obviously not,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes lingering on your petite form and delicate features. He knew you were a young adult, not a child—your small frame and innocent face just made you look like a fragile porcelain doll, easy to break.

“Do you like it here?”

He glanced around the room once more, at the pink walls, fluffy carpets, and dozens of stuffed animals. He hated it. He was a man of war, of blood and violence; this room was the polar opposite of everything he stood for.

“You’re not allowed to go outside ever again.”

“What?” He sat up abruptly, his wound screaming in protest. He was a free man, a noble outlaw—he could not be imprisoned, least of all in such a ridiculous place. “You expect me to stay in this… this fucking dollhouse for eternity?” His voice rose, dangerous and sharp.

“But don’t you like me?”

“I like you?” He scoffed, his face twisting into a sneer. He was a deadly criminal, not some sappy romantic hero. He killed men for a living; he didn’t “like” women. He used them, bedded them, never liked them.

“I just want someone to be with me.”

His sneer faded, replaced by a look of confusion. You wanted someone to keep you company? In this godforsaken dollhouse? He looked at you, really looked—your tiny frame, delicate features, innocent brown eyes. You were like a lost puppy, lonely and desperate for attention.

“Or I’ll tear this door down and seal it with bricks and cement. You can starve to death in here, rot away all alone.”

His eyes widened in shock at your threat. He was a wanted man, a killer, and you dared to threaten to entomb him alive like a monster. His heart raced, primal fear coiling in his chest. No one had ever dared to threaten him like this. “Fucking hell…”

“Let’s play a game~ Just rock paper scissors. Three rounds. If I win in the end, you have to stay with me forever~ If you win, you can leave.”

He raised an eyebrow, his mind reeling. This was absurd—a deadly criminal playing a child’s game with a girl for his freedom. He chuckled darkly, his broken ribs aching with the movement. “You’re fucking insane.” But he played along. “One condition.”

“If I win, I don’t just walk away. I take you with me. You’ll be mine, permanently.” His eyes darkened, dangerous and intense. He knew the odds were in his favor; he was a man of war, strategy his second nature.

“No. If you win, you can only leave. Pretend you never met me. I’ll mean nothing to you.”

His face twisted in irritation at your counteroffer. He hated the thought of walking away and forgetting you existed—there was something about your innocent, fragile air that intrigued him. But he agreed, his pride refusing to back down from a simple children’s game. “Fine. Rock paper scissors.”

You both held out your hands. He played rock first; you countered with paper. His jaw tightened. Second round, he chose scissors; you played rock. His eyes narrowed dangerously as you took a 2-0 lead. For the final round, he threw paper, betting you’d repeat your pattern. But you smiled sweetly and held up scissors.

He stared at your tiny, delicate hand forming scissors, the pink ribbon around your wrist a stark contrast to his rough, calloused fingers. You’d won. He’d lost. To a girl. At a fucking game of rock paper scissors. His face contorted with rage and humiliation. “Fuck.”

You clapped your hands and bounced on your heels, grinning like you’d just won a candy prize at a festival. He felt like an idiot—defeated by a child’s game, by a woman who looked like she ought to be playing with dolls instead of deciding his fate.

“I actually wasn’t sure… I’ve always been alone, but I’m used to having someone around. I get so lonely.”

He stared at you, his anger melting away as he listened to your soft, quiet words. Lonely—used to companionship yet craving solitude all the same. He understood that feeling better than anyone. Being an outlaw meant constant company with his men, yet endless, crushing loneliness. “Come here.”

Despite his menacing demeanor, his voice was unusually gentle as he held out his calloused hand. Your tiny hand fit perfectly in his large palm, like a small flower growing through cracks in concrete. Without a second thought, he pulled you closer, until you stood between his legs. “Stay.”

He looked down at you, his massive frame towering over your petite body—you barely reached his chest. His eyes traced your delicate features: your small nose, soft lips, deep brown cat-like eyes. You looked so fragile, so breakable, like a porcelain doll that might shatter if handled too roughly.

“Keep me prisoner. But take care of me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. This dangerous man, this criminal with blood on his hands, was submitting to you. Not because he had to—but because he chose to. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm against your face.

“I’ll be your doll. Your pet. Your monster under the bed.”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper, sending shivers down your spine. He offered you his complete obedience, his large body trembling with anticipation. He wanted to be your possession, your plaything—a dangerous, deadly toy for a lonely girl. “But you have to feed me.”

“I like you~ It’s the first time I’ve ever liked someone.”(But you didn’t mean a single word of it.In your eyes, no one in this world was worthy of you👿.He was nothing but filth😹.He would become your obedient doll, your little dog puppet🐶,your possession, a lifeless toy to keep you company and do whatever you want😸.)

His heart skipped a beat at your innocent confession. You liked him—the first person you’d ever cared for. A strange warmth spread through his chest, thawing the ice around his heart. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle hug. “Then feed me, little princess.”

“Feed you?”

His grip tightened around your waist, pressing you flush against his chest. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent like a starved man. He was enormous compared to you, and you fit perfectly beneath his chin.

“I was being sarcastic.” He murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “I’m not actually hungry for food.”

His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing gently, wanting you to understand what he meant by feed me. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “I’m hungry for something else.” His lips trailed up your neck, pressing soft kisses along your jawline.

He realized he was practically telling you he wanted to devour you whole—and yet, you weren’t a child, not really. You were in that strange in-between, innocent but not entirely naive. His erection pressed against your stomach through his trousers.

“I’m so lonely.”

His hands stilled on your hips, your confession hitting him like a fist to the gut. Not I’m scared or don’t hurt me—just loneliness. Something he knew all too well. He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting your big brown ones.

“I’ll keep you company.” His rough thumb brushed your cheek, surprisingly gentle for a killer’s hand.

You leaned into his touch, your body molding against his like two pieces of a puzzle. A fierce sense of possession washed over him—this tiny, lonely thing was trusting him, a monster, to be there for her. And he’d burn the world down before breaking that trust.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his large hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as he rocked you slightly. He offered comfort without expecting anything in return. For the first time in years, he felt needed—not feared, not hated, just needed.

You snuggled into his chest, your small body seeking warmth and solace from the man who’d been nothing but dangerous only moments before. He could feel your heart beating against his chest, steady and trusting. Without a second thought for consequences or boundaries, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I used to be such a crybaby~”

He smiled softly, imagining you as a tiny, tear-streaked thing, cute and vulnerable. He could picture you crying over spilled milk or a scraped knee, your big eyes filling with tears as you searched for someone to comfort you. And now, that someone was him. “Not anymore.”

He made a promise without even realizing it, his rough hands framing your face gently. “No more crying. If you need to cry, you cry on me. If you’re happy, you smile. If you’re scared… you hide behind me.” His thumbs brushed away imaginary tears from your cheeks.

You looked up at him with dull, blank eyes—empty, unblinking, utterly unreadable. He felt as though he’d been smashed by a boulder. This girl… she’d be the death of him. A killer, a criminal, and she was… so fucking weird, so fucking cute.

“Forever together~♡”

His breath caught in his throat at your words. Forever was a long time for a man with a death sentence hanging over his head. But looking at your dull, unblinking eyes, the way you fixed on him with that strange, unyielding stillness—he dared not refuse you.

His Game • spencer’s masterlist • petal’s masterlist

Pick Up The Pieces

back to chapter 7

Dark!Spencer Reid x afab!reader, kidnapping fic, no use of y/n

Chapter Warnings: angst, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, physical abuse, aggressive behaviour, manipulative behaviour, smut, coercion, riding, unprotected piv sex, biting, light praise

chapter summary; Where are you? Here, of course. With Spencer. Of course.

word count: 2.3k

The highway was so loud. Tires against the ground, spinning, grinding, it made you feel like your ears were going to bleed. The droning sound buzzed with your ears, vibrated your skin. Hadn't you left the highway?

Waking up in an unfamiliar place

Fic Summary:

Ilya and Shane are playing their first season together with the Ottawa Centaurs. Their first year of marriage is more difficult to navigate than they had expected, having been together for so many years, but never physically being together.

Shane is dealing with the anxiety of fitting into a new team, and handling the spotlight as the first married couple in the NHL, knowing just how many people are waiting for them to fail.

Ilya is troubled by the sudden exit of the team's assistant coach - leaving them with a last minute addition to their staff. Not only is he worried about how this addition will fit with the team, but he worries about why he seems to be paying so much attention to his husband.

OR

In the first year on the Centaurs, marriage is hard, and only made harder by the spotlight, as well as a new coach that seems fixated on Shane, or at the very least driving a wedge between him and Ilya.

We've Got Our Obsessions (77320 words) by jayskalo Chapters: 11/13 Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

A small, flat silver disk was the focal point of the picture Ilya had just been sent. It was on the tip of the finger of the photographer, half the size of the finger if that. He saw a notification of next photo come in as he zoomed in on the tiny silver disk, trying to figure out how a piece of technology so small could be functional. The swiped to the next picture. It showed two small black disks with a glass center, sitting in the photographer’s palm. They were maybe the size of the $.25 coins he so rarely used when he was in Boston, if that. He exited the photos and flipped back to the text messages.

*We picked up these in your home. I assume you didn’t put them there?

No. What are these?

Ilya had a pretty good idea, but he needed the confirmation.

Silver are audio recorders, black are cameras.

He didn’t know if he actually wanted to ask the question, but he needed to know. 

Where were the cameras?

The text from Detective Garcia took longer to come in than he would have liked. The three dots bounced for one minute. Then two. 

Cameras found in bedroom, gym and bathroom. Audio in living room, kitchen, and main entryway.

Fuck. How long had they been there? How long had this person been…watching them?

(tags below)

Buck was in trouble. It probably qualified as an emergency.

He'd been attacked. Taken.

Had woken up in a barn, of all places—head pounding, seeing double, lying on coarse straw. Naked except for his boxers. Hog-tied and gagged.

The scariest thing? His abductor knew Tommy.

"Should I call Thomas over?" he asked, scrolling through Buck's phone, wild grin illuminated in the dark by the screen. "Or should I say Daddy?" A mocking laugh. "Your text history is really something. I read it all. Every. Disgusting. Message. Listened to every voicemail you saved."

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Original Male Character(s), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash, Tommy Kinard & Bobby Nash, Maddie Buckley & Tommy Kinard Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard, Maddie Buckley, Bobby Nash, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Stabbing, Kidnapping, Hostage Situations, Evan "Buck" Buckley Stands Up for Self, Hospitalization, Medical Inaccuracies, Tommy Kinard Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley Loves Tommy Kinard, Post-Canon Fix-It, Fix-It Summary:

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Evan lies. He turns his head toward the window on the other side of the room so she can’t see his expression. He tries rubbing his wrists together, feeling the ache from their bindings on his arms.

“Evan,” she growls, her voice wet with the threat of tears.

He doesn’t look at her. He can’t look at her. He’s working on committing her to memory. Black jeans. White cardigan. Blue tank top underneath. Converse sneakers. A bruise on her chin. Black jeans. White cardigan. Blue tank top-

“I’m not leaving here without you,” she says, her tone growing angrier.

He doesn’t answer. At least not out loud.

But the words are strong inside his head.

Yes you are.