💙🦎

Call me whateva 19 she/her ao3:bluelizard100

[bluelizard100]

Pinned post or whateva

I like to write stuff & my current little fixation is cod lol

I kinda write like whatever I want lmao so there will def be stark contrasts between my posts

I am a fan of dark works— most of my stuff will probably be dark and explicit! MDNI

I’ll write little not-dark things here n there, I’ll make sure to put content & trigger warnings on the posts that need them!

Asks!!

I’m turning off the ask box until I get caught up answering the ones that I have in my inbox :)

Feel free to drop a little request in my ask box! I don’t have a schedule and I try to answer in the order I received them, so it might take a few days but I will answer them!

Important note is that I don’t always see comments. I don’t know why but they don’t always show up in my notifications. If I see them I will always try to at least like them! I am not ignoring anyone on purpose I swear

Do NOT put my stuff into AI. Ever. Fucking hate that bullshit

Taken emoji anons (still so excited about this): ✨, 🦌, 🪽, 🦇, 🍓 , 🦎, 🍬, 👃🏻, 🦷, 🫐, 🧃, 🐥, 🦉, 🦊, ❄️

My little writings ⬇️⬇️⬇️

SFW:

Drabbles-

Teen Girl Dad Simon (this was my first post so I was playin it safe lol)

NSFW 😈

One shots-

Study Abroad

Ongoing-

Missing Piece (Previously Poly!141 drabbles but I continued them)

Finished yippee! -

His Love on ao3 lol

[bluelizard100]

This is a nothing burger post but I saw a tiktok of a woman saying that she wants to marry a pilot so her husband is never home (real) and I was like that is another reason that the 141 would make incredible boyfriends because he’d never be home! & then I remembered in the TV show SIX, one of the soldiers hid a camera in his room to spy on his girlfriend/wife bc he thought she was cheating on him

This is incredibly ironic considering in my last post I said how much I don’t like the hidden cameras thing but it made me think of dating one of the 141 men and they get suspicious because you rarely ever text them and you dgaf that they’re gone all the time so they set up cameras to see if you’re cheating

And they end up with a whole lot of nothing bc all they get are hours and hours of footage of you sleeping. You come home from work and then you’re in bed for a nap. You get up eat dinner and do your little nighttime routine, then hours later you’re back in bed for the night. It’s the weekend? You’re asleep.

If you’re not asleep then you have friends over & then it’s just hours of footage of you and your friends ranting about other people they’ve never met or heard of, laying in bed together while you play on your phones, or watching movies.

Naturally they feel like giant douchebags for not trusting you but now it makes a lot of sense why you like them being gone so much: When you’re by yourself you get to sleep in the middle of the bed and have all the blankets to yourself

[bluelizard100]

hnggg freaky thought

what if the guys pretended you had your privacy in the shower or bathroom but they installed hidden cameras instead and watched reader 😵‍💫

also hope you're doing well! i know the brain slump periods all too well and just take your time getting back to writing 💓

-🍬

This is supposed to be freaky and hot but cameras in the bathroom are like the one thing I cannot ignore the reality of LMAO like… wdym there’s a camera recording me while I’m pooping… wdym someone is watching me scrub every crevice…

This was actually something I was so freaked out about when I’d have my friends over (specifically any dudes) I’d be like “there’s a camera in here I just know it…”

I just can’t get over it. In a hot awesome and fictional world they would not be watching reader on the toilet but the thought still lingers in the back of my mind, even when I’m the one who’s deciding they aren’t watching her lol I’m too anxious for this

On the other hand…

This would fit so good for the chapter when reader woke up from a wet dream and had to get herself off in the shower. She thinks she’s safe; the door is locked, nobody can come in, she’s got all the privacy she needs for now. But little does she know there’s a small, undetectable camera hidden in the corner of the shower, and not only is Johnny watching her, but he’s downloading the footage and sending it to the other three so they have something nice to wake up to.

[bluelizard100]

Hey! Hope you're doing okay and your new year has started off good! Sidenote: Do you have any nickname we could use for you? Was gonna use Bluey, but that doesn't sit right. Also, don't want to use a nickname that you wouldn't like

Aw this is so cute a lil nickname just for me

Bluey is cute but I can see how it wouldn’t sit right since it’s already taken by the cartoon lol, but some people refer to me as just Blue and that works well I think

I’ve had someone ask to call me Liz but I know someone IRL who goes by that so it makes me feel weird and I don’t like it. Lizard however I could work with

Fun fact about my username (idk if I shared this or not) but I was an episode fiend when I was a kid and one of the authors I was reading had the username ColdMilk & she said she picked it bc she had a glass of cold milk in front of her when she was making her account so she just picked that.

When I was making my ao3 account I remembered this so I just looked around & landed on a bottle of Blue Lizard brand sunscreen so I picked that and slapped 100 after it bc I wanted a number lol

[bluelizard100]

Would it be interesting to ever write from their pov? Like kyle's or john's? Just to see how they think about her

Yes! I toy with this idea a lot when I’m writing little chapters but I never do because idk how I’d do the point of views. It’s in 2nd person obviously & when I’ve written in the 141’s perspective I’ve used 3rd person, but I always worry I won’t be able to cleanly transition between 2nd person reader pov and 3rd person 141 pov

Maybe I’ll do it more, maybe I won’t. Not sure yet lol

[bluelizard100]

Reader who only views sex as somthing transactional?

She gets no real pleasure from it but shes not disgusted by it shes used to using her body to get exactly what she wants.

She'll lay there like a doll during it and then after demand somthing it could be somthing as simple as a book or expensive like a necklace.

If they confront her about it she gets annoyed

“what do you mean you want me to participate more!?“

“If you give me somthing i like maybe ill pretend to enjoy it“

“you want my body so why do you keep complaining“

If Johnny asks her a question she deems stupid then she glares

“Why are you asking if i love you?“

“do my chores for me and i may tell you a few pretty lies“

Shes never the first to initiate affection and she never will be the only time she really gets emotional is if her childhood is brought up or theh ask her about her past shes hissing a stern “stop asking me stupid questions that dont matter“

Mmmm this would drive them nuts

She figures out quickly that they’re easy to extort. All she has to do is let them have their fun, and then she can have pretty much whatever she wants.

She’s laying in bed next to John after he pulled her away for some ‘fun’. She waits for him to reach for his phone before she makes her demand.

“I want a new book. Order it for me?”

It’s not really a question. She knows she’s getting what she wants, she just knows John’s more receptive if she asks, or at least pretends it’s a request and not a demand.

Whenever she wants something, she waits for one of them to inevitably come to her to get off. If she really wants something and doesn’t feel like waiting, she entices them. She’ll dress in their clothes, walking around in nothing but one of their hoodies and a pair of underwear. she’ll brush up against them whenever she can, making it seem like a little accident. She’ll grind her ass against whoever pulled her into their lap, using the excuse that she’s just trying to get comfortable. It’s all strategic, she’s only doing it to get what she wants.

Ironically, the four of them start to feel like they’re the ones being used. She’s flirty and touchy and provocative, but as soon as they get her in bed, she’s completely uninterested.

Johnny’s the first to complain. “Why do ya look so bored right now? Am I not doin’ a good enough job?”

He’s met with an incredulous glare. What a stupid question. “Stop talking” is the only answer he gets. He tries harder, though, moving faster and rubbing her clit to try and make it better for her, but all she does is slap his hand away. “Don’t do that. Just hurry up.”

Johnny doesn’t hurry up. “C’mon, hen. Touch me. Scratch my back, pull my hair… I don’t mind. Just do something.”

She snaps at him now. “I said hurry up.”

Now, him and the others are trying to figure out why she won’t participate.

Kyle sits down with her, prying and asking more stupid questions.

“Isn’t it good for you?”

“Tell us what to do, and we’ll make it better.”

“We want you to join in, love. Not lay there like a doll.”

That makes her snap. “What do you mean you want me to join in?! Why would I do that?”

Kyle’s taken aback by her response. “…because you’ll feel good if you participate. We want you to feel good, too.”

She scoffs at that. “Get me something nice and maybe I’ll pretend to like it.”

The show she puts on for them (only after she gets what she wants) isn’t enough, though, and they still complain, which only makes her more irate.

“You want my body, and I’m giving it to you. You want to fuck me and I’m letting you. So why are you still complaining?”

Even after she makes it clear she doesn’t like having sex with them, that she’s only doing it because she knows it’ll get her what she wants, they still try to make it good for her.

Simon tries to go down on her, but she pushes his head away until he promises to buy her a new necklace. She lays limp and bored while he licks her, trying to get her off. It doesn’t work, though, and eventually she starts pushing him off again.

Kyle tries his hardest to get her off, but he’s met with the same reaction that Simon and Johnny are met with. Every attempt to touch her, to make her feel good, is shut down until she’s promised a gift.

Johnny stupidly tries guilting her one night. “Why won’t you participate? Don’t ye love me?”

That earns him a look of contempt and disgust. “Why are you asking me such a stupid question? You already know the answer.”

The hurt look on his face doesn’t make her feel bad. Instead, she sees it as an opportunity. “Take care of my chores for me and I might tell you some pretty lies.”

John is by far the easiest to handle. He doesn’t bother trying to make you play along, doesn’t act like a try hard, and he doesn’t ask stupid questions. He knows what he has to do if he wants you.

“A real pretty necklace caught my eye at the shops today. Ride me, and it’s yours.”

“I’ll get you your favorite dessert if you moan for me.”

“Tell me I make you feel good and I’ll do the dishes for you.”

The other three try one last effort to make her open up. They sit her down at the table like it’s some kind of intervention, and they’re about to tell her she has a serious problem.

“Why are you so against intimacy? Did something happen to you before?”

“How was your childhood?”

Immediately she shuts them down. “Don’t ever ask me something so ridiculous and irrelevant ever again.”

For the next week, she won’t sleep with any of them. It’s their punishment for being nosy and annoying.

[bluelizard100]

How are the boys reacting to reader stealing and wearing a piece of their clothes for the first time? Cuz I know me personally, even if I was pissed at them for kidnapping me, I will be stealing a sweatshirt from someone as big as Simon lol

It would definitely take them aback but in the best way possible

not to make this about myself (I say as I make it about myself) but when I was like 15 my boyfriend at the time gave me his hoodie to wear during marching band practice (I’m a nerd) & it was pretty big on me but he was so pleased with that, that he turned to the kid next to us and told him to look how big it was on me. The kid next to us did NOT gaf at all which was pretty funny. Boyfriend at the time then called me short which pissed me off because I am NOT short I am 5’10 and I was not short then either

So I feel like they’d have that reaction too but magnified because they didn’t expect to find you wearing their clothes in the first place.

Content warning for descriptions of size (specifically referring to reader as small bc of how the 141’s clothes fit her)

Johnny finds you curled up on the couch, wearing one of his sweatshirts because it’s cold in the house and the fireplace isn’t doing shit. You’re only wearing his shirt because his clothes are in the same room as yours, but he treats it like you picked his on purpose. He’s enamored, you look so cozy in his clothes. And small. It doesn’t matter how big or tall you actually are, the shirt is too big on you, too long, making you look short, highlighting that he’s bigger than you. He snaps a picture to send to the others, peacocking and showing off that you’re wearing his clothes, and that he’s so big and muscular that his clothes are too big on you.

The next day you conveniently find three more sweatshirts in your wardrobe, one belonging to each of the others, and they each puff up and brag about how you look so cute wearing their clothes. It turns into a bit of a competition.

Simon obviously is the winner, being the tallest of the four men. He takes pride in it, too, watching you practically drown in his sweatshirt.

They start putting more of their clothes in with yours. T-shirts, sweaters, hoodies, even boxers if they’re feeling daring. Eventually you have to start giving their clothes back to them because you run out of room for your own.

This also gets turned into a small competition between the four of them.

“She gave back more of your clothes than she did mine, so she obviously likes me better.”

[bluelizard100]

Apologies for the spam likes but I’ve reached a flow state and it’s too good to be ashamed about but anywho I’m just thinking of how sometimes you just need some good old pressure therapy to get yourself right and getting kidnapped can be a bit of a stressor so who wouldn’t crave a nice cozy 100lb weighted blanket for their troubles? But fortunately and unfortunately for you the 100lb weighted blankets available to you come in the form of 250lb extra beefy tree trunk large men and some awkward at best tension is not going to keep you from experiencing the crushing relief 🙂‍↔️ thoughts?

Here’s some details of the not-research i did for this this 🤓 I’ll make the text green so you can scroll to the actual answer to this ask if you dont wanna read my pointless rambling

So the first exposure I had to the pressure therapy was a weighted blanket but I never actually used one (my sister did but I never used it cuz her weighted blanket wasn’t fuzzy and I like my blankets to be fuzzy so I can press them against my nose) & then I saw it in that episode of Grey’s Anatomy where they have a cardiologist(? I think) who’s autistic and she gets overstimulated and needs to be squeezed to help her parasympathetic nervous system response (parasympathetic nervous system is what calms your body down after a fear response) so when I visited this ask I looked it up to make sure this was real and not tv drama, so I started doing a bunch of googling (on Ecosia ofc bc fuck ai overview) but I wasn’t getting the right results with what I was searching

I started with “pressure & parasympathetic nervous system” which just got a bunch of articles explaining stress responses, then I tried “why do you swaddle babies” thinking the tight swaddle would produce the same reaction but got a bunch of articles discussing the safety of swaddling, then I tried another variation of pressure & how it helps the parasympathetic nervous system & still got nothing. Finally I searched “why do weighted blankets help with anxiety” which honestly should’ve been the obvious thing to search, especially since this ask literally says weighted blanket but I guess I didn’t notice that

Anyway I found a pubmed article and I was going to read all of it but decided I didn’t want to! But I read enough to learn that this is called deep pressure therapy & that the authors of the article built a wearable device for it & that results varied. Maybe I should read the whole article…

Anyway here’s the actual ask lol

The weighted blanket you had pre-kidnapping was a life saver, but you had to get rid of it after a while, whether it was dirty beyond cleaning or too old or whatever. You didn’t get the chance to buy a new one before you were kidnapped, so now you’re left with no weighted blanket.

You started improvising by layering blankets and then pillows on top of yourself, but that wasn’t cutting it at all. The solution presents itself to you, though, when Johnny lays himself on top of you for a cuddle. He’s so heavy, his bulk providing the pressure and weight you’ve been craving.

The problem is getting this pressure therapy when you want it. You try acting up, getting yourself punished on purpose so that Johnny will come to comfort you and lay on top of you again, but that isn’t a very sustainable source at all. You only try it once before scrapping the idea; your logic was to do something small and get a ‘gentle’ punishment, but apparently there’s no such thing as a gentle punishment in John’s eyes.

You have to bite the bullet and ask for one of them to be your human weighted blanket.

You go to Kyle first. He’s not too heavy, and you trust him enough to keep this a secret. Johnny would blab immediately, you don’t want John, and Simon might be too big.

Kyle’s happy to be your weighted blanket, and he’s perfect for it. He’s just the perfect weight, heavy but not suffocating, and he’ll lay with you, still and quiet, for hours if that’s what you want.

A new problem arises, though. Kyle’s not always home when you need some pressure relief, so now you have to go to someone else. Johnny’s your next pick— you already know he’s a good source of pressure, you just have to make him swear he won’t tell anyone about this. A threat works perfectly: if he tells, he loses the privilege of the role. Your secret is safe.

Having two of them should be enough to get you by, but it’s not. As your seasonal depression sets in, your anxiety gets worse, and you find yourself needing the comforting pressure more and more.

You ask Simon next, and while he agrees to help you, he feels a bit skeptical. He’s a big man, and he’s worried he’ll hurt you. You’re a bit worried yourself, not because you think he’ll hurt you but because if he’s too heavy, that means you have to wait for Kyle or Johnny to come home. You’re particularly keyed up this day, though, and as Simon gradually puts more of his weight onto you, you realize all that you were missing out on. Sure, it’s kind of hard to breathe, but the pressure is phenomenal. It’s so incredibly grounding, like a bear hug but better. Simon doesn’t stay like that for long, though, once he notices your wheezing. You’ll have to work on that. Maybe you can convince him that being unable to take a full breath is worth it.

John stays left out for a while. Whenever you’re home with just him, you suck it up until the others get back, eventually, you have to give in.

Something sets you off, sends you into a panic, and john’s trying so hard to calm you down but nothing is working. Finally, you break and tell him to get on top of you.

“…what?” He asks, confused by the odd request.

“Lay on top of me like a blanket.”

And he does.

It’s so much nicer than you thought it would be. You get over your dislike for John pretty fast. It’s easy to like him when he’s so warm and he’s crushing you so nicely. Maybe he isn’t so bad…

Now that they all know about you and your pressure therapy, you develop a little routine. You go to Johnny, Kyle, or John when you just need a little relief, and you go to Simon when you’re feeling especially panicked. They’re all mostly similar in weight, but Simon won’t lay on you unless he thinks you really need it. He’s the only one who’s too afraid of hurting you to lay his whole weight on you… wuss.

They could just buy you a weighted blanket, but that would mean you wouldn’t need them anymore.

Little do they know, they’re better than any weighted blanket could ever be.

[bluelizard100]

i don’t know if you’ve done bitey reader but what if reader bit the 141 instead of the scratching she usually does. like johnny makes a joke she hates so she bites him hard. maybe when simon does something she likes she also bites him but softly. maybe she’s bitey during sex too. only she does it to keep herself quiet.

-🫐

I am bitey reader bitey reader is me

Johnny’s being himself & reader is just too overwhelmed. Everything is grating on her nerves today, and Johnny’s unfortunate enough to make a jab to ‘lighten the mood.’

“What’s with the scowl? Did the wee puppy miss her walk?”

The joke is the final straw. If he wants a dog, she’ll show him a dog.

She lunges and sinks her teeth down into his arm, biting down.

“Fuck!”

Johnny shouts in pain and grabs her by the hair, yanking her off his arm. Johnny’s now sporting teeth indents that pin-prick bleed. She regrets not biting harder.

Soon enough, she’s punished, John making sure her regret is shifted from not biting hard enough to regretting biting at all. What’s worse, though, is they muzzle her. It looks almost like a leather mask but with a mouth bit, something an athlete would wear to protect their teeth. It’s humiliating, and they make her wear it for the whole day.

She learns not to bite out of anger after that. But…

As time goes on and she gets more comfortable with the men, she starts to feel almost affectionate. She’s not sure how to go about expressing this, though. Hugs and kisses are for normal relationships, and it doesn’t feel right to her.

One particular day, Simon is being extra sweet to her. He pampers her, cooks her something delicious for breakfast, surprises her with her favorite sweets, lets her pick a movie… they’re sat in his chair together, her back to his chest and his arms wrapped around her when she gets the impulse and runs with it. She nips at his bicep, testing the waters. When Simon tenses, but doesn’t stop her, she does it again, and keeps biting until the urge is gone.

Later that night, when he gives her a quick goodnight kiss, she reciprocates, kind of. She bites at his jaw, just a little nibble.

She starts biting the others when she feels particularly affectionate with them, and they learn that biting is her version of a kiss.

She starts biting when things get heated, too.

Kyle has her on her back, two fingers pumping in and out of her. He watches her turn her head to the side, biting her lip and hiding her face in the pillows. With his free hand, he tilts her head out of the pillows, cooing at her to let him see her. He cups her face, and she turns her head into his hand and bites his fingers. It’s not hard enough to hurt, so he lets her. She can keep quiet as long as he gets to see her eyes roll back.

[bluelizard100]

Missing Piece pt. 12

Hi guys long time no see... finally finished part 12. It's around 9.8k words which I think is the longest chapter I've ever written so that's cool I think!

Anyway this one has some heavier topics so trigger warnings: thoughts of self-harm, mental instability, drinking, accidental cuts

Let me know if I missed any tags!

You knew after it happened that Simon wouldn't keep his fun a secret, though he was at least gracious enough to keep it to himself until you went to bed. You had planned to stay up and eavesdrop from the top of the stairs, but Simon's stunt left you exhausted for the rest of the day. At some point after dinner, you ended up falling asleep downstairs, again sat in Simon's lap. You were jostled awake when he carried you to bed, though, and you managed to catch John asking why you were so tired tonight, and Simon promising to explain when he came back downstairs.

This morning, you wake up on your own rather than being woken up by someone else. It's surprising at first, the abrupt schedule change, until you try to get out of bed and Johnny grabs your arm.

Right. Today is his day at home.

"Come back," he whines, using his free hand to rub his eyes. "It's cold out there, hen, ye willna like it. Stay in bed wi' me where it's warm."

Even that little comment is enough to embarrass you. Every comment you hear about "making sure you stay warm" could be a reference to Simon going down on you. You don't know if he told the others that his excuse was to 'warm you up', and that's a question you never want to ask. Whenever they make comments like that, you'll just have to guess if they're teasing or not.

Apparently, your thinking is taking too long for Johnny. He tugs on your arm like an impatient child nagging at their parent. "C'mon, nobody's home to tell us we canna sleep in. Take advantage of it." He's got his eyes open now, staring at you with sad, pleading eyes.

Now that you get a good look at his face, though, he looks a bit off. The skin around his eyes is a tad dark, and his overall complexion just seems off. It could be the lighting, or a result of him having just woken up. You press your hand to his forehead anyway; you don't want to share a bed with him if he's got some virus.

He practically purrs at the touch, pushing up into your hand and tilting his head down to make you pet his hair, but you pull away quickly. He doesn't feel abnormally warm. He huffs, pouting and flopping his head dramatically into the pillow when he realizes you're not going to keep touching him.

"You look sick," you tell him, using that as your excuse to stay out of bed. He only sighs and turns onto his back, stretching before he bothers to acknowledge what you said.

"Ye look nice, too," he hums, grinning at his own joke.

He sits up with a sigh when you leave the bedside, pouting over having to get out of bed.

You grab your clothes fast so you can claim the bathroom before he does.

—

Johnny's nose is running. He wanted to make you breakfast, but you refused after watching him wipe his nose on the back of his hand. To be fair, he did wash his hands after, but you don't trust him to not do it again, or to wash every time. So, you take over breakfast duty and make him sit at the table to keep him from touching anything.

You're hungry, and you know you need to eat, but you're really not in the mood to actually cook anything. If Johnny isn't in the mood for toast, he can starve.

He doesn't make any complaints after watching you put bread in the toaster, so he must not care too much. While you tell yourself that you don't care if him, or any of the others, are upset or disappointed with you, there's still lingering a lingering anxiety. You already know the consequences for major disobedience, but what would they do over little things like bad breakfast?

"Ye got a look on yer face," Johnny says from the table. "Feelin' okay?"

"Yeah," you mutter, staring at the toaster as if that'll make it work faster.

Johnny sniffles. You side-eye him, perturbed. "Are you getting sick?" You know you already mentioned sickness, but you can't help asking again.

Johnny smiles, misplacing the question as concern for his well-being. "Nah," he shakes his head. "It's the cold, that's all."

Sure. You'll have to keep an eye on him. A runny nose is strike two for him, after his complexion. You will not sleep in the same bed as him if he's sick.

The toast finally pops, but you leave it in the toaster so you can dig through the fridge for a spread. Strawberry cream cheese sounds heavenly, but you doubt they'll have any. You find some jam hidden in the back and check the date on the jar to make sure it isn't ancient. You find it's got time before it expires, and you're about to close the fridge when you realize you should probably ask Johnny what he wants. He could always get his own spread, but you're already up, and you know he'd ask you.

"…what do you want on your toast?"

You only ask because you'd rather play it safe and stay on his good side.

"Whatever's good," he hums. "Ah'm no' picky."

He's getting jam too, then. You amuse yourself with the thought of spreading some horrid concoction of condiments on his toast, since he's not picky. You bet he'd really appreciate the craftsmanship of toast with jam and dill pickle relish.

Neither of you speak while you eat. You don't mind it, though. It's a comfortable silence, although you hate to admit you can even have comfortable silences with any of them. You think maybe you should be appreciative of the fact that you're allowed moments of peace, of safety, but that thought only leads back to blaming yourself for your situation.

You shouldn't let yourself feel safe. That's how they get you. If you get too comfortable, they'll do something awful, and it'll be your fault for letting your guard down.

You're only hurting yourself by staying so alert. Constant stress is bad for you. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer. Just relax.

You're damned if you do, damned if you don't.

"Are ya sure yer okay?" Johnny asks, pulling you back out of your head. You nod and take another bite of toast, but it's not enough to get him off your back.

"When's yer next period?"

"What?" you snap, dropping your toast. "I don't know. That doesn't have anything to do with anything. Don't ask me that."

How articulate.

He puts his hands up in a mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I was just checkin'."

You answer him with a glare before going back to your breakfast, and he goes back to his without anymore stupid questions.

He does make you think, though; you're actually not sure when to expect your next period. It's too hard to keep track of time, but you're going to have to start, unless you want to ruin a pair of underwear every month. You start another mental shopping list to give to Simon: strawberry cream cheese, and a calendar.

—

Johnny wants you to sit with him after breakfast, but you manage to escape when you tell him you have chores to do. He argues at first, but after insisting that you'll get in trouble if you don't do your chores (and promising to sit with him later), he lets you go.

Typically, you dread doing chores, but today it isn't so bad. Instead of following you, Johnny lays down on the couch for a nap he's probably not supposed to be taking, so you get a bit of time alone for once. One of the four is always shadowing you, so some alone time is a blessing even if you're doing chores. It's especially nice that you don't have to try and hide your underwear from them while you sort your laundry.

Really, you only had laundry to check off your list of things to do, but you exaggerated to escape sitting on the couch and wishing you were anywhere else. Now that your laundry is in the washer, you've got nothing left to do. You don't want to go back to the living room with Johnny. You need something else to do.

Or… if Johnny's asleep on the couch, you could just sneak back upstairs. You could grab one of your books, or a bottle of nail polish, and take advantage of your private time to do something on your own.

You sneak back to the living room, walking on your toes. You treat each floorboard like a land mine— one creaky floorboard, one misstep, and any chance at a quiet morning is blown away.

Deciding not to risk it, you sneak past Johnny without stopping to grab anything. You can find something to do when you get upstairs— you know there's at least one book in your room.

Maybe it's silly to be so cautious. It's not like you're sneaking out, and, realistically, it wouldn't be that hard to get away if Johnny did wake up. All you'd have to do is lie about having more laundry and tell him to go back to sleep.

This level of caution is probably over dramatic, but they've got you on high alert. It's not your fault, you suppose. Again, while you're not sneaking out to escape, you're still sneaking, and the last time you put this much effort into going undetected, John spanked you with his belt. They've successfully conditioned: you associate anything that might be considered bad behavior with punishment.

When you make it to the top of the stairs, you pause, listening for any indication that Johnny is awake. When you're sure it's safe, you tiptoe to your room. Even if your caution is ridiculous, you'd rather be safe than sorry.

You relax as soon as you get the door shut, taking a moment to savor your mini victory. Finally, you get a moment of peace, quiet, and privacy.

Now you need to search for something to do. You know you have at least one book in this room, and you make a mental note to bring up more books later so you're ready if you get this opportunity again.

In your search for something to do, a colorful fabric catches your eye.

Your makeup bag.

Even before you were kidnapped, you didn't do much with makeup. You always wanted to— you have an entire folder on your social media dedicated to products you'd like to buy, and tutorials you promised yourself to try. You just didn't have the time to do it, between school and work. Now, you do have the time. While you don't have your phone for tutorials, you can at least play around.

You take your makeup bag to the bathroom, setting your things out on the counter. A makeup mirror would be nice… maybe Simon would get you one with lights on it, if you asked. Actually, he'd probably get you a whole vanity and all new products. You likely wouldn't even have to ask, instead just suggest you'd like to get back into makeup again.

You go on autopilot as you start your routine, amusing yourself with all the different things you could con them into buying for you. John's already made it clear he'll splurge on gifts for you, so maybe you should target him. You could put on that dumb apron and make sure he catches you baking before you drop a little hint: I've always wanted a vanity… it would be so nice to have my own place to do my hair and put on some blush… I just want to look nice for you.

You imagine he'd hand you his wallet if you said that.

Or you could go after Kyle. Promise him that you'd let him help you with your nails if he got you the gel polish and a lamp to cure it, and that he could do your hair if only you had the tools.

Your mind wanders to bigger things you could get them to buy. It's amusing, thinking of how easy they'd cave to you if you just said the right thing. Telling them how much fun you could have together in a jacuzzi… you always thought it would be hot to sip lemonade in your very own pool while the pool boy watched you float in a tiny swimsuit… you'd love to spend a day on the lake with them, if only they had a boat…

You're grinning by the time you finish playing in your makeup. It's different than what you would have put on before class, but you like that. It's bolder, and it makes your eyes stand out. Having makeup on again, getting yourself dolled up a bit, it makes you feel a lot better than you have in a long time.

While you admire yourself, your smile falls from your face and your spirit fades. It isn't yourself who you see in the mirror. The woman that looks back at you isn't you, but who you were before four men ruined your life. The woman who looks back at you has full control of her life; she has ambitions, a future that's entirely her own. You're face to face with your own reflection, but you only see a stranger.

—

Four panicked men burst into your room, waking you from your nap with obnoxious, loud, and collective sighs.

"What're ye doin' asleep?" Johnny asks. He enters the room while the others disperse, content knowing that you haven't made another escape attempt. "Ya said ye'd come get me when ye were done with yer chores."

You keep your face pressed into your pillow, hoping you won't have to look directly at him— or rather, so that he can't look directly at you. Johnny's keener than he lets on. He'll notice any residual eyeliner, and he'll couple it with your puffy under eyes and then ask questions. You really don't feel like explaining, or even speaking, to him, or any one of them, about anything ever again.

Johnny tries to coax you up from your pillow, nudging you gently in hopes that you'll roll over, but you push him away. He's persistent, though, switching from nudging to pushing, so you turn your head enough to peek at him with just one eye.

He himself looks like he just crawled out of bed. His mohawk is messy, pressed flat in some spots and sticking up like a cowlick in others. You feel a tiny bit better when you imagine the panic he felt when the others came home to discover that he was asleep and you were gone. In that moment, you were missing and it was his fault. You hope he was terrified.

Johnny frowns at you. Apparently even just one eye is enough to ring alarm bells. "Ye feelin' okay, bonnie?"

He pets your hair out of your face, but his touch makes your stomach churn. You swat his hand away and press your face back into your pillow, hoping he'll take the hint and leave you alone.

"C'mon, don't be like that," he sighs. "What's wrong? Ah know there's somethin' goin' on in yer head. You can talk to me."

And say what? That he and his boyfriends ruined your life and you wish they'd all die?

Rage simmers inside you as his words really sink in. How dare he suggest something like that? How could he assume that your problems aren't directly fucking related to him? You're furious, wondering how he thinks confiding in him will help you in any way, when the only real fix to any of your problems is the one thing they refuse to do?

It's a miracle that Johnny doesn't push you any further. It's a blessing that he finally takes the hint and leaves before you can lash out and get yourself in trouble. Maybe the universe is paying you small favors in return for fucking you over.

—

You get only an hour to yourself before someone comes knocking again. You keep your back to the door so the intruder can't see your scowl.

"Hi, lovey. I brought you something to eat."

Kyle.

You relax a bit and turn to face him. Admittedly, you are hungry, though you don't think it would matter much whether you were or weren't in the mood for lunch. You should get in the habit of accepting their offerings no matter how you're feeling, just to make things easier on yourself.

Kyle sits himself down in Johnny's side of the bed, handing you your plate and a glass of water. He gets himself comfortable, waiting patiently for you to start eating. You're a bit disappointed he didn't just leave you in peace, but you know that was an unrealistic thing to hope for. Alone time is a foreign concept to them, apparently.

"Johnny told us you're not feeling good today."

Your response is automatic; you slump your shoulders and roll your eyes, already annoyed with the conversation when it hasn't even started. You stiffen a bit when you realize how much attitude you just gave him, but Kyle doesn't look too upset. He almost looks amused.

"He said you wouldn't want to talk." He offers you a small smile, and you relax again and go back to eating.

You finish your food without any further conversation, but you notice Kyle frequently glancing at your face. He must be looking for the little bit of eyeliner that Johnny saw earlier. If he sees it, he doesn't bring it up. You hope that means he doesn't see it at all.

"You wanna come downstairs?" There's a hopeful lilt to the question, but you make sure to snuff it out.

"No." Don't ask again.

Kyle sighs, but he doesn't press. He takes your empty plate and leaves you alone again.

He listened.

You're not entirely convinced this is actually happening. Maybe you should pinch yourself, just to be sure this isn't a dream. He actually left.

This could be a reward. Maybe they're giving you a bit more slack after seeing you stayed put when you could've made a run for it while Johnny was sleeping; a longer leash as reward for not trying to slip the short one.

—

Johnny wakes sick.

At first, his cough and runny nose seem like the end of your good fortune; yesterday's alone time must've used up your supply of luck, and now you have to return to your misery. Then, though, you realize this means that Johnny is staying home from the gym again, and you don't have to spend the morning alone with John. It's said that good things come in small packages; apparently that includes a virus.

While John, Simon, and Kyle are away, Johnny stays tucked in bed, and you get free reign of the rest of the house.

You get to watch whatever you want on the television, you get to sit wherever you want without having to sit in someone's lap, and you get to decide when (or if) you're going to do any chores.

If every day were more like today, you might be able to get used to this…

No. Dangerous thought. Don't go there.

But why not go there? It's not like you have a good chance, if you have any chance at all, of escaping or even being rescued. The best thing to do for your mental state is accept the situation.

But you're not helpless. You don't have to accept the situation. You can get out, if you just try!

A hurricane of emotion storms inside you, so fierce you can physically feel it; hot flushes of anger, tense rigidity of frustration, pangs of helplessness and sorrow. You have no outlet for it other than your own body— you can't scream, so you clench your jaw so tight your teeth threaten to crack. You grab fistfulls of hair and tug, using the pain as a distraction from your inner turmoil. When you feel your hair snapping free from the root, you move on to hitting. You hit yourself hard, over and over in the same spot on your legs until you feel bruises forming beneath your palms, and even then it doesn't feel like enough. You need something stronger.

There should be razors in the bathroom.

How long will you suffer the torment of your own conscience? You've said it over and over: you're damned if you do and damned if you don't, so stop thinking about it. Stop letting it plague your mind. How many times will you have to say it before you let yourself listen?

You need a break from the turmoil. You need to feel something else, something real and physical that you can see, that you can start and stop whenever you want. You need to be back in control.

There have to he razors in the bathroom.

You don't spare it another thought before you're standing up and moving for the stairs. You're on a mission, focused on your objective and that only. You don't think about the after, you don't worry about consequences, you just move. It's as if your mind has been separated from your being, your body running on the last signal sent to it before splitting off from your conscience.

You just barely make it to the doorway of the bathroom when a miserable groan freezes you in your place.

Johnny is awake.

"Bonnie? Are ye there?" He calls for you from his room, borderline desperate.

His call for help snaps you back to reality; it throws your mind back to your body so forcefully that your knees give out, and you fall to the ground. Disoriented, you close your eyes and breathe hard, trying to get yourself back together.

You have a choice: you could ignore him, and continue on with your mission. You're right there, so close to what you were so sure you needed just seconds ago.

Or you could go to Johnny. In helping him, you'll help yourself. He could save you from yourself. He could distract you long enough to calm down— shift your attention, your focus, your thoughts, from yourself and your pain to him and his.

Taking a steadying breath, you stand back up and turn to Johnny's room. Today, he can save you.

Johnny looks… rough. His eyes are glassy, and his skin shines with sweat. His face is pale, and his undereyes are dark. He smiles when he sees you, but it doesn't make him look any less miserable.

"There ye are," he sighs, reaching out for you. He's laying on his side, the blankets balled up at the foot of the bed. "I miss ye," he whines. His voice sounds raspy and stuffy. "Can I come downstairs?"

His question takes you a bit off guard. If you hadn't just had a mental crisis, it might've been funny to hear him asking you for permission. You ignore his question and press your hand to his forehead. It's visually obvious that he's got a fever, but you check anyway.

"Holy shit," you murmur, trying to keep your voice down for his sake. "You're really warm."

Johnny doesn't seem to care much about his fever, apparently too busy enjoying that you're willingly touching him. He leans into your hand like he did yesterday, sighing happily when you don't immediately pull away.

"We should take your temperature," you murmur again. "You're too warm."

Johnny dismisses you with a wave. "Nae, Ah run warm. Ah dinna have a fever."

Your brow furrows with concern— concern for yourself, of course. If he has a fever you should know, because he'll probably pass this virus down to you. You should know if a fever comes with it, just so you can prepare. No other reason.

"Where do you keep the thermometer?" You ask, taking your hand off his forehead.

Johnny groans and rolls onto his back. "Ye dinna need it."

"Johnny. Where is it?" You demand this time.

He shoots you a sulky look. "With the medicine," he grumbles. "Yer only wastin' energy."

You have to dig around a plethora of old prescriptions before you find it. Do they not get sick, or are they all as whiny as Johnny is about taking their temperature?

Johnny's still sulking when you return, thermometer in hand. "Open."

He begrudgingly agrees, huffing when you push the thermometer under his tongue. "Keep it there," you tell him, and he grunts in acknowledgment.

The thermometer beeps, and Johnny hands it over to you without even looking at it himself. You know it's because he's that confident about not having a fever, but to amuse yourself, you decide it's because he's a big man-baby who needs someone else to read his temperature back to him.

You get a tiny shot of satisfaction when you read his temperature to him. "37.9. You have a fever."

"Can I come downstairs now?" Johnny asks, unconcerned with his fever. He really is acting like a baby— pouting about having to take his temperature, and now waiting for permission to leave his room. It might've been endearing if you were in some parallel universe where he was your boyfriend instead of one of your kidnappers.

You want to tell him no, that he should stay upstairs and go back to sleep so you don't have to give up your alone time. Maybe any other day you might've said just that, but today, you aren't sure it's a good idea for you to be by yourself.

"Fine," you sigh. "Just don't get too close. I don't wanna get sick, either."

Johnny smiles at you and sits up with a groan, stretching before he stands. He grabs his pillow and follows you out of the bedroom. While you turn for the kitchen, Johnny turns to the living room.

Playing nurse for your kidnapper isn't ideal, but you don't want the others to come home and find out Johnny has a fever and you didn't do anything to help him. So, you make him something to eat— more toast— pour him some water, and search for some cold medicine. In your search, you find a bottle of ibuprofen, too, and curse Kyle for only bringing you paracetamol on your period when you could've had the ibuprofen as well.

Johnny's turned the couch into his own little bed, covered under the big blanket John got you. He gives you another tired smile and sits up, reaching for the plate of toast.

He's pleasantly quiet when he's sick. All he says before eating is a quick thank-you, and when he's done, he just takes the medicine and goes back to sleep.

You'll still get your peaceful day after all.

—

Ignoring your intrusive thoughts isn't as hard as you anticipated; somehow, you manage to get a routine formed with Johnny being sick. At first, the plan is for you to stay in Simon's room so Johnny doesn't get you sick, too. This only lasts one night before they move you again, because Johnny whines that he can't sleep alone when he's sick, and Simon "doesn't get sick." You hoped you'd get to stay with Kyle, but stupid John made the stupid executive decision that you should stay in his stupid room with him.

Every night you scoot as far away as him from possible, and every morning you wake up in his arms. He insists that you move there yourself, but you're certain he's the one moving you when you're in too deep of a sleep to wake up and stop him.

Your mornings start the same: you wake up, realize you're curled up against John, try to move away, and wake him up in the process. The variation comes here— sometimes John holds tighter and makes you stay with him for a little longer, and sometimes he lets you go and teases you for being so squirmy. Then you get dressed, brush your teeth, and go downstairs, where you spend the rest of the morning with Johnny.

He's been sick for four days, and you're starting to wonder if it's more than just a cold. He's only just now starting to feel better, which is good, but it's still taking a seemingly long time. Maybe this cold is just dragging on, but you hope it'll be over soon. Whatever this is, it's making him mean.

Taking care of Johnny is only a good distraction when he's being nice. When he's not, it just makes everything you're dealing with that much worse. He's apparently on a hunger strike now. He refused to eat anything yesterday, not until the other three came home and made him, and he's refusing breakfast again today.

While you make your breakfast— switching it up this time with a bagel instead of toast— Johnny sits at the table with his head down. After playing your bagel (spread with strawberry cream cheese, courtesy of Simon), you pour a glass of milk for Johnny to take with his morning dose of cold medicine. You're not sure if he should be taking medicine on an empty stomach, and milk is the best alternative since he's refusing to eat.

Johnny keeps his head down when you join him at the table, so you say nothing. You'd like to enjoy a little bit of quiet before you have to argue with him. You finish the first half of your bagel before nudging him.

"You need your medicine. I brought you some milk to help it sit better in your stomach."

Johnny lifts his head to glare at you. "Ah'm no' drinkin' that shite."

Taking a breath, you try again. "It's only a small glass, and it's to keep the medicine from making you sick."

Johnny lays his head back down on the table. "Ah said nae. Just get me some water and I'll take the stupid pills with that."

"Johnny," you start, irritated that you have to keep explaining this to him, "you can't take this stuff on an empty stomach. It'll make you sick. If you're not going to eat, then you have to at least take it with milk."

"Fuckin' fine!" Johnny snaps, sitting up abruptly. Instead of taking the glass of milk, though, he snatches the other half of your bagel and bites into it.

All you can do is stare, completely caught off guard. Shock wears off when he takes a second bite, and anger fills its place. You offered him a bagel. You offered to actually cook him a real breakfast just so he'd agree to eat, and he said no. Now he's eating your bagel, with your strawberry cream cheese that you had been craving for days.

You want to hit him. You want to lunge, to grab him by the throat and throttle him. Everything that you've been resisting doing to yourself, you want to do to him, and the fact that you know you can't do anything to him only makes the urge stronger.

Johnny finishes your breakfast and swallows the pill capsules dry before making his obnoxious exit.

"Ah'm goin' back to sleep. Dinna bother me."

You just barely resist the urge to throw the plate at his head as he walks away.

—

Typically, your day gets worse when the other three come home from the gym, but for the past few days, it's a relief. When they come home, Simon takes over watching Johnny while Kyle and (sometimes) John watch you. You never imagined you'd look forward to them being home, but here you are, at peace, sat on the couch next to Kyle.

Evenings have been surprisingly bearable lately. You're not entirely sure why, but your guess is that they're granting you more privileges because you're taking care of Johnny. Nobody breathes down your neck when you do your chores, and you get to wander the house more freely. You really, really hope things are changing because they're starting to trust you and not just because they're too busy focusing on Johnny to worry about you.

You chase away some more distressing thoughts— what will you do if they go back to normal when Johnny's better?— and grab your book. You're not in the mood for reading, or for anything, really, but you need to keep your mind busy. During these quiet parts of the day, you'd typically pass the time by daydreaming. Your mind isn't a safe place anymore, though, so until you can get your impulses under control, you'll be spending your time reading.

It's harder than you anticipated to focus. Your eyes move over the words, but you absorb none of them, stuck in your own head. When you catch yourself drifting away and fix your attention on the story, your eyes skip words, and even whole lines of text, breaking your focus again. It's starting to grate on your nerves, the frustration making you feel almost twitchy.

Something brushes against your shoulder, startling you hard enough that you almost drop your book. It's only Kyle, putting his arm around you like he usually does.

"What's the matter, lovey?" He asks, his voice soft. "You're grinding your teeth so hard that I can hear it."

Already irritated, you snap out a non-answer. "Nothing."

He sighs at you, but it's not his 'I've done all I can do' sigh. It's the 'you're testing my patience' sigh.

Ugh. You're learning and labeling his sighs.

"It obviously isn't nothing. Just tell me what's wrong so I can help."

You take a breath. It's supposed to be a deep belly breath, the kind someone takes while they count to ten so they don't kill someone, but it's shallow, tight in your chest. "I'm trying to read," you mutter. He gives you a warning look, and your frustration heightens with the realization that instead of an answer, you just implied he's bothering you. Apparently you can't do anything right. "But I can't focus," you add, saving yourself. You're too angry with yourself to be relieved when his expression softens again.

"I can turn the TV off," he offers. "Or, you could pick somethin' you want to watch." He grabs the remote and holds it out to you, waiting for you to take it.

It's not a bad idea, really. It'll probably be easier for you to focus on the TV than on your book. What good is a distraction if it can't keep your attention? You take the remote from him and flip through channels. Maybe later you can convince them to get a streaming subscription.

Excitement sparks when you see a familiar title. When you were in uni, you used to turn on shows for background noise while you studied. This one was one of your favorites, and you can actually pay attention to it now that you don't have assignments to do.

For a moment you feel content. Familiar characters and sets fill up the screen, and you start to relax. This is something you know, something normal. It's so small, trivial, but watching a show that you know, that you picked, in a new place where you have little control, is the biggest comfort you've had in a while.

This is your show. You know the characters, you know the setting, you know the story. For once, you're in the know and everyone else is in the dark. Well, Kyle is in the dark… but if the others were here, you'd still be the only one who knew what was happening, and that's enough for you.

The episode airing now is one you've seen before, a rerun. You catch new details now, though, fully focused on the screen.

"What are those two fighting over?" Kyle asks. He pulls you a bit closer to him, but you're too happy with your show to be annoyed by it.

"He's in love with her, but she thinks they're just friends and she just started dating someone else. He's pissed off at her but he won't tell her why, so she thinks he's being an asshole just because he can."

He asks questions all throughout the episode, and then the ones that come after, but it doesn't bother you like it might've before. It's actually kind of nice; you get to talk about something you like, and it helps refresh your own memory. You get Kyle mostly caught up around by the end of the third episode. Maybe this can become a regular thing. This can be your show, and you can watch it when they come home from the gym. It'll be your time to watch your show, a break from the schedule they've built for you to do something of your choosing. Kyle seems to be enjoying it, too. He can help you convince the others, if you need to. I should get to watch my show because Kyle likes it too.

Mid-episode, you're hit by an unwelcome memory: you, back in your little apartment, studying for an exam with your show playing in the background. You had looked up from your notes at this exact scene.

It only takes that one memory to send you into another spiral. You stand up abruptly, mutter that you're going to the bathroom, and nearly run for the stairs.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and slide down onto the floor, your back against the door. It's the makeup all over again— you tried something from before you were here, and you lost your mind.

Why can't you have anything good?

The thought to look for razors crosses your mind. You're in the bathroom, now, closer than you were last time. You're right here. All you have to do is find them.

Just as you're about to get up from the floor, footsteps sound from the hall, and you freeze. Technically you're not doing anything yet, but still, it feels like you're about to be caught breaking a rule.

There's a small pause— whoever's out there stops in front of the door— but they only linger for a second before leaving.

The fear of being caught overrides the compulsion to cut. This is twice now that someone had to save you from yourself. Maybe they were right.

Maybe you are better off here, with them.

—

You're left home alone with Johnny after dinner. Simon groaned that he needed out of the house, and Kyle and John decided they did, too. So, they went out. You don't know where they're going, or what they'll be doing. All they told you was that they'll be back in a few hours.

Who gives a shit about you, though. Who cares that you've been stuck in this fucking hosue for so long that you've lost track of the time? Who cares that you don't have anywhere to go when you need a break from them? Maybe they think you're getting a night alone, that this is a reward for you.

Is this another reward? Or is it a test? Are they letting you stay home alone as a treat for being so good? Are they trying to show you they trust you to behave? Or are they going to camp outside, waiting for you to try and slip free again?

Why does it matter? It's not like you were planning to try in the first place. And even if you did try, you wouldn't get very far. Not with the little tracker nestled under the gem in your bracelet you're stuck wearing. Why bother working yourself up? If they are testing you, that just means they have to spend a few hours outside, in the dark, while you get to stay in the warm house and do whatever you want.

Watching TV is a no. You're not interested anymore, even in other shows. You decide it's in your best interest to find something else to do. For now, you're stuck with your books.

It's too quiet in the living room. The space feels too big, now. Rather than sit around wondering why it feels so empty today when it hasn't before, you take your book and go upstairs.

Your stuff is still in John's room, but you don't want to be there, either. So, you grab your things and move to Kyle's room instead. You wish you could kick Johnny out of your room. Then you'd have your own private place again.

Just like earlier, it's difficult to focus on your book. This time, you abandon it entirely and decide to just go to sleep. It's too late in the evening for a nap, but you can't make yourself care. It's not like you have a real need for a regular sleep schedule, not when you've been stolen away from your life.

Bad thought.

You give yourself some grace, anyway, now that it's colder out and it gets dark by 5 PM. Any other mammal would be conserving energy for the long winter. It's only natural for you to have a nap. If it wasn't, then it wouldn't be so easy to drift off.

If you were supposed to be hibernating, you probably wouldn't have been woken up so easily. A noise from downstairs startled you out of your faux hibernation. Johnny must be up, then. You turn over, getting comfortable again. You're not sure how long you've managed to sleep, just that however long you were out isn't long enough. Just as you're about to fall asleep, another sound from downstairs startles you awake. It's muffled through the floorboards, too hard to tell exactly what it was, but it's followed by cursing. There's only one voice, so you know the others aren't home yet. It's just Johnny.

It's not your job to look after a grown man, yet somehow you feel responsible for making sure he's alright. It's a nagging at the back of your mind, but you try your hardest to ignore it. You're groggy and disoriented from being woken up so abruptly, and you feel you deserve a peaceful nap. It's not until your rest is interrupted a third time, by another noise loud enough to travel up to Kyle's room, that you throw the covers off and storm downstairs to see what the hell he's doing that's making so much noise.

You find Johnny in the kitchen, on the floor in front of the cabinets, holding a bottle of some dark liquor. Across from him, on the floor, is a mess of broken glass. When he sees you, he looks at you blankly for a second before smiling. "Hi, bonnie." The words come out a bit slow, and if he said more than two, they'd likely be slurred.

How much has he had to drink?

"What happened?" You demand, pointing to the shattered glass on the floor.

Johnny turns his head, looks at the glass, and then turns back to you, all at a snails pace. "Ah dropped it," he mutters.

How helpful. At least he's a being friendly now, instead of snapping and bitching at you.

"Why are you on the floor?"

Johnny shrugs. "Got tired. Wanted tae sit."

He pats a spot on the floor next to him. "Drink wi' me."

You ignore him, walking past him and to the mess of glass. Thankfully, this glass was empty when he dropped it. Cleanup will at least be easy.

You pick up the biggest shards with your hands, cursing Johnny under your breath as you clean up his mess. You know better than to clean up broken glass like this, you know you should be wearing shoes right now, but you can't bring yourself to care. You just want to clean up this mess and go back to sleep.

"Yer gonna hurt yerself," Johnny slurs. "C'mon, just leave it. Drink wi' me instead."

Again, you ignore him, grabbing the pieces of glass more carelessly to spite him. Of course, just like the drunk bastard said, you slice your finger open, cursing louder now. Johnny should know you're angry— this is his fault.

"Och, see?" Johnny sighs. He's infuriating. "Let me help."

Before he can push himself to his feet, you spin around and point your bleeding finger at him. "No. Do not move. You stay right where you are, while I take care of your mess."

You dump the glass you had picked up into the garbage before storming off to wash and bandage your cut. Then, you find a broom and dustpan and aggressively sweep up the rest of the glass. You need to take your anger out on something, and the broom is your best choice.

By the time you get the glass cleaned up and the broom put away, you're too agitated to go back to sleep.

Johnny's still sat on the floor, and when you get back to the kitchen, he holds the bottle out to you. Right now, a drink doesn't sound that bad, even if it's the gross strong stuff. You snatch the bottle from him and drink, gagging at the burn.

"Atta girl," Johnny grins. He pats the floor again, inviting you to sit back down with him.

You cast him a weary glance. Do you have the mental capacity to sit with him right now? Maybe you will, if you get drunk. You turn the bottle around to read the label. Scotch. You'd rather something else, something that actually tastes good, but you doubt they'll have any booze you'll like. This will have to do.

You take another swig before you sit down, knowing you'll need it and more.

—

This was a bad idea.

You haven't even had half of what Johnny drank, but you feel just as drunk as he's acting.

"Yer a wee lightweight," Johnny laughs, his accent thicker. He takes the last drink in the bottle, and while you definitely don't need another, you still pout.

"'S okay," Johnny slurs. "Ah can jus' get another bottle."

He pushes himself up and stumbles over to the cabinets. You pay close attention to which cabinet he goes to, trying to burn it into your brain so you'll actually remember when you wake up tomorrow.

He ambles back to your spot with a new bottle, plopping back down next to you. He takes the first drink, but his face twists in disgust.

"This is Ghost's shite," he gags, but he takes another drink anyway before passing the bottle to you.

You giggle at the look on his face, which sets him off, and soon the two of you are doubled over laughing. Everything is funny right now, the alcohol making you feel warm and fuzzy. You're spilling the bottle, so you take another drink, gagging like Johnny did. You had just gotten used to the taste of the scotch, too.

When you hand the bottle back to Johnny and watch him drink, you feel a pang of sadness. You should be at uni right now, drinking with your friends. What month is it..? It's cold out. Is it cold enough for it to be finals season? It has to be. It's finals season. You should be at uni, getting trashed on the floor with your friends to cope with the stress of final exams. Instead, you're trashed on the floor with this fucking guy.

There's no hope of stopping your tears before they fall, not when you're this drunk. Johnny frowns at you, his bottom lip forming a pout. "Wha's wrong, bonnie?"

Of course, the question only makes you cry harder. You can't manage to get a single coherent word out, but that's okay. You don't want to tell him what's wrong, anyway. You'll never tell him what's wrong.

Johnny sets the bottle down and clumsily pulls you into his lap, cooing something you don't understand. Your body feels heavy, too heavy to resist, and you end up slumped against him, crying into his shirt. He rubs his hand up and down your back, whispering little platitudes in an attempt to make you feel better. When your breathing finally starts to even out, he asks you the dreaded question again.

"What's wrong?"

When you start bawling full-force, he goes right back to the soothing back rubs and the whispering.

"'S okay, lass… yer alright. Now tell me what's wrong."

All you give him is a weak shake of your head. You'll never tell him what's wrong.

"Ye can tell me anythin', bonnie. Just tell me wha's wrong, and Ah'll make it all better."

"I miss my old life," you cry.

Damn it. You just told him what's wrong.

"There we go," he coos.

You feel a twinge of suspicion at the praise— shouldn't he be upset that you miss your life before him? But you're too drunk to care. You need this right now, to vent without fear of punishment.

"I shouldn't be here. I should be at school, with my friends, doing something with my life!"

Johnny says nothing, his only vocal responses being occasional hums of acknowledgment. It's cathartic, finally getting to express everything you've kept bottled up. Yeah, you hated working your stupid gas station job, and yes, juggling lectures and homework on top of your shitty job was killing you, but it was still your life. You had a plan for yourself, for your life. All you had to do was make it through that rough patch, but they came along and ruined everything.

When you finish, Johnny lets you cry it out until your sobs wane to just tears and sniffling. For once, it feels nice to be held like this, comforted by him. This isn't something you could've managed without soothing, and you manage to feel grateful, even to him.

It's not until he's sure you've got it mostly out of your system that he starts to share.

"I miss my old life too, sometimes," he admits. "'Fore I got a fuckin' bullet through my brain."

Oh.

"'S a miracle Ah'm alive, bonnie. And walkin' and talkin, at that? I dinna ken how it's possible."

…is this supposed to be comforting? Is he trying to bond with you?

"I thought my life was over. The military was everythin' tae me, and then I was discharged. Ah had no purpose. I spent years bein' angry, hatin' the world for not just lettin' me die." His macabre speech is interrupted by a single hiccup. "But now? 'S not so bad. I'm happy to be here, wi' the people I love."

Johnny reaches for the bottle again, taking a swig before he continues. "It's hard, havin' yer life change on ye so fast." He gives you a squeeze. "It takes time, gettin' used tae everythin' bein' so different. But it gets easier aye?"

He kisses the top of your head, humming "mhm" to himself, like he's answering his question for you. "It takes a lot of time, but Ah promise it'll get better. And, when it starts ta feel like too much, just come find me, and we'll have a drink."

This conversation is surprisingly sobering. You pull away from him, sitting yourself upright and grabbing the bottle from him. If you drink more now, you numb the dread that's coming before you actually feel it. You're never getting out of here.

Johnny laughs at the big gulp you take. "Tha's the spirit."

—

At some point, you blacked out. You wake up, still on the kitchen floor, to someone sitting you up. That alone is enough to make you dizzy, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them again, you have to blink a few times to reorient yourself. Simon is kneeling in front of you, wearing a black surgical mask. That's weird. Why's he wearing a mask? He's not a doctor.

You turn your head, slowly, and find Kyle smacking at Johnny until he wakes. He's yelling about something, but you can't focus on what he's saying. God, your head hurts, and Kyle's being so loud.

Your attention is pulled back to Simon, who's now inspecting the bled-through bandaging on your finger. "What the hell did ya do?"

Oh, the glass. You forgot about that. You open your mouth to explain what happened, but all you manage is one word. "Glass."

Simon rolls his eyes, muttering something to himself, before standing up to pull you to your feet. Your legs are useless, though, so Simon has to hold you up himself. Johnny and Kyle are arguing, and you giggle stupidly when you turn your head to see Kyle trying to pull Johnny up, and Johnny refusing vehemently.

"For fucks sake," Simon groans. He passes you off to John— when did John get here?— and goes to help Kyle with Johnny.

John half drags, half carries you out of the kitchen and to the couch. He sits you down in his lap, making sure you're facing him.

"Havin' fun, were ya?" He asks, a soft smile on his face.

You don't answer, hardly comprehending the question anyway. You're tired, too tired to answer questions, and all you can think about is going to sleep. You lean forward to rest your head on John's shoulder, and you sigh when he wraps his arms around you. He's warm, comfy, and he smells nice. You can just sleep here, until your legs work again and you can take yourself upstairs.

You're almost asleep when Simon and Kyle drag Johnny into the living room. They drop him off on the couch, and Simon takes you from John's lap and over to his own chair. You hear John coo at you, saying "poor thing" as Simon none-too-gently drags you away.

Johnny's in a better state than you are, but he's angry, cursing and arguing and swatting everyone away. "We were just drinkin'," he snaps. "Yer actin' like ye caught me holdin' my lighter under a spoon."

Simon yells at him to be quiet, his voice so loud you have to cover your ears. John doesn't seem to be nearly as upset as Simon is, and Kyle only seems annoyed that he has to be here.

"Look at her," Simon snaps. "She's so fuckin' drunk, she can't even hold her head up."

Johnny doesn't get to answer back, his reply interrupted by John. "I don't think you need to be this upset, Simon."

That doesn't seem to calm him down, though. "Well it wasn't your fuckin' liquor they were drinking, was it?"

John laughs again, but he shakes his head no, conceding. "Alright, that's fair."

Your world spins, and a wave of nausea rolls over you. When the dizziness fades, you realize you're laid across Simon's lap. Huh. That's weird. Why would Simon be putting you over his lap? That only happens when you're being punished, and it's only ever John who does it.

You lift your head up enough to see Johnny being dragged across John's lap, and you feel a little pang of sympathy. Poor Johnny. Simon must be really upset about this.

Wait. Simon is upset, not John. So why isn't Simon punishing Johnny?

Logic finally catches up to you, and your breath hitches at the realization. You try to squirm, but you're so tired, and your limbs feel so heavy.

Johnny doesn't seem too concerned at all, only muttering and cursing to himself. It's not until he looks over at you that his face falls.

"Wait, she didna do anythin'." Johnny starts to squirm, but John holds him down. "Let her up, Ghost, she didna do anythin' wrong!"

Simon ignores him, though, tugging your sweatpants down. You manage to whimper a protest, telling Simon no, but he ignores you, too.

Johnny gets a bit more frantic. "Ghost, she didn't fuckin' do anything! It was my idea, alright? Dinna punish her for somethin' I did!"

Johnny's voice cracks… is he crying?

Simon slaps your ass once, through your panties, hard enough to make you yelp. "Maybe this will be your fuckin' punishment," Simon snaps. "Look at 'er, Johnny. She barely even knows what's happening right now. I doubt she even remembers her own fuckin' name!"

Simon spanks you again, forcing out another yelp. Johnny shouts again, demanding Simon stops. You glance up, catching a glimpse of Johnny's face before Simon pushes your head back down. He was definitely crying.

"Since the cut on her finger and the state of her haven't taught you anythin', maybe watchin' her get punished will teach you that your bright ideas and your actions hurt other people, and not just you."

Simon's hand comes down again, harder this time, and tears spring to your eyes.

Johnny's shouting, now, begging Simon to let you go and apologizing repeatedly. He's frantic, thrashing against John's hold on him.

"You're sorry?" Simon snaps, but he stops hitting you. "Sorry for what?"

Johnny blubbers that he's sorry for getting drunk, sorry for getting you drunk, and sorry for drinking Simon's stuff. You're not sure if he's incoherent because he's crying, or if you're just having a hard time understanding him because you're so inebriated.

"You know better, Johnny," Simon scolds him. One hand rests on your head, keeping it held down, and the other rests on your bottom, warm and heavy, but not hitting. "Y'know better than to drink that fuckin' much with the pills you're takin', and you know better than to let this one join ya."

There's more sniffling, more apologizing, but finally, Simon lets go of you. He tugs your sweatpants back up, and Kyle comes to collect you, helping you up from Simon's lap and taking you to the stairs. He carries you upstairs to his room, humming when he sees your things already situated in his bed.

He lays you down and tucks you in, petting your hair away from your face. "Stay on your side, love. I'll be back soon."

Kyle returns dressed in pajamas, holding a glass of water in one hand and a pair of your pajamas in the other. You don't fight him when he undresses you, already half asleep. When you're in your pajamas, he gets into bed next to you, pulling you close.

"You're not in any trouble, sweetheart," Kyle mumbles to you. "Don't worry about any of that, yeah? Just go to sleep. Everything's okay."

You feel a bit better knowing that you're not in trouble, but there's a part of you that worries about Johnny. You hope to hell that you're too drunk to remember any of this in the morning.

Waking up and remembering that you felt genuine sympathy for your kidnapper might send you over the edge.

[bluelizard100]

how do you think the boys would deal with reader who’s clingy and needy but also likes to self isolate. maybe sometimes she’s all over John wanting to sit on his lap and then other times she can not stand touching him whatsoever.

-ps: thank you for taking time to answer everyone’s asks this is so fun feels like a book club.

-🫐

Ooh this is good

John doesn’t know what to make of it when she sits herself down in his lap all on her own, without being told or even hinted to do it. She doesn’t push his hand away when it settles on her hip, doesn’t run away when he wraps an arm around her waist to tug her closer. She stays there for the rest of the night.

The next day, when John sits down with a drink, he pats his thigh with a warm smile. “C’mere, love.”

But she scowls at him and leaves the room entirely, going upstairs to hide instead. John’s baffled, has to pick his jaw up off the floor. What the hell? She was so cuddly yesterday, and today she looked sick at the thought of him.

Johnny gets scratched that night when he’s in bed and tries to pull her over to his side of the bed. He can’t understand it either, not when she was so eager to cuddle the night before.

Come morning, she stays in her room. She doesn’t come down for breakfast, and she doesn’t say anything when it’s delivered to her. She just takes the plates and shoos whoever brings it to her out of the room. It’s like that for the whole day, and she somehow manages to kick Johnny out for the night. He has to sleep in Simon’s room.

She’s not as extreme for the next few days, but she’s still vehemently opposed to touching. Then, suddenly, when shes on the couch with Kyle and Johnny, she lays herself down in their laps. Her head lays against Kyle’s thigh, and her legs in Johnny’s lap.

They both sit frozen and rigid, as if they’re afraid this is a trap. Johnny slowly sets one hand down on her calf, and when all she does is sigh, they relax. Kyle pets up and down her arm, and Johnny massages her feet and legs, deciding it’s better not to mention how if they had tried this yesterday, she would’ve bitten their heads off.

Later that night, Johnny goes to bed with Simon again, deciding to play it safe and give her space. Johnny gets himself comfy, and Simon’s just about to turn off his bedside lamp when she pokes her head into the door, her pillow tucked under one arm and a blanket under the other. She lets herself in without a word and crawls into the bed, sandwiching herself between them. They’re puzzled, to say the least, but they definitely don’t mind, even if it is a bit crowded.

When she’s sat at the table, waiting for breakfast, Johnny puts his hand on her shoulders and tries to massage. She shoves him away and hisses at him, “don’t touch me.” He sulks and turns his attention to Kyle instead.

It takes a bit, but eventually they learn that they have to let her come to them.

[bluelizard100]

I am someone with super long hair (goes down to the end of my back, takes about 30 minutesto dry with a hairdryer or all day if by air) and when I read your posts I can't help but imagine all the ways the team tries to bond, or mess with my hair.

Like Simon and Kyle taking a super long time washing, brushing, and drying my hair. Then they make me sit on their laps to style it, braiding and combing it until they decide to let you go (which is probably never).

Then theres John and Johnny getting hard over the fantasy of pulling and gripping a ponytail, putting their faces into reader's neck and smelling their scent, or maybe using their hair during a hand job.

Then you got John buying hair accessories and trinkets to try and doll the reader up (cat or rabbit headband in the future? Maybe even a tail). Simon likes to run his hands through it and ends up basically petting the reader while cuddling. Kyle using this as a bonding moment; learns all the ways to protect, style, and take care of all hair. And Johnny is sneaking off to add a 'new ingredient' to the hair conditioner bottle (he swears its made their hair more shiny).

Then think of the angst; johnny snaps, but instead of spanking (or maybe not), he decides to straight up chop off a large portion of hair. I would completely fall apart, tears everywhere non-stop for days. Then the boys come back, see the mess, and have to do damage control. Johnny gets put in time out, and the boys have to try and get the reader to feel ok with their crazy hair. I don't think I would be able to look in a mirror if I saw that. Then Johnny comes out of time out, and has to YEARN for forgiveness. (His smug face really pisses me off).

Love your blog and all your posts, please never stop. I'll be here as a fan until this app dies.

They’d use this as more justification that you’re puppy coded

Your hair is just too long, you need to be taken to the groomers or else your coat will get matted :(

But they’re not always freak nasty about it. Kyle loves to rake conditioner through it with his fingers while you’re in the bath. He buys special hair masks to keep your hair silky and soft for him to play with. He loves pampering, and your extra long hair gives him more to do.

Simon and Kyle have to fight over who gets to wash your hair. Simon knows how to scratch your scalp just right, but Kyle takes much better care of your ends. They compromise, with Simon taking over the washing and Kyle sticking to conditioners, masks, etc.

Drying your hair is another issue, and they again have to compromise. You end up in Simon's lap, straddling his hips and facing him, while Kyle sits behind you to blow dry your hair. The next wash day, they switch places, so everything is fair.

Kyle's always playing in your hair, sitting you in his lap so he can braid your hair idly while you watch tv or read your books. He'll braid your hair over and over, braiding it once just to undo it so he can start again. Sometimes he'll watch hair styling tutorials, just so he can try them on you. He likes to doll you up, make you feel extra pretty and special.

Simon just likes to run his fingers through your hair. He can't ever section your hair evenly for a braid, not like Kyle can, so he settles for finger-combing your hair and twirling pieces around his fingers.

John likes to leave his mark, so he'll buy you all kinds of accessories-- animal shaped claw clips, ribbons for bows, flower clips, headbands with ears on them- kitty ears, bunny ears, puppy ears, and even one with deer ears and little antlers for his own amusement. He brings home matching tails, some that clip onto your pants, and others for... nefarious purposes. He keeps those ones hidden until he decides you're ready for them.

He likes to tug on it, gripping your hair to pull your head back so he can suck on your neck, or holding your head in place so you can't look away from him. He's careful not to pull too hard, not unless you seem to like it. Even if you don't like it, he can't resist a little tug

Johnny loves the way you smell. At night, he's pressed up tight against you, his face buried in your hair. He scours the shops for more products, scents that will last longer and blend nicely with your shampoo and conditioner. He's the supplier of the hair masks and leave-in conditioners Kyle and Simon are always combing into your hair. He's obsessed with how soft and shiny it is.

He's the type to find DIY recipes online, which is how he discovers that he can enhance your conditioner for free. While he's in the shower, he'll huff your conditioner while he jerks himself off, and then finish in the bottle. He does it in secret, and when he decides that it's made a noticeable difference, he'll get bolder with it. He'll flip you onto your belly, straddling your upper back and using his knees to pins your arms down, and fist his cock until his comes all over your hair. He'll shush you if you protest, telling you that it's good for you. "This is nature's olaplex, baby."

Johnny can take things too far, though. Once you find out he's been tampering with your conditioner, you throw the whole bottle away, and you hide all your hair products in Kyle's room. Johnny, of course, takes it too personally and acts on impulse. He'll sneak up on you with a pair of scissors, grab a big portion of hair, and chop it off.

You can't believe what he's done at first, can't comprehend what just happened. He's standing there, holding a chunk of your hair, with a smug grin on his face. When it finally sets in that he butchered your hair, you burst into tears. His smirk drops immediately, and the color drains from his face when he realizes how bad he just fucked up. You're inconsolable when you see just how much hair he hacked off. You mourn the loss of your hair as if it was your baby-- which, with all the effort and love you put into it to get it so long and healthy, it might as well have been-- and cry for days. Simon (accidentally) makes it worse when he suggests cutting the rest of it so it can at least be even, but you can't bring yourself to do it. You tear up every time you look in the mirror, every time you touch your hair and feel the differences in length.

You refuse to even look at Johnny, and you move your stuff into one of the others' rooms. You don't want to even breathe the same air as him. If he's in a room, you wait until he leaves. If he enters the same room you're already in, you drop whatever it is that you're doing and leave. He tries to apologize over and over, groveling for forgiveness every day, but you'll hear none of it.

You take a little comfort from Johnny's punishment, though. John shaves his mohawk off and tells him he can't grow it back out until your hair grows back. It doesn't feel anywhere near equal to what he did to you, but when John lets you shave his head next, you make sure he suffers true retribution when you only shave where his mohawk would be.

You don't even begin to consider speaking to him until he comes home with some clip in hair extensions for you. It doesn't make up for it at all, but you do feel a bit better now that your hair at least looks better.

[ao3org]

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[bluelizard100]

Okay guys help me with this

I’ve got 4,501 words written that could be Missing Piece part 12. It’s not where I imagined I would end it, but I think it’s at a place where it could be the end of the chapter w/o being like an abrupt ending that doesn’t make sense.

It’s not where I wanted to end it, but I’m also eager to post something because it’s been so long lol

So what would yall want? Would you rather I finish it to how I imagined it or post the ‘finished but technically unfinished’ chapter?

Post it

Wait until it’s finished for real

Voting ended onMar 16

[bluelizard100]

Hey girl, how you doing?

hey guys... long time no see am i right

rant under the cut but also skip to the end for some good news :P

So winter usually kicks my ass but this case of winter blues is a bit different. I was supposed to be back in college for the spring semester but I postponed my attendance to make sure my health was in order because having to drop out a second time would only reinforce my lack of confidence and also unnecessarily waste tuition money.

I need to get back into therapy lol (don't we all) and try to work on my confidence. Y'know how you only have to burn yourself once to learn not to touch hot things? Well apparently you only have to have a health emergency once to learn that college is an evil and dangerous place.

I spent a long ass time feeling like a failure for having to come home, and now I've managed to convince myself that I can't do anything! Like, logically I know this isn't true. I've done hard things in the past and I know I can keep doing hard things, but after this I just feel kind of stupid and dumb and useless. I've got a lot I need to work through

On a positive note... I'm pretty sure I've got my routine meds sorted out. I haven't had an episode in a long time, and I got put on ADHD meds! now all i have to do is remember to take them

Also, I've started writing again. I'm only managing little bits at a time but that's more than before so I'm calling it a win.

Thank you all for being so patient and kind to me 💙

[bluelizard100]

I miss u my shayla, hope yr doing okay :( merry Christmas

I’m sorry for disappearing:( I’m not in a good space at all yk

I got hit by the existential dread train again

Merry Christmas & happy holidays my shaylas I’ll snap out of this eventually

[guiltxless-deactivated20260309]

“I love writing so much!”

“Go write then”