Surrender (JackSepticEye x Reader)

Fifty-Six

Both your leash and your tail trailed behind you, fluttering in the current as you ran back towards your dom's house. All too aware of the public eyes on you, but especially of his own.

Once inside you kept running, up the stairs until you reached his bedroom, whereupon you flung your body onto his bed and began to sob in earnest. Your body continued to shake, and you could not get it to stop, even when you were in the relative safety of his home.

You had struck out against him. It was quite possibly the worst thing that, as a sub, you could have done. You hadn't even considered the safeword in those few awful moments, all you wanted to do was to get out of the view of everyone else. God, how they stared! And you hadn't even walked all that far! How were you expected to go around the block like that?!

You heard the front door open and close downstairs. It was not slammed shut, so at least there was that. But you could not stop sobbing, so your dom didn't take too long to find you. He stood in the doorway watching you cry for a little while, his expression unreadable.

Then, at long last, he spoke, albeit softly, almost unheard: "Get dressed."

That tapered off your sobs rather quickly. Get dressed? What was he planning? You glanced up to find that he had fetched your neatly-folded pile of clothing from downstairs, setting it on the bed in front of you. Silent, you sat up at last and got dressed again while he watched.

Walking around to the side of the bed where you sat Seán removed your tail before he reached and unclasped the leash from your collar, letting the thing fall to the carpeted floor. "Come on," he muttered, walking out of the room altogether and returning back downstairs.

What else could you do but follow? You were worried; wasn't he angry with you? Why wasn't he punishing you like a dom should have? As a precaution, you dropped down onto your hands and knees and crawled after him, like the good sub you were. Like you tried to be, at least up until today's terrible events.

His upper lip curled back in an expression of disgust. "Get off the fucking floor, you look ridiculous."

Startled you stood back up, biting at your lower lip as you made a valiant attempt not to cry again. He picked up your overnight bag and shoved it into your hands. Then he walked out the front door again; you heard him open his car door and slam it shut, turning the vehicle on and revving the engine.

Slowly, reluctantly, you followed him out the door and into his car. Your head hung low, and you could not raise your eyes from the ground. You were too scared to meet his gaze.

The drive was about as awful as you could have ever felt it to be. Your eyes watered for mere moments before the tears spilled over into your lap. Terrified of his reaction you glanced at him; his baby blue eyes were focused on the road, but the hands that gripped the steering wheel were so tight that the knuckles were white.

There was a handprint on his face.

"S-sir, I..." you began, but your voice cracked and you were unable to finish the thought. Really, all you wanted was to break the horrendous silence. But he did not speak, his eyes narrowing a little as you buried your face in your hands and cried the rest of the way home.

Yes, home; he was taking you home early. It felt worse that he was being silent as opposed to punishing you in some way, like he should have been. Hadn't you blatantly disobeyed him? Hell, you struck him! But the silent treatment was possibly a worse punishment than if he had actually decided to do something that fit the crime.

Pulling up to your driveway he threw the car into park and sat back, looking out his driver's side window. Refusing to acknowledge you. This only made you cry harder. "S-sir, p... please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." you begged. "I w-was freaking out, I didn't..."

"Get out."

More sobbing on your part. "Please..."

"I said get out."

What other choice did you have? Slowly you gathered up your bag and slipped out of the car. You had barely shut the passenger side door before he suddenly threw the vehicle into reverse, hurriedly getting out of your driveway and peeling out, speeding away from your house.

Away from you.

Face breaking you ran inside the house, barely managing not to trip over your own feet as you made your way up the stairs and threw your body onto your own bed.

You cried for what felt like an eternity and a half.

Why did I hit him? Did I panic? Why couldn't I have just said the safeword? Then everything would have been fine! But no, I had to go and fucking slap him across the face!

Clutching the pillow tightly in your hands the sobbing finally tapered off, and you grabbed for your phone, hoping that he had messaged you. No such luck. There was nothing from anybody.

Wiping your face you sat up, starting a text message to him, knowing it would be easier than trying to call him. Especially when you knew you were going to just start crying again.

Especially when there was that chance that he wouldn't pick up. At least a text message was a sure thing that he would receive.

[Sir, I'm so, so sorry for hitting you. I should have used the safeword, I know. Can you please, please find it in your heart to forgive me?]

Phone in hand you drifted off to sleep, waiting for a possible response.

There was none.