bluelizard100

[bluelizard100]

i'd bark for soap any day. anyways, amazing chapter!

-✨

I would do a LOT of things for soap 😈

[bluelizard100]

Missing Piece pt. 7

warnings: more internalized conflict, simon dresses reader, johnny is a pervert, forced touching, light puppy play (just nicknames)

Johnny's kept you trapped for at least an hour now. He sleeps, but you're too distressed to nap. Your backside throbs and you wish you could put some aloe on it, but you're entangled in Johnny's limbs. It's startling how easily Johnny forgave you.

He snores softly, his face still nuzzled into your neck. You feel like a human teddy bear.

You had just gotten used to the touching, the lack of personal space, the affection. Now, being this close to Johnny has you sick to your stomach. That evil little voice deep in the recesses of your mind whisper that this is your fault. Had you just behaved, just stayed put instead of trying to escape, you wouldn't have ruined things.

Is this Stockholm syndrome?

No. You hate them. They're evil, malevolent men keeping you here against your will. They're just tricking you, that's all. They're manipulators, this is what they do.

But… Kyle warned you. He helped you. So did Simon. Are these tricks, too? How are you supposed to know? Either way, there's no hope. If it's not a trick but you treat it like it is, then you'll be ungrateful and probably get punished again. If it is a trick and you treat it like it is, then they'll accuse you of being ungrateful and punish you again. If it's not a trick, and you treat it like it's not a trick, then you'll be giving in. If it is a trick and you treat it like it's not, you'll be falling for manipulation.

It doesn't matter what you do. You're doomed to lose.

—

Another hour passes before someone comes to get you. You expect Kyle, but Simon opens the door instead.

"How's yer ankle?"

"Fine." It's a lie— your ankle hurts like a bitch. You haven't seen it, but based on the throbbing, you know it's swollen.

Simon, of course, knows you're lying. You forgot how observant he is.

It's surprising he didn't see this escape attempt coming. He knew the first was coming just by watching you. He must've stopped watching so closely when he thought you'd gotten comfortable here.

Not anymore.

"Let me see it," he orders, though his inflection is gentle.

"I can't," you grumble. "I'm stuck."

With a sigh, Simon shakes Johnny awake. He grumbles, muttering to himself about how all they ever do is mess with his sleep, before releasing you and rolling over.

Simon helps you sit up and get your injured ankle out from under the covers.

"I got a brace. We can get you downstairs and get these wraps off, get ya somethin' for the pain."

He lifts you up out of the bed like you weigh nothing, in a bridal carry, and takes you over to your bins and piles of clothes.

"I can walk," you mutter, trying not to sound too petulant. The last thing you need right now is for them to think you're immature, like you need them to do your thinking for you.

"I know you can," he grunts. That's all the explanation you get before he's setting you down, leaning you against the wall, and rifling through your clothes.

He's picking your outfits now?

You say nothing. Simon was the only one of the four who let you be, who wasn't constantly breathing down your neck.

Now you're really convinced you screwed up.

It's your fault.

Simon tosses your clothes— sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and one of your more comfortable bras— onto the bed, then scoops you back up.

Having three men constantly pawing at you was suffocating. A fourth might just do you in.

He sets you down at the foot of the bed. Johnny is still sleeping, though you know he'll be up and bothering you soon.

"Arms up."

Simon's voice startles you from your thoughts.

"What?" You ask, though you heard him just fine.

"Arms up, doll."

"I can dress myself," you sputter, unable to hide your displeasure.

Simon sighs, exasperated as if he's had this conversation before.

"I know you can. Arms up."

You've got no bra on underneath your pajama shirt. He's already seen you before, you know he's the one who changed you out of your escape getup, but that was different. You're awake now.

"I can do it myself."

Simon fixes you with a stern look, and you stiffen. You're brought back to the woods, when you passed out on the walk.

He didn't punish you then, but you know that his patience has to be stretched thin after your escape attempt.

You turn your head away and lift your arms. You don't realize you're holding your breath until he grumbles at you for it.

Simon grabs the hem of your pajama shirt and pulls it over your head, his fingers just barely grazing against your ribs. As brief as the contact was, it's still enough to make your skin raise with goosebumps.

You've already turned your head away, but when the shirt comes up, you shut your eyes for good measure. If you don't have to watch, maybe it won't be so bad.

With your shirt off, the rest of your skin tightens with gooseflesh. You cringe, knowing your nipples are pebbling with the cold and Simon's got a front row seat.

To your relief (and surprise), Simon is quick about dressing you. He slides your arms through the straps of your bra and then your head through the hole. You wonder if it would've been easier to just wear an uncomfortable one with a wire and a clasp.

Covered once more, you open your eyes again. Simon doesn't acknowledge you, instead reaching for your sweatshirt. He pulls it down over your arms and your head, tugging at the hem so it doesn't bunch up.

You look away again when he tugs your pajama bottoms off.

You expect him to move quickly, just as he had with your shirt, but he pauses. When you chance a peek at him, he's staring at your bare thighs.

Not him, too.

Almost hesitantly, he places his hands on your knees. You tense, ready to fight if he tries to push them apart.

He doesn't, though.

His hands slide up your thighs until they find your hips. When you look from his hands back to his face, he looks troubled. Pained.

"…what are you doing?"

He glances up at you, saying nothing. The silence has you worrying you're in trouble again, but Simon takes one hand from your hip and reaches for the sweatpants.

"Ya scared us all," he grunts. "When we saw you on the ground from the fuckin' second floor window, we thought ya hurt y'self much worse."

It's a confession of his worries, of his care, but his tone is full of frustration. He's still upset with you, and you wonder if he'll be upset for a while.

"I told ya that you could come to me if you needed to talk," he mutters, carefully guiding your injured ankle through the leg of the sweats. "And ya didn't. You jumped out a fuckin' window instead."

It doesn't seem particularly fair that he is the one angry with you. He's the one who brought you here in the first place. Hypocrite.

He puts your other foot through the leg hole and tugs your sweats up, making you stand so he can tug them over your ass. You have to plant your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, and right now, he's eye-level with your pussy. You try not to notice the way his breathing grows heavier.

With you dressed, he stands, towering over you again.

"If ya ever try that again," he says, his voice a low growl, "it won't be John's knee y're bent over."

Simon was particularly sweet to you both times John had punished you, but the growl of his voice and the look in his eyes tell you that he won't be sweet if he's the one doing the punishing.

Simon is bigger than all of them. Stronger, and if you had to guess, he could be meaner than all of them if given a reason. You doubt the other three would try to save you from Simon like he tried to save you from John.

Simon leans down and presses a surprisingly tender kiss to the top of your head before turning to wake Johnny again. He groans and whines about needing his sleep, Simon barks at him that it's the middle of the day, and, with another groan, Johnny rolls out of bed.

—

You can't make yourself even look at John. You're sat at the table, a bowl of fruit sat in front of you. You shift your weight back and forth, unable to sit comfortably.

You pick at your fruit. It doesn't look particularly good— the fruit selection is dwindling as the season changes deeper into autumn.

"Eat your fruit, darling," John hums. He's back to being gentle, acting as if nothing ever happened. The first time you were punished, you were glad that nobody wanted to acknowledge it; it saved you from embarrassment. Now, anger festers in your mind.

He doesn't get to pretend he didn't beat you, all for the crime of wanting your freedom. He should be sorry, should be waiting to earn your forgiveness. He should feel awkward around you, it should be too hard for him to even want to talk to you until you forgive him.

But, you do as you're told and you eat the fruit.

As angry as you are, you know that being 'disobedient' so soon after a punishment will only lead to another.

So, for now, you stick with your silent brooding and cold-shouldering. What're they gonna do? Punish you for not talking back?

—

You make it until bedtime without talking to any of them. You spent the rest of your day reading (or pretending to read— it's too hard to focus when you can't sit comfortably), and the men surprisingly left you alone.

You wonder if they left you alone simply because you were reading, or if they all know you're not ready to talk.

You find out tonight what Johnny meant when he said "our room": Because you can't be trusted anymore, they decided that Johnny should move back in to his room with you to keep an eye on you.

Simon carries you up the stairs, Johnny following close behind. His knee is getting better quickly, and you think to yourself that he was probably being dramatic for some attention.

Simon deposits you on the bed and moves to your clothes bins, collecting your pajamas while Johnny grabs his own. Simon changes you, ignoring your glaring, and Johnny tugs on his own flannel pajamas.When you're changed, Johnny makes his way back over to you. Simon gives both you and Johnny a goodnight kiss and leaves. You wipe your cheek when he turns his back, just to be spiteful.

You really shouldn't be so mean to Simon after he's tried to help you, and protected you from John's wrath. It's just hard not to. It is, after all, his fault that you're here in the first place.

Johnny crawls in his side of the bed, waits for you to tuck yourself under the covers, and then pulls you tight against him, spooning you.

"It's nice bein' back in my own room," he murmurs into your ear. "Got the prettiest roommate now, too."

You say nothing.

"And, I'm right here tae take care o' ye if ye have another dream about me."

That gets your attention. You whip your head around to look at him over your shoulder.

"He told you??"

Johnny grins at your embarrassed outrage. "Aye, he told me. He told everyone, actually."

You turn away and hide your face in your hands, feeling both shame and dread.

"Aww, dinnae fash," Johnny coos. "It's natural. No need ta be embarrassed."

Johnny leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"I dream about you, too, y'ken."

Tune him out. Tune him out, just tune him out.

"I dream about ye when I'm asleep, and I dream about ye when I'm awake."

Tune. Him. Out.

"Dinnae be embarrassed about yer dream, bonnie. I'd eat ye out any time, any day, if you'd let me."

He presses his hips tight against your ass, and that's the final straw. You dig your nails into his forearms and drag down, leaving raw, angry looking scratches behind.

"Ow, damnit- quit that!"

Johnny rolls you onto your belly and grabs ahold of your wrists, pinning them on either side of your head. You hiss in pain when your ankle is jostled.

It's embarrassing how easily Johnny— and frankly, all of them— overpower you.

It's sad that you still blame yourself for not being able to fight off four former special ops soldiers.

"Yer bein' bad," Johnny huffs, sounding more annoyed than angry. "Scrathin' me up like a feral cat."

Johnny pulls your wrists above your head, grabbing them both in one hand just long enough to swat your bottom.

Your yelp is muffled, your face pressed into the pillows. You feel Johnny go still and tense, saying nothing for a few seconds that feel more like hours.

"I always wanted tae do that," he finally says. You can't see his face, but you know just by his tone that he's smirking.

Stupid bastard.

"It's always Price who gets tae smack yer bum. It isnae fair, since yer the meanest ta me."

Johnny squeezes the cheek he just swatted, huffing out a laugh at your indignant squeak.

"Aye, every time ye start yer sulkin', Ah think about puttin' ye over my knee an' givin' ya something tae cry about."

Johnny brings both hands back to your wrists and presses some of his weight against your body, laying over you like a blanket. He leans back down to talk into your ear again, his breath warm against your skin.

"Only I'd be much, much nicer than Cap, hm? I'd let ye cry all the tears out of those pretty eyes, and then Ah'd make it all better."

You wriggle underneath him, trying uselessly to worm out from under him. He presses down a bit harder, the added weight forcing a wheeze from you.

"Mmh, Price always sends ye away sore and sad. No' me, bonnie. I'd keep ye over my lap and spread yer gorgeous thighs apart. Ah ken ye get a wee bit wet when ye get spanked. I do, too."

You can't fight, can't squirm, and you know by now that he won't let you talk. You can't do anything but lay there, and your fight-or-flight brain doesn't know what to make of it.

"And I'd slide my hand down between those thighs and pet ye, give yer poor pussy some attention."

You shake your head no, but he keeps fucking talking.

"Oh, aye, puppy, I would. I'd pet ye nice and gentle, tease yer wee cunt until she's drippin' properly."

Puppy?

You remember that sometimes, Johnny's called a mutt, or a dog. You assumed it was because he was being a pervert, but it all starts to click.

Johnny being referred to as a mutt, or a dog; Simon warning you on your first walk to hurry before Johnny could see you on a leash; Johnny's amused reaction to finding out about being leashed for your walk (he had called you puppy then, too); Johnny watching, overly excitedly, when Simon harnessed you for the next walk.

It's all his kink. This could be a shared kink. It was easier to just assume they were taking extreme, and degrading, measures to make sure you didn't try to run while out on your walks.

A pinch to the side of your thigh pulls you from your thoughts, though his hand returns to your wrist before you can think to try anything.

"I ken yer nae listenin', puppy," Johnny goads. "Yer bein' all spacey again."

A displeased huff is all the acknowledgement you grant him.

"Good girl," he hums, nipping at your ear and laughing when you jerk away.

"As I was sayin…"

Johnny leans down close to your ear again, not letting you away from him. He murmurs into your ear, his voice rough and gravelly. He must know your traitorous animal-brain has your nerves lighting up at the sound of that deep timbre so close to your ear.

"…when I've got ye good and needy, I'll start touchin' for real. I'll press down against yer poor, neglected clit, an' I'll rub slow circles. I'll go real, real slow wi' ye. Somethin' nice an' gentle after bein' mean to ye, somethin' tae dull the throb in yer spanked arse. And when ye start twitchin, start grindin' against my fingers fer more, I'll give it to ye."

Heat creeps up your neck, rising to your cheeks. You aren't sure if it's from embarrassment or arousal.

Johnny presses his hips back down into your ass. You didn't think it possible, but you tense up more when you feel the outline of his erection.

"I'll press harder, move faster, until yer pantin' and whinin' like a good, needy puppy. I willnae hold ye down— I'll let ye move with me, let ya chase yer pleasure. I'll keep goin' until ye come."

This isn't right. You shouldn't be turned on by this, you should be disgusted. Your anger, frustration, and fear mix, creating a dangerously potent aphrodisiac.

"And then, when yer pussy's squeezin' around nothin', Ah'll give ye my fingers. Two of 'em, to start, then a third if ye can take it."

He starts to grind slowly against you, as if he was trying to hold back but couldn't do it anymore. When you whimper, still sore from John's belt, he ignores you.

The flush on your cheeks spreads to the tips of your ears. You bet someone could feel the heat radiating off you without even touching you.

"I bet yer real tight down there, aren't ya? 'S okay, puppy, we'll fix that for ya. We'll get ye nice and stretched out so it doesna hurt, and then we'll get ye used to takin' cock."

All you can do is shake your head again. You're trying not to let him affect you, but you can't focus on anything but him. He's invading your senses. Intrusive since day one.

Even if you did manage to shift your attention elsewhere, he'd realize soon enough and drag it right back to him.

"Och, dinnae be shy," he scolds you playfully. "We all know yer needs were neglected before us, poor thing… but we'll take care o' ya. We'll make sure all yer needs are met. Every. Single. One."

It's meant to be a promise, but to you it sounds more like a threat.

"After I get ye tae come on my fingers, I'll lay ye down on yer back."

It takes a moment for you to realize that he's gone back to narrating his fantasy.

"You'll get a wee break, a moment to breathe while I touch all over ya. I want to feel every inch of ya, to ken yer body like the back of my hand."

Johnny's hips move faster, press down harder.

This is good, you think despite the dull pain. This torment will be over soon.

"And after, when I'm certain ye willnae try tae scoot away from me, I'll fuck ye proper. I'll go slow first, just for you, but when the burn goes away I'll fuck ye so hard you'll forget yer own name."

His grip on your wrists tightens, and he dips down to press his face into your neck. He gets a face-full of your hair, though he's not bothered in the slightest, inhaling deeply through his nose.

"Not allowed yet, though," he pants into your hair. His words are breathy, like he's fighting back a whine. "No' allowed tae have ya yet."

He burns like a furnace, his body heat bleeding into you, sweat dotting at your hairline. Between his heat and the combined warmth of your arousal and fluster, you feel as if you've caught the most wicked fever.

You hope this is just another dream, and one you'll soon wake from.

Johnny's pace falters. His hips stutter, then stop, and he groans low in his throat.

He just came in his pants grinding against you. One of your kidnappers just came in his fucking pants grinding against your ass, all while telling you the lewd things he wants to do to you.

And you're aroused.

Johnny releases your wrists and rolls off you, pushing the covers off himself and inadvertently, you. He's panting now, trying to catch his breath now that he's satiated.

"Gonna go change," he grunts. "Dinnae go anywhere, or I'll hafta hunt ye down."

He grabs a fresh pair of boxers and leaves for the bathroom, trusting you to stay put.

Trusting you. More like knowing you can't go anywhere with your bad ankle.

You turn to your side, facing away from the door. Johnny worked you up, got you warm between your thighs, and then left. He could've waited until you were asleep and used his hand, but he just had to drag you into it.

Now you have to wonder if he did it on purpose to work you up, or if he's oblivious to how he affects you even while you actively despise him.

He puts up a sort of air-headed front, but you know he's smarter than he likes to act; he'd have to be in order to end up teammates with the other three men.

Yes, he did this on purpose.

Asshole.

You squeeze your thighs together, hoping to abate some of the need.

Before them, sometimes, late at night, you'd get yourself all worked up but not able to finish. It was torment, but if you were lucky (and tired) enough, you could just squeeze your thighs together until you fell asleep. It was enough to satisfy the aching, even without an orgasm, and you'd fall asleep before your body could ache for proper release.

You attributed it all your issues then to stress: you couldn't relax enough, couldn't take your focus off your growing to-do list long enough to get off.

Maybe tonight, you'll be lucky and the squeezing will tide you over.

Your plan crumples when Johnny comes trudging back into the room, clearly not concerned with softening his footsteps to try not to wake anyone.

He takes his spot at your back, scooting in close and sighing as he settle back into the mattress.

"Keep me warm, bonnie," he mumbles. "Only got my boxers tae wear, now. Havenae done laundry in a bit…"

Even when he's sleepy he still manages to run his mouth.

You think you're doomed to suffer for the night until one of his hands travels down your belly, and his fingers dip into the waistband of your pajama pants.

You grab onto his arm and scratch again.

"Fuck," he hisses, using his free hand to swat yours off his arm. "Ah thought Ah told ye already tae quit with the scratchin'."

His hand travels further into your pajama bottoms, fingers tracing the band of your panties.

"M' tired, baby." He lets himself whine, now. "But Ah cannae sleep… need something tae play with until I can."

He slips his hand under your panties, humming softly when your hips press back against his in an attempt to escape his hand.

"Stop it," you hiss. "you said you weren't allowed."

Johnny grunts at you to hush, his hand now petting your coarse hair.

"Said I wasnae allowed ta take ye. Didnae say anythin' about playin'."

You grab onto his wrist, trying to stop him. "I'll scream."

Johnny laughs at your threat, and bats your hand off his wrist.

"Yer gonna scream, hm? Wake everyone up, make 'em think yer hurt or in danger, just to find me touchin' down yer panties? Ah dinnae think the others would be verra happy about that, puppy. Price'd take ye right back over his knee, I bet."

Johnny laughs again when you stiffen.

"I ken ye dinnae like the spankin's, but ye cannae say they aren't effective."

You squirm a bit, only for him to wrap his legs around yours.

"You only say that because you do like them," you hiss.

Johnny snorts. His hand hasn't moved, still petting your mound.

"Yer talkin' like a lass who doesna want to come. Either way I'm gonna play wi' ye til I fall asleep, but it's yer behavior that'll decide if I make ye come or no'."

You wriggle a bit more. You know it's useless, but you can't let yourself just lay still.

"Squirmy pup," he scolds, right into your ear. "I willnae hold it against ye, though. I'm a merciful mutt." You can hear his grin in his words.

His hand slips lower, fingers finding your clit before you can even react to the movement.

You yelp at the contact, blood rushing to your head. Johnny clamps his free hand over your mouth, teasing you for being too loud.

"Hush, now," he murmurs, fingers tracing slow circles into your clit. "Ah want ya to myself right now. If ye keep makin' all this noise, the other's might hear and want tae join."

You try squeezing your thighs shut, but he uses his legs to push yours right back apart.

"I left ye all hot and bothered the first time this happened. I'll no' do it again. Gotta show ye how good I'll be to ya."

Johnny keeps you easily pinned in place, thwarting every attempt you make to get away. You can't squirm much to begin with, anyway, not without jostling your ankle.

You find out quickly, though, that Johnny wasn't lying when he said he'd be good to you.

His touch is experimental at first, fingers inconsistent until he manages to pull a gasp from you. Only then, when he gets a reaction, is when his touch turns steady, purposeful.

And god, does it feel good.

You tell yourself it's because you're tired, too tired to try and fight it off; you aren't moving with his fingers, you're still trying to get away; your skin isn't tingling with arousal, but with fear.

You can lie to yourself now, while it's happening, but come morning, you and all four of your captors will know how you gave in to Johnny.

He doesn't exactly make it easy to fight. Aside from physically restraining you, he seems to know exactly how to make your knees weak.

He sucks gently on the sensitive skin of your neck, growls words of encouragement into your ear, telling you how good you're behaving and how happy he is that you're finally letting him touch you. He tells you he knows it isn't always easy to give in, how he used to also feel guilty for his pleasures— something something Catholic guilt— but how proud he is that you're finally letting yourself feel good.

You knew he wasn't an idiot, but you weren't aware of just how perceptive he really is.

Johnny's deft fingers work you up to an orgasm faster than you could've dreamed of with your own. A small hitch in your breath gives you away.

"Are ye close? Good, tha's it. Let go for me, puppy."

You shake your head no, trying one last time to defy, to save yourself some shame.

"Dinna start with the fussin' again," Johnny grunts. His fingers press harder, move faster, and it does you in.

Pleasure pulses through you, your thighs fighting against Johnny's, desperate to squeeze his wrist. You swallow down a moan, a small defiance you can actually manage.

He doesn't stop until you whine, overstimulation prickling your nerves. Only then does he pull his hand from your panties.

"Next time, Ah'll finger ya properly," he murmurs, pressing his hand to your lower belly. "But now, ye sleep. We both got a wee somethin' tae help us sleep, aye? Call it a nightcap."

Johnny finds sleep easily, just as he always has. It does not come so easily to you.

The post-orgasm haze has cleared, and you're left feeling dirty. Logically, you know that you couldn't have stopped him, even if you had given your everything to fight. Logically, you know that you shouldn't feel guilt for your body's response. Logically, you know that simply letting it happen was the safest thing for you to do.

But you weren't thinking logically when it was happening. You know, logically, that you did nothing wrong, but your ethos won't let you off so easily. That nagging, caviling voice speaks to you that you let your body betray your mind. You let your sick, unfathomable desire for your kidnapper weaken your resolve.

Logos and ethos battle in your mind. Johnny, at your back, snuggles closer to you in his sleep. He is oblivious to your plight, yet still manages to be comforting in some way. Adding more politics to the civil war of your mind.

You manage to bring yourself enough peace to sleep with the realization that your desire is unfathomable, which means it isn't your fault. It's an abnormal product of an abnormal situation. The only ones to blame are them, after all.

You don't think about how these 'abnormal products' are evidence that you're slipping deeper into their clutches.

[bluelizard100]

I learned to use em dashes by fucking reading books. I love my em dashes and my Oxford commas. I despise AI. I stopped using google docs because I saw another post saying that google docs feeds your work to AI (switched to Ellipsus and love it btw)

Every time I use an em dash I worry someone will think I’m using gen ai but I could talk for hours about how gen ai is just making everyone stupid and incapable of thought, how people who live near those data centers have to RATION THEIR WATER, how ai steals art from people who poured their time and heart into their work.

If ANY of yall EVER do this shit to me, im deleting every single fic out of spite.

If I ever catch one of yall doing this to another author and I know youre a follower of my work I will block you personally on every platform

None of yall are the fic police. I DESPISE genai. I think its an insult to art, humanity, and the planet itself. But aint not a single fucking person here qualified to pick apart a strangers fic looking for a gotcha moment to make yourselves feel superior. If you think something is ai you can ask the author (most are proud of the ai use and will just tell you straight up) if they say yes you have your answer and can warn people. If they say no and you dont believe them you block and quietly keep it between you and maybe a close group of friends. Spreading misinformation is DANGEROUS. And NONE of you doing this shit are anywhere near qualified to do it.

THIS GOES DOUBLY FOR ARTISTS.

[bluelizard100]

I am literally on my knees begging you for more Missing Piece, it’s so good! 🙏🙏 I neeeed to know what happens next 🥺🥺🥺

Working on it as we speak! Sometimes the writers block gets me though and I can only manage a sentence at a time smh

[bluelizard100]

OMG I am foaming at the mouth for missing piece !!! It is so good 💯

YESSS thank you!!! These comments and asks mean a lot to me 💙

[bluelizard100]

I AM FERAL FOR JHONNY DAAAAAAMN

-✨

Who isn’t tbh

can you tell he’s my favorite LMAO

[bluelizard100]

Missing Piece pt. 6 !

warnings: groping, unwanted sexual advances, reader injury, punishment, spanking with a belt

This part is also a lot longer than the other ones, around 8k give or take

You get no peace. Not after that dreaded fucking dream. 

Days have passed and you still keep your head bowed, too embarrassed to show your face. This is worse than when John spanked you. 

After fleeing to the bathroom that night, you got in the shower and stayed there until the water ran cold. You had only planned to get yourself off, using the shower for guaranteed privacy (and to cover any noise), but after your need washed away, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. 

It was a miracle Johnny had even let you go in the first place. What if he was still there, in your bed, waiting? 

What would you say to him? What would he say to you? It was safer to just stay in the shower. 

After three hours in the bathroom, you finally gathered the courage to sneak back to your room. The hallway was empty. Safe. 

You tiptoed back to your room. It was empty, Johnny nowhere to be seen. Safe. 

You didn’t try to sleep anymore that night, afraid you’d fall victim to another stupid dream. 

—

Staying in the bathroom that long was not safe, and you should’ve fucking known that. 

You were still on edge, sneaking down the stairs to the kitchen. When you heard voices, you stopped, eavesdropping. 

All four of your kidnappers were already awake and sat at the table, with Johnny of course leading the conversation. 

“Poor thing was whimperin’ an’ twitchin. Thought it was a bad dream at first… couldn’t ‘ave been more wrong!” 

They all laugh, and you wish you could just wither away right there. 

“Ah wanted tae help,” he continues, “but she was bein’ stubborn, tryin’ to pretend she didnae want it. She went for a shower, and I waited outside the door. To be honest, Ah was listenin’ in. She’s a quiet one, Ghost— I bet you’ll have fun wi’ her.”

Oh god. He was listening.

Hearing them talk was humiliating, but you couldn’t make yourself walk away. You needed to hear what Johnny told them, needed to know what they’d know. 

“She was in there for a while, but Ah dinna ken how long. I stopped waiting after the first hour.” 

There was more laughing and a grunted comment from Simon, something about Johnny deserving a ‘reward’ for listening. It was astounding to hear that he’d be rewarded for not assaulting you, but then again, Simon fucking kidnapped you and none of them had any issue with that.

You skipped breakfast that morning. 

As you had already learned, hiding out in your room all day isn’t an option. The only reason nobody came to get you for breakfast was, you assumed, because of your dream. They either thought you needed some extra sleep, or they knew you’d be too embarrassed to eat with them all. 

Lunch, however, was a different story. Kyle came up to your room around noon to get you, and, to your surprise, he acted as if he knew nothing of your dream. He said nothing when you refused to look at him or speak to him. He merely coaxed you out of your room, not dissimilar from how he had to coax you out during your very first days as their captive. 

Of course, not all of them could be as gracious as Kyle. 

John was the first to say something, waiting until you were sat down with your meal so you couldn’t run away. 

“Next time come to my room, sweetheart,” he grinned. “My shower head is detachable.” 

You still cringe thinking about how pink you must’ve turned. The heat had to have been pouring off your cheeks. Even the tips of your ears felt hot. 

Johnny wrapped his arm around your shoulder and tugged you into his side. He tried to kiss the crown of your head, but you shoved him off you before he could. They all laughed some more while you sat with your head down, hoping that they’d all choke on their lunch and die. 

–

Now, three whole days have come and gone, and they still manage to find ways to bring it up. Johnny is the worst about it. 

“Our three week anniversary is comin’ up…”

You’re sitting on the couch, you with a book and the rest watching something on the TV. All five of you are in the living room, sitting in your usual spots. It’s peaceful– was peaceful– and Johnny decided to open his big mouth again. 

Everyone turns their attention to him, waiting to hear where he’s going with this. 

“Now, the way things go with dating is ya fuck on the third. I think we can apply the same rule here, since bonnie’s clearly gettin’ needy, aye?”

Immediately you move to stand, practically rocketing yourself up from your spot. You don’t manage a single step before Kyle grabs your arm, pulling you down into his lap. 

“You don’t need to run away,” he chastises. “He’s only teasing.” 

You glance around at Johnny, Simon, and John. Judging by their heated looks, Johnny is not just teasing. 

“Now, why don’t you just settle down and keep reading your book like a good girl, hm?” 

It’s phrased as a question, but you know you have no choice. Kyle picks your book up from the couch and slides it back into your hands before wrapping his arms around your middle. He leans back, settling into the couch and taking you with him. 

You try to do as you’re told, but you can feel eyes on you. You know you’re being watched, which only distracts you further. You shift your attention to the television, but it’s some boring history show. It’s a little surprising that they don’t watch Ancient Aliens. 

You return to your book, trying to focus. This is one of your books, something you’ve been wanting to read for a long while now, but the burning stare from just Johnny has you itching to leave. 

Unable to take it anymore, you turn and stare directly at him. It’s something you remember an old friend telling you: if someone stares, stare right back to assert dominance. She was only joking when she told you this, but with no other options, you decide to try. It goes along with the ‘make them uncomfortable too’ mindset that had been gaining popularity online. At least, it had been before you were kidnapped. 

The only issue here is that Johnny isn’t just some random creep you’d find on the streets. He’s a professional creep, one that aids in your captivity. 

You glare at him, staring straight into his stupidly blue eyes. Johnny only smirks, settling further into his spot. 

You refuse to look away, even as the seconds tick into minutes. Johnny, on the other hand, is either determined to make you lose this little challenge you’ve started, or he’s sorely misunderstood your reason for staring in the first place. 

He lifts his hand from the armrest of the couch and brings it to his crotch, palming himself through his jeans. Your eyes go wide and unconsciously shoot down, looking directly at his groin. 

Johnny barks a laugh, and you feel your cheeks flame with anger and embarrassment. Again you try to stand up, and again Kyle keeps you trapped. “Stop it,” he demands, his voice laced with annoyance. 

So far, you’ve only ever had to deal with Simon and John’s anger. You aren’t particularly keen on experiencing an angry Kyle. So, with a petulant huff, you relax as much as your agitation will let you and pick your book back up. 

The frustration of being bossed around and helpless to stop it eats at you. Instead of reading, you spend the rest of the evening imagining them all behind bars. 

–

Kyle doesn’t let you up from his lap until it’s time for bed. He kisses your cheek goodnight, as well as John and Simon. When it’s Johnny’s turn, he stares at your lips. Lucky for you, Simon swats him upside the head, and, with a grumble, Johnny kisses your cheek like everyone else. 

You had gotten used to their affections, but now, after The Dream, you’re once again repulsed. As soon as Johnny pulls away, you’re beelining for the stairs. You have a routine to follow– brush your teeth, shower if you have enough energy, and then bed. Tonight, you skip the shower. Typically, if you choose to shower in the morning, the four are usually finished with their breakfast by the time you’re done and you can eat alone. You’d rather be alone now, especially in the mornings when everything seems to grate against your nerves. 

After brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas, you slip into your room and crawl under the covers. 

Before closing your eyes, you spare a glance at the windows. They’re tilt and turn, with bug screens. You doubt it’d be that hard to pop them out of the window frame. 

Your dream tonight is escape themed. 

–

Your days go on like normal. You eat, do some chores, read, Simon takes you for a walk, you eat again, do some more chores, Couch Time, and then bed. On paper it all seems monotonous and simple, but dodging your apparently unashamed captors makes it anything but. 

Your ‘three week anniversary’ is tomorrow. John has decided that today, you’re going to bake cookies with him. He leads you from the living room to the kitchen where ingredients are already set out on the counter. If he can be normal about this and you can keep your ever-shortening temper in check, then this might actually be a bit fun.

Your hope is crushed when you turn around. John stands behind you, holding out an apron for you. It’s a stereotypical housewife apron, frilled at the straps with two pockets at the front. It’s a very light blue, patterned with little pieces of cake, cookies, and muffins. 

“Don’t just stare at it– put it on,” John laughs, though you can hear the subtle warning. 

You take the dreaded apron and tie the top strings around your neck. When you move to the ones at your back, John stops you, turning you away from him. “Let me,” he hums. 

John ties the strings tight, accentuating the curves of your body. You hate it, but you keep your mouth shut. 

“Aren’t you pretty,” John croons, looking you up and down. “All you’re missing is a ring on your finger, and you’d be my perfect wife.”

You tense, grimacing at the thought of being married to him– or any of the four. 

That’s what this is about, then. The cookies, meant to be a treat for your ‘anniversary,’ double as a ploy for him to play house: His sweet, doting housewife baking cookies for her husband. It’s like a scene from the 60s, only without the Valium to ‘help’ you along. 

John leads you over to the counter where the ingredients, measuring cups, and a recipe all wait for you. 

You look over the recipe. When your eyes land on a bag of chocolate chips, you scan the back. John looks at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and slight annoyance. When you find what you’re looking for– a recipe– you take the one laid out on the table and crumple it up. 

John’s expression twists, first to surprise and then to anger. “What the bloody hell was that for?” He barks, his volume raising towards a shout. 

You shrug, trying to play uninterested while you simultaneously celebrate and fear his reaction. “There’s a recipe on the chocolate chip bag. I don’t need this one.” 

John narrows his eyes at you. “So you crumpled up the one I had written out for you?”

You nod your head. “Yup.” At the start of your captivity, your repulsion to them was fueled by fear. Now, however, you’re fueled by spite. 

John grabs your wrist and yanks you over to him, getting in your face. “You’d better wipe that smirk off your face if you don’t want to find yourself bent over this counter,” he growls. “We don’t have to bake today. I could just paddle your arse with a wooden spoon and send you to the corner like the brat you’re being.” 

The threat has your spine straightening, and you find yourself shrinking back into fear. All it took was one threat of punishment. So much for spite. 

Gingerly, you uncrumple the recipe and smooth out as much of the wrinkles as you can. It’s a meager attempt to appease John, but it seems to work anyway. He smiles and pats your flank. “There we are,” he says, back to crooning at you. “Just needed a reminder, hm?” He gives you a final pat before turning to the counter, and you take that as your cue to start. 

–

Thankfully, John stays out of your way while you bake. You worried he’d try to help and you’d have to pretend that he wasn’t in your way, but instead he stood off to the side, happy to watch you mix ingredients and roll balls of dough. 

The only interference of his is when the cookies come out of the oven. You set them on top of the stove to cool for a bit, and then John uses a little spatula to get them off the pan and onto a cooling rack, repeating the process until all the dough is gone. 

It really wasn’t as bad as you suspected it would be. Even the apron came in handy– you hadn’t realized how much time you could save by wiping your hands on clothes instead of stopping for a paper towel. The only thing you have to fret about now is the mess.

You stare at all the dirty pans, measuring cups, spatula, and the big mixing bowl with dough still stuck to the sides. A brief thought flashes through your mind; scraping all the dough off the sides of the bowl and feeding it to Johnny, giving him salmonella. It’s not a realistic thought, but it amuses you nonetheless. 

With a sigh, you drop all the utensils into the mixing bowl and then fill it with water, deciding it should soak before you try to scrub the sticky cookie dough off the sides. 

Maybe you could make them all dishwater cocktails. 

“Don’t worry about the dishes, sweetheart,” John says, interrupting the nice quiet. “I bet Gaz would be willing to lend a hand, later. You know by now how much he enjoys doing his chores with you.” 

John has a point. His comment brings attention to the other three, Kyle and Simon both having gone along with Johnny to another appointment. It’s just you and John here. Only one man here to keep you captive rather than four. 

You entertain the idea of escape for only a moment before John is by your side, wordlessly untying the strings of your apron. You’re reminded that, when the number of men here to watch you lessens, the stricter they are about watching you. John will be practically glued to you until Johnny, Kyle, and Simon return. There’s no hope of escape now, not today. You’ll have to wait until they’re all here, as nerve wracking as that idea is. 

John fishes you from your thoughts when he laces his fingers between yours, giving you a gentle tug to follow him. He takes you out of the kitchen and to the living room, leading you to his recliner. It’s not often you sit with John, or with Simon, for that matter. You have two theories: the sergeants, or Johnny, at least, are too unwilling to share your attention, or it simply makes more sense to sit you on the couch where there’s more room. 

John sits down and pulls you with him, settling you down in his lap. You assume he’s going to turn on the television, but you stiffen when his hands pet slowly over your thighs, his hands sliding over the material of your sweatpants. 

“Mmh, so tense,” he murmurs. “You really do need a massage, don’t you?” 

His hands smooth up, settling at the tops of your thighs. 

“But after that dream, I’d wager you need a different kind of massage.”

Like every other time your dream is brought up, you try to launch yourself up from your seat. John wraps his arms around you, trapping you in his lap. 

“Don’t you go runnin’ away,” he huffs, wrapping one arm around your torso, trapping your arms to your sides, while his free hand splays across your belly. 

“Me and the lads, we’ve got questions…” 

John trails off only long enough to press a soft kiss just below your ear. 

“Without fail, whenever that little dream of yours gets brought up, you get all flustered and worked up.” 

His hand slips under your shirt, calloused fingers brushing against your bare skin. 

“So, then, tell me. What’s got our darling acting like such a prude?”

You can feel your face heat, warmed by shame and indignation. Squirming proves to be futile, John only banding his arm tighter around you and nipping at your earlobe when you try to move. 

“C’mon, tell me what you dreamt about.” 

His words are soft, gentle, trying to coax the information from you. 

“No,” you manage to hiss. “That’s-... private.”

John scoffs, the sound only feeding your growing resentment. 

“It’s hardly a secret, sweetheart.” He’s so condescending, it makes your blood boil. 

“We all know you had a dirty little dream, and we all know it left you so worked up that you needed to run and hide in the shower to get yourself off.

“I bet it wasn’t even that good, was it? Your fingers are so small compared to ours, so useless. Probably took too much work getting there to even enjoy your sad little orgasm.” 

You squirm again, jerking in his hold. You refuse to sit idly and let this bastard humiliate you. 

“Settle,” he growls. “You’re not getting up until you tell me what happened in that dream.” His hand slides higher, his fingertips trailing the underwire of your bra. 

“I can always force it out of you, if you want to keep bein’ stubborn,” he grunts. “I’ve a long history of interrogation. I can get very creative, darling.” 

His fingers press at the wire, trying to force their way under it. That, coupled with his threat, gets you talking. 

“It was Johnny!” 

He stops, and you know he’s smirking without even seeing it. 

“Yeah? And what was our Johnny doing?” 

You swallow, clearly uninterested in talking about it. John sighs behind you and forces his entire hand under the wire of your bra, cupping your breast. The band stretches and digs slightly into your skin. You can’t help the cry that sounds from your lips. 

“Tell me,” John commands, giving your breast a squeeze. 

Anything to get his hands off you. 

“He was–” you try, cutting yourself off to find the least vulgar phrasing. 

“...he was going down on me,” you finally mutter. 

John laughs. The bastard fucking laughs at you. 

“That’s all? All this fussing because Johnny was licking your cunt in a dream?” 

Why does he have to be so vulgar? 

“It’s not funny!” That’s all you can think to say, trapped in his lap while he laughs at your embarrassment and gropes your chest. 

The bastard doesn’t let go, either. You hoped he’d back off once you told him what he wanted to hear, but he doesn’t move. 

“No, it’s not funny,” he concedes. There’s a patronizing lilt to his voice, stirring up your temper. You aren’t sure which is preferable: the vulgarity or the patronizing. 

“Our poor darling, so flustered over just a little dream… you must be real innocent, then. You don’t have much experience, do you?”

Why is he insistent on this torment?

“That’s none of your business!”

John tsks at you, squeezing you again before you can start squirming. 

“It is my business,” he murmurs into your ear. “It’s all our business. You’re our woman, now, sweetheart. Did you forget?” 

He gives you one last squeeze around your middle, a small warning not to move, before unwrapping his arm from your body. He slides his now free hand up under your bra, cupping your other breast. 

You feel him smile against your ear when you tense again. 

“So skittish,” he murmurs. 

His hips shift beneath you, pressing deliberately against your ass. 

“You’ve been so neglected. You wouldn’t know real pleasure if it came to you in a dream...”

He speaks directly into your ear, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine despite your displeasure. 

“Not funny,” you try, but your voice is nothing more than a meek whisper. 

“I’m not laughing, am I?”

His thumbs brush over your nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“Sensitive, too,” he hums, amusement lacing his words. 

“Stop,” you hiss, scratching at his arms. 

“You knock that off,” he scolds, though he still maintains that playful lilt. “Don’t be naughty. I’m just touching.”

You scratch deeper, but he presses his bulge harder into your ass. “Keep scratchin’ and I’ll do more than just touch.” 

Stifling a nervous whine, you stop scratching and let him touch. Maybe if you try hard enough, if you just close your eyes, you can ignore it and not even feel it. 

It doesn’t take that long for John to catch on, though. 

“Open those eyes,” he commands softly. “You’re fine. I’m not hurtin’ you.” 

When you don’t obey, he pinches your nipples cruelly. Your hands move back to his arms, clutching and trying to pull them away. 

“But I can hurt you,” he grunts. “Eyes open.”

You finally listen, releasing a breath when he stops pinching. 

“There,” he murmurs. His thumbs brush over your nipples, soothing the pain. 

“Keep bein’ good for me. I’m almost done.” 

You fight with yourself to keep your eyes open, one part of you all too eager to block it out and the other part trying to avoid more pain. 

John’s hands are warm and calloused, his rough skin scraping against yours. You focus on your breathing, breathing in for four counts and out for four. It’s not much of a distraction, but it allows you to focus on something other than the warm tingle of his hands on your body. 

This shouldn’t feel good. This should disgust you, but this evil man knows where and how to touch. Worry bubbles up the longer he touches. 

He said he was almost done. What does that even mean? Is he just touching to touch? What defines ‘being done’ for him? How much longer is he going to keep this up?

Finally, finally, his hands slide out of your bra and back down to your belly. 

“Was that so bad?” 

That patronizing lilt has returned, but you’re too relieved for anger. 

John’s fingers skirt idly over your belly. He still hasn’t taken his hands out from under your shirt. 

“The lads won’t be home for a bit.” 

You tense again, unsure of where he’s going with this. 

“Relax,” he huffs, his fingers stilling. “I’m just thinkin’ of something to watch, that’s all.” 

John resumes his petting with one hand while the other reaches for the TV remote. 

Relax. No more touching. 

–

Kyle holds the door open and Simon and Johnny trudge through, the latter hanging off the former. 

“No strenuous movement,” Kyle calls out. You don’t know who he’s talking to. 

Simon leads Johnny into the room and settles him down on the couch, dragging an ottoman forwards for him to prop one leg on. Kyle walks in a moment later, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. 

“We might have to get the brace out again,” Simon grunts, examining Johnny’s knee. You wonder how much first aid stuff they actually know and how much is guesswork. 

“Ah told ye all those bawbags do is hurt me,” Johnny snaps, sounding particularly petulant today. 

Kyle hands him a few pills and the water. “And they told us that it’ll get worse before it gets better. It’s a process, and your knee won’t get better any faster if you keep stressing it.” 

Johnny shoots Kyle a glare before he takes the pills from them. 

“Stay off that knee,” Simon grunts. “If it starts hurtin’ worse, tell me and I’ll get your brace.” 

You watch with interest. A nefarious little connection forms as you take in everything they say. 

The windows in your room.

One man down. 

Only a bug screen to keep you in. 

–

You need to do this tonight. 

Your three week ‘anniversary’ is tomorrow, and if there was even the slightest bit of truth to Johnny’s third date, third week of captivity false equivalency, you don’t want to be there to experience it. 

Sat in the middle of your bed, you force a third sock over the two you’ve already got on. You’ve dressed yourself, knowing that running in your pajamas is more than dumb– but you have no shoes. A few layers of cotton is better than nothing. 

Once the third sock is on, you stare at the window, chewing your lip. Your nerves are eating at you. The men don’t go to bed at the same time you do, not always. Some nights, like tonight, they stay up and do… whatever it is they do. 

This could be a good thing, though. They’re all downstairs; they might not hear as much as they would if they were all upstairs. 

The issue is, though, they’re all awake. Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll be drinking, their senses inhibited.

You squeeze your eyes shut and whisper a little prayer to whatever divine force may listen, then stand from your bed and sneak to the windows. 

You grab the handle and pull it down, tugging the window open and wincing when it snaps. This window probably hasn’t been opened in a while.

You pause, holding your breath and listening for any movement. 

When you hear none, you move to the screen. 

Popping it out will make more noise than opening the window did. You have to be careful. 

You grab the metal lip on one bottom corner, then the lip on the opposite top corner. With a breath to steady yourself, you start to wiggle. 

Pulling it out would make too much noise. You have to loosen it first. 

The screen scrapes against the windowframe, each little noise sending your heartrate climbing. Seconds feel like minutes, and you can’t help but look over your shoulder to the door. 

You can’t even block it with anything; they’d hear the scrape of furniture against the floor through the ceiling. 

You turn back to the bug screen. Your wiggling is working. Sucking in another breath, you give the screen a firm pull. 

It comes out with a pop. 

You flinch at the sound and pause, listening once more.

Nothing. 

You peek out the window, and your stomach twists when you see the drop.

There’s a little bit of roof protruding from the sides of the house for you to land on without hurting yourself, but that would make a considerable amount of noise. There’s also the drop from that lower section of roof to worry about. 

You take another deep breath. Something about climbing out a window to escape your four former-special forces kidnappers has you incredibly anxious. How curious. 

You glance down at the roof below you before swinging one leg out over the window sill. You maneuver yourself until you’re hanging out the window, clutching the sill with your hands. All you have to do is let go.

Just let go.

Thoughts spin around your mind like a storm. 

It isn’t too late to back out. Just climb back up, put the screen in the window, change into your pajamas, and go to bed. 

The thought of giving up and going back to your kidnappers when your chance is right here is nauseating.

You look down, eyeing the spot you’ll land, and let go. 

A tiny cry slips past your lips despite how tightly you’ve pressed them together. 

You hit the roof, but your feet slide behind you. Fear shoots through your veins like ice as you slip, landing on your belly and sliding. 

By some miracle, the shingles, the friction of your clothes and of your feet digging into them, saves you from sliding all the way down. 

You know you don’t have much time, but you need a moment to gather yourself. You’re shaking far too much, and already your legs feel like jell-o. 

You turn onto your back, glancing out into the dark woods. There is no light pollution out here, the sky alarmingly dark. 

You should’ve thought this through. Should’ve waited, planned it out better– but there is no turning back now. You couldn’t get back up to the window if you tried. 

Slowly, you inch down the roof, towards the gutters. You can hang off those and fall from there, like you did with the window. 

This drop is higher, but it’s not nearly as bad as it would’ve been without the roof you’re on right now. The universe is on your side. 

When you reach the gutters, you roll until you’re parallel with the gutters. You inch down, maneuvering until you can grab the gutters. You grip the edge of the gutter tight before letting your body fall down from the roof. Your palms are sweaty, so slippery you nearly lose your grip. 

Another startled cry, but you manage to keep your lips pursed. 

You’ve gotta hurry. 

You look back down at the ground and, with another breath, let go. 

Don’t forget to roll, don’t forget to roll, don’t forget to roll– 

You don’t roll. 

You hit the ground, one leg bearing all your weight. Your ankle snaps to the side at a sickening angle, and this time your scream is opened-mouthed. 

Fuck fuck fuck– you are so fucked. 

You try to crawl, but any movement at all has pain shooting through your ankle. You’re helpless, laying on the grass as you listen to worried voices through the open bedroom window. 

You see someone’s head stick out the window– Kyle, maybe– and then you hear more yelling. 

It doesn’t take long for your captors, sans Johnny, to surround you. The pain, the fear, and the adrenaline rush wearing off, work together to make your vision spot. Your head feels fuzzy, your limbs feel heavy, and your ankle throbs. 

Your body is jostled as someone, you don’t know who, scoops you up off the ground. You’re so tired, but not enough to black out like you so desperately want to.

They carry you inside, all three scolding and yelling at you. You’re laid on the couch, wincing at the sound of heavy thumping. 

The thumping turns out to be Johnny, who hopped his way over to you. 

“Ye really shouldnae have done that,” he growls. 

You try to turn away, but he grabs your chin and yanks you back to him. 

“Dinna fuckin’ look away from me,” he snaps, his volume raising. “If ye had any idea just how angry I am– let alone the others,” he snarls, “you’d be tryin’ much, much harder tae look sorry.” 

Tears prickle behind your eyes. You look up at Johnny, but he’s pushed out of the way by Simon. 

He says nothing to you, only sitting you up enough to press a bottle to your lips. You recoil at the bitter, medicinal taste, but he pushes your head back in place. You drink multiple sips before he finally lets you go, and Johnny’s back in your face again. 

“If Ah were nae so angry, maybe Ah’d feel bad for ya,” he growls. 

Your eyelids get considerably heavier than they were just a second ago. When you can keep your eyes open, your vision is blurred, unfocused. Words start to lose their meaning, turning to muffled sounds. 

What did Simon make you drink?

The last thing you register before everything goes dark, is a shoot of pain through your injured foot.

–

When you wake, you’re laying back in your bed. You rub the sleep from your eyes before looking to the window. It’s daylight now, the sun shining through the new metal bars screwed into the wall. 

You were always a prisoner here, but now you truly feel like one.

The dull ache in your ankle pulls your attention from the window. You throw back the covers to inspect, scared to see what kind of horror awaits, but you find your ankle already wrapped.

You also notice you’ve been changed back into your pajamas. You grimace at the thought of one of them, or realistically, all of them looking at your unconscious body. 

The last thing is a bracelet on your wrist. It’s actually quite pretty, a dainty chain with a single, heart-shaped sapphire. Upon further examination, though, you realize there’s no clasp. It won’t fit over your hand, either. This bracelet can’t be taken off. 

The door to your room opens and you stiffen, fear spiking immediately. 

Kyle walks in, looking less than pleased with you. 

“How’s the ankle?” he asks, and though he’s very clearly angry at you, there’s genuine concern in his question. 

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “Who wrapped it?”

“We took you to get it x-rayed,” he answers.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “You took me to a hospital, unconscious, and they let you leave with me??”

He shoots you a hurt look, sensing your disappointment at the fact that you were allowed to come home. 

“No,” he grunts. At your confused look, he sighs. “We’re shady men, luv. Do you really think we don’t have shady friends who’ll do some shady things for us?”

Oh.

Kyle moves on quickly. 

“It’s just sprained. No broken bones,” he explains. “Grade two sprain. You’ll have to stay off it for at least a month.”

He watches you closely, noting every nuance of your expression. 

“We got you crutches,” he continues, “and one of those knee-walkers. If we have you, we can get Johnny’s old wheelchair out for you.” 

You didn’t know Johnny was in a wheelchair. You don’t bother dwelling on it, either. 

You’re worried about your punishment. You look from your ankle back up to Kyle. 

“...how much trouble am I in?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it. Simon’s down there negotiating on your behalf; he says the sprained ankle should be punishment enough, and that it’s our fault you ran because we pushed you too much. 

“As for the rest of us,” he sighs, “the rest of us are very, very unhappy with you. I was sent up here to check on you. The only reason I’m not punishing you myself is that Cap ordered me not to. I’m just supposed to see if you’re awake.”

Dread sits heavy in your gut.

“And, since I know you’ll ask later,” he adds on, “that bracelet is your tracker. Implanting a chip is too risky, so we went with the next best thing.” 

They were gonna chip you?

He walks over to you, to the bed, and sits down on the edge. 

“As for your clothes, Simon changed you. I was sitting with a very distressed Johnny, and Cap was too angry to see you.

“You’d better be extra sweet to Simon, by the way. He’s doing a lot to save your ungrateful arse.” 

You shrink back instinctively, shameful tears prickling your eyes. 

You can’t believe it, but you actually feel bad for trying to run. You tell yourself that the shame is from running with such a piss poor plan, but deep down, you know you feel guilty for trying to leave them. This isn’t fair. They’re manipulating you– that’s gotta be it. They’re manipulating you and brainwashing you into feeling guilty. 

Kyle touches your cheek, drawing your eyes back to his. 

“You look sorry,” he murmurs. “Are you?”

Are you sorry?

Your turmoil seems to show on your face. Kyle grips your chin now, jerking your attention back to him. 

“Listen closely,” he says. “I am very, very mad at you for trying to run, and I’m even angrier that you managed to hurt yourself in the process. If it were up to me, I’d be punishing you right now instead of talking.”

You take a shaky breath in, trying to focus on Kyle instead of your overwhelming anxiety. 

“But I understand why you did.” He sighs again. “Simon does, too. Johnny and the Captain, though? Not so much.” 

He releases your chin, moving to cup your face. 

“And I know by the look in your eyes that you are sorry, you’re just worried that feeling sorry for trying to escape your kidnappers is ‘wrong.’ I know you’re confused, sweetheart, and Simon does, too. We know you’re overwhelmed.

“When I take you downstairs, you keep yourself lookin’ sorry– and don’t hesitate to say you are when John asks. He might not be too hard on you if he believes you’re sorry, and you’ll get Johnny back on your side again.”

Suspicion creeps up on you. You must show it, because Kyle frowns. 

“If you’re so angry with me, then why are you telling me this?” 

“I just told you,” he huffs. “Simon and I both know you’re only running because you’re overwhelmed and confused by what you’re feeling. We know you’re warming up to us, and we know it scares you. 

“On the other hand, Johnny feels betrayed, and Cap doesn’t like that you disobeyed us. The first time you tried to run, you said you wouldn’t do it again. You lied. Cap doesn’t like liars.” 

When your expression shifts back to worry, Kyle smooths his thumb up and down your cheek, trying to comfort you. 

“That’s why I’m telling you. I’m upset with you for running, but I know why, and I don’t think you should be punished so hard for being afraid.” 

Oh. That’s… considerate. And not at all what you expected. You knew they’d all be angry, but you didn’t expect any empathy at all. 

Is this a trick? A scheme to manipulate you into trusting them– at least, Kyle and Simon? 

You don’t get to dwell on it. Kyle stands from your bed and, with a pitying look, scoops you up into his arms. 

“Price is probably done listening to Simon by now,” he murmurs. “Remember, make sure you show him you’re sorry.” 

–

Kyle carries you to the sitting room where John and Simon are sitting in their recliners. Johnny’s on the couch, an ice pack on his propped-up knee. 

He tries to stand when he sees Kyle carrying you in, but Simon orders him to sit back down. You’re surprised (and relieved) that he listens. You know he’s livid. 

Kyle carries you over to John, setting you down gingerly in his lap. You feel your hands start to tremble, and you glance down at the floor to avoid his stern eye.

John doesn’t bother holding you down, knowing that you can’t get away on your own with your ankle freshly sprained. 

“Well,” he says, his voice gruff. “Explain yourself.” 

He doesn’t sound angry; he sounds calm, dangerously so.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. You try to speak, but your body and mind are betraying you, trapping your words in your throat. 

“Spit it out,” Johnny snaps from the couch. You flinch. 

“Oh, so now we’re scared?” John scoffs. “Climbing out the window and jumping off the roof are just fine, but this is where things get scary?” John grabs your chin and jerks your head towards his, forcing you to look at him. 

“Explain yourself. Now.” 

You glance at Kyle, but John uses his grip on your chin to shake you. “Fuckin’ look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he growls. Your heart rate spikes. 

“Last chance. Tell us why you ran.” He releases your chin.

“I was scared,” you finally choke out. 

This doesn’t seem to appease him, or Johnny. 

“Scared o’ what?” Johnny demands, his volume inching towards shouting. 

You flinch again, hunching your shoulders inwards as if making yourself smaller will save you. 

“Answer him,” John commands. “What are you afraid of? We don’t hurt you, we don’t threaten you, we don’t neglect you– so what exactly do you have to be afraid of?” 

His tone is steady again, but his anger is still potent in his words. 

Your own anger starts to build. They do hurt you, they do threaten you, and they stole your freedom away from you. Your fear is valid and you have every reason to want to get away from them. You want to tell them this, to scream and kick and fight– but you remember what Kyle told you. 

Look sorry. 

So, you take a steadying breath, and let your guilt seep back into you. 

“...you keep talking about sex. You touch me where you shouldn’t touch me. I thought today you were gonna-..” You cut yourself off. This admission is a gamble; they could take pity on you for this bashful display, or they could get even angrier at you for thinking that they aren’t allowed to touch you wherever and whenever they want. 

John scoffs again, but there’s less irritation this time. “So you jumped out a fuckin’ window because you thought we were gonna fuck you?”

He puts his hands on you then, moving you onto your belly, across his thighs. A small, anxious cry leaves you as you squirm against him. 

“Lets say you didn’t sprain your ankle,” he huffs. “Let’s say we didn’t find you. Do you know how much danger you’d be in?”

He takes one hand off your body, and you tense when you hear him unbuckling his belt. 

“We’re many, many kilometers away from the nearest town, and you don’t even know which way to go to get to it.”

He pulls his belt from his belt loops, the sound of leather sliding against denim sending shivers across your body. 

“You’d get yourself lost. You’d be stranded in the woods, no food or water or shelter– fuck, not even shoes.” 

The buckle clinks as he doubles the belt. 

“You’d die out there. We wouldn’t be able to find you, to save you and bring you back home where you belong.”

He tugs your pajama bottoms down, bringing your panties along with them. You wail, reaching for them to try and tug them back up. Once again, you’re over John’s knee, bare and vulnerable for all of them to see. 

John grabs your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the small of your back. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks, though you aren’t sure if he really cares. 

“I’m sorry!” you yip, panicked. 

“Good,” John grunts. “Then you’ll take your punishment.” 

The belt connects with your bare skin barely even a second later, leaving a stinging stripe. The sting forces a ragged cry from your throat. You had thought his hand was bad, but the belt is leagues worse. 

“I believe you,” he says. “I believe that you’re sorry, but you still need to be punished.” He traces a finger along the stripe from his belt. “I think five for lying,” John muses, “five for putting yourself in danger, five for getting yourself hurt, and ten for trying to run again.” 

Twenty-five?

“That was one,” he declares. “Count them. If you skip one, I’m starting over.” 

He brings the belt back down, the sting jarring you just as bad as the first one did. 

“I said count,” John snaps. “Do you want me to add more?”

“No!” you cry. “I’m sorry, I’ll count!”

“Good,” he grunts, though he doesn’t sound very pleased. “Let’s start over, then. This is one.” 

Even with the heads-up, the sting startles you. You lurch forwards instinctively before crying out the first count. 

“Good girl,” John growls, bringing the belt down again. 

The leather bites into your skin, leaving fresh, stinging welts and aggravating the ones already there. 

“Two!”

John sets a steady, mercifully predictable pace. He strikes, allows you a few seconds to cry before you count, and doesn’t strike again until you’ve given him a count. 

Most of the punishment is the pain– the horrible, biting sting of leather striping your skin– but the humiliation adds to the lesson. They’re all watching, all of them seeing you get your bare ass whipped with a belt and listening to your pathetic crying and counting. 

You’ve only reached ten when you start to beg. 

“Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t run again, I promise!”

John pauses, taking a moment to feel the heat radiating off your backside. “You said that last time, sweetheart, and now look where we are. How am I supposed to believe you won’t run again without being taught a lesson?” 

He brings the belt down, this time aiming for the crease where your thighs meet your ass. You swear your vision blacks for a second, the sting so intense you can’t even scream. You lay shivering and panting, your jaw dropped open. 

“What number?” 

John’s demand shakes you from your daze, and you mumble out a number. 

“I can’t hear you. Speak up, or we’ll start over.” 

“Eleven,” you choke out, holding back a sob. 

You hear heavy footsteps, and soon Simon is crouching down in front of you. You’re hit with deja vu, thrown back to the first time you were punished. Simon had knelt in front of you and wiped your tears. Your belly turns, worried that this time, he isn’t here to comfort you. 

Again the belt comes down, and again you cry and count the number out loud. Simon pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes your nose, his touch gentle. The knots in your belly loosen. 

“Halfway there, baby,” Simon murmurs. “It’ll be over soon.” 

Simon stays there for the rest of your punishment, wiping tears with his fingers and your nose with his handkerchief. He even whispers a count to you when you forget, saving you from having to start all over. 

The last stripe lands, you cry the last count, and Simon is the one to pull your panties back up and lift you from John’s lap. 

He carries you to the couch, sitting next to Johnny and settling you in his lap. You wince when your bottom meets his thigh, and he shushes you. 

Johnny reaches for you, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Ah’m nae mad anymore,” he whispers to you. “Ye said ye were sorry and ye were so good for yer punishment. Behaved better than I do, sometimes.”

Simon huffs out a laugh. You are not so easily amused. 

“Will ye take ‘er tae our room?”

Our room?

“She needs some love. And a nap.” 

Simon nods, gathering you in his arms and standing up from the couch. Kyle comes over to help Johnny up, and you’re still left wondering why your room is now ‘our’ room.

Simon carries you out of the living room, up the stairs, and to your bedroom. “Johnny’s movin’ back in,” he explains softly. “Can’t trust ya not to run again.” 

Simon lays you down in your spot, and a few moments later, Kyle leads Johnny in. He limps over to the other side of the bed and crawls in, making himself comfortable. You imagine this is how he does it when he’s sleepwalking and sneaks into bed with you. 

“C’mere,” he coos, snuggling up next to you. He spoons you, and the wounded, punished part of you lights up at the affection. 

Simon and Kyle leave you be, their footsteps growing quieter as they descend the stairs. 

Johnny tangles his arms around you, trapping you against him. He nuzzles into your neck, pecking little kisses into your delicate skin. 

“Happy three week anniversary, bonnie.”  

[bluelizard100]

Missing peice has me FROTHING at the mouth btw. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for days. What would happen to the reader tries to run again?

MFJSHBDNDSJB thank you so much 💙

As for reader running again… we may be finding out again shortly😈

[bluelizard100]

hi!

just wanted to say that i love Missing Piece, can't wait to read more!!

-✨

my first anon 😻

Thank you so much! Yall keep me going

[bluelizard100]

I fucking forgot i never posted missing piece part three dammit

here it is grrr (also on ao3)

warnings: kidnapped reader, forced affection and touching, pov changes i don’t feel like fixing

The day after John had taken you over his knee, you wanted to avoid all four men like the plague. Johnny’s forced cuddle session had made you feel a bit safer, but it had done nothing for your embarrassment. No, you didn’t worry that they were going to murder you and dump your body anymore. Yes, you were still mortified they had all seen your bare ass and, with the way John had you laid across his thighs, your cunt, too. They all knew you had been spanked like a bratty child. How were you supposed to face them? 

The thought was a bit amusing, though. You were kidnapped and your biggest worry right now is what your kidnappers will think of you after their fucking ringleader spanked you. It was ridiculous, but in the back of your mind you knew to be grateful that was all you had to worry about. 

Plan A was to wait them out all day; stay in Johnny’s room, which was now yours? Kind of? Until they had all gone to bed, and then sneak into the kitchen to raid the cupboards and bring food back to your room. You’d just live in that room until the embarrassment wore off. 

—

Plan A was foiled after you had spent all morning in there. Kyle and Johnny broke in (opened the door— the men had removed the lock on the door after moving you in) and when you stuck yourself between the wall and the bed again, they simply pulled you out, just like Johnny had yesterday after your punishment. 

Johnny held you in his lap, your back to his chest, while Kyle spoon fed you. You hadn’t even been given the opportunity to feed yourself— they just sat you down and started feeding you like you were incapable of doing it yourself. 

You felt like their pet. Something for them to entertain themselves with since they were too fucking weird to make friends.

“You need to eat, pretty girl,” Kyle hummed while pushing another bite of pancake into your mouth. Johnny grunted in agreement, his chest vibrating against your back. 

You said nothing. Plan B, which you came up with on the spot since these men were determined to humiliate you, was to give them the cold shoulder. For how long, you didn’t know. All you knew was you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of a response.  

They didn’t seem to realize, and if they did, they didn’t mind. Kyle just kept feeding you bites of breakfast while Johnny unashamedly sniffed your hair. Fucking creep. 

With your 1:00 in the afternoon breakfast finished, you expected to be left to your own devices. You already had enough of their presence and they were only there for about 30 minutes. 

However, when Kyle stood up and Johnny let you slide off his lap, Kyle reached for your hand. There was a pause, a short moment where you looked at him and he looked at you. 

He was expecting you to come with, and you were expecting him to fuck off. 

Kyle sighed at you. “C’mon, sweetheart. Need to get you out of this stuffy room.” 

You looked away. 

Kyle frowned, and Johnny leaned down in front of your face. “I don’t think Cap’ will like hearin’ that ye arenae behavin’ yerself.”

Your brows furrowed with confusion. “Who’s Cap?”

Johnny grinned, forgetting you didn’t know their military history. “Price— John.”

Your cheeks flushed red and you swore that the reminder of John’s discipline had your backside aching again. 

The flood of embarrassment had tears brimming in your eyes, and a startled Johnny was shoved out of the way. 

“Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart,” Kyle hummed, crouching down in front of you to push your hair behind your ears.

“It’s okay, we aren’t gonna tell Cap. You’re not being bad, just nervous, it’s okay.” 

You wanted them away from you, needed them to get the fuck out of this room and leave you alone like you had planned since you woke up. 

Before you could snap, though, you were pulled by your arm up and out of the bed. Kyle was guiding you over to the little wardrobe they had set up for you— those cube shaped collapsible drawers lined with fabric, filled with some of your old clothes and some new clothes they had picked out for you. There wasn’t much in them; just the outfit you were wearing when Simon kidnapped you and a few outfits ordered online after you were ‘settled in.’ 

“I think you need a shower,” Kyle hummed. “It’ll help clear your thoughts.” 

 think you need to be put downI, you thought to yourself. 

Johnny managed to sneak up on you, getting right behind you where you knelt with Kyle in front of the bins. “Need help pickin’ somethin’?” 

He was in your space, trying to press himself against your back. His breath was warm against the shell of your ear, and the proximity made you cringe. 

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Johnny was already reaching around you, digging through your clothes and making a mess of the neatly sorted bins. 

The mess must’ve ruffled Kyle’s feathers, because he swatted Johnny upside the head and threw one of the discarded shirts right in his face. It was just enough of a distraction for you to slip away from Johnny, getting some of your personal space back. 

Kyle had Johnny refold the clothes he had strewn over the floor, paying no attention to you. It was an opportunity for you to observe them for once; get a better read on your captors than the bits and pieces you had been allowed to see over the last four days. 

You know that John is the leader of them all, but you need to get to know the pecking order, the dynamics between the four. You need to learn how they interact one on one, too, to be safe. 

With Johnny and Kyle, there doesn’t seem to be a clear ‘boss.’ They argued about the clothes until Kyle won, and Johnny gave in and admitted defeat. They’re kinda just… friends. 

It’s weird to say that— to attribute your kidnappers’ interrelationships as anything normal. It’s almost confusing; it was easy to hate them when you pictured them as inhuman beings just following orders from one another. Now they’re presenting real, personal relationships. It isn’t as simple as a  boss— a Captain— picking out a toy to share with his subordinates. They mean something to each other. 

They’re human, with human feelings and human relationships. How can you separate yourself from them, knowing this? 

You never kidnapped anyone. You still have that to hold against them. 

—

One shower later, dressed in one of Johnny’s old t-shirts and a pair of your own sweatpants (a compromise— Johnny originally picked out a skirt for you to wear, but fuck that, no easy access for any of them), you’re sat on the couch, again wedged between Johnny and Kyle. 

You tried to stay in your room like you wanted, but of course they wouldn’t just leave you alone. Kyle herded you out and into the sitting room. 

You haven’t seen or heard John or Simon yet, and you wonder if they’re even here. 

At least you don’t have to face John of all people. 

Johnny picked out a movie to watch— The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, probably in hopes that you’d spook and snuggle up to them for comfort— but all it really got out of you were a few cringes at the gory scenes. 

You get the impression that Johnny gets to do what he wants. They’re lenient with him— at least Kyle is, based on what you’ve seen. Kyle doesn’t seem all that interested in the movie himself, but he let Johnny put it on anyway. 

Maybe it has something to do with that scar on the side of his head. He hasn’t told you what it’s from, but it looks pretty gnarly. Could it have killed him? Maybe the others are so lenient with Johnny because they almost lost him. 

You file this information away for later. 

—

Johnny’s movie ended and his plan had failed. 

While Kyle put on his movie of choice, Johnny wrapped his arm around your shoulder and forced you to cuddle up to him. He settled with a contented sigh, ignoring your rigidness. 

Kyle is very clearly unamused when he turns back around to see Johnny’s got you tucked into his side. He says nothing, though, further proving your theory that Johnny’s leash is longer than everyone else’s. 

Kyle sits himself back down in his spot, but this time he rests a hand on your thigh. He feels how stiff you are, tense and guarded, and gives you a squeeze before letting go. 

A small mercy, leaving you to deal with just Johnny. 

—

You manage to slip out of Johnny’s grip, using the excuse of needing to pee to get your freedom. 

You use the bathroom quickly (your excuse wasn’t entirely a lie), but instead of rejoining Johnny and Kyle on the couch, you sneak back to your room. 

Johnny’s horror already sapped the last bit of tolerance from you. You can’t sit through another movie. Kyle didn’t even pick an inherently bad movie. He picked Gremlins, for some reason, but you’d already seen it before and you didn’t care to watch it again when you could be doing something else. 

Your ‘something else’ proved to be nothing, all of your entertainment stuff still back at your apartment, but at least you could be alone for a bit. 

As expected, Johnny is the one to come sniffing around for you. He finds you curled up in his bed and grins wide at the sight. 

“Too sleepy fer another movie?” 

You ignore him, not even bothering to look at him in hopes that he’ll leave. You should’ve known better. 

With no warning, Johnny just appears right next to you in the bed. How he moves so quietly, you don’t know. How any of them move quietly is a mystery to you. It’s freaky. They should have bells sewn onto all their clothes so they can’t sneak up on you.

Johnny wraps his arms around you and pulls you towards him, moving you easily. If you ever did get into a serious altercation with any of the four men, you’d be royally fucked. 

“Stop wrigglin’,” Johnny grumbles when you squirm, though he’s clearly amused. “I’m jus’ keeping ya warm.” 

“I’m not cold,” you grumble back at him, though you don’t return his mirth. “Better safe than sorry, aye?” He hums, pressing his face into your neck.

Johnny’s got you tangled up in his limbs. His arms are wrapped around your waist and he’s thrown one leg over both of yours, keeping them trapped between his. 

It isn’t much longer after Johnny gets settled that Kyle decides to see where you and Johnny disappeared to. 

“Johnny, you’re gonna suffocate her,” he huffs, making his way over to the bed. You think maybe he’ll chase Johnny off and leave you alone— Kyle seems to advocate the most for your space— but he doesn’t. Instead, he squeezes in on the other side of you, making space for himself. 

“You don’t get to hog all the lovin’, mate,” Kyle sighs, pressing as close to you as he can. He swats at Johnny’s arms until he lets go of you, granting him more access. “Fine,” Johnny pouts. 

Where Johnny doesn’t acknowledge your rigidity, preferring to wait until you inevitably relax, Kyle tries to soothe you himself. He murmurs soft sentiments into your hair and rubs circles into your arm with his thumb. 

If anything it made the tension worse. You grit your teeth— Kyle makes a mental note that you might need a bite guard for that if you make a habit of it— and shut your eyes. 

You can’t turn away without getting yourself face to face with Johnny, which seems like too bad of an idea. He’s very touchy-feely. 

You think back to last night when he laid on top of you, squishing you underneath his bulked up body and keeping you trapped there until you fell asleep. You still aren’t sure how to feel about that. 

You could feel guilty, pathetic, even disgusted for succumbing to your weak mind and taking comfort from your kidnapper. What kind of person lets their kidnapper, someone they’re supposed to despise, lull them to sleep with fucking cuddling? 

You could give yourself some grace. Safety is a human need— it’s the second tier of the hierarchy of needs. After that is love. That night was a bad night. You felt humiliated, scared, and alone after the punishment. Johnny offered you the safety you needed and the love you craved. Was it so terrible to accept it, even if it was from one of your captors? Why look a gift horse in the mouth? 

Then there comes the question, ‘should I be fighting?’ raised by the victim-blaming instilled into you by society. This thinking portrays your fragile state as weakness, as failure. You should be fighting back, looking for more ways to escape even if they’re impulsive and doomed to fail. It would be like a big ‘fuck you’ to all of them, especially John— the old bastard that spanked you like a child. Where did he get the audacity? Who told him it was okay to touch you like that? Who told any of these fuckers that they could just take you?

Then there’s the realistic side you’ve adopted; the part that wants you to survive. Keep your head down, behave, do as you’re told to keep from getting hurt. It stings your pride, but it’s better than stinging skin. If you just behave, you won’t get hurt and you might even be able to earn their trust enough to actually get away. It’ll be a long road, but at least this road has an end. 

And finally, the intrusive thoughts that slip into your head like leachate seeps into clean water. They tell you to just give in. They’re cruel and hopeless, whispering that there isn’t any point in even thinking about escape. You’re one against four; what can you do other than surrender?

“What’re you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Kyle’s rumbling question jerks you out of your head. His deep brown eyes bore into yours like he can read your thoughts in the color of your iris, and for a moment you worry he can. 

“Nothing,” you finally mumble, tearing your gaze away from his. In the very depths of your mind where you hide your most unsavory thoughts, you recognize that this would be a lot easier if your captors weren’t so pretty. 

Kyle tilts your chin up so you have to look at him again, but before he can ask another question, Johnny groans behind you. 

“Can ye stop talkin’ so much, Garrick?” He huffs. “Ah’m tryin’ tae sleep.” 

Kyle snorts at him, not quite derisive but nearing it. “You know Simon’ll have your arse if he comes home and you’re asleep. You got banned from naps a long time ago.”

Johnny only grumbles and scoots in closer, wrapping his arms around you again. “He can make an exception. Bonnie ‘ere is sleepy.”

Kyle— Garrick? —shoves Johnny’s arm. “I’m not gonna get my arse kicked for lettin’ you nap, either. Get up.”

Johnny groans dramatically once more and buries his face into the crook of your neck, again ignoring the way you stiffen. “But she smells so nice. Ah’m in heaven. Ye cannae pull a man from heaven.” 

With a frustrated scoff, Kyle rolls out of bed and stands up. “She doesn’t look very comfortable, mate. Get up.”

Johnny refuses. “An’ she’s warm. Simon willnae mind. Just leave us be.”

“Simon will belt your arse like he always does,” Kyle huffs, “an’ Price won’t be too happy with you either. Might take ‘yer bonnie’ away from you.” 

Johnny startles you with a growl— a literal growl— before reluctantly releasing you and rolling out of bed. 

“Fine. I’m up.” 

So Johnny doesn’t get away with everything, then. He’s even been spanked. He told you yesterday that he ‘knew it was embarrassing’ after John spanked you, but you didn’t think he meant he literally knew. 

Kyle nudges your arm. “Your turn, pretty girl. Gotta get up.” 

You don’t bother arguing, rolling out of the bed and onto your feet. Why risk another punishment? You still don’t know what counts as a punishable offense, but for Johnny, napping is apparently bad enough to get belted. 

Kyle pulls you to his side before Johnny can, earning a dirty glare from the latter. “Not fair. Make me get up an’ then steal all the attention,” he grumbles as if he hasn’t been glued to you since you were brought here. 

Kyle leads you both to the kitchen, sitting you down on the counter and calling Johnny over to help cook dinner. 

“Cap is gonna be back soon with Ghost. They’re gonna be hungry.” 

‘Cap’ is John, so Simon must be ‘Ghost.’ How fitting for the scary fucker that snuck up on you in your own tiny apartment just four days ago. 

You’re still in the dark as to where they even went, but you’re happy as long as they aren’t here. 

—

You, Johnny, and Kyle are all sat at the table with plates of spaghetti in front of you. The table is square, with two chairs on each long side and one chair on the short sides. Johnny claimed a seat next to you while Kyle sat across from you. 

You picked at your spaghetti, uninterested in eating. Kyle and Johnny just let you push it around in your dish, focused on each other instead. Their discussions are mundane— the doctor’s appointment Johnny has coming up, whose turn it is to wash dishes tonight, and when they need to go to the shops next.

You tune them out, entertaining yourself by playing with your food. It seems childish, but with no appetite and nothing else to do, pushing your food with your fork is at least a little enjoyable. 

The sound of gravel crunching under tires grabs your attention, and you stiffen when headlights shine through the window. 

John and Simon are back. 

You hear them clamber into the house, their boots thudding heavy against the wood floors. 

They don’t come to the kitchen immediately. You hear rustling, some cursing, and running water. It takes around ten minutes for them to finally come sit down to eat. 

John sits at one end of the table and Simon takes the chair at the other end, nearest to Johnny. 

You’re a bit taken aback when Johnny leans over and pecks Simon on the cheek. You hadn’t seen him do that before. You look over to Kyle and John, who are exchanging their own affections. 

You shift your eyes back to your plate. It’s safer not to stare. 

The conversation starts flowing again and you go back to pushing your food around. You catch bits and pieces of conversation. John and Simon were out hunting but didn’t see anything worth shooting, and that’s why it took so long for them to sit down because they were cleaning the dirt off.

You sink back into your head after a few minutes, bored again by the talk. You’re snapped right back out of it when a warm hand covers yours. 

You startle, nearly jumping out of your seat at the contact. John smiles at you warmly, giving your smaller hand a gentle squeeze. 

“You’re supposed to eat the food, love. Not push it around.” 

Now they’re all looking at you. Eight eyes staring right at you and your barely-touched dinner. Johnny and Kyle are nearly finished with their plates. 

You freeze, staring at John like a deer in headlights. You’re startled out of your fear induced stare by a sharp, ticklish poke to your side, just under your ribs. Fucking Johnny snorts out a laugh and Simon whacks him upside the head as a reprimand for jabbing his finger into your side. 

“Oi!” He huffs, rubbing the back of his head. “Ah was just teasin’.” 

John pulls your attention back to him, using one thick finger to turn your chin. Why do they all have such big hands? Scratch that— why are they all so big? 

“Eat your dinner.” John’s voice was soft and rumbling, nothing but gentle, but he made you nervous anyway. He can pretend to be gentle all he wants, but you know the truth. 

You twirl the pasta around on your fork until you collect a reasonable sized bite. John hums in approval when you push the spaghetti past your lips, and the men go back to their normal conversations. 

You eat quickly. The sooner you can retreat to your room, the better. 

—

They don’t let you stay in your room. Kyle hunts you down and drags you back to the sitting room, pulling you from your solitude again. You expect to sit back on the couch with him and Johnny like before, but of course they can’t let anything be easy for you.

Kyle gives you a little nudge in John’s direction, who was seated in a big leather recliner. He pats your butt before taking his seat on the couch, leaving you all by yourself. It was stupid to hope that Kyle would walk you to over to John, but you couldn’t help it. Out of the four, you fear John the most. Even Simon is less scary than John— he may look like the literal grim reaper, but he’s been gentle so far. 

When you’re within reach, John grabs ahold of your hips and pulls you into his lap. He settles you on his thick, muscular thighs, your back to his chest. One hairy arm wraps around your middle like a seatbelt, keeping you snug against him. 

“There we are,” he sighs contentedly. He picks up a short glass of something dark and drinks, ice clinking against the sides. It smells like alcohol, but you don’t know what kind. 

John catches you staring and smirks. “Would you like some, darling?” He tilts the glass towards you, but you shrink away. Your face warms, heat spreading over your cheeks from the embarrassment of being caught. You give a small shake of your head, turning down the offer. Straight booze was never your favorite— it tastes bad and burns like acid in your stomach. Mild, mixed drinks sit easier and they taste better. Taste aside, drinking anything that could cloud your judgment would be one of the worst things you could do. 

John smiles at you. He looks goofy— it’s a wide smile but without teeth, so his lips are stretched thin; his mustache almost completely covers his top lip and his eyes are crinkled. He looks like Papa Smurf. 

“You’re allowed to have a sip,” he hums. “It would do you some good. You need to relax.”

“…no,” you mumble, shaking your head no again. He shrugs as if to say “your loss,” takes another drink, and then sets the glass down. 

Glancing away from John and his drink, you realize that the other three are all staring again. Johnny and Kyle are both grinning, clearly entertained, and Simon’s got a faint hint of a smile in his eyes but not on his lips. You feel your face get hotter and you look away, down to the ground. 

You feel meek and pathetic. It’s so much easier to deal with just Johnny and Kyle; they leave you on edge, but at least you don’t feel like you’re walking a tightrope. John— and Simon, though he’s good at leaving you alone— have a quiet intensity that leave you keyed up. 

Fortunately for you, Simon turns on the TV, pulling everyone’s attention off you. You feel like you can breathe again, but you still don’t get to fully relax while you’re in John’s lap. Morbidly, you wonder what will happen first: your escape, or your getting used to their touch. 

John continues nursing his drink, and you notice Simon has one, too. You glance and Kyle and Johnny, who each have a beer. This has a 50/50 shot of being good or bad for you; you don’t know how they act when they’re drinking, and you don’t know how much they plan on drinking tonight. 

John rustles a bit and you take it as an opportunity to try and get up, but he holds you in place with the arm banded around your middle. He produces a cigar and you wrinkle your nose at the thought of him smoking inside. 

You turn your head away as he lights the cigar, expecting the noxious smell of cigarette smoke. The smoke hits your nose, but it’s surprisingly pleasant. It’s almost like burning incense. 

John offers you a puff, grinning again when you decline. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “No drinking, no smoking… we’ve got ourselves a little angel.” 

You cringe. Thankfully, John was quiet enough that only you could hear. The others keep their attention on the TV, so at least you aren’t being stared at. 

You can already tell this will be a long night. 

—

You sit in John’s lap for hours while the TV plays episodes of some war documentary. You’re bored out of your mind and you have to pee, but you’re too nervous to ask and you don’t want to draw any attention to yourself. You’d rather sit with a full bladder.

The discomfort grows and grows, and you start shifting your relieve some pressure. You hope that they’ll decide to go to bed soon so you can use the bathroom, but of course, the universe has different plans for you.

Warm breath hits your neck first, and then you feel his beard against your skin. It’s surprisingly soft. John presses his lips to your neck, planting a soft kiss there. You freeze, your brain short-circuiting and leaving you unable to react. You stay still, as if not moving will trick him into thinking you aren’t there— until you feel his wet tongue press to your neck in an open mouthed kiss. 

You jerk away. If it weren’t for John’s arm around your waist, you would’ve jumped right out of the chair. John looks a mix of startled and mirthful, a grin spreading across his lips. 

“I- I have to pee,” you stammer, pushing at the arm around your waist. John laughs softly, and you hear laughs from the other three as you try to escape. 

“You have to pee?” John asks patronizingly. “Alright. I’ll let you up”

You push at his arm some more, waiting for him to let you go. He doesn’t even loosen his grip. 

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” he hums. “You have to give me a kiss, first.” 

You freeze again. If you weren’t panicked, you’d be able to realize just how fucking lame he’s being. ‘You have to give me a kiss first.’ Such a juvenile request.

You are panicked, though. It doesn’t seem juvenile now— it almost seems dangerous, threatening. You don’t want to kiss him. You just want up. 

With the need to pee growing worse by the second, though, you don’t see any other choice. You try your hardest to ignore the feeling of eyes, to ignore the fact that Simon, Johnny, and Kyle are watching you yet again, and turn to face John. 

You lean forwards and close your eyes— if you don’t have to look, it might be easier— and press a quick kiss to John’s cheek. You pull away as quickly as you leaned in and try again to push his arm away. He doesn’t budge. 

“Really, sweetheart? Is that the best you can do?” 

John takes matters into his own hands this time, cupping your face and pulling your lips to his. He kisses you, not seeming to mind that you don’t kiss back. Thank fuck. 

Just when you fear you won’t be able to hold it, John lets go of you. You beeline for the bathroom, relief flooding your entire being when you’re finally safe behind the locked door.

Now you just hope they’ll let you sleep in peace. 

[bluelizard100]

Missing Piece part 5!

Read on ao3

warnings: masturbation, mutual masturbation? Two of the guys jerk each other off, so i guess that makes it mutual handjob, Wet dream

As promised, Simon talked with Price about making a visit back to your old place to collect some of your belongings. There was an argument about who got to go, as they all wanted to snoop around your place. It was even suggested by Gaz that they all go.

 “Many hands make light work, y’know. We could put ‘er in Cap’s room like we did before and get more of her stuff home faster.” 

Price shut it down, insisting that someone be home with you. Locking you up, while it is nice knowing that you have to stay put, is something he’d rather do when necessary. 

“Ghost and I will go,” he grunts. “Gaz, Soap, you stay here and make sure she’s got some sort of structure.” 

A plan was made, and the four went to bed.

–

Kyle wakes you up this morning, nudging your shoulder until you stir. “Mornin,’ sweetheart. Time to get up.”

Sleep is hard to shake this morning. The bed seems to cradle you perfectly, the blankets keeping you just warm enough but not too hot. Kyle nudges you again, and you grumble, too tired to say anything. 

“C’mon. Up. Soap and I want you to help with breakfast.”

This time, you grant him a dignified response. 

“No.”

Kyle, with a frustrated sigh, yanks the covers off your body. The chill of the air hits you and you reach blindly for them, still refusing to open your eyes. 

“Up. Don’t make me call Johnny in here to get ya. I’m being nice by letting you get up on your own, but he’ll lift you out.” 

With one final annoyed groan, you roll out of bed. It’s quite a dramatic display, rolling out of bed with your limbs loose like a ragdoll, but it’s amusing enough to bring a small smile to Kyle’s face. “There we go,” he hums, content with your reluctant obedience. “Get dressed if you want, then come meet us in the kitchen. We’re makin’ omelettes today.”

Kyle leaves you alone, giving you some privacy. Trudging to the little bins on the floor, you stare down at the last clean outfit left: a worn, oversized t-shirt that reads MACTAVISH across the back, and a pair of grey sweatpants that also look too big. You assume, based on the few times you’ve heard Kyle call Johnny “Tav”, that these are his clothes. Whether they were put in here purposely or by accident you don’t know, but you’re guessing it was deliberate. 

You could always just stay in your pajamas, but then you’d have to wear them all day. Currently you only have this one pair, having had to wear them the whole two weeks you’ve been here. Thankfully John had washed them for you, otherwise you’d have to sleep in something of theirs.

Dealing with the staring from Johnny, and realistically Kyle, too, would be better than wearing your pajamas all day. You’re already frequently stared at, anyway. This will be nothing new. 

You grab your last clean pair of underwear, too, and trudge to the bathroom to get ready. 

–

Johnny and Kyle are waiting for you when you get to the kitchen. 

“Ye look real good in my clothes, bonnie,” Johnny starts already. “Should wear ‘em all the time. I like seein’ my name on ye.” 

You ignore him and walk over to the stove where Kyle stands. Glancing around, you notice it’s just the three of you. “Where are John and Simon?”

Kyle smiles at you, enjoying that you’re inquiring about them. “They’re out gettin’ your stuff, sweetheart. Just like you asked.” 

Your mood brightens, and your somehow always tense muscles loosen a bit. Simon really did tell John, and they really are going to get your stuff. At least now you’ve got something to look forward to. 

“Alright, I’m hungry. Help me out, yeah?” Kyle points to the eggs they’ve already set out on the counter. Oh right. Omelettes. 

–

Kyle ends up with a beautiful looking omelette on his plate. You and Johnny, on the other hand, end up with cheesy scrambled eggs. Omelette making turns out to be a bit more intricate than you (or Johnny) care for. You eat your eggs quietly, wondering how much of your stuff John and Simon are going to bring back for you. 

–

Simon is shocked the key to your little apartment still works. He thought the locks would’ve been changed, that your stuff would’ve been thrown out or auctioned off by now. Your landlords must not’ve noticed you were gone, then. They managed to nab you right after you’d paid rent, he thinks. He’s got three empty duffel bags with him, Price with one. They want to fill all four, to make you as comfortable with them as possible. 

“I’ll go through her sitting room. You take the bedroom and the bathroom, and make sure you write down what brands she uses.”

With his orders, Simon makes his way to your bedroom.

Your bed is unmade, blankets thrown about and pillows arranged haphazardly. It’s a bit messy, with some clothes on the floor and the windowsills cluttered with a couple dead or dying plants and tchotchkes. He makes a note to get you a healthy plant sometime, something for you to take care of. 

He picks up the clothes on the ground and tosses them in the bag, assuming that if they’re on the ground then they’ve been worn, and if they’ve been worn then you’d probably want them to wear again. 

He rummages your closet and the shelf on top, grabbing every pair of socks, underwear, and every bra you own. He picks and chooses from the rest of your wardrobe, leaving behind dress slacks and formal blouses. You won’t need them, so they’d only be taking up space. He takes only what looks worn or comfortable, and if you decide that he missed something specific, he can either come back to get it or buy you a new one. 

He dumps your hamper into a bag, planning to wash the clothes back at home. It could be another chore for you. The first of his three bags is now almost too full to close. He realizes he should’ve folded them to fit it all better. 

He grabs the second bag and pops into the little bathroom. He rummages through all your things, grabbing the bottles in your shower and taking pictures of the ones in your cupboards and drawers. If something looks used, he’ll grab it, but if not, he leaves it. This time he packs things away neatly. 

In one drawer, Simon finds your makeup. He stares for a moment, trying to be methodical about what to take, before he just gives up and dumps the entire drawer into the second bag. 

Having gathered everything from your bathroom, he pops back to your room to search your bed. Leaning down to grab your pillow, he’s hit with the faint smell of you that’s soaked into the linen pillowcase. This is the first time he gets to smell you; your bodywash, your shampoo, your detergent. Not the stuff they bought for you, but the stuff you picked. 

Simon pauses. He considers. Then he pulls his mask up over his nose to take a deeper smell, deciding he doesn’t care how weird it is. Nobody is here to see him except for maybe Price, but Price wouldn’t think it was weird at all. 

God, you smell good. Soft and sweet, a perfect contrast to him and the rest of his team. He knew he picked right when he picked you. 

This was just supposed to be a quick trip, in and out to get your things, but Simon loses himself. 

This is your bed. You’ve slept here. You’ve touched yourself here.

Simon stands up straight again and his eyes dart to the drawer of your nightstand. He doesn’t even think about the boundaries he’s crossing when he pulls it open. 

He feels a pang of pity when he finds only a small bullet vibrator. His poor angel, so neglected without anything to fill you up.

He grabs it and presses the little power button on the bottom of it. It buzzes weakly, likely needing a recharge. He clicks the power button again, and the pity turns to slight disgust when it only shuts off instead of changing speed, or even vibration pattern. He tosses it back into your drawer. There’s no way he’s going to bring that cheap, ineffective, sorry excuse of a sex toy back home for you. He’ll show you something better, something that’ll have you coming within minutes. 

The thoughts of you writhing around on their plug-in wand has his jeans tightening. He unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, again disregarding any boundaries. He’s been patient for you– they all have– but if they want to stay patient, they need some relief. Yeah, he’s only doing this for you. It’s for your own good. 

Simon lumbers onto your bed, the flimsy bedframe groaning in protest under his weight. He grabs your pillow and presses it over his face, suffocating himself to get a hint more of your smell. 

He wastes no time, grabbing his cock and tugging on it almost meanly until he’s fully hard. He uses his free hand to press the pillow harder into his face, groaning as he starts to stroke up and down. His hand is dry, but he doesn’t want to stop to get lotion or even just spit on his palm. He’s desperate, and needs to make the most out of the time he’s got. 

It isn’t that bad, anyway. Simon, although he won’t say it out loud, is the smallest bit of a masochist. The friction feels good, pushing him closer to his rushed orgasm. 

He’s lost in the smell soaked into your pillowcase, wishing it was actually you he was smelling. Simon doesn’t even hear Price’s boots on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the bedroom to check on him.

He doesn’t notice his former Captain’s presence until he clears his throat. 

“Finished packing already, Lieutenant?”

Simon slows to a stop, biting back a groan. He’s not a brat, not like Johnny– he isn’t going to throw a fit over getting blue balled. He pulls the pillow off his face, squinting a bit as his eyes readjust to the light. 

Price is leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. 

“I didn’t say you had to stop.” 

He pushes off the door and ambles over to the bed, his eyes never leaving Simon’s face. “I think I might join, if ya don’t mind. Been dying for a proper wank.”

Simon scoots over, making room for his captain in your small bed. 

“What’s with the pillow, hm?” Price asks, reaching for the second one. 

“They still smell like ‘er,” Simon grunts, getting comfortable in his new spot. Price presses your other pillow to his nose, taking a deep inhale just as Simon had done earlier. He sighs, his eyes slipping shut when your scent hits his nose.

“Mmh. Too bad the sergeants aren’t here. I bet they’d go feral over this.” 

Price reaches down to fish his own cock out, and Simon presses your pillow back to his face. 

Before he can grab his cock again, he feels Price’s hand wrap around him and squeezes. Simon groans, his hips jerking both out of surprise and in search of more. 

“What do you think the sergeants are up to now?” Price’s voice rumbles low, and Simon paws blindly for his cock, not wanting to take the pillow off his face. 

“Do you think they’ve got our darling on her back, breaking the rules and fuckin’ her without permission?” 

They start to stroke each other, Simon content to listen and Price content to do the talking. 

“Or do you think they’re holdin’ her again, hopin’ for a miracle that she’ll come onto them?”

Price squeezes Simon’s aching cock again, watching the tip leak pearlescent beads. He’s not far from leaking himself. Simon is efficient– all four of them are. Price feels a bit guilty for his poor sergeants, stuck at home and having to wait. 

“Poor muppets,” Price grunts. “Bet they maul each other every night after our sweetheart goes to bed. That’s probably the only way Soap can keep ‘imself in check.”

Simon pumps his fist over Price’s cock faster now, his desperation bleeding into his actions. He smirks behind your pillow when Price grunts, each noise he can pull from his partner a small victory. 

“Been a while since we’ve all had the time to enjoy each other,” Simon grunts, lifting the pillow up to make sure his words aren’t muffled. “We can’t blame them, can we.” 

Price laughs, followed by a choked-off grunt. Simon smirks wider, adding another tally to his score. It’s always more work to get noise out of John than Kyle or Johnny, making each victory that much sweeter. Simon starts rolling his hips in time with John’s fist, his ‘wins’ making his dick throb. 

“Greedy, are we?” John hums. “You’re right though. I’ve been missing my boys, and I know you are too.” 

Memories of their most recent depravities flash through Simon’s mind. Johnny and Kyle, both down on all fours and facing each other. Simon in Johnny, John in Kyle. Johnny whining for someone to touch his cock, Kyle trying to hide his desperation. John making the sergeants kiss just to shut Johnny up, shoving Kyle’s head forwards while Simon shoved Johnny. 

“Fuck,” Simon growls. “I never said I wasn’t. Jus’ tryin’ not to spook the doll.” 

Another laugh from John. “Can’t scare her when she’s not here, can we?”

He squeezes Simon tighter, the poor man’s hips stuttering from the sudden shock. 

“Come on,” Price grunts. “I know you’re close, Simon. Give it to me, show me how good you follow orders.” 

Shit. John always knows when and how to perfectly play on Simon’s praise kink. As gruff and mean as the brute may seem, he’s got a soft spot for approval, especially from his captain. 

Simon presses your pillow back down against his face, huffing a deep breath through his nose. The faint smell of you hitting his nose is enough to send him over the edge, ropes of white, sticky cum painting John’s hand. John follows shortly after, shifting his focus to his own pleasure only after Simon gets his. 

With Simon panting and relaxing after his release, John wraps his hand around Simon’s to keep his grip tight. He doesn’t roll his hips like Simon did, but he sets Simon’s pace with his own hand. 

With a groan, John decorates Simon’s hand just as Simon decorated his, and the two lay sated and relaxed in your old bed. 

–

“What’s taking so long?” 

You’re surprised that Kyle is the one pouting and sulking rather than Johnny. 

After breakfast they dragged you to the living room for some Couch Time. He’s been in a mood ever since. 

“It can’t take that damn long just to grab some fuckin’ clothes.”

Johnny squeezes you, tugging you away from Kyle. “Haud yer wheesht,” Johnny grumbles. “You’re disturbin’ the peace.” 

“You shouldn’t even be on the couch anyway,” Kyle snaps, standing up to pace. “We should be doing something.”

“Ah said shut up,” Johnny groans. “We can do somethin’ later. Me an’ bonnie are fine where we are.” Johnny squeezes you again and sprawls out on the couch, settling your back to his chest and your legs between his. 

Kyle scowls, and for the first time you feel wary of him. It’s easy to forget that Kyle was also an SAS soldier. He’s kept his temper in check the whole two weeks you’ve been here, and he hasn’t had to use his strength against you. Now, though, with his pretty face twisted in a scowl and his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, you see the soldier in him. 

“Sweetheart,” Kyle calls to you, trying and failing to keep his displeasure out of his voice. “C’mere. I need your help with the dishes.” 

Johnny bands his arms around you, trapping you in place. “That isn’t fair,” he snaps at Kyle. “Ye cannae give her an order after I just did.” 

“You didn’t tell her to do shit!” Kyle shouts. “Let go of her. We have chores to do, and I won’t sit through a lecture because you’re being lazy.”

Johnny doesn’t let go. “Ye need to relax,” he grumbles. “We won’t get in trouble for a bit o’ cuddlin’. If yer so worried aboot the dishes, then go do ‘em yerself.” 

You see Kyle’s eye twitch, and you steel yourself for more shouting. Kyle takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and stares right at Johnny. 

“You’re lucky she’s in your lap right now,” he huffs. With that, he slumps down on the couch, sitting down right on top of Johnny’s legs. 

Johnny grunts, grumbling something about his knee, and wrestles his legs out from under Kyle’s weight. 

“Arse,” he grumbles, laying his legs across Kyle’s thighs. 

“If Cap was here, he’d have ‘bonnie’ help him punish you,” he grunts. Johnny just snorts and settles back into his spot, giving you another squeeze.

You aren’t sure when his touch stopped bothering you. 

–

“Gaz,” you hear Simon bark from the doorway. “Take this bag to the laundry room and help our doll get started.”

Finally, they’re home. You wonder what took them so long until you see four duffle bags, all packed full. 

“We’ll take the rest to your room for you, sweetheart,” John hums, smiling warmly at you before heading for the stairs. Kyle, after grabbing the laundry from Simon, herds you in the opposite direction to the laundry room. 

“C’mon, pretty girl. I’ll get some alone time with you, even if it means doin’ chores.”

Kyle sets the bag down in front of the washer, and you kneel down and unzip it. Your expression drops to one of annoyance when you find your clothes all balled up. You start pulling out clothes, tossing brights into the washer and discarding the rest in an empty basket. 

“You want some help, baby?” Kyle asks, crouching down beside you. He reaches into the bag, but you smack his hand away. “I don’t want you digging around my dirty clothes.” With an amused smirk, he scoots back on the floor. “Fine, then. I’ll just watch.”

He does just that. He watches you turn graphic t-shirts inside out to protect the design, unball worn socks, and toss underwear into the washer hastily so he can’t see. It’s cute to him how private you insist on being, as if they haven’t been washing some dirty underwear for you for the last two weeks. 

“Most of this stuff wasn’t even worn,” you mutter. Kyle knows you’re just muttering to yourself, but the sound of your voice catches his attention. You never speak first– he always has to coax the words from you if he wants to talk. While you aren’t speaking directly to him, you’re still speaking. This is good, he thinks. You’re getting more comfortable. 

“...why’re you washing them if they aren’t dirty?” he asks. His words are almost hesitant, like he’s afraid if he responds, he’ll spook you back into silence. You pause, glancing over at him with a furrowed brow. “I can’t remember what’s clean and what isn’t,” you sigh. “And even if I did know, Simon threw them all in here together. They’re all contaminated now.” 

Kyle can’t help but laugh. “Contaminated, huh?”

The look you give him is unamused, yet it only makes him laugh harder. “I don’t think it works like that, luv.”

You don’t respond, only granting him an annoyed glare before you return to sorting. Kyle grins to himself. You’ve gone quiet again, but this is a good start. You initiated this conversation, and he didn’t have to fight to get you to keep talking with him. There was no need for coaxing or talking until you couldn’t take it anymore. ‘

Kyle accepts his win and leaves you to your laundry, deciding it’s best not to bother you. If he annoys you too much, this might not happen again for a long while. 

–

Your laundry is clean, folded, and sort of put away. Only a portion of your clothes made it into the little bins; the rest were just folded and left on the floor. John told you he’d get you a real dresser soon. 

That all seemed insignificant now, though. You had your clothes now, something to give you your own identity. Not to mention your own soaps, products, and makeup. They had even brought home your pillows, blankets, and your books. Maybe you could con your way out of the two-person, kidnapper & captive ‘book club’ Kyle had made you do, in favor of reading your own now. 

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you arranged your belongings in Johnny’s room. He had pouted a bit when he poked his head into the room to find you moving his stuff around, but he didn’t bother you about it too much. He must’ve noticed your mood, your smiling, and decided to just let you be. 

Now, you sit in the middle of the bed in a room that actually feels like yours. It’s comfortable now, familiar. 

Sleep comes easy tonight, your head resting on your pillow and your body wrapped in your blankets. 

–

Hot, aching need has you writhing, tangled up in the bedding. Everything is fuzzy, your senses muted. It’s hard to tell what you’re looking at or where you are– all you can focus on is the burning between your thighs. 

You manage to lift your head, only to see someone else’s buried in your cunt. You kick, squirm a bit, but your body doesn’t want to move. Your one priority right now is just getting more, taking care of that awful, pulsing need. 

Peering down your body once again, trying to get a better look, you notice a mohawk. Johnny. You cry out, the sound distorted as if underwater, and he lifts his head. His face is fuzzy, only certain features standing out– his bright blue eyes, the stubble on his jaw– but you know it’s him. 

He’s lowering his head back down before you can try to speak again. You want to fight, but a wave of delicious, molten pleasure washes over your body. His tongue laves over your clit, giving you what you crave– or, at least, it should be. The sensations are dull, lacking, and you feel yourself grinding down against his face. You feel no scratch of stubble, no increase in pressure, and you cry. It’s horrible. You want more, need more, but something isn’t letting you. 

The need is clawing at you, threatening to consume you. You squirm more, buck harder, grind down again and again, but nothing changes. It doesn’t feel good anymore, not when you can’t get any closer to bliss than this. It’s teasing, tormenting. 

You start to kick, start to cry and scream, but your movements are held back by some invisible force and your wails are still silent. 

You need more. Need more, need more, need more–

“Lass!”

You’re jolted awake, your pajamas damp with sweat and your heart pounding in your chest. Johnny’s above you, straddling your body and holding your wrists down. Those scarily blue eyes bore into yours, just like in your dream. 

Oh god, the dream.

The ache is still there. Your inner thighs feel sticky and wet, and your clit throbs. Your body begs you for attention, for touch, for relief. 

“Are ya okay?’ 

Again, Johnny snaps you back to reality. 

“Did ye have a bad dream, bonnie?” he coos, releasing one of your wrists to brush your hair out of your face. 

“Ye were twitchin’ and whinin’, and then ye started tae thrash. You’re all sweaty, too. Poor thing.” 

You barely hear a word he says. You need him to get off of you or better, to get you off– so you can take care of your problem. 

“I get nightmares sometimes, too, baby. Here, let me hold ye, it’ll help ye sleep.”

“No!” You shout urgently, squirming and trying to shove him away. 

“Och, quit that. I’m tryin’ tae help, ye wee hellion. Settle.”

Why won’t he just let go??

Johnny lays down on his side and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your torso and his legs around yours. He squeezes to keep you from worming away, but he ends up pushing your thighs together. 

It’s not nearly enough, the friction just barely there, only making everything worse. This isn’t something you can just wait out– you’re right there, so close after that stupid dream.

Johnny freezes when he hears it. A small, nearly inaudible whine. 

“...bonnie?”

Fuck. 

Somehow, the bastard knows. Of course it couldn’t have missed his ears, and of course he couldn’t have assumed the sound was one of protest. He knows you’re horny. He knows you’re desperate. 

He stares into your eyes, unsettlingly intense. You just stare at each other, your face hot and flushed. Neither of you say anything for a moment, you trying not to cry and him studying you, deciding what to do. 

“Let go of me,” you hiss, finally breaking the silence. 

Johnny’s jaw tightens, but he relents, unwrapping his legs from yours and releasing your middle. 

Without another word, you slip out of bed and hurry to the bathroom. 

Please just let this be a nightmare.

[bluelizard100]

Here's part 4 of Missing Piece now that I'm on a laptop and I don't have to reformat anything (I think) (I hope) (If my italics aren't saved, I'm going to have a temper tantrum)

Read on ao3

warnings: mention of collars, harnesses for people?, leashes, boredom for reader, talks of seasonal depression/depression in general ig

The days start to blur together and you lose a sense of time. Each day is spent the same: you wake up, one of the four (usually Johnny) comes to collect you, and you sit and do nothing while they go about their lives. One time, when all four of them left to go shooting, they locked you in John’s room. At first you were angry that they stuck you in his room instead of Johnny’s, but John’s room has a bathroom attached. You were still angry for being locked up like an animal, but you were a little grateful that they stuck you somewhere with a toilet. 

The two week mark of your captivity is approaching. In just three days, two whole weeks will have passed. You wonder if they’ll celebrate these ‘milestones’ like anniversaries. 

Boredom eats at you. You didn’t think it would be possible to feel bored when you were kidnapped; you thought you’d be spending every minute on guard, plotting your escape. While you are on guard most of the time, you‘ve started to settle in just a bit. You don’t flinch at every sound, you don’t tense up every time one of the four touches you, and you even have some of your appetite back. Things certainly aren’t normal, but progress is progress. 

Escape is hopeless. You’re never alone— at least one of your captors is watching you throughout the day. Privacy only comes when you’re in the bathroom, and—if you’re lucky— at bedtime. You used to trust that you’d be alone throughout the night, but Johnny must’ve grown tired of rooming with Kyle because, more often than not, you wake up next to him. 

You aren’t sure if he does this on purpose or if he sleep walks. A few times you’ve been woken up by his muttering and stumbling, almost angrily shoving the covers back to make space in bed for himself. You’ve never questioned it. Some things are better left unsaid, and you’re worried about what can of worms you could open by inquiring. 

Your only saving grace is the bathroom, so you’ve taken to extensive showers. Johnny once tried to peek, to ‘see what takes you so long in the shower’ as he said, but Simon caught him and dragged him out of the bathroom before he could pull the curtain back. You heard yelling and skin hitting skin after that, and later that day noticed Johnny wincing whenever he sat down. You were safe to assume he wasn’t going to try that again. 

With all the time you spent with the four, you’re never included in activities. You just have to watch. Kyle tries to coax some conversation from you, but you don’t ever have anything to talk about. There’s nothing new that’s safe to talk about— you suspect you’ll be reported to John if you tell Kyle that you want to go home and you wish Johnny would get a fucking hobby that doesn’t involve harassing you— and any talk of your life before you were taken is too painful. Working paycheck to paycheck at that shitty rest stop while studying full time wasn’t great, but at least you got to choose that path. 

When you’re with Johnny, you aren’t allowed to be out of arms reach. He’s clingy, wanting you close enough to grab at all times. When he can, he has you sit on his lap. You’ve gotten a few smacks on the ass for snapping at Johnny about being so annoying and since learned to just deal with his pawing. 

John also likes to have you near, but he’s more lenient. He likes to talk to you, but unlike Kyle, he doesn’t seem to mind if you don’t respond. It’s like he’s experimenting, trying to see what topics you’re the most receptive to and which touches bother you the least.

If you’re lucky, you get to spend the day with Simon and he’ll give you a book. Simon, so far, is your favorite. He doesn’t bug you and he seems to understand your needs the best. He hardly ever tries to touch you, and he only speaks when necessary. Sometimes he stares, though. It’s creepy and strange, makes your hair stand on end, but you’d rather that than the constant touching and blabbering. You don’t get to spend as much time with Simon as you’d like, though. Most of the time you’re with Kyle or Johnny, and you suspect it’s because Johnny throws a fit when he doesn’t get to be around you and Kyle is the most personable of the four.  

Today, though, is a lucky day. John went out for groceries and Kyle took Johnny to another appointment, so you’re at home with Simon. You’re expecting to be handed another book and sent to the couch just like always, but Simon takes you to the door. 

“Goin’ on a walk today, doll. Ya need some exercise.”

He points to the floor at your shoes, wordlessly commanding you to put them on. While you’re bent down lacing them up, you feel something at the loop on your jeans and startle. A click sounds, and when you whip around you discover he’s hooked a leash to your belt loop.

The look of pure betrayal on your face has Simon chuckling, and you feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment and anger.

“Y’ look like a little pup,” he laughs. “Gotta keep ya leashed. I don’t feel like chasin’ you if ya decide to run off.”

Ignoring your sulking, Simon unlocks the front door and steps out, tugging you after him when you refuse to move. You stumble forwards, somehow forgetting that Simon is an absolute unit. You should’ve braced yourself, and even then he still would’ve pulled you over easily. 

“C’mon,” he sighs. “Before Soap gets back from the doctor an’ sees ya like this.”

Soap. You’ve learned their nicknames at this point— Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price (though you know Price is his last name, and Cap or Captain is the nickname)— and you also know better than to call them anything but their names. 

You called Johnny ‘Soap’ once and the look he gave you was murderous. Simon had to drag him away to calm him down, and Kyle had to explain that you don’t call them their nicknames. You weren’t on the field with us. You’re our girl, not our teammate, so you don’t call us anything but our names. Especially with Johnny— he’s always had a short fuse, but ever since the accident he’s been even quicker to anger, Kyle had told you. You calling him Soap is like a personal rejection. 

Simon tugs your leash again and you follow this time, annoyed by the pull. For once you’re glad their home is so secluded; at least nobody will see you being walked on a leash like a dog. 

—

The walk is surprisingly nice. Simon walked too fast at first, but he didn’t need to be told to slow down. He’s frighteningly attentive.

The sun is warm on your skin and the breeze is just light enough to keep you cool without raising goosebumps on your skin. The leaves are beautiful reds, yellows, and oranges, just starting to fall from their trees. The bugs aren’t too bad, either. Everything is perfectly mild. If you don’t look at Simon, you can pretend you’re on a walk by yourself, still living free. 

—

Almost two hours have passed and Simon still hasn’t taken you home. You’re thirsty and you’re tired, legs weak and throat dry. Your energy has been low ever since you were kidnapped; it’s hard to keep up when you aren’t eating or sleeping right. The problem is, though, Simon hasn’t done anything. You know he knows— he doesn’t miss anything. You’re panting, lagging behind, and even wobbling on your feet. You’ve managed to sweat through your shirt even in the mild temperature, dehydrating even further. Simon couldn’t have missed this. He’s ignoring you on purpose. 

Simon must be toying with you; this is a trick, he’s messing with you. Maybe he’s weakening you on purpose so you can’t fight later. Are they planning something? 

Your anxiousness turns to panic as your thoughts spiral: This is his plan, he’s deliberately exhausting me so I can’t fight back. They’ve got something awful planned. They need me incapacitated but not fully unconscious, and this is how they’re doing it.

The panic coupled with the dehydration, overheating, and exhaustion triggers a vasovagal response. Your vision goes spotty, then totally black, and your legs go weak. Your head feels hot and your entire body is suddenly coated in sweat. The last thing you hear is the low grumble of Simon’s voice before you lose control of your legs and fall unconscious. 

—

When you come to, you’re laying on the ground flat on your back. Simon holds your legs up, your calves resting on one of his broad shoulders. 

“You in there?” He grunts, lowering your legs back down. It must’ve only been a couple minutes— your skin is still damp with sweat and you haven’t been moved from the woods.

“Went and fuckin’ passed out on me before ya even bothered sayin’ something?” 

You blink, still a bit out of it. He’s scolding you. Your cheeks flush pink again. 

Simon stands and hunches over you, grabbing your arms. “Up,” is all he says before pulling you to your feet, and then you’re slung over his shoulder. 

“Tha’ was stupid,” he grunts again. “Could’ve gotten hurt.” 

His footsteps get heavier as he walks, gradually turning from walking to stomping. 

“Fuckin’ lucky I’m a better man than I used to be,” he growls, “or I’d beat yer arse right ‘ere for tha’ bullshit.” 

He’s moving so fast, stomping so hard, that you bounce with every step. 

“If ya feel piss poor then you bloody say something,” he snaps. “You don’t stay quiet and let y’self fuckin’ pass out.”

His hand tightens around the back of your thigh, eliciting a nervous whimper from you. You’ve never seen him lose his temper; you’ve only ever heard him the one time with Johnny after he tried to peek at you in the shower. Even then, he seemed more collected than he is now.

You’re too nervous to squirm, too nervous to ask to be put down. You figure he’ll set you down when he gets tired. It was a two hour walk here, anyway. He can’t carry you the whole way. 

—

You’re humbled when Simon cuts the walk back in half, realizing that it only took so long because you were the one who set the slow pace. Simon is on a mission carrying you home, and his long legs eat up the distance between the woods and the house. 

Kyle and Johnny still haven’t gotten home, but John is back from the store and unpacking groceries. When Simon storms in with you slung over his shoulder like a sack, John’s expression darkens. 

He follows Simon to the sitting room, looking nothing short of furious. Simon plops you down on the couch, and when you look up, John is staring you down. “Did she try to run?” 

You bristle at his growling voice and squirm when you spot the wooden spoon he’s got clenched in one fist. Simon shoots you a warning glare that freezes you in place. 

“No,” he grunts, turning back to John. “Behaved ‘erself just fine, until she let ‘erself fuckin’ pass out without a word about it.” 

John’s fury shifts to disappointment and you subconsciously curl in on yourself, shrinking down as if you can hide by making yourself smaller. 

Simon turns back to you, though unlike John, his anger is still clearly there. You pull your knees up to your chest, instinctively pulling your limbs away and protecting your soft middle. 

“She needs water,” Simon barks, “and somethin’ to eat.” 

You’re surprised to see John turn and leave. You didn’t think he’d take orders from anyone, but again they’ve skewed your perception of their group dynamic.

You glance back at Simon and regret ever taking your eyes off him. He still looks pissed, like he’s ready to bite your head off. “Eyes on me,” he demands, and like a good little captive, you listen. Simon crouches down in front of you, putting himself at eye level. It should be comforting to not have him loom over you, but this just puts him closer. 

“You’re lucky ya aren’t over my lap right now,” he grunts. “Should smack some sense into ya. Thought you were smarter than tha’.”

You hug yourself tighter, fighting tears. You already feel pathetic, and the added threat of being spanked again is enough to send you into a meltdown. 

John returns with a glass of ice water and two granola bars. He hands them to Simon and pauses, sparing you another disappointed look before going back to the kitchen. You aren’t sure if you should be grateful to be left alone with Simon now or not. 

Simon presses the glass to your lips and tips it, forcing you to swallow unless you want cold water spilled down your front. He makes you drink half of it before ripping open a granola bar wrapper. You reach to take it, but he tears a bite off with his fingers and shoves it past your lips, ignoring your sputtering. He feeds you the entire first bar like this before continuing his lecture. 

“I knew you were tired. I knew you wanted t’ go back, but ya said nothing. Ya need ta learn ta speak up about yer needs.” 

His brown eyes bore into yours, his stare intense.

“I won’t always know wha’ ya need, and neither will the others. You’re s’posed to say something when ya feel funny, or when ya need something— not ignore it until you can’t anymore.” 

He grabs the second granola bar, but this time he hands it to you, letting you feed yourself. 

“You ever pull that shit again and you won’t sit for a week.” 

With that, he stands up and turns to join John in the kitchen, leaving you all alone on the couch. You feel like you’re in timeout, like you aren’t supposed to move from your spot until he tells you you’re allowed. So, you stay huddled up on the couch and sip on the rest of the water. 

Shame creeps up your spine the longer you sit. You feel so stupid, letting yourself pass out instead of just saying something. Your stomach twists when you realize, though, that the shame is not from putting yourself in a vulnerable position with one of your captors, but from disappointing him. 

Now comes the rationalizing: it’s just the air of authority Simon has. You feel like you have to listen to him. He’s just naturally authoritative, that’s all. It’s nothing more than that.

—

You stay sat on the couch until Kyle and Johnny get back. Johnny trudges in looking less than happy, but he lights up when he sees you on the couch. “Bonnie!” He shouts, making you wince. His voice is loud, sound waves vibrating your delicate eardrums. He stumbles over to you, favoring one leg, and flops down on the couch next to you. He tugs you into his lap and presses a kiss to your temple. “Had a shite time at the doctors,” he huffs. “They still think there’s somethin’ wrong with mah body— but Ah’m still in my prime, y’ken?”

He squeezes you and then shifts you, settling you on one of his thighs. “Fucked mah bum knee up with these weird stretches. I got shot in the heid, not the leg. Bloody eejits…”

So that confirms it, then. Shot in the fucking head. How did he even survive that? 

Kyle comes in to deliver Johnny a glass of water and painkillers. He laughs at the sight of you on Johnny’s lap. “Can’t leave her be, can you?” He sits down next to you and presses a kiss to your opposite temple, and you feel a mix of relief and letdown. Since they’re snuggling up to you now, it’s safe to assume you’re not in trouble anymore. On the other hand, they’re snuggling up to you. 

You’ve started referring to this as ‘Couch Time,’ and it’s one of your least favorite things. You have to sit like a lapdog while they watch whatever dumb show they’ve picked for the day or talk about whatever dumb thing they’ve decided is worth their breath. It might not even be dumb, but you wouldn’t know— you either don’t understand what they’re talking about, or you don’t care enough to pay attention. If they aren’t talking about military bullshit, they’re talking about regular bullshit. They once talked about the smallest animal they could beat in a fight, and Johnny genuinely believed he could take on a black bear. 

You settle in, getting ready to sink into the depths of your mind until Couch Time is over. Maladaptive daydreaming has become your primary source of entertainment. The boredom tears away bits of your sanity day by day, and you need some way to keep from losing it entirely. You need it to remember that you have a life waiting for you. If you When you get away, you’ve got school and a job to get back to. You have some friends and family who are probably missing you now, too. You need to make sure you’re still yourself when you get back to them. 

You’re in another reality when you daydream, nearly completely blocking out the outside world. You hardly register the fingers ghosting over your thighs or the scratch of stubble against your skin, nor the warm hand resting over your belly. 

Simon and John enter unnoticed by you, both sinking into their leather recliners. You see them, but their existence isn’t processed. It’s almost like blindsight.

John calls your name four times before you snap out of your daze.

—

Hours later, you’re buried under the covers in Johnny’s bed, sleeping (almost— sleep still won’t come easy) soundly. Kyle, John, Simon, and Johnny, however, are all sat at the table, having a late night meeting. 

“You bloody muppets don’t notice it because you only think with your other heads,” Price grunts. Simon snorts a laugh while the sergeants huff and puff defensively. Soap denies it and Gaz grumbles that he has noticed, he just didn’t want to say anything too soon. 

“She’s goin’ stir crazy,” Price grumbles again, cutting off their blabbering. “and she’s still scared of us— did Simon tell you what she did on her walk?” 

They glance at Ghost, waiting for him to spill. He sighs heavily, like it’s a burden to have to tell the story again.

“Let ‘erself pass out instead o’ tellin’ me she was feelin’ like shit,” he grumbles, getting himself upset about it all over again. “Coulda told me at any point, but she didn’t. She was too fuckin’ afraid.” 

Gaz’s jaw tightens and Soap’s leg starts bouncing. They look ready to march back to your room to try and force you to stop being afraid. 

“We need to get her on a routine.” Price hasn’t dropped the briefing tone, still full of a captains authority even after retirement. “She needs something to do other than just watching. The walk was a good start, but she needs more.” 

Soap grins. “We could always—“

He’s cut off by Gaz, who elbows him in the ribs. 

“I think we should get her doing some chores,” Price cuts in. “Make her help with dishes, do laundry— just get her busy.” They all nod, and Ghost sends Soap to grab paper and a pen. 

—

When you wake up the next morning, Johnny’s in the bed again, crowding over into your side. You’re surprised you got into a deep enough sleep that you didn’t wake when snuck. 

Johnny’s sleeping like a rock and even snoring softly, warm air from his nose blowing onto your face. Turning away proves to be a bad idea, though, because it jostles him awake just enough to haul you into his arms. He mumbles something unintelligible and buries his face into your neck, sighing heavily. 

You’re forced to lay there for another half hour before someone comes to rescue you. You expect Kyle— he’s always the one to come collect you when Johnny’s made his way to your bed— but you stiffen at the sight of Simon. He’s wearing a mask today. 

He could very well still be mad at you. He didn’t speak to you at all last night after Johnny and Kyle started Couch Time. It’s far from unusual for him to stay quiet, but this time your nerves are frayed. You don’t know if you’ve been forgiven or not.

“Soap,” Simon barks, and Johnny startles awake. He blinks a bit and groans, releasing you to sit up. 

Johnny has problems with sleeping. He sleeps too much too easily and needs the others to help him wake up and stay awake. 

Once he’s sure Johnny is awake for good, Simon turns his attention to you. “You up?”

He’s curt, but not angry. You’re soothed for now. “Mhm.”

Simon nods and turns to leave. “C’mon, Johnny,” he orders, “gotta give her some privacy.”

You like Simon because he’s never in your business. Now it feels like you’re getting the cold shoulder. 

—

After your morning routine— get ready with me, a day in the life of a captive— you walk yourself to the kitchen for breakfast. You take your unassigned-assigned seat at the table (next to Johnny, across from Kyle, John on the end that’s closest to you) and pick at the bowl of fruit placed there just for you. 

They feed you fruit a lot, and you suspect it’s because fruit is the only thing they’re certain you enjoy. You get the sense that they’re afraid of disappointing you. Kyle and Johnny are, at least: Johnny seems afraid that you won’t like him, and Kyle seems afraid of making you unhappy. 

When you finish your fruit you expect to be carted off by one of the four to watch them do their own boring stuff, but you’re caught off guard when Johnny tells you to come help with dishes. 

“C’mon, hen. Dishes ain’t gonna wash themselves.” 

Your bare feet slap against the floor as you walk over to the sink. Johnny’s loading the dishwasher already. “Need ya tae wash all the stuff that cannae go in here.”

You wash a pan, a plastic cup, three insulated tumblers, and a tall metal water bottle. It’s not much, but your fingers are pruned by the time you finish and you have to wash your hands a few times just to get the dish soap feeling off them. 

“Ye didnae get much tae eat, did ya?”

Johnny doesn’t wait for your answer, already rummaging through the fridge. “I ken ye aren’t hungry all tha’ much, but ye need more than a bowl o’ fruit.” 

He turns around with two string cheeses and moves to the pantry, where he grabs a box of crackers. “C’mon. Need tae get ya in the sun.” 

He herds you outside and onto the little porch at the back door. You knew it was here, you just never got to be out here before. 

Johnny sits down on a foldable lawn chair and motions for you to take one of the other three. When you do, he tosses you one of the string cheeses. “Ghost said ye liked yer walk. Well, until ye went under,” he laughs, pulling apart his own string cheese and eating it like noodles. He tosses you the box of crackers, laughing again when it lands in your lap and startles you. 

“Yer jumpy. Haven’t ya learned by now that we aren’t out tae get ya?”

He’s trying to keep things light, but the way he stares at you is too heavy, too intense. It gives him away. 

“Um…” 

You shove a cracker into your mouth, needing a reason not to answer. Johnny doesn’t stop staring. He needs brown eye contacts. 

“Really,” he says again. “Yer safe with us, aye?”

His fucking blue eyed stare, it’s enough to drive anyone mad. You nod your head, agreeing to get him off your back. 

Johnny’s face splits into a wide grin and he leans over to squeeze your knee. “Atta girl.”

You finish your snack in silence, and Johnny takes you back inside when he notices you’re done. 

—

While Johnny puts the crackers back in the pantry, John sneaks up on you. “Hi sweetheart,” he hums, wrapping his arms around your middle. You stiffen, more accustomed to Johnny and Kyle touching you than you are to John. John doesn’t touch you as often as they do, but when he does, it’s always much more intimate. His lips press against your neck and you have to fight the urge to flinch away. 

“So tense,” he murmurs. “Gonna have to give you a massage one of these days… ya need to relax, darling.”

He kisses your neck again, his beard tickling the thin skin there. 

“Could run ya a nice bath— candles, bubbles, one of those bath pillows. Soak for a good while and get all nice and loose, then me n’ the boys can work out all those knots. We’ll make ya feel real good, hm?”

Your stomach turns, acid burning and threatening to erupt.  

“Oh, my poor nervous darling,” John coos. “Scared of your own shadow.” He pecks one last kiss before unwrapping his arms from your waist. “You don’t have to be afraid. We just want to take care of you.” He pats your hip and leaves, and you can finally breathe again. 

—

Kyle takes you next, sits you down on the couch. You assume it’s Couch Time now, that it’s time to daydream, but again you’re caught unawares. “I got you a present,” he tells you, handing you a book. A romance novel. “I know ya like thrillers, but I think this would be a bit easier on your mind for now.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking his seat on the couch next to you. “I’ll read the same one with you so we can talk about it.”

Book club with your kidnapper. How fun!

You open up your book if only to evade more conversation. Kyle likes to listen to you talk, so maybe if you’re reading then he’ll leave you alone. Of course you can’t just read in peace; Kyle has to pull you closer, make sure you’re nestled into his side. They get more comfortable with invading your space with every passing day. 

Kyle opens his book up too. If you can ignore the forced proximity with your kidnapper, it’s actually kind of nice. Call it parallel play, if that makes it easier. 

—

You read for about an hour before Johnny interrupts, a wide grin on his face. “Simon sent me tae fetch the puppy for her walk.” 

You feel your face get hot. So fucking much for keeping it from Johnny. 

“Aw, dinnae be embarrassed, bonnie. Ah think it’s cute.”

You bite your tongue and mark your page number before standing up and following Johnny to the door, feeling like a lamb headed to slaughter. Quite dramatic for just a walk, but thinking about the outcome of yesterday’s is enough to get your nerves running.

Johnny watches you lace up your shoes, and you aren’t sure if his close eye is for his own pleasure or if he’s watching to make sure you don’t try to run. He takes you gently by your wrist and leads you out to where Simon waits by the shed, looking giddy. 

When you see Simon holding the leash, you pause. You’re not wearing jeans today; you’re wearing sweats. Where will he clip the leash? 

To your horror, John comes out of his weird little shed with a leather harness and a matching collar. No fucking way he made those. 

Johnny nudges you with his elbow. “Pick one, puppy. Harness or collar?”

Simon barks for him to shut up. “She’s not picking, mutt,” he huffs. “The harness’ll be better for her. If I gotta tug, I won’t hurt anything.”

Is it a relief or a loss that you aren’t the one who gets to pick? Not that you’d have know which one you’d prefer, anyway. They’re both shit options. At least Simon is being reasonable. 

“C’mere, doll. This’ll be easier if ya just cooperate.”

Johnny leads you over to Simon, again stealing away your choice. He looks all too happy to be witnessing your humiliation. “Yer gonna look so bonnie in yer harness,” he goads, earning a swat from Simon. 

“Arms up.” 

You do as you’re told, not even bothering to hide your grimace when the leather slides over your skin. You nearly forget about John until he whistles, and you fix your eyes to the ground. 

Simon at least works quickly, taking only a moment to get you strapped into the leather. He’s efficient, making sure nothing is too tight or too loose. 

Simon pats your butt when he’s finished, and it sends you lurching forwards to escape the touch. Simon is the last of the four you’d expect to touch your ass, and here he is putting on a show for John and Johnny. Their moms really should’ve picked different names.

Simon shoos the others away, Johnny back to the house and John to his shed (thankfully taking the collar back with him). “Alright, doll. Let’s try this again.”

—

Unlike the first walk, you find these conditions to be undesirable. The sky is cloudy, blocking the sun from warming your arms. You didn’t think to grab a jacket on the way out, left with only your t-shirt to keep you warm. Despite Simon’s firm warnings to speak up, you decide to just deal with it. A little chill isn’t too bad. It might even be good, since you can move a bit more without getting too warm too fast. 

Simon set a quick pace today, again deviating from yesterday’s walk when you got to set the pace. It’s easy to tell that he’s on edge today. Along with the quick pace, he keeps the stupid leash short and tugs much more frequently. You assume it’s because of yesterday; you can’t be trusted to warn him if something is wrong, so you’ve lost the privilege of straying a bit behind. 

As logical his assumed reasoning is, it’s still fucking annoying. The constant tugging, the tiring pace, and the chilly air grates on your nerves more than it should. As you walk, you find yourself sinking back into your head. You fall into a rhythm, walking next to Simon and matching his pace before slipping into the depths of your mind. 

It’s autumn. The leaves are already starting to fall, and soon they’ll be bare. The days are already shortening. It’ll get colder. Then it will snow. The snow, the cold, the miserably dark mornings and the sliver of daylight– it’s all coming too fast. The winter depression threatens to consume you when you’re living a normal life. How bad will it be as a captive? How will you even explain this? You don’t know these people, and you hope they don’t know you. Of course, there’s always the possibility of stalking. Maybe they do know. But what if they don’t? What if they don’t believe in mental illness? They have to, there’s no way they don’t. They’re veterans, former SAS soldiers for fucks sake. There’s gotta be some PTSD there. But still– 

“Oof!” 

You’re ripped from your thoughts by a tug on that fucking leash. Simon pulled so hard you actually stumbled, flailing like an idiot to catch your balance. It’s the last straw for you, and you snap without even thinking about how your captor might feel about being bitched at by his leashed captive. 

“Will you knock it the fuck off? You’ve been tugging that leash since we started walking and it’s fucking annoying.”

The realization hits you just a second after you yell, and you curse yourself for being so stupid. You suck in a breath, bracing yourself for scolding or punishment. 

Simon, however, does neither. He sighs, as if disappointed with himself, and apologizes. 

“I know, doll. I’m sorry.”

You stare in shock. Simon continues. 

“Johnny’s got me worried. He doesn’t like to cooperate with the docs and gets himself hurt at his appointment. His knee ‘as always been a bit screwy, but the bloody moron likes to pretend his only problem was the gunshot. Thinks he’s all better now ‘cos he finished his physical therapy.” 

“...oh.”

You’re at a loss for words. What would be an appropriate response? Are you supposed to comfort him? Are captives expected to comfort their captors? Maybe no response is the best response. 

Luckily for you, Simon moves on without a response. 

“Now, since I shared wha’s botherin’ me, I think ya know that it’s safe for you to do the same.” 

Simon looks up at the sky and huffs. “Should be gettin’ back now. Looks like rain.”

His attempt at a connection, or at least an extension on the ‘tell me how you’re feeling’ lesson you learned the hard way yesterday, was a very poor one. You realize Simon probably doesn’t speak much not because he lacks feelings, but because he’s awkward. 

At least now you know that he broods because he doesn’t know how to articulate his feelings and not because he’s plotting your imminent doom.

–

You and Simon get hit by the rain before you make it home. You nearly throw a fit when Simon makes you wait to change so he can take off the stupid harness.

When the harness is finally off, you beeline to your/Johnny’s bedroom. You shut the door and hurry to the little drawers on the floor, only to discover you have one clean pair of clothes left. With an irritated huff, you tear the damp clothes off your body and change into the dry ones. You’re gonna have to ask for more clothes. 

You slink down the steps and into the sitting room, searching for Simon. He’s not in his recliner, but the rest of the men are in their own seats. Johnny calls for you, but you slip away before any of the others call you in. You need Simon, not them. 

You try the kitchen next, but he’s not there, either. He could be in his room, but you aren’t sure if you’re allowed in their rooms. Other than Johnny’s room, you’ve only been in John’s room, and that was limited to their leaving. 

With only one place left in mind to check, you head for the back door. There he is, seated on the back porch in one of the lawn chairs. Cautiously, as if someone will jump out to yell at you for going outside, you push open the door and step onto the porch. 

Simon turns, his eyes widening when he sees you. “What’re ya doin’ out here by yourself?”

You dodge his question. “I, uh, need new clothes.” 

Talking to him (or any of the four) still doesn’t feel right. Like you aren’t supposed to. 

Simon pauses, thinking about your request. It’s not like it needs to be thought about; you need new clothes. What’s so hard to understand about that?

“I’ll talk to Price,” he grunts. “See how he feels about takin’ a trip back to your place an’ pickin’ up some o’ yer stuff.”

Simon grins at the shocked look that crosses your face. You didn’t expect this request to be easy, in all honesty, and you didn’t expect him to be so considerate about it. 

“You’ll take me back to my apartment?” You can’t hide the excitement in your voice. 

Simon huffs an incredulous laugh. “No, doll, you won’t be coming along. Just me, and maybe one of the others. You’ll just give us a list of stuff, hm?”

Your excitement visibly deflates. “...okay.” 

Simon nods. You stand and look at each other a bit awkwardly, not sure what to do next. Simon seems content to just look at you, like he’s waiting to see if you have anything else to say. You turn back to the door, ready to get back inside and hide away in your room. 

“What do you say?”

You pause, hand resting on the doorknob. Escape can’t ever be easy for you, even when it’s just going from outside your prison to inside. 

“Thanks,” you mumble without turning around. Simon hums, and you take that as permission to go back inside.

You sneak back up to your room, again ignoring Johnny’s beckoning. You aren’t allowed to leave, but you’ll at least get some of your stuff here. 

A win is a win, or whatever. 

[bluelizard100]

Baby’s first hate comment !

also posted more Missing Piece on ao3 ‼️

[bluelizard100]

Posted another part to this on ao3 if yall are interested

I really don’t feel like reformatting it all to post on tumblr right now though 💔 I write in my notes app and all the italics disappear when I copy and paste :(

Short continuation of my poly!141 yummy

First punishment 💔

Warnings: Kidnapping, obsession I think, spanking, forced cuddling

John held you firmly over his thighs, his palm coming down sharply against your bare ass.

Simon caught you escaping on your third day with them, and the boys were not happy at all.

Kyle had to take Johnny to another room. He was livid, but seeing you cry from your punishment would’ve broken his heart worse than the fact that you tried to leave.

John tugged your jeans and your panties down, scolding at you to hush when you shouted at him to stop. It doesn’t mater that you’re shy, that you don’t want them to see these parts of you; they’d see soon enough anyway, and bad girls need to learn somehow.

John was firm and unsympathetic as he spanked you, ignoring your pleas for mercy. You did this to yourself, darling. Breakin’ our hearts trying to leave us… need a proper lesson.

Simon, the bulky, terrifying brute whose face you haven’t even seen, sat crouched in front of yours, wiping the snot and tears from your face with tissues and petting your hair. He was the last person you’d expect to be comforted by, but there he was, drying your tears and cooing at you.

I know, sweetheart. ‘S a lot, I know. Shhh, I know it hurts… I know you’re scared, know y’r not a bad girl. ‘S okay, doll, me n’ the team’ll take care o’ ya.

John’s palm came down over and over, turning your backside red and hot. He wasn’t gentle, didn’t try to go easy on you even though it was your first offense. He was firm, blocking out your sobs because he knew if he heard your pleas, his resolve would crumble. By the time he decided you had enough, he had you limp over his lap and bawling, unable to control your tears.

“There now,” John hummed, “took your punishment like a good girl. Gonna try that again? Hm?”

A weak shake of your head was all he needed.

They didn’t let you up yet. John held you over his lap so he could soothe the sting while Simon went to retrieve aloe (and the sergeants).

Kyle was very disappointed in you for trying to escape, and he made that clear to you before. Johnny was furious, feeling so betrayed. How could you leave them? It had only been three days, yeah, but they were so good to you those three days. Why would you even want to leave?

Now, though, seeing you laying over John’s thighs like a wet noodle had them softening. Your ass was bright red, and they could make out a few welts raised on your skin.

They could all share a bit of empathy, Johnny specifically; after his brain injury, he’d have these… spells. Nothing made sense, everything was foggy, and he just couldn’t think. He never told anyone about it, just let his anger build up each time, until one day Simon bent him over the arm of their couch and belted him until he was forced to spill his guts, unable to keep to himself anymore.

Johnny couldn’t be mad anymore, not when you looked so worn out and sad.

Kyle wasn’t that upset… you learned your lesson, after all. No reason to beat a dead horse.

Johnny peppered kisses over your tear-streaked face while Simon massaged the cool aloe gel into your burning skin. John rubbed your lower back, traced your spine with the tips of his fingers. Kyle, when he could manage to get Johnny off you, gave you little sips of water and promised you everything would be okay, reassured you they weren’t mad anymore.

Finally, after John had pulled your pants back up and Simon helped you stand up from over John’s knees, the four men watched pityingly as you scurried away to find a place to hide; a scolded puppy with her tail tucked between her legs.

Simon, John, and Kyle all knew you were just embarrassed and needed some time. Johnny, though, couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t try to escape again.

He followed you, found you squished between the bed and the wall in his room. He had given up his room so you’d have your own space until you got used to living with them, and was bunking with Kyle in the meantime.

“C’mere” was all he had said before he dragged you out from your hiding spot, not even acknowledging your frantic kicking and wailing.

He didn’t care that you were scared, didn’t care that you were embarrassed. You were their girl now, their sweet angel, and he couldn’t let you get away from them.

It didn’t matter to him right now that you thought he was trying to hurt you. He’ll show you he’s safe, that they’re all safe.

“Need a good cuddle, aye?”

And then you were squished between the mattress and him. He laid on top of you, used your chest as his pillow.

“I ken it’s embarrassin’, bonnie. Dinnae worry yer pretty head, alright? We know what ya need, and we’ll make sure you get it.”

You couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be comforting or not. After just being fucking spanked like a child, it sounded more like a threat than anything.

He was heavy on top of you, kept you from squirming away but made sure you could still breathe. At first it was panic inducing, being trapped underneath one of your kidnappers. Once it was clear he wasn’t going to try anything, though, once you realized you could still take full breaths, he had the same effect as a weighted blanket.

He fell asleep on top of you, and while you tried to fight sleep, you were truly exhausted. For the first time in the three days you had been here, you felt safe enough to get real sleep.

You couldn’t really trust that you wouldn’t be harmed, but Johnny’s weight and body heat comforted the reptilian part of your brain, assured your primordial survival instincts that you were tucked away somewhere safe, hidden from predators.

Exhaustion overtook your body and your eyelids grew too heavy to hold open.

Safe for now.

[bluelizard100]

How do I describe a tired person? I got ‘dark circles under the eyes’ but it kind of stops there.

[bluelizard100]

ok the new fic with soap was soo good I can't believe it!! also if you were to write some more for "his love" i think it'd be neat to kind of explore reader's relationships with some of the other characters, especially ghost.

love ur writing btw!!

Thank you thank you!

I’m probably gonna make a separate work on AO3 for extras & stuff. Thank you for the input!

[bluelizard100]

guys I got the call of duty soap from Dr Squatch

I was so excited but the smell of Sarge Soap actually triggers my gag reflex 💔 it’s so strong and I do not like it at all hashtag what the freak

Ghost Grit isn’t as bad but it’s still strong and someone compared it to the smell of artificial christmas pine cones