Captured { Wilbur Soot x Reader }

four

Twelve years. Twelve whole years. One-hundred and forty-four months. Four thousand, three-hundred and eighty days.

That's how long Wilbur has spent attempting to catch you. That's just under half of his entire life. He has spent almost 50% of his life trying to get you behind bars, only for you to gladly saunter into his office, a confused guard holding onto your arm for dear life. Wilbur was sure that if he lifted the sleeves of your jacket, bruises in the shape of fingers would be present on your forearms due to the pressure that the guard had used.

You, on the other hand, had spent your entire life on the run. Never did you get a break. Not once. One night you would be sleeping in a saloon hotel, the next you would be sleeping on the deck of your ship in the middle of the south pacific. You were always on the run. Due to that, you were very good at escaping tricky situations.

You had escaped countless attempts to your capture, some of them by a longshot, others just barely slipping through their fingers.

After living a whole life on the run, you'd only had one person not know when to give up. And that was Wilbur. Running from him for twelve years, you had learnt that he was good at what he did. He was only ever one or two steps behind you, a stark contrast to the others who attempted to capture you who were many steps behind.

The only way you managed to escape Wilbur's grasp was your impulsiveness and brash decision-making.

This is why Wilbur is hesitant to allow you to stay on his ship. With your skill, talent, and idiotic ideas, you could easily escape or take the crew and himself hostage and become one of the most powerful pirates of all time.

And that was what he was currently thinking about as he stood at the ship's wheel, staring into the darkening horizon. What if, one day, you got bored and found a way to escape? Or, what if, one day, one of the crew members accidentally left a gun unattended and you snatched it?

His gaze on the horizon snapped as he noticed a moving figure on the deck, making its way towards the bow. He blinked a few times allowing his eyes to readjust to the dim lighting of the deck and immediately recognised the shade of their jacket.

It was, once again, you.

You seemed to be in a bad mood, your shoulders hunched, your hands just barely managing to be shoved into your pickets, the shackled around them being strained tight.

He looked between you, the horizon and the ship's wheel before sighing to himself and tieing a small piece of rope to the wheel, locking it in place before making his way down the steps and towards you.

You stood on the left of the bow, your hands now dangling off the edge of the barrier.

Wilbur slowly made his way over to you, not realising that his entire journey to you was completely out of your sight. Only he could hear his steps on the hardwood floor, the heels of his boots making light thumps that were easily covered up by the waves crashing against the ship and the old creaking of the masts. Adding to this, you weren't mentally present, your mind focusing on something other than your surroundings. So, when Wilbur appeared at your side, your reaction was not what he expected.

"Hey," he announced, appearing at your side.

In response, you jumped at his sudden arrival and screamed, but not in the high-pitched scream, more like a deep and short sound from the back of your throat. You stared at Wilbur with wide eyes and your fists tightened before calming down and realising it was just Wilbur.

Wilbur began to laugh, apologising through his gasps for air as you placed a hand on your chest to slow your heartbeat.

"Why would you do that? Jesus Christ!" you cried out, pushing your hair out of your face.