#mark reeve
Mark and Gemma get a Pet, p XXIX
On popular demand, and to give you a chance to say goodbye to a beloved character, have a final Mark PoV chapter.
Tag list: @painful-pooch@for-the-love-of-nsfwhump@abitefullofwhump@whumpinggrounds@dragyouthroughthewhump
Cw for BBU, pet whump, briefly referenced BBU-typical dubcon/noncon
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next>]
Mark’s key for the house had still worked, but the one to the apartment didn’t fit any longer. It had been a bit more than a day, since he’d stormed out, but whatever one could say about Gemma - she was efficient.
With a short sigh, he rang the doorbell. Like a guest, in his own place. He could crash at his uncle’s for a while, but it felt odd to not have a home. Not that he missed Gemma. He really didn’t. He was free, finally, could do what he wanted, eat what he wanted, say what he wanted. She’d kept him in a prison, and it had taken the pet for him to realize he’d never been anything more to her either.
From the other side of the door, he heard someone shuffle, and he pressed the doorbell again, longer this time, just to annoy Gemma.
But it wasn’t her, who answered the door a second later.
It was the pet.
Ira looked different. She was in a short white dress, white hair was tousled, a slight blush on her dark cheeks, lip swollen. She looked like seduction itself. Strange, to imagine Gemma allowing her to walk around like this. After she’d been so intent on beating her up for being… just like this.
“Ira,” he said softly. “How are you?”
Straight, thin bruises shone on her skin, marks of Gemma’s rage, drawn over her thighs under the hem of the short skirt, and on her upper arms.
She seemed to notice his gaze, and her hand wandered up, almost instinctively, to another bruise, around her neck. Long lined, almost black in colour, shaped like fingers. Hisfingers.
Mark bit his lip, and she tilted her head without a reply.
For a second, he understood it as a gesture of submission, but then he noted the packed bags by her feet.
“These are yours,” she said. “Ms Gemma would like you to leave.”
A quick glance was enough to tell him the content of the bags was far from everything he owned in this place.
“Well, Gemma can -” He interrupted himself. This was ridiculous. He didn’t have to talk to her. “Gemma!,” he shouted instead. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He put a hand on Ira’s hip to shove her aside and get past her and toward his stuff.
She didn’t move. “No.”
He cocked his head at her and looked her down. His hand was still resting on her thin dress, and he was all too aware of her soft, warm skin under it. “You’re not meant to say no.” He whispered into her hair, almost conspirationally. “We both know you want to be good.”
“Not for you,” She tensed under his grip, but still didn’t step back. Somehow, she seemed taller than before. “I’m Ms Gemma’s.”
“Ms Gemma almost killed you.”
“Ms Gemma is my owner. You’re not.” He was close enough to her to hear her quick breathing, to see her bruised throat bob as she swallowed, before she added. “You almost killed me, too.”
Mark scoffed. “Come on, Ira. Did Gemma really paint me as the villain here?”
“Leave Ira alone, Mark, and just go.” He caught a glimpse of Gemma’s ginger hair behind Ira’s shoulder, but Ira shifted to the side to block his way. Elegantly, as everything that fucking pet did. It was infuriating.
“Ira?”, he repeated. “So you’ve bonded now? Oh, just perfect."
He looked at Ira again, her swollen lip and unusually messy hair, and finally understood.
"You’ve fucked the pet, Gem, haven’t you? Oh, you’re really so fucking simple. Constantly afraid of losing control, but with the pet, you’ll always get your will. She better than me, huh? Because you never wanted a person in the first place, did you? Just obedience and a warm body? Fuck you, Gem, you know what, you’ve failed. You’ve-”
She dove under Ira’s arm and appeared in front of him, jaw tense, face red with fury, finger raised at him like a tiny school teacher scolding a child. “You’re the failure Mark, I don’t even understand why I put up with you for so long. You’re lazy and useless, just laid back and let me take care of-"
Enough. That was fucking enough. He reached out to grab her wrist and slam her into the wall.
He wasn’t fast enough.
Ira’s hand around his felt like steel. Pain flared through his shoulder as she twisted his arm almost effortlessly. Mark yelped and stumbled to his knees. Her hold of him was relentless.
"Fuck,” he yelled. “Fuck, Gemma, call her off.”
Gemma’s eyes were wide in shock, but smoothed over with a smug satisfaction that he definitely never wanted to see again.
“In a minute,” she mumbled, looking down on him. He could see three red rims around her eyes, salty traces of dried tears. “I like this.”
New pain erupted in his strained shoulder. “Ira,” he begged. “Ira, please, let go.”
“You’re pathetic, Mark,” Gemma said softly, and stepped in, only to look down on him. With a frown, she ran her fingers down his cheek. “You shouldn’t have been able to break my heart like that.”
“Fuck, Gem, you-” He interrupted himself with a pained hiss. He shouldn’t. He’d seen her angry. He didn’t want to end up on the receiving end of that cane.
“What do you want, Mark? I packed your stuff.”
“My…” He felt like an idiot, fucking humiliated by Gemma and Ira, of all people. Ira, who’d been so soft and warm to him, compared to Gemma who had felt like stainless steel and sharp edges. Now Ira was the steel one, holding him down with an iron grip. “My work stuff?”
Gemma tilted her head. “In there. Along with your potted plant. Well, without the pot. Tried to be efficient.”
Mark bit back a sharp remark, cleared his throat instead. “My, uh… PlayStation?”
“Really, babe?” She laughed. “Your fucking PlayStation? After you disrespected me, and my things, what do you think I did to your own toy? It’s in the trash.”
“You did what?”
“Yeah. That’s kind of exactly what I thought when I walked in on you fucking my pet, when you knew I didn’t want you to.”
The grip around Mark’s arm tensed for a second, twisting his shoulder even further. “Ahhh”, he whimpered. “Fuck, Gem, you can’t let her break my arm.”
“You’re trespassing. It’s self defense.” Still, she gestured at Ira, and the hold of his arm was released.
Mark let out a relieved sigh, and rose back to a full stand.
Gemma lifted her chin. “Take your bags and leave, Mark. Don’t come back.”
He grabbed the bags. Sharp pain rushed through his right arm, and with clenched teeth, he threw the bag over his shoulder. “I won’t.”
He stepped out of the door, turning away just in time to see Gemma rest her hand on Ira’s cheek, and the way the pet’s face lit up when Gemma pulled her into a kiss.
The door fell close, cutting off the view. Instead, his gaze was caught by his old, wrong key still uselessly stuck in the lock.
He left it.
[Next>]
