Need Need NEED Them - Tumblr Posts
Pet
Dark Ghoap x Fem! Reader
CW: Kidnapping, drug mention, violence, death mention.
Johnny had an incredibly easy time keeping himself busy during retirement. There was always something to be done around the house, a new local sport team to join, or an outing he’d convince Simon to humor him on with a bat of his lashes. However, years of military service were not kind to his body. Cleaning the gutters would leave a strain in his shoulder. Bopping around at a shitty punk gig he’d dragged Simon to would wind his muscles tight for days. The nail in the coffin was at his last rugby game, an over compensated move completely throwing his back out.
That was enough for Simon, being the judge and the jury for Johnny’s sentence of doctor ordered bed rest. In the first days Johnny had still tried to keep up around the house, following Simon around and chittering on that he was fine before getting promptly carried back to bed like a sack of potatoes over broad shoulders. He’d fully given up after that point, his little spirit crushed as he laid in bed absently doom scrolling on his phone for hours. That was, before one of your videos came across his screen. Written in the stars by the algorithm.
The video was innocent enough, a ‘Get ready with me’ style set to some cute music which unknowingly doomed you. Thumbs flew across the screen as Johnny tapped on your profile, greedily drinking in your entire post history over the course of a couple hours. His favorites he’d bookmarked and watched over and over again, already memorizing whatever little song you’d picked to go over your video. His heart hammered in his chest and he swallowed a lump in his throat, hovering over the direct message option.
Hello :) Big fan! Do ye think ye could wear that black dress from 20/11 in yer next video? Loved it.
Johnny waits anxiously for your reply and decides to send another message apologizing for coming on strong, only to realize he’d been blocked by his newest little project. With a pout and a sigh he resigns himself to making another account, rinsing and repeating his actions of following you, going through your videos, and bookmarking his favorites. His head is too far in the clouds to even register that Simon had been standing over his shoulder for a minute, watching him.
“Whatcha got there, pup?” Simon’s voice sounds from above, causing Johnny to almost jump out of his skin.
“Jesus! Ye scared me,” Johnny said, placing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect.
When he saw that Simon was still awaiting an answer, he shook his head to rid the jitters.
“A real pretty lass. Somethin’ about her. She’d fit right in.” Johnny said with a dreamy sigh, looking to Simon and trying to gauge his reaction.
Simon’s hand is held out expectantly before Johnny places his phone in his calloused palm. His eyes fixate on the screen as he goes through the videos. He’s right, you’re pretty. His pup’s eyes look as if he’s a child pleading for a new toy at the store and he’s nothing if not a sucker for it. With a resigned sigh, Simon pockets the phone and ruffles Johnny’s hair.
“Bed time,” Simon says with a soft canter to his voice.
Johnny obliges, mumbling good nights and kisses before he’s out cold and Simon makes the trek downstairs to haul himself up on the couch, the room illuminated with Johnny’s phone screen.
You have piss poor internet safety. Simon gathers information quickly, half military training and half having brain cells to rub together. You make it too easy, like you are begging to be whisked away.
A video in your likes about being non contact with parents.
They wouldn’t ask where you were.
A ‘‘jokey” audio about your pet being your only friend
No one would come looking for you.
A video was taken in your work uniform with a name tag and a clock in the background during the shift.
Location and time you’d be on the premises.
Once he was satisfied with his findings Simon trudged back up the stairs, slotting in bed next to Johnny and lazily throwing an arm around him. His pup deserved a playmate while he was down for the count. Someone soft and docile like you to play with. Even if this was a big task, Simon would get what his precious boy wanted.
…
You’re a lot more bite than bark, and Simon had not been anticipating that. Muscling you into his truck and binding your limbs was easy even with the thrashing, but the deep bite mark blossoming purple and red hurt and he was not patient with disobedient mutts. Your screaming was silenced by a metal cage being strapped to the back of your head, the clasps tugging at your hair and a leather bit in the middle that made drool pool in your mouth and any noises come out hushed and gurgled.
“Really don’t wanna drug ya, love. The side effects are nasty and I’ve already got a pet on bed rest.” The masked man driving the car says, his voice deep and gravely like he’s smoked since he exited the womb.
You resign from fighting pretty early on, not missing the 9mm tucked into his waistband; a silent threat and promise. Instead, you focus on your surroundings out of the window which is mostly trees and fields as he drives out of the city limits and to, well, wherever he’s taking you. You catalog this information and commit it to memory and hold onto the delusion that when you escape you’ll be able to tell the police exactly where he took you and which way you went.
The road he’s driving on takes a sharp left and turns into more gravel and dirt than sleek tar pavement. Down the beaten path you pull up to a house, very unassuming and nice on the outside but you can only imagine the state of the inside. Every horror movie and true crime video you’ve ever seen plays in your mind. The filth, the squalor, chains and sex toys and rotting corpses in refrigerators.
The masked man gets out of the truck first, shutting the door with a surprising amount of care and then opening your side. He grabs the middle of the rope, where your hands are bound, and shuffles you out of the vehicle. When your feet meet the ground you’re tempted to run, but his gun remains front and center in your mind. Dumb idea. He crouches down on one knee then, like a parent getting on their child’s level to reason with them as he speaks to you; his grip still strong on the rope.
“Now, I need you to be good f’me and listen. If you make any fucking noise until I tell you to I’ll break your little jaw right off your pretty face and you’ll be eatin’ baby food the rest of your life. Got it?” He says in a soft tone but with no room for thinking he’s joking.
You nod your hand in understanding, too high on adrenaline and fear to cry even though your throat feels closed off and your eyes and nose sting with that familiarity. He rises to his feet then, unlocking you through the door and pulling you through the threshold. You prepare yourself for the worst but you’re met with the most mundane setting you could imagine. The walls are beige and gray, an accent wall in dark blue. A nice leather sectional couch, flat screen TV a few feet away from it. The place looks…underwhelming.
“M’ home. Just puttin’ the shopping away, hold tight up there in bed.” The man calls up the stairs to god knows who before turning his attention back to you.
He leads you by the wrists into a spare room right off of the living room which at first glance looks just as underwhelming as the rest of the house. A desk with a large dog bed under it, a few paintings on the wall, a book shelf, and a board for darts. When you’re being drug further into the room though, you notice it; a sturdy chain mounted to the wall and attached to a collar with a thick padlock. The leather is engraved with a name: Johnny.
The collar is placed around your neck and locked, gapping awkwardly in the back and ill fitting. The man tries to tug it over your head a few times but is satisfied when it won’t go past your jaw. The numb tingling in your hands draws your attention down to them as you try to wiggle your fingers and get some blood flow back. Survival is not guaranteed but you’re relieved that you’re not on the set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre at least.
You’re guided slowly onto your knees with two strong hands onto your shoulders, until you meet the plush carpet. You look up at him finally, a proper look. His eyes are dark and devoid of emotion, like some sort of a living breathing shell. He’s tall and filled out everywhere, even without the gun you now believe his promise of breaking your jaw more. You’ll have to use wit and gain trust to get out of here; you’ll have to fawn.
“M’ gonna go get my boy and you’re gonna act like you’re over the moon to be here.” He says, taking a step back from where you’re kneeling.
“I don’t like to take in strays and I sure as fuck don’t put up with rowdy mutts. Give me a reason to show you, and you’ll learn real quick darling.” He says, before opening the door and shutting it behind him.
You’re left to your own devices then, chest heaving and eyes darting around the room. With him gone you can finally let your defenses down a little so the tears start to cascade down your cheeks silently. The gag, well, muzzle makes it hard for you to catch your breath as you heave and sputter as quietly as you can. You wonder who Johnny is, the poor soul before you in this position. By the way the collar fit, were much larger than you and still fell at the hands of this man. The thought made bile rise to your throat.
Far away voices and footsteps get closer and closer to the door then as you’re frozen in place kneeling. Your chest rises and falls quickly with each breath before it hitches all together as the doorknob is turned. The door opens, and another man has joined your captor. He’s smaller, a dark mohawk and striking blue eyes. He is absolutely elated to see you, apparently. He’s a blur of moment, on his knees by you in a blink and gathering your tired body into a spine crushing hug.
He turns his head behind him to the mask man with an ear to ear grin, beaming and nauseatingly giggling to himself.
“You didn’t!” He says excitedly, like someone reviving a way too expensive present in a secret Santa exchange.
“Just for you puppy. You’ve been down since your injury an’ I figured I could get you a playmate.” The man says, a hint of a smile in his voice.
He seems to care a great deal about this man with a death grip on you, happy just to see him happy.
The man affectionately referred to as “puppy” buries his nose in your hair, sniffing deeply and letting out a deep shuddering breath. You feel his cock twitch against the outside of your thigh where he’s got himself pressed against you. You’re beginning to think this was the Johnny you were feeling sorry for a second ago.
His hands move up towards your muzzle to undo it but the other man stops him, warning that you’re not properly trained yet and might bite. He whines, but gives a nod in understanding, giving you another rib bruising squeeze.
“Don’t worry lass. We’ll take care of ya’.” Johnny says, planting a kiss on top of your head.
The larger man steps out of the room then, shutting it behind him and leaving you to get accompanied with your new playmate and acclimated to your new home. Hope slowly starts to leave as Johnny whispers promises of giving you pups and never letting you out of his sight.