TW: anal sex, swearing, praising, degrading, mafia, murder, kidnapping, indicated POSSIBLE future involuntary sex (not confirmed), pet names
top dream
bottom george
no editing it's almost 6 A.M fuck u (i kinda hate this)
George knew taking those documents from a mafia was a horrible idea. He just simply wanted to know who killed his best friend, and why?
Did she look at one of their members in a bitchy way? Did she "wrong" someone there? It had to be something— they wouldn't just end someones life for no reason, right?
He read, and read, and read those documents that he got his hands on over and over again incase he missed something. But no. Nothing. Or, nothing about her.
George know knew they had recently killed a thirty-eight year old man for trash-talking them.
Strict, hm?
And it was crazy how the police were yet to catch them; as soon as George got out of here, or if he did, he would go straight to them like he should've.
Where is George, might you ask?
Tied up in a trunk of one of mafia members cars. The tops stung his skin, and the gag he had in his mouth begun to pool with unswallowed spit. He just wanted to be let go, to be released.
George squirmed; he tried to tug off the ropes that kept his wrists tightly together, but nothing. They were tied on tight.
He began kicking the trunk door, trying to open it but his legs were too long to pull them back far enough, so his kicks were rather pathetic.
He shouted (as the best he could with the gag), and riled around, and tugged at his restraints but nothing worked.
Great.
They were going to kill him— no doubt.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Curiosity always killed the cat, and George was the cat in this situation. Small, helpless, and alone.
Before he could allow any tears fall from his glossed over eyes, the car came to a sudden turn and sent George rolling over and thudding his head into the side of the car.
He groaned and pulled his knees too his chest.
Just accept it, George. Don't spend your last few moments of life struggling.
He shut his eyes.
And as soon as he started to come to turns with death, the trunk flung open and two men stood there.
"Grab his legs, Sapnap—"
"Don't boss me around," The man, who George assumed was Sapnap, bared his teeth at the other boy. Sapnap had a scruffy, short beard with oddly soft hazel eyes, though a piercing glare was down at George. "You get his arms.
"Whatever." The other man said. He, on the other hand, had light colored hair with a stubble on his chin. He was significantly taller than the other— and his aqua colored eyes mismatched from Sapnaps hazels. "And you call me bossy."
"Shut the hell up, Sam."
"Woah, chill." Sam chuckled and grabbed George's ankles with both hands; Sapnap grabbed both of George's hands.
George began squirming, rioting and squawking against their grasp.
"Fuck— feisty." Sapnap grinned deviously.
George narrowed his eyes, and he would've spat a swear at Sapnap but the gag still clogged his throat.
"Mmph—!" George kicked his legs.
