#dark marc spector x reader

[thisisarcanereverie]

Cutting Ties (Dark! Moon Knight x Reader) Part 2

A/N: This is Part 2 of a 3 Part fic. (Here is Part 1!) This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others. (I got a little carried away with this idea Anon so thank you for the suggestion)

Now if you can interact or want to, please do! Like, reblog, reply!

DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS: kidnapping, angst (like a ridiculous amount of it), light cursing, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, English is my first language I just suck at it. I do not own the picture above but i DO own the header below, it's something that I made. I might make a few others idk. Enjoy!

Summary: You're a former Widow on the run, only in London for a year you meet Steven Grant, a goofy gift shoppist. But is there more that meets the eye?

For as long as you could remember you were not your own. Your name, your face, your mind, your body, even your own autonomy was not your own. It had always belonged to Dreykov and to his Red Room. Then, suddenly, the very color that controlled you, freed you. The red powder burned your eyes for a moment before suddenly it felt like you could breathe again. 

It was strange how one’s life can completely turn on its head in a matter of moments. 

One moment you were another Widow, easily expendable and replaced and the next you were…new. At least that’s what it felt like, you no longer existed at the whim of another. You weren’t a chess piece on the board, you were now a player. 

You remembered the day the Red Room fell as the best day of your life. 

There were so many things you could do, there were so many possibilities. 

You just weren’t prepared for the reality of it. 

That despite the mind control and the lack of autonomy, you still hurt people, at the end of the day it was your finger that pulled the trigger. You would wake in the middle of the night still haunted by those faces with a red mark between their eyes. It felt like you couldn’t escape from the Red Room you concocted in your mind, that no matter how hard you tried you will always be a Widow. So instead of fighting it, you gave in. 

You had offers, from SHIELD to Tony Stark himself. Which surprised you, but in the end you decided you didn’t want the spotlight on you and were a merc for a while. It was gritty, but it was work you knew well. You thought you could do it but the first time you were ordered to kill you couldn’t. They were innocent, they were just there at the wrong time. So you killed your boss instead, grabbed what you could, and left. You made enemies that day, one that would love to see your head gifted to them on a silver plate. 

You called Natasha after that, you weren’t sure what else to do. You didn’t know anyone else, you were completely alone. She gave you this guy's number, said that he would help you disappear and with whatever else you may need. You could feel her wink on the other end of the phone as you wrote down his information. 

Since then you’ve been running, changing addresses and identities every couple of years to stay ahead of people who may want you dead. Her friend would give you new identities and you would exchange with money that you earned at jobs you would work. For a while you were content with being alone, working everyday and coming back to your place to eat food you previously were never able to eat and watching tv. Then you met Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley. Then suddenly you realized how gray your life had become, how long you had merely survived and what living actually meant—even if you were merely living a lie. All at once you were no longer alone, someone held you at night and kissed your blood-soaked hands. 

For the first time in your life…you felt clean. 

But that had all been a delusion. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You woke up in pain, your head throbbed and your limbs felt weighted down, as though someone had thrown two weighted blankets on top of you. You willed your eyes to open and was greeted with an unfamiliar ceiling. You squinted your eyes as you looked toward the open window, watched as the powder blue curtains danced gently as the breeze blew in. You weren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep, last time you remember it was nighttime and….

Rain

Pinching

Jake.

You took a sharp breath in and shot up from the bed as your hand went to the side of your neck, Jake had drugged you–and from the look of things–abducted you as well. Why would he do this? Did he act alone or did Steven and Marc help him? All these questions swarmed your mind but one question stood out. 

Have you been blind?

You shakily made your way to the open window, sure enough it was morning, and sure enough you weren’t in London. As far as you could tell you could be miles away from the nearest village let alone London. How long had they been planning this? To already have a second place squared away, ready, were you the first to be here or the latest addition. 

“You’re up.” 

You swerved your head as you looked beside you, your skin crawled and blood turned into ice as you looked at him. Upright posture, hair a little less unkempt, and a twinge of a chicago accent dripped in his voice. 

Marc. 

You opened your mouth to speak only for a small, pathetic squeak to sound instead of words. Your hand reached for your throat and realized for the first time how absolutely parched you were. Like you hadn’t had any water in days. 

“Here,” he handed you a glass of water which you greedily accepted, you didn’t bother breathing as you chugged the glass he gave. After the soreness in your throat subsided a little and hummed to warm up vocal cords that had not been used in a while. You put the glass on the window sill  and looked  at him and at the tray he was previously holding. Turkey Bacon and Eggs, it was Marc's favorite breakfast, one he had made you dozens of times whenever he was sorry for something. 

You were silent as you looked at him further, he wore sweatpants and a t- shirt, both clearly slept in. The tan of his skin glowed in the morning light and it looked like he ran his fingers through his dark curls once or twice. There was something unsettling about him though, one that made the hair on the back of your neck stand, something that wasn’t there before. 

Those eyes. 

You flinch a little as he raises a hand, only for him to retract it. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, his voice uncharacteristically small. You debated on what to say, what was there to say? You had so many questions and yet you could not speak. You weren’t even sure if you were just dreaming, it almost seems like a dream. A house far away from everything and everyone, and your boys were right there with you bringing you breakfast in bed. You were partially worried that you would wake up and find yourself sleeping in a plane seat millions of miles away from them, but the other part of you worried that you would never wake up. 

“How long?” you finally spoke, voice still hoarse. A moment of silence fell before he answered. 

“I can’t tell you.” Marc says lowering his eyes, something he does when he has something to hide. 

“Did Steven or Jake tell you that,” You fidgeted with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Neither.” 

“You have to let me go,” You finally said, voice getting a little less hoarse the more you speak. “Please.” 

“Stop,” He said looking at you finally with a hard look in his eyes, “Stop saying you have to leave. You don’t need to leave.”  

“Yes I do,” you emphasized, you held his face in order to hold his gaze, “there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, things that I’ve lied about. That person you fell in love with isn’t me, I’ve done horrible things-” 

“I know-” 

“No you don’t.” 

“Yes,” he said, grabbing your wrist with an intense look in his eyes, “I do.” 

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on you and stuck a fork in an outlet all at the same time. There was no way he could know, at least, not everything. 

“I know that you used to be a Black Widow,” he said, taking a step towards you, the grip on your wrist tightening, “you’ve killed, lied, and stole from many people including me.” his nose brushed with yours as you tried to steady your breathing. 

“How could you know all that?” You asked, whispered, your mind was pounding in time with your heart as he leaned closer to your ear. 

“I also know you used to be a mercenary,” you heard him whisper in your ear, his breath ghosting over the goosebumps that formed on your skin, “that’s how we met.” you stopped breathing as he leaned slightly away from you, far enough for you to look him in the eyes. Dark eyes that held the sun in them. 

Oh

Oh. 

The last job you went on you worked with a team, you never saw his face and he was never much of a talker. You just remember his eyes as he held a gun to you ready to shoot…only to lower the gun and let you get away. 

That had been Marc. 

Without a second thought you ripped your wrist from his grip and grabbed the glass laying on the nightstand throwing it at him. Your heart pounded as you made your way through the open door, sure to close and block it before he had time to reach it. You were sure by now you were on the verge of a heart attack with how loudly your heart was pounding. You could hear Marc on the other side banging the door with his fists. You had no plan, your heart was breaking all over again and your entire body has gone into a fight and flight zone. You made your way down the wooden stairs skipping every other step, unafraid of the small fall you have on the last step before you regained balance and ran straight through the front door. Even from outside you can still hear him banging and screaming, you tried to decide where the best place to run to when the banging stopped. It wasn’t in Marc's nature to give up so you look behind you, he wasn’t coming down the stairs either. What the hell? 

Then you heard a familiar grunt and footsteps above you. 

The open window. 

All at once it didn’t matter where you ran to as long as you ran. Your feet carried you swiftly into the tree lining of the woods surrounding the house. The adrenaline coursing through your veins hid the pain of the cuts and barbs that scratched you as you pushed them aside. Your goal was to run, or to find a pointy enough stick or a sharp enough stone to throw at him, but mainly run and hide. 

You weren’t sure how long you ran, all you knew was that your lungs were on fire and you couldn’t feel your limbs. You knew you couldn’t run much further, at least, not at full speed. So you went to the nearest, sturdy tree you could find and climbed, you grabbed one branch after another. The bark dug into sensitive parts of your hand but you didn’t care, you could see your arms shaking as they pulled you up to that final branch. It seemed strong enough to hold your weight and shielded enough to provide cover. 

One of the things the Red Room taught you was to assess weakness and who had the advantage. Marc had the advantage when it came to muscle mass, but you had experience–granted those were mainly espionage missions that required more brains than combat prowess. You always carried a gun on you,  but if he was smart (which you know he is) he took that away and was carrying it with him now.  

All this time, you thought he loved you and that you were protecting him. You never even suspected the truth, he seemed so familiar and you had that gut instinct that something was up but you ignored it. All this time everything had been a lie, he didn’t love you, he was finishing the job. How long did he have his eye on you before he made a move? 

Stop! You didn’t have time to mourn, you had to focus on surviving. 

You halted your greedy intakes of air as you heard rustling in the leaves. Careful not to make the slightest sound as you saw him run past, calling your name. You waited until you slowly couldn’t hear the crackling of the leaves before beginning your descent. Time was of the essence, at some point Marc will come back to retrace steps, so you had to make another break in a different direction he had gone. Maybe back to the house and hotwire the beat up jeep you saw in the driveway. Once there you would make it to the second nearest village because the nearest would be the first place he’ll look, use one of those grimy old payphones to call in your ID guy. 

Your feet had barely touched the ground before you felt the wind being knocked out of you as you tackled the ground. You were pinned before you could push Marc off of you, unable to do much but struggle in his grip. 

“Do it,” you growled while still fighting, “I’m not going to stop fighting but if you’re going to do it, do it now.” 

“Do what now?!” His eyes wide and intense, his grip becoming tighter on your wrists again. 

“Kill me!” You yell, “that’s what all this has been for, hasn’t it? I killed your boss and stole a lot of money and relics from the people who hired us. A lot of different people want me dead, a lot of powerful people who can make things happen want me dead for more than this. Once you kill me you’ll have your pick of the litter. Whatever you want.” You see his brows furrow as you feel his breath ghost over your lips. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe what I wanted was you?” He pecked your lips once before continuing, “that I intended to keep you for myself rather than sell you to the highest bidder.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“Cause I love you,” Marc said, pinning your hands above your head with one hand while the other caressed your cheek, “I have since we met on those desolate dunes, that has never been a lie.” you can feel his heartbeat as he lays his weight down on top of you, like so many times before, as his words swirl around your head. Your first thought was that he was lying, how could he not be? Deep down, however, as you looked him in the eyes you were reminded that Marc was many things–but a good liar was not one of them. 

“You can love me,” you say, “and still betray me.” you hear him let out a frustrated groan as he drops his head to your shoulder. You can feel his grip tighten before he lets your wrist go, and his weight on you is gone leaving you strangely cold. For a moment you think he’s letting you go, a foolish thought, one full of hope. 

You were wrong. 

No sooner had you gotten off the ground yourself, your feet were dangling above the ground as you were swung over his shoulder like you weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Had this been ANY different situation your knees would be weak for a different reason. 

Once again you fought, kicking and screaming. He wasn’t going to kill you, not yet, but you were honest when you said you weren’t going down without a fight. You didn’t even register entering the house until he sat you on the couch with an unceremonious plop, his hands gripping your shoulders and a frustrated look in his eye. 

“What is it going to take to get you to believe me?” He said, voice low edging on a growl. 

“Give me one good reason to believe that you wouldn’t give me up.” You said, eyes narrowing, “a reason that I would believe.'' There was a beat of silence, you see his brows furrowed together as his brain itches for an answer that you know he wouldn’t have. He has betrayed you and has all the reasons in the world to sacrifice you to the altar. 

Then the lights starting flickering, 

The hairs on your neck stood on end as you felt a shift in the air, the lights flickering and a hum of something else. Something you’ve never encountered before. Then you see the bandages wrapping themselves around Marc like snakes and his eyes were no longer the dark color you used to adore. They glowed now like moonlight reflecting off of water. 

Of course. 

You’ve seen the small articles in the paper passing by or clickbait news in the media about London’s vigilante who called themselves Moon Knight. You usually never paid much attention to it, you rarely were out past dark anyway why would you? Maybe you should’ve. 

“If I wanted anything that they have,” You hear him say as the mask unbound itself to reveal his face, “I would’ve just taken it, and they couldn’t have stopped me.” 

“You’re moon knight.” Of course the first person you fall in love with is not only a mercenary, but also a superpowered vigilante. Your life hasn’t been ordinary, why would your love life be?! You groaned in frustration as you leaned your head back against the couch, “well that explains why you always look exhausted and always came back home at weird hours.” 

“You knew about that?” He asked, you gave him a deadpan look, “...of course you did.” You look at him for a moment and replayed every moment in your head leading up to this, he had a point. With these powers he really could have walked into any place, taken what he wanted, and left. He wouldn’t have needed you, but why keep you?

“Ok,” you start, “so you don’t intend to sell me or kill me or whatever.”

“I’ve been telling yo-” 

“But why keep me?” You ask, “Why bring me here? Based on this house and location it is-”

“Everything you ever wanted.” Marc finished, his grip softening on your shoulders, “a small house with a sunroom, far away from everyone, a place to plant flowers and a lot more sun than what you got in the city…A home.” 

“This would’ve taken at least half a year to build,” you say, “and another few weeks to a month to draft up the plans. So that means that you have been planning on bringing me here since-” 

“Since fate decided to give us a second chance,” he said, “I couldn’t follow you before and lost you, trust me I tried to follow you but you were so damn good at running and hiding that I couldn’t find you. Then, one day, I see you on the bus. I was a fly on the wall, Steven was in charge, but I saw you. You have no idea how badly I wanted to talk to you, but seeing how you fled before, I knew I had to be patient. I told Steven everyday to talk to you, building him up until he eventually sat next to you.” You see him laugh a little, “I really shouldn’t have kept him up the night before, but it all turned out alright.” 

He was sick, you knew this from the beginning, you just never looked below the surface of it. He needed help, something you couldn’t give him here. 

“Baby,” You said softly, holding his hands as he knelt down in front of you, kissing the tops of his still bandaged covered hands, before leaning your forehead against his, you had to be calm. You had to convince him with honey and not vinegar. “Thank you so much for doing this, it must have been so much work.” You start, lowering your voice to barely a whisper, already sensing the tension leaving his body, “you must be so tired.” 

“I am.” 

“I’m just worried for you,” you said brushing your nose against his, “maybe we should see someone hmm? Like a specialist or a doctor, get you some melatonin or some medicine to help you sleep.” You feel him shake his head before you gently shush him, bringing a hand to cup his stubbly cheek, “just to help you sleep.” 

“I don’t need them.” He says definitely, “I have you.”

“And you’ll always have me.” You promise, “let’s just call and make the appointment, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to help.” 

“No,” he mumbles quietly at first, “no” a little louder, “I don’t-” 

“Do it for me?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes and giving him a small smile, “please baby.” gently moving your hand to scratch the nape of his neck you knew he was putty. 

“Ok,” he agrees. 

“Ok,” you quietly repeat, trying to keep your tone even, “how about we call them right now and make an appointment?” 

“No.” 

“Ok,” you say, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck, “we don’t need to call them right now but in a short bit here, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

You breathe in, “yeah.”

[romana-after-dark]

Dead Dove December 2023 Masterlist

Hello everyone!

So sorry it took forever to get this out, but it took me 5ever to read through these fics bc I was expresso depresso and working a lot LMFAOOOOOOO

Anyway, THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR EVERYONE ENTRIES!!! I adore you so so so so much. I am SO HAPPY with how this worked out and the amount of response! I hope to hold another event this March with @for-a-longlongtime at @triplefrontier-anniversary for the TF anniversary over at my main account @romanarose, and an event in June for pride, so if those interest you, follow my main page or this one, or @romana-updates

NOTE: I was unorganized so if I forgot someone's fic, IT WAS NOT ON PURPOSE. I know right now there discourse right now the Pedro fandom specifically, about different people not liking others or small writers or big writers ETC, but I want you to know no one was left out on purpose!

Note 2: If I put your fic here but forgot to reblog LET ME KNOW! I want to make sure everyone gets a chance to shine.

Without further ado, the fics and art!

ALL OF THESE ARE DARK SO SOME DEGREE FROM CNC, DUB CON, TO VIOLENT NON CON! HEAD WARNINGS!

The Last of Us

The Burglary by @aurorawritestoescape and @milla-frenchy: Two men break into your house and take more than just your valuables.

Fight Club by @anama-cara : Post outbreak set in the Boston QZ. You decide to go against Joel in an underground QZ fight club for some extra coin. Joel doesn't take kindly to the competition and decides to punish you in his own special way.

Deja Vu by @milla-frenchy : After a bad experience with a former boyfriend, you meet Joel who makes you trust him fully in the bedroom

Silent Night by @kewwrites : Despite the way he always acted around you, you find it hard to say no to Sarah when she invites you home to her dad's house for the holidays. Surely nothing would happen while she's with you.

Training Day by @koshkamartell : Set in AU, no outbreak. You get more than you bargained for after trying to make Joel jealous.

Code Broken by @auteurdelabre : You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

The Art of Breaking by @corazondebeskar-reads : Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

Cry Harder by @romana-after-dark : While keeping you captive, Joel's sex drive is insatiable, and the sex seemed to be never ending. You tried to warm him you needed to use the bathroom... he didn't listen.

Nightmare Before Christmas by @katiexpunk : As an escort, you’ve found yourself in some pretty fucked up situations before. Years of experience have taught you to navigate such situations with a combination of tact and assertiveness. Most of the time the men who exude an air of sleaze shrivel back into the corner, embarrassed and limp dicked.  Most of the time.  Tonight is not one of those times.

Locket by @toxicanonymity : Dark!Reader dugs her friends hot dad Joel

Run, Rabbit by @justagalwhowrites : It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They're harsh, they're cold and they're killers. But, as a nurse, you're a valuable person to have around and they're not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

Godless by @javier-penas-wifexx420 : You work at a brothel that operates above a saloon in your town. Joel is the leader of a group of outlaws that come periodically to collect payment and wreak havoc. One visit, you catch Joel’s eye and he decides he has to have you.

Across the Spiderverse

After Dark by @runa-falls : He wants you. and he knows you need him.

Triple Frontier

Deep Seeded Issues by @djarinmuse: Summary: At an N.A (narcotics anonymous) meeting you recall a dark and embarrassing memory, not knowing the connection in the room.

My Blood Would Teach Me How to Love by @winniethewife : Santi finds you self harming, blood kink ensues.

Room's on Fire by @romana-after-dark : Cult AU, Pope, Frankie, Will and Ben are cult leaders and need a virgin to breed who will birth the savior: the Madonna. Initially honored to find redemption, the Madonna has to learn how to navigate all four men and a circle of other people at the house.

Goodnight, Princess by @melodygatesauthor : Your dad's best friend accidentally discovers that you're a sex worker. He tries to let it go, but it eats away at him until things go way too far.

The Card Counter

Bad Bet by @boredzillenial and art by @lunar-ghoulie4art : William beats you in a poker tournament, but you just can’t accept defeat, not yet…

Getting Whats Mine by @winniethewife

Lightening Face

Puppy by @darkuselesssomebody : In which the reader is a manipulative bitch - and basil snaps because of it

Mojave

Cruel Intentions by @hon3yboy : You're on a soul seeking journey, just another young, pretty, thing. All alone and stranded in the desert, ripe for the picking and ol' Jack has his eyes set on you.

Moon Kight

Death to Dignity by @juneknight : An intruder (Marc) breaks in to your apartment.

*************

I cannot thank you enough for your support and interaction for htis series!!!!! I had SUCH a good time reading all these, you are all so talented!!!

I hope to do more events soon as it's really helped me make some friends and get to know people here!!!!

Please remember to reblog these authors, and if you're tagged here, be sure to check out more! Lots of great content here!

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Keyhole

Pairing: Dark!Marc Spector x Reader 

Summary: After a break-in at your apartment, your neighbor offers you comfort in a time when you most need it. 

Warnings: Fluff, Meet-cute-ish, Romance, Smut, Overstimulation, Breeding, Canon Typical Violence, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Murder, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Drugging, Implied torture, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/N: that request for dark Marc just really got all the gears turning lol. i don’t have the triple PoV in this fic (sorry everyone) but i do reference steven and jake! do trust that they are there and they are thoroughly enjoying themselves, haha. mind the warnings! bottom divider courtesy of @firefly-graphics

The door is open. 

It shouldn’t be—you’d locked it securely when you left, you know you did. Human memories are fallible, sure, but not now. Not this time. There was no comforting thunk as the deadbolt slid out of its home when you had turned your key. 

There was no sound at all. 

With a trembling hand, you reach out to touch your front door, laying your palm flat against the faded white paint. The metal is cool under your hand, but you only feel it for a moment as the door swings open easily. You clap a terrified hand over your mouth at the sight of your apartment. Even from the doorway you can see its been ransacked; the cupboards you can see are all open, dishes thrown onto the floor in broken shards of porcelain. There are clothes in the hallway, your things strewn about haphazardly. You begin to take a step over the threshold to assess the damage and pause immediately. 

What if Jamie’s in there?

He was out now, as per the email you’d received two months ago. You’d moved states away by now of course, but the fear was unshakeable, and now neither was your suspicion. You don’t want to go in, not now and certainly not alone. You take a step back instead, keeping your eyes on the open door—or, at least, you try to.

“Careful, neighbor.” You turn with a start, though your shoulders sag with relief when instead of Jamie, you see your neighbor. Marc smiles at you, though his expression darkens as his eyes dart over your shoulder. “What happened here?” He steps around you to peer worriedly into your apartment. “Everything okay?”

You’re not a dramatic person—and not usually a crier on the worst of days. Even Jamie had had to raise a fist to get you to shed a tear, and those were more out of anger at your own helplessness and the pain rather than fear. But you feel them gathering in the corners of your eyes now, your chin trembling as you try to hold the pieces all together. 

“I—I don’t—” You swallow thickly. “I think my ex…” You trail off, and he places a hand on your shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t go in there alone.” He casts another dubious look at your apartment. “Is he still in there?” You shake your head, shrugging with a choked sob. 

“I don’t know!” You wrap your arms around yourself as you feel a shiver work its way through you. “I don’t know.” 

“Okay, why don’t you come with me. We’re going to call the cops, okay? And they’ll check everything out, make sure it’s safe for you to go home.” You’ve met Marc on more than a few occasions. There’s only so much you can learn about a person on a twenty minute bus ride, but you don’t think he’s the sort to hurt you. 

At least, you hope not. You suppose you don’t have the greatest track record, given the circumstances. But you don’t want to stand out here in the hallway, and you can’t go in there. 

“Okay.” 

—

Marc’s apartment sits opposite yours, but you realize as he shuts the door behind you that you’ve never even caught a glimpse of it before. He tosses his coat on the little bench by the door, and you kick off your shoes next to his, nudging them beneath it with your toe when you’re done. The apartment itself seems to be the inverse of yours in layout. There’s a strange mish-mash of furniture; old, antique chairs and side tables, with a sleek, modern couch and bookshelves. And God, are there bookshelves. They line nearly every room, and they’re crammed to the max with all manner of books, and what looks to be a mix of actual scrolls and loose papers. 

You’re ashamed and embarrassed, but too upset to stop the tears, panic tightening your throat until you’re gasping and choking with every sob. You don’t mean to cry in front of him—you really don’t, but once they start they don’t stop. How had he found you? You’d been so careful, had done everything the attorney had suggested and more and it still wasn’t enough. Jamie had sniffed you out, and it hadn’t even taken him very long. You’re so focused on that that it escapes your notice that every wheezing breath you draw into your lungs is smaller than the one before it until your vision narrows. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you realize—

Panic attack, I’m having a panic attack—

“Hey, hey, Sweetheart I know this is awful, but you have to calm down.” Marc squeezes your shoulders as you stare unseeingly at him, willing the noise in your head to stop.  “Can you focus on me? On what I’m saying right now?” You can barely hear him over your own frenzied thoughts—where Jamie was, what his next move would be, why he couldn’t just leave you the fuck alone. Marc threads his fingers through yours, holding both your hands against his chest. 

“I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? You have to breathe, Sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Take a nice deep breath in, okay?” You inhale a shaky breath, whimpering as you release it. Mark’s warm brown eyes are so easy to focus on, and he nods encouragingly. “

When the police arrive, he lets them in, standing protectively over you as they question you. 

“So your old boyfriend’s jealous of your new boyfriend, here.” The dismissiveness drips from the officer’s tone. He isn’t even writing anything down, his thumbs hooked through the loops of his belt as he shakes his head at you, like this is your fault somehow. You shoot an apologetic look at Marc. 

“Oh, we’re not—” You shake your head. Of course he’d want to chalk everything up to a little domestic disturbance, and it’s hard not to be angry at his dismissal. “My ex’s name is Jamie Parrish, and he got out of prison almost two months ago.” He has the good grace to look ashamed of himself, at least. “I have reason to believe he’ll be back, if he’s not still…” 

“He’s not, ma’am.” The second officer shakes his head. “There wasn’t anyone. But we did find this.” He produces a small, square jewelry box from his pocket, and you feel your stomach lurch. It’s white, a gold stripe running along the edges. “Have you seen this before? It was sitting on a plate in the kitchen.” He opens it, and you nearly puke. 

It’s that goddamn fucking ring.

You’d hated that thing when Jamie had showed it to you—and his pouting at the store had become full fledged screaming in the car when you’d said you’d rather have something else. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he’d said, ignoring your panic as the car accelerated, swerving wildly. Didn’t you want to fucking get married? Why didn’t you want to be with him? Why were you making this so goddamn hard—

“Yes.” You lick your dry lips. “I’ve seen that ring before.” 

In the end, they take your statement and leave, and you feel much the same as before they’d gotten there. You had thought, naively, maybe, that the police’s presence, their sweep of your apartment would make you feel safer, not worse. 

Fool me twice, I guess. They’d never been particularly helpful, even when you’d answered the door bearing the marks of Jamie’s displeasure. 

“Fucking assholes.” Marc slams the door behind them. He shakes his head. “At least there’s a paper trail now.” You nod, and force a thin smile. 

“Right. Thanks, Marc.” He sits down beside you on the couch. “You okay?” 

”I want to lie and say I am, but I am really, really, not.” 

“Can’t say I blame you.” When he rests his hand on your thigh, it feels friendly, not forward. “Look, I know we don’t… You don’t have to go back there tonight. If you don’t want to, I mean.” The offer is tempting. You don’t want to go back to your apartment, not tonight. Hell, maybe not ever. You feel like turning tail and running now that Jamie’s found you, but you know you can’t do that tonight, either. And Marc is nice. 

“Would it be weird if I took you up on it?” You ask with a little laugh. “I just… I don’t want to be alone in there, you know?” He smiles warmly, and you feel your cheeks heat.

“It’s not weird if I offered it.” He stands up. “Let me change the sheets on the bed.” 

“W-what?” You stare at him. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

“The couch is fine for me, trust me.” His smile goes a little sad, somehow. “I don’t get much sleep anyway.” 

—

You help him change the sheets on his bed, noting the large fish tank on the opposite wall. There’s a fish inside, and as you step closer, you realize he’s only got one fin.

“What’s this guy’s name?” You ask, jerking a thumb at the tank. Marc snorts. 

“Gus.” He smooths out the comforter. “The one-finned-wonder.” He smooths the comforter down with both hands before standing back up. Marc  had been sweet enough to accompany you back to your apartment long enough to get some clothes, but the entire time you’d been there you’d felt watched, and you wonder if Jamie had found time to bug the place, or something. 

“I’ll be right out there if you need anything.” 

Sleep is slow and reluctant to come, and you toss and turn in your neighbor’s bed, staring at his ceiling. It’s not that it isn’t comfortable—it is. It’s more that you just feel uneasy, something you attribute to Jamie’s sudden return to your life to wreak havoc. 

Around midnight you give up and decide to get a glass of water. You take extra care not to make a sound as you creep out of the bedroom, though your efforts prove fruitless when you spy Marc sitting up at the table in the living room, back bent over a book. You pad into the kitchen and search the cupboards for a glass.   The water comes out of the tap surprisingly cold, and you take a grateful sip before peeking back out of the kitchen. 

You realize he’s muttering to himself in a low voice, so low you can’t hear him. He shakes his head like he’s responding to someone else you can’t see. 

“Marc?” He goes silent, sitting straight up. He doesn’t respond for a full ten seconds, before he shudders, and turns. 

“Hey.” 

“Are you okay?” You ask, your brows knitted together with concern. He glances at the table, and then back to you.

“Yeah, I—” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I was just reading.” Marc closes the old looking book in front of him, before running his hands through his hair. “Can’t sleep either?” He asks, and you laugh bitterly. 

“I guess not.” You take another sip of your water. “I can’t shake the thought that Jamie’s still there, or something, I know it’s ridiculous but I can’t.” 

“It’s not ridiculous. He sounds like a real piece of shit.” Marc actually looks angry, his fingers twitching against the table like he wants to curl them into fists. You sit in one of the wooden chairs next to him at the dining table. “You said he was in prison?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was supposed to be ten years.” 

“And how many did he do?”

“Three.” 

“Fucking Christ.” 

Marc pushes himself away from the table, shaking his head. He heads into the kitchen, and you find yourself drawn to the book on the table. There are hieroglyphs on the cover, though, not English as you’d expected. Post-its stick out of it, scrawling handwriting on them. Marc didn’t much seem like the scholarly type, much less the type to take notes and do homework for fun, but who were you to begrudge people their interests?

He returns with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses, each with a couple of cubes of ice.

“Here.” He pours you one and then himself, lifting it in a silent toast, and you take yours gratefully. “You earned it.” The whiskey burns pleasurably as you sip it down. 

“You’ve been… thank you,” you say, stumbling over the words embarrassingly. “Tonight has been a nightmare.” 

“No problem. I mean, I figured you wouldn’t try to rob me or stab me in my sleep,” He says, laughing. “Thought we might have enough good will built up from all those bus rides.” He winks and your cheeks warm. You laugh too, and it actually feels good—needed. When you drain your glass, he picks up the bottle, offering you another pour. You nod. 

“Please.” You’re feeling comfortably warm and fuzzy by the time you’re finished with the second glass, shaking your head when Marc offers again. “I better not. I still haven’t decided if I’m going in to work tomorrow.” 

He clucks his tongue. “Seriously? You can’t actually be thinking of going in after this.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of your apartment, and then shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m not—I’m really not trying to tell you what to do. It’s just… I don’t think it’s a good idea. With what you told me about this guy, we need to make sure you’re safe.” 

“We?” You ask teasingly. “Is that like the royal we?” He doesn’t answer. “I’ve been dealing with Jaimie for years on my own. It just feels… normal.” You admit. He’s your own personal boogeyman, showing up when you least expect it just to wreak havoc on your life. He gets off on it, you know he does. The control of it all. 

“That’s exactly why an outside perspective,” Marc points a finger at himself, “is necessary.” You tap thoughtful fingers on the rim of your glass. You grimace. He does have a point. 

“Maybe calling out until the cops have him back in custody is a good idea.” 

“Just sleep on it.” Marc says, holding his hands up placatingly. “That’s all I ask.” He’s just as easy to talk to as he had been on the bus, all charming smiles and pleasant banter. “I just… I would hate for something to happen to you.” The words sound like an admission, and they bring heat to your cheeks. Your fingers slip against the rim of the glass and it tilts dangerously, the ice nearly spilling out until you right it with a clatter. The thought occurs to you that your  very handsome neighbor might be interested in you in a more than neighborly way. 

“You would?” 

“I—well, isn’t it obvious?” He asks with a little laugh. He sets down his half full glass on the table. 

“Not to me, apparently.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “But I am notoriously bad at reading the room.” Marc laughs and you do too. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this after finding out I have an insane ex.” Marc snorts, glancing at the window beside you before meeting your eyes again. 

“We’re not worried about him.” 

“Again with the we stuff,” you say, shaking your head. “Your apartment isn’t the one that got ransacked.” You shiver. “I’m just… I’m glad I wasn’t there. I’m glad you weren’t there.” It’s all too easy to remember just how hard Jamie can hit. Absently, your fingers trace the scar just beneath the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Sweetheart, I’m more than capable of defending myself. And you.” The confidence in his words makes you shiver pleasantly. “Trust me.” There’s a heat in his eyes and in his voice that leaves you both interested and a little apprehensive. It’s a bad time to date—though it seems lately it’s always a bad time to date. Jamie had been practically breathing down your neck even from prison before you’d moved, calling, sending letters ranging from promises to do better when he returned and threatening that you would regret ever having involved the law in the first place. 

Not exactly the stuff budding relationships are made to withstand. 

You lick your dry lips. “And you’re anticipating having to do that?” 

“If you needed me to.” He says it plainly and without hesitation, and a little chill travels up your spine at his matter-of-fact delivery, and the dark intensity of his gaze. 

“Awfully neighborly of you.” The whiskey burning in your belly has emboldened you—you want to hear him say it. Hear him admit it, instead of dancing around it. You need Marc to make it real—mostly because you’re afraid to. He grins at you, and your stomach twists itself into a gordian knot. 

“Maybe I’m interested in being more than neighborly.” His hand is warm when he places it over yours on the table. You revel in it for a second too long before withdrawing your hand, curling it against your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I—” He pinches the bridge of his nose before scrubbing a hand down his face. “Whiskey.” 

You nod with a soft laugh. “Yeah,” you say, swallowing thickly. “Whiskey.” The silence is even louder than his admission, and you find yourself making excuses to escape it. “I should, um. I should head to, to bed.” 

“Mm.” Marc nods, his eyes back on the window. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

When you close the bedroom door you linger in front of it, rocking from foot to foot. It’s been so long since you’ve dated, you’re unsure of the etiquette—you don’t remember the proper order of operations, not anymore. The debate in your head leaves you paralyzed, fingers twisting in the hem of your t-shirt. Should you go back out? Talk more? Do you even have anything to say? 

Should you tell him that you like him too? 

That you look forward to your Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday shifts the most because those are the ones that start with him? Honesty’s a stranger to you now, mostly because being honest about your feelings had usually been a one-way-ticket to Jamie’s shit list—but Marc isn’t Jamie. 

He’s not. 

You place a hand on the door handle, and when you push down it swings back open easily, revealing Marc on the other side. His hand is outstretched, like he’d been about to do the exact same thing. 

“Come here.” Marc groans as he pulls you hard against him. You’re dizzy from him—and from the whiskey you can still feel warming your veins. His mouth feels so good on yours that you whine a little in protest when he stiffens and pulls away. 

“I—fuck, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his curly hair, looking up at the ceiling before mouthing another curse. “I’m sorry. I—you’re vulnerable and I fucking—shit.” Marc shakes his head again. “I have wanted to do that since goddamn April.” He admits with a soft laugh. He presses another to your forehead, and you laugh too. 

“April, huh?” You grin at him. Marc’s body is solid against yours, hard muscle boxing you in against the door, but you don’t mind it. “You—o-oh,” His hands skim your sides hungrily, bunching up your t-shirt as they slide beneath it. You gasp as he cups your breasts beneath the fabric, and Marc curses again. 

“Marc—”

“I don’t think you’re going to work tomorrow.” His thumbs flick across your nipples, and you moan, head falling back against the door with a thud. “Okay?” You nod as one of his hands drops to your hip, pulling at the elastic of your pajama shorts. He snaps it against your skin and you hiss. “Good.” His mouth finds yours again and you melt against him, knock-kneed and sighing. Marc kisses you breathless, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

“It’s okay, right? Fuck, tell me it’s okay,” he pulls your t-shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of you. Marc crashes over you like a wave. There’s so little space between his words and his actions you don’t really have time to consider yourself if it really is okay before you’re nodding your assent. 

“I-it’s okay.” His hands are everywhere, tugging at your nipples, cupping your chin affectionately while he sucks on your tongue, tugging down your pajama shorts— “Marc, Marc slow down—”

“M’sorry, Baby,” he presses a line of heated kisses down over the curve of your hip. “Just—just wanted this for so long.” His desperation is palpable, his touches hungry, reverent. You feel him settle himself between your legs, his hips fitting neatly between your thighs. “Fuck, you are so fucking beautiful.” He presses his lips to the space between your breasts, and then you see his eyes go dark before he caresses the burn mark on your arm with soft fingers. 

“Jamie?”

“Jamie.” 

He mutters something then, something you don’t quite catch. You don’t even hear it, not really, the words barely registering as background noise before he kisses you again—“fucking deserved it” before they’re gone, disappeared into the heated air between you. 

To his credit, Marc does slow down, taking his time lavishing his attention on each of your breasts until your nipples are puffy and oversensitive, each pass of his tongue making you squirm and whine. As he does so, he slides a hand down to cup your cunt, and you gasp, hips rolling shamelessly into his hand. He moans, grinding the thick weight of his cock against your thigh. 

“Didn’t you tell me to slow down?” He asks, his tone mocking. You had, but you don’t have the bandwidth to explain that that wasn’t what you’d meant, but you aren’t really sure you want him to stop now, no, not when his fingers feel so good—

“F-fuck, fuck, Marc-!” He rolls your clit between his fingers, his eyes trained on the slick mess he’s making between your thighs. 

“Again,” he says lowly, repeating the motion as you squeal, thighs locking around his hand. “Say my name like that again.” And when he drops to his knees and latches his mouth onto your cunt like he’s starving for you, you do. His name, mixed in with strings of curses as he curls his fingers inside of you and circles your clit so perfectly with his tongue. 

“M-Marc!” 

He sighs against you, mumbling curses and praises into the slick folds of your pussy. With the hand not buried between your writhing thighs, he holds you down, keeping your hips pressed against the bed. You whine as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and you throw your head back against the mattress as your hips buck pitifully. He mumbles something against you that you can barely hear, “He didn’t fucking deserve you,” but you don’t get the chance to ask him about it as his tongue finds you again. 

“Sweetheart I need to know—” Marc scissors his fingers inside you—“do you want to cum on my face or on my cock?” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he hums, shaking his head. “Use your words.” He punctuates the demand with a long, slow lick through your sopping folds, and you hate that you can’t make yourself look away. The choice is taken from you when he rolls your clit hard against the roof of his mouth and electricity arcs through you down to your toes. 

You’re cursing and crying as it happens too, rocking against his face as he mumbles unintelligible words into the skin of your inner thigh. Your twitching fingers are tangled in the sheets and his curly hair, you realize, though Marc’s voiced no complaint, though when you release him, he leans up to grin at you, pressing a damp kiss to the side of your knee. His face is half soaked from you, and he absently draws the back of his hand across his mouth before he gets to his feet. 

Your head is still spinning as he tugs you down the mattress to meet his hips, and you gasp at the feel of him. Thick and throbbing, Marc rocks against you with a moan. 

“Feels good, right Baby?” He asks lowly, reaching down to press the head of his leaking cock against your clit. You’re still sensitive, and you whine, attempting to retreat from the feeling but Marc holds you still with a chuckle. He spreads your thighs with one smooth motion, his hands pressing outward steadily until you’re wide open before him. “Too good, maybe.” Your response is a slurry of syllables and his name, cut short as he pushes inside without preamble and the words all cease. You’re practically choking on them—on him, the thick weight of him burning deliciously as he parts you. 

You would whine and plead and moan Marc’s name, only you can’t get the air in. There’s not enough room with his cock inside you, and the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress. He mumbles a curse as he draws back before sliding all the way home again with a satisfied sigh. There is no cool-down with Marc, no, only one exhilarating peak to the next. Tears gather in your wide eyes as you feel the pull again, only deeper, and more—

“Baby are you crying?” He asks breathlessly, and you feel him throb hard inside you. “Ah, fuck.” Marc’s hands are everywhere then, squeezing your chin as he forces you to look him in the eye, two fingers resting on the flat of your tongue, the other gripping the curve of your hip as he slams into your over, and over. You cum again, you can’t help it, drool leaking down your chin and tears tracking down into your hair as he stares hungrily down at you. You clutch at his wrist, mumbling his name against his fingers. 

“Fucking—you are going to make me—” You haven’t even finished cumming yet when Marc does too, holding you so tight you know there will be bruises. Marc pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping them on the sheets. He doesn’t pull out though, humming with pleasure as an aftershock makes you clench down around him. 

Good thing I have the IUD. He hadn’t asked, but you’d learned your lesson well enough already to get the stuff no one could sabotage—not that you thought Marc would do that. It was spur of the moment—not time, or thought to grab a condom, you were sure. He smiles down at you, as if in reassurance. 

“You okay?” He cups your chin. Your body is still humming with the echoes of the pleasure from before, your thigh muscles twitching every few seconds, and you feel warm, like you’re floating in blissful soup. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod with a smile of your own. “I’m, um. Really good.” 

He slips out of you then, and crawls up onto the bed beside you with a huff before tugging you against his chest. “Come here.” You giggle when he presses a kiss into your hair. Your thighs slide together, wet and sticky, and you groan. 

“At least let me clean up first,” you say, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay?” Marc folds his arms. 

“Only because you asked so nice.” When you get out of bed, the palm of his hand cracks across your ass and you squeal, batting his eager hands away. 

“I’ll be right back, jeez.” His eyes are already closing as he dozes off, nodding absently. You shrug into his t-shirt, grabbing your own shorts before heading off to the bathroom.

His bathroom is in much the same place as yours, if a little larger. You help yourself to his body-wash, rinsing the evidence of your romp from your still tender skin. As you dry off, you realize you’d been right in your earlier summation that Marc would leave visible reminders on your body, the hollows where his fingers had been already turning dark and angry. 

He’s strong.

You exit the bathroom and turn back toward the bedroom—when a dull thump makes you pause. 

“Marc?”

There’s no answer from your paramour, and when you peek back into the bedroom, he’s full asleep, eyes closed and lips ever-so-slightly parted as his soft breaths puff through them. You hold yourself as you stare into the darkness of your lover’s apartment, fear twisting in your belly. Could Jamie have gotten in somewhere? Another door? An open window? 

In your own apartment, the hallway ends just past the bathroom, with just enough room for an end table to fit neatly beneath a rather expensive looking painting you’d bought for three bucks at Goodwill. In Marc’s, there’s a whole other bedroom. You hesitate, your fingers trembling above the handle before you open it. You’re expecting another bedroom like the one you’ve been sharing with Marc, and to some extent it is—but the far wall is simply… missing. There’s a hole roughly eight, maybe nine feet wide smashed through the brick, though there’s drop-cloths and tools littered around it like it’s a work in progress. 

“Hello?” You pick up a hammer, hefting the weight of it in your hands. “Jamie, if you’re here… you better fucking not be.” You’re not ready for a fight—you’re not even wearing panties under these damn shorts—but when have you ever been? You step through the plastic sheeting into the room on the other side. The building next door isn’t finished—and you don’t know that it ever will be. The perfect fucking location. What if your ex had set up shop here? Watching you? Waiting?

Your foot catches against something and it almost sends you sprawling, your palms scraping against the exposed brick walls. You’ve never been particularly adept at seeing at night, and you squint down at the dark shape slumped against the wall in the narrow space. It takes your eyes some time to adjust, and your heart leaps straight into your throat as you make sense of it. 

It’s a leg. 

You feel the scream building in your throat, and you clap a hand over your mouth to keep it down. The owner of the leg doesn’t move, though, doesn’t rise from their position slumped over on the floor like a puppet with slack strings. You swallow. 

“Hello?” There’s no response. Timidly, you tap their foot with your own, and when they don’t move, don’t breathe, the terror in your chest becomes concern. You kneel down slowly, squinting in the dark. “Are you okay—”

This time you do scream as finally your eyes adjust, and Jamie’s blank, dull eyes stare back into yours like glassy marbles. 

Why is he here? What the fuck, what the fuck— You stumble backwards against the wall, covering your mouth with your hands. It was Marc’s apartment—you’d gotten here through Marc’s apartment. You feel the urge to vomit, but there’s nothing in your stomach but bile. You retch it up anyway, before drawing the back of your hand against your trembling mouth. 

“I really thought I locked this.” Your head snaps up. There, silhouetted against the gently swaying plastic sheeting, is Marc. You can only see the shape of him, but your skin prickles at his presence anyway. You don’t answer. “I’m sorry, Baby. I really didn’t want you to find out like this. I was going to tell you you were safe, I promise. I was just enjoying being with you so much.” You watch his hands curl into fists, before he drops them back down to his sides. “I couldn’t let him hurt you again.” 

This time, you do answer. “You killed him,” It’s hard to keep the accusing note out of your voice. 

“I saw him trashing your apartment. I knew he was going to wait for you to get back from shopping with your mom—” You practically choke on your tongue. How did he know that? How did he know you were with your mother? “And I couldn’t take the chance he’d get to you.” He shakes his head. “He’s not a good man, Sweetheart. He had to go.” 

“I see why you weren’t worried. Hard to worry about a dead man.” No sooner than you force the words out, Marc lunges at you, grabbing at you through the sheeting. He misses, though, and you stumble around behind him, practically tripping back into his apartment. You feel dizzy and uncoordinated, like your body can only give you the bare minimum of responses. 

“You need to rest, Sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you.”

“F-fuck you.” The words are like loose marbles in your mouth, rolling around aimlessly. You pull the door shut as you throw yourself through it, realizing belatedly that you’d never seen Marc take a single sip of his Jack Daniels—and you beat the hammer against the  door handle until it bends unnaturally, and you drop it from your clumsy fingers. 

You can hear Marc shouting, but the words are too far away to make sense, or at least, that’s how they sound in your cotton filled ears. You don’t even realize you’re down on your knees until you feel the hallway rug on your hands, the short, hard fibers digging into your raw palms. The door isn’t that far away now, but it still feels like miles as you drag yourself towards it, blood roaring in your ears.

It is cruel irony when you reach it, cool air flowing from the sliver of space between the door and the threshold while you pant on the floor. You can’t reach the handle, are too weak drag yourself to your feet so that you can—so you beat feebly against the thick metal, your tongue flopping uselessly in your mouth. 

As you lay your heavy, throbbing head against the cool floor, your fingers skip across deep scratches in the wood. The bench has been moved. Many times. On the floor across from you are more scratches, like the bench had been moved to sit parallel to the door. Tears leak from your bleary eyes, pooling on the floor beneath your cheek. It was the perfect height for someone to sit at. 

The perfect height for Marc to watch you, through the keyhole. 

the end.

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[lunalockley]

Night Desires

Dark!Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I mean, dark sort of creepy Steven Grant wishing to do things he shouldn't. Nonconsensual desires? Maybe.

Words: 900+

Notes: This is very short and not as dark as it could, I'm just testing the waters! Let me know what you thinkkk and thanks for always reblogging and commenting nice things <3 love you all

Masterlist

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It began before I could even see your face, it began before I even knew your name. It began with your voice.

You didn't realize such thin walls this building has, did you? Of course, you didn’t darling. Is that why you started to rub your pretty little clit in the middle of the night on your first day in? You thought your good new neighbor couldn’t hear you? God, Love, the sounds you made. I could hear everything. I swear I’ve never been so hard in my life before, never so fast. I tried not to react to it, at first. I really tried. I’m a good guy after all. I’m a gentleman. But who could have resisted you?

I used to wonder how would you react if I told you. When you are all sweet and nice to me in the corridor, what would you do if I say how hard you made me come with your moans and that gasping breathing of yours? Would you blush if I say how I was stroking my cock with one hand and covering my mouth with the other so you couldn’t hear how you wrecked you had me? Would your heart pick up in your chest if I say how badly I want it to be my hands the ones that had you whining so pretty? Would that make you wet? I bet it would. You’re not a good girl, not all the time at least. I know that much.

But you can’t blame me, can you? After that first night, I decided I would never think about it again. I was ashamed. I was even planning on moving my bed from the wall to the farthest possible place in the flat. Can you imagine? I was planning on keeping myself away from you. What an idiot. I didn’t last much though. We bumped into each other in the elevator a few days later and I was a goner.

You had to be so bloody gorgeous, didn’t you? You were all smiles and blushed cheeks. Calling my name in that way you did. Steven, you said. How your lips wrapped the sound, how it ended somewhere low in your throat it drove me insane right there. Steven, it never sounded so glorious before. I wonder how it might sound all breathy and delirious in the darkness of your room, I wonder what it would do to me then. I need to find out.

It used to be okay Love, this little secret between the night, the walls, and I. My favorite time of the day. Delighted in you, holding my breath, measuring my movements to don’t lose any detail I could catch but then—then that disgusting vibrating sound ruining everything. Overcoming your sighs, your pretty little whines. Everything.

How dare you do that to me.

Using some lifeless cold machine when I’m right here alive and warm and eager to do anything you could ask me to. It’s cruel. Making me jealous of some stupid battery thing when I could give you everything. Anything you needed for as long as you wanted it. Letting you catch your breath just to start it all over again.

I hate it. Night after night I hate it more and more. That detestable repetitive sound. It makes me mad. I want to take it off your hands, rip it apart and show you—

Once I read that no man with power should be trusted because he will always use it for his own benefit. I used to think that wasn’t true. I had faith in people, I had faith in me. But now I know—If I just had a tiny little amount of power over you. If I had you all helpless at my mercy, nowhere else to go. God, the things I would do.

Nothing to hurt you, of course. I could never hurt you. Not if you don’t want me to, but I bet you would.

I would just take you the way I’ve wanted all these months. Pump my cock in and out of that wet pussy just like you do with that toy. But, Love, I would be so, so much better. I would know how you need it just by looking at you. Giving it to you faster, slower, harder. And you just would need the lay back and take it for me.

At first, I would have you on your knees. I want to hold you against a wall and fuck your pretty face until your throat is burning, until you’re choking on me and tears run down your cheeks. But I want it slow and tender too. I want you to take just as much as you want to, your hand stroking the rest. I want you to lick me, to savor me. I want to feel your lips and your tongue. And I want to kiss you afterward.

And I want to taste you. I want to drag my tongue just like I’ve been dreaming for so long and I want to feel you tremble and to hear you beg and I want you to get mad and push me against you, I want to lose my breath and have you in my mouth and my lungs and my hands.

And I want to know how those pretty little sounds feel right in my ear. The warmth of your ragged breathing into my neck. Your soft hands holding into me. Your wet cunt clenching hard around me, and my name on your lips over and over again. 

I need everything and more.

I fantasize about it. All the damn bloody time. About just breaking in and giving you what so desperately need. 

Anything you need.

I used to want but I’m getting tired of it. Enough is enough, Love. I’ll start doing now.

[thisisarcanereverie]

Cutting Ties (DARK! Moon Knight x Reader) Part 3

A/N: I know, I'm back from the dead (shocker) I'm so sorry about the lengthy delay but here it is! This is Part 3 of a 3 Part fic. (Here is Part 2!) This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others.

Now if you can interact or want to, please do! Like, reblog, reply!

DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS: kidnapping, angst (like a ridiculous amount of it), light cursing, slight suggestive content, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, I am also not responsible for your content consumption please be advised that this is a dark story with triggering elements, viewer discretion advised. English is my first language I just suck at it. No beta, we die like men! I do not own the picture above but i DO own the header below, it's something that I made. I might make a few others idk. Enjoy!

Summary: You're a former Widow on the run, only in London for a year you meet Steven Grant, a goofy gift shoppist. But is there more that meets the eye?

Weeks passed. 

You had begun to notice a pattern, similar to the one they had before, one day it would be Marc who woke you up with turkey bacon and eggs and slept by you with your hands in his hair and then Steven would take his place the next day with oatmeal with fruit in it in the morning and smothering you at night. The only difference was that Jake had yet to show himself since the night he brought you here. 

A small part of you was grateful for that but the larger (angrier) part of you wanted to see him again, if only to scream at him. However, you had to play this right, you had been working on both Marc and Steven on going to the doctor. You were careful, you knew if they said the wrong thing they wouldn’t go, so you played the part of loyal and dutiful girlfriend each day with a smile on your face and a calm, nurturing voice. Even your words were carefully thought out and rehearsed in advance, every time you mentioned the doctor you didn’t use isolating words like “you” and “me” or “I” instead using words that resembled unity and empathy (something they both had lacked in their childhood) such as “we” and “us”. With every sugared word you swallowed bile and chewed every insult into the insides of your cheeks. The Red Room was a vile place and you resent it with all that you are, but as you find yourself in this situation you couldn’t help but be thankful for their lessons in mental and emotional manipulation. Without them you don’t know what you would’ve done. 

However, as you lay there with Steven’s arm around your abdomen and your gaze fixed on the calendar that hung on the wall in front of you, you hope you can hang on another forty-eight hours, the day of the appointment. You purposely made it for a day. It would be Steven in charge of the body. He was easier swayed and manipulated than Marc. He would let you go with him to the appointment, he needs you at the appointment. You’re his angel, his love, you would hold his hand as he tells the doctor how badly he sleeps and as the doctor writes the prescription you’ll excuse yourself. It can’t be before the doctor writes the prescription, Steven will get nervous and start looking for you sooner rather than later, as the doctor writes the prescription however the appointment will essentially be over but not quite. He will have to sit there and get the prescription and go to check out where they will have him make another appointment for a check in with the doctor before finally having time to look for you in the stalls. It gives you thirty minutes give or take to escape the building without being detected and stealing a car to get to the next town over where you’ll call your ID guy. If the ID guy proves to be a bust you know Yelena was always on the lookout for ex-black widows and she might help you like Natasha did the last time you needed to disappear. The plan was complicated, sure, it required perfect timing and a shit ton of hope and luck, but it was all you had. You were no stranger to seducing, manipulating, and betraying. They were second nature to you, like a coat you’ve left in your closet for so long but it still fits like you've never abandoned it at all. Still though, you’ve never betrayed someone you had loved before, and the guilt at the thought of Steven’s confused and distraught face like the one he had at the apartment was almost enough to kill you. Steven was relatively innocent in all of this, this wasn’t his plan it was Jake’s. It wasn’t his fault that they shared a body. Still, freedom comes at a price and Steven, Marc, and Jake would never allow such a luxury. 

You find yourself slipping sometimes, finding yourself thinking it wouldn’t be so bad. That this life is exactly what you wanted to begin with, having your cake and eating it too. But you reminded yourself that this life was given to you without choice. That these men might love you in their own way, but all they want in the end is to possess you, to keep you whether it would be willingly or not, with chains or with vows. 

It was later than usual, you knew you needed to sleep. You need all the energy you can get, after escaping in a few days you will probably miss the bed seeing as you don’t know where you’ll be but in either case you doubt you’ll be sleeping with a quilt or a fluffy pillow for a while. You try to sleep, counting sheep proved fruitless and the warmth of Steven’s chest on your back caused your body temp to rise to an uncomfortable degree. But you tried to remain still, you’ve been under worse torture than restlessness and uncomfortable heat, you should be fine. 

…

You were wrong. 

Gently you tried to scoot away from him, hoping to catch some sort of reprieve to no avail. Tried extending your limbs to the cooler parts of your shared blanket in order to cool at least some part of you down but that only helped little, only one foot managed to break free from the too warm confines and that helped significantly but sleeping like that felt too weird (too many horror movies with Jake). You let out a little frustrated huff, your attempts to cool off were met with failure. You were so caught up in trying to cool off you failed to notice the slight stir in the man beside you until you felt his breath next to your ear. 

“Trying to escape again mi carissima?” 

Suddenly, you no longer felt the need to cool off. Instead chills ran down your spine as the urge to hurl crawled its way to your throat. Your body went stiff as you felt him move from your side to leave the bed. You avoided looking at him, the all too familiar feeling of fear and rage made you hesitant to gaze in his direction. You contemplated reaching towards the nearest object and throwing it in his direction. But you looked at the calendar instead, freedom was two days away, you can’t ruin it now by revealing your true feelings. So with a deep, shaking breath in you sat and mustered up all the love and tenderness you could as you gazed at him. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while lover,” you said affectionately as you imagined all sorts of violent, Taylor Swift worthy, things you would rather say to him, “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” you see him looking at you with apprehension, and what you could almost mistake for guilt. 

“I was giving you space,” he said as he changed out of his sweaty night shirt for a fresh one, your eyes lingered where his sleep pants hung on his hips. Damn, you had forgotten that while the man in front of you was certifiable, he was also hot as fuck, and that if he turned around you knew your eyes would follow south. You couldn’t help it, with hips and an ass like that how could you not look at it and go a little feral. 

“Well,” you cleared your throat a little, forcing your eyes to remain firmly on his face despite the almost magnetic force trying to pull your gaze downwards, “that was probably a wise idea.” 

“I thought I had to do this,” he says, Jake was never one to halfheartedly apologize when he doesn’t believe he should “for us.” 

“Still,” you said, hugging your knees to your chest, “don’t you think you should’ve brought it up with me? To give me a choice?”

“I’m giving you one now,” he said, eyes turning to you for the first time in weeks, “I wasn’t acting right before. I was angry and scared, you were going to abandon us like we didn’t matter. You weren’t even going to tell me the truth, you were going to leave that very night. I became rash, and crazy, and…” his eyes cast down towards the bunched up shirt in his hand, “I hurt you.” He tossed the soiled shirt into the laundry basket before turning his gaze back to you, “So I’ve been staying away, remaining a fly on the wall as I watched you with Steven and Marc. Punishing myself by seeing you but never touching you.” 

“If I didn’t know any better,” you said with anger rumbling in your chest, “I would almost call the tone in your voice remorse.”

“I apologize for hurting you,” he states moving to the side of the bed where he laid moments before, before sitting the mattress sinking with him slightly. “I regret that deeply but I don’t apologize or regret bringing you here.” 

“Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I am giving you a choice,” he said, eyes bearing into you, “now that you’ve lived here for a while, seen what our life can be like. Will you stay?”

What? 

Your eyes dart between his as your mind struggles to come up with any alternative motives he has behind this. He could be luring you into a false security, be sadistically playing with your feelings as a way to punish you further for trying to leave them behind. 

“What would you do if I went?” 

“I’d follow you,” he says with no hesitance, “I’d follow you anywhere mi carissima, from desert to tundra I’d follow you faithfully and without complaint.” his hands hesitantly grab yours, “I can handle myself, and so can Marc and surprisingly so can Steven. You don’t need to worry about us in a fight, but I will not force us to stay here. The choice is yours.” 

There was a lot to think about, there were many contradictory feelings swirling inside of you. A mix of shock, anger, and the tiniest glimmer of hope were the most prominent. You see his eyes and know he’s being honest. He won't force you to remain in this house they’ve built just for you, but he won’t let you leave him. Though, looking back you guessed you never did want to leave them anyways. You were going to leave to protect them and now that you know they were more than capable of protecting themselves…you weren’t sure. You could always lie and manipulate them further, then leave like you had planned to do since you got here. But you could also stay…you don’t know. 

“Do I have to decide now?”

“No,” he assured, “I won’t force you to,” he grabbed the spare pillow and throw blanket at the end of the bed, “I don't want you to get overheated again so I’ll sleep on the couch. So, don’t worry about making any decisions right now and try to get some rest…goodnight.” and with that he left. Leaving the door open behind him and leaving you in a state of shock and disbelief. You knew eventually you would have to see him again, he was a part of them but you’d never imagine it would go like this. You kind of imagined he would have the same look in his eyes like he did when he stabbed a needle in your neck, to act insane and possessive and obsessive and hold you hostage with no choice in sight. Except he just gave you one, something to ponder the next two days about. 

Dread fills you as the decision lies in front of you. Waiting for you to make a choice. 

Needless to say, you didn’t get any sleep that night. 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The past two days passed in a blur before you were finally seated next to Steven as he answered the doctors medical questions regarding his overall health. Marc and Steven seemed to have calmed down slightly in terms of spending every minute with you and never letting you out of their sight. It was odd, and now you were conflicted. After Jake’s sudden (and brief) visit your mind had been running a million miles trying to figure out what angle he could be playing. Was this psychological warfare? Was he testing you? 

You excused yourself to the bathroom as planned once the intake was over, mentally your mind began counting down from thirty minutes as you stepped into the bathroom. As expected there were no cameras here in the women’s restroom, which was to your benefit, along with a window. It was smaller than you had expected but it was large enough for you to crawl out of. You were quick to silently click the lock on the door leading to the bathroom before you went to one of the sinks to turn the faucet on. Opening the window and crawling through was bound to make some noise and the rushing water was going to mute some of the noise you would be making. As your hand reaches for the hot and cold knobs you pause. Time was ticking away by the second, every minute you stood there undecided was a minute you could’ve had to get away. Yet here you were. Were you actually considering staying with them? 

It’s horrible, what a few acts of kindness can do. Giving you space, giving you a choice…and you’re a mess. Wasn’t that what you wanted to begin with? A choice? There are only two ways that this plays out, you know this. On one hand you go, you turn the knobs and you run, like you’ve always done, alone. There was no guarantee that Yelena would pick up, there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t be thrusted right back into the life of a mercenary, there was no guarantee that doing this would grant you the freedom you’ve fought so hard and yearned for so long for. Was it freedom if all you did was hide and run? What would happen if you stayed? Jake, Marc, and Steven were an unpredictable risk. Jake could be lying, you wouldn’t put it past any of them to lie and act in order to keep you, even Steven…on the other hand, maybe this was a pattern of yours. Maybe all you ever do in any situation is run, run away from every complex thought and feeling and you never turn back. Maybe the reason you never felt free was because you weren’t meant to be.  You can’t recall the number of times you’ve spent countless night staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, with gut wrenching guilt as you replay all the terrible things you’ve done as a widow; the people you’ve killed, countries you’ve lead into war that orphaned children, secrets you’ve both hidden and exploited. There were nights you’ve asked for some sort of punishment that would ease the guilt that was slowly killing you. Maybe this was it, maybe this was the punishment. 

Staying, knowing full well that this time there is no evil man behind you pulling your strings, that there was no one to blame but yourself for the outcome. Knowing that your last meaningful act of free will was to throw away the autonomy you had treasured as if it was something solid and tangible in exchange for a gilded cage with no means of escape and constantly wondering if you made the right choice. 

And never knowing if you did. 

Your shoulders slumped as the weight of it weighed heavily. What was it going to be? 

Freedom in exchange for redemption, or redemption in exchange for your freedom. 

You’re not as sly as you think you are–or–as you used to be. Jake had your plan figured out the moment you suggested Marc see the doctor for ‘sleeping medication’. He had to hand it to you, your manipulation tactics were impressive, the collective ‘we’ and ‘us’ and adoring looks and gentle touches were truly inspired. 

You silly, silly little spider…did you really think anything that Jake had told you was true?

////////////////////////////////////////////

Yes, he admits he may have fucked it up a little by going a little bat-shit crazy and sticking a needle into your pretty neck and forcing you into a home that wasn’t finished quite yet. But he made up for it, he let you get this far with your little trick. It was the least he could do, along with offering a fake choice. You weren’t even going to make it to the nearest payphone (which is surprisingly still functional given its obsolete status) before he dragged you back home kicking and screaming if that’s what it took. 

Still, though, he doesn’t like you kicking but as for the screaming (well, given the right circumstances he loves to hear you scream, especially when it’s his name)

So instead of outwardly calling your little game out, he decides to play along, acting none the wiser and giving the biggest performance of his life. 

He knows you like to think yourself a master manipulator, but the truth was that without the constant threat of death and Dreykov’s mind control, your manipulation skills have gotten rusty. A once sharp and carefully polished tool now dull and worse for wear. Against easily manipulated fools like Steven and (sometimes) Marc, it’s effective. But he was the only one who was truly your equal. Jake was the only one who truly understood you. Steven had false memories to comfort him and while Marc and Jake lived with the unhappy ones, and while he wasn’t perfect, at least their dad never forgot Marc’s birthday. Jake had no one, had nothing–not even his own body! Much like you did as a widow. You were the only person who could possibly understand him and by extension he was the only one to understand you. 

There is a strange power in being understood, it’s terrifyingly intoxicating, especially to one who is never understood. Jake had never been particularly interested in salvation or redemption in general, but you became his religion, the altar where he worshiped and the light that baptized him. Worshiping you was as easy as breathing, like it was what he was made to do. So he listened devotedly to every syllable from your mouth and he made a list of all you said. 

Jake had wanted to marry you before showing you the home he had built, (well him, Marc, and Steven), he had it all planned out, the only thing he didn’t plan for was that night. Suddenly his light was taken from him, his comfort, his home, his life was stripped away from him before he could utter a word. 

That would drive any man insane. 

He made a few questionable choices, sure, but he paid for them and now here was his reward. Driving back from the doctors with a prescription he doesn’t intend on picking up with you in the passenger seat. Willingly and holding his hand. 

He smiles, ignoring the way your eyes shine with unshed tears and how your fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls your hand for a kiss. None of that matters, you’re with him now. 

With no chance of escape. 

Ever again.

[uselesssomebody]

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 (18+)

the do's (rules & information):

readers must be over 18 reading these drabbles

all works will be under or roughly a thousand words

thirty-one days of smut drabbles

ten days are open to requests for the kinks

ten days will include dark content (will be properly tagged)

five will include a dominant reader

the don'ts (what i am not interested in writing):

i only write fem!readers, with all involved characters being over 18

the kinks i'd appreciate you don't request are anything to do with anal penetration, bodily fluids (besides blood and cum), and certain dom/sub dynamics like age play or ddlg

otherwise, ask away, and i'll see if i'm comfortable writing your request!

the kinks and the characters

october 1: shower sex w/ frankie morales

october 2: ball worship (dom!reader) w/ eddie munson

october 3: sex pollen (dark) w/ din djarin

october 4: consensual non-consent (dark) w/ miguel o'hara

october 5: threesome (ffm) w/ marc spector & layla el-faouly

october 6: requested kink & character

october 7: breeding kink (dark) w/ duke leto

october 8: somnophilia (dark) w/ eddie munson

october 9: mutual masturbation (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 10: threesome (mmf) + double penetration (in one hole) w/ frankie morales and santiago garcia

october 11: titfucking w/ javier peña

october 12: requested kink & character

october 13: exhibitionism w/ poe dameron

october 14: dacryphilia (dark) w/ joel miller

october 15: temperature play (dom!reader) w/ din djarin

october 16: phone sex w/ jack daniels

october 17: corruption kink (dark) w/ dio morrissey

october 18: requested kink & character

october 19: edging (dark!dom!reader) w/ basil stitt

october 20: recording/blackmail (dark) w/ jonathan levy

october 21: mask + glove kink w/ jake lockley

october 22: hate + mirror sex w/ javier peña

october 23: cockwarming (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 24: requested kink & character

october 25: overstimulation w/ jake lockley

october 26: size difference w/ miguel o'hara

october 27: knife kink (dark) w/ bucky barnes

october 28: free use (dark) w/ joel miller

october 29: sex toys w/ natasha romanoff

october 30: requested kink & character

october 31: period sex/blood kink w/ santiago garcia

the characters (you guys can request)

from stranger things, i write for eddie munson, robin buckley, billy hargrove or steve harrington

from marvel, i write for bucky barnes, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, jake lockley, marc spector, steven grant, layla el-faouly and miguel o'hara

from star wars, i write for poe dameron, or din djarin (the mandalorian)

from triple frontier, i write for frankie morales and santiago garcia

miscellaneous oscar isaac characters i write for include basil stitt, jonathan levy, duke leto, kane and orestes (agora)

miscellaneous pedro pascal characters i write for include joel miller, javier peña, jack daniels (agent whiskey), dio morrissey

if you want to request another character, don't hesitate! i will see what i can do.

notes

guys i know i haven't written in like 1200 months but i wanna get back into the mood with the short smutty stuff

besides, i've never done kinktober and every other one i've seen bangs so hard i simply couldn't resist

side note - dark fics will be only available on my adjacent dark blog: @darkuselesssomebody, but will be linked on this masterlist. if you wanna read the dark drabbles and future dark work, give it a follow!

i am also willing to take non-kinky & halloween themed requests, so if you have any, let me know!

𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Blood and Sand (1 of 2)

Pairing: Werewolf!Moon Knight x Reader

Summary: You are selected to accompany your mentor on a dig, but what you find in the desert instead makes you wish you had never come at all.

Warnings: Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Murder, Kidnapping, Cults, Implied Torture, AU, Eventual Smut, Monsterfucking, Lycanthropy

A/N: I hope part one is enough to get you all salivating! I’ve had this idea kicking around for a bit, and I’m happy to finally be doing something about it. Please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think with a comment or a reblog! divider by @firefly-graphics

You come to as the truck’s lurching, uneven gait smooths out, the tires quieting as they pass from sand to something more hard packed, like a road. You had grown so used to bumping along over the dunes, bouncing around in the bed of the truck like a sack of grain that now the road feels strange, instead of comforting. Your mouth tastes like dry cotton and sand—and blood, from where your lip had split when the butt of the gun had impacted it, hard. You’re not sure who’d done it—you were already dizzy from the blow to the back of your head. 

Pretty sure I’m concussed. 

You’re not a doctor, but you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to sleep after a concussion, though the reason why escapes you currently. The truck jolts over something you can’t see—a pothole? A body? The thick, hot bag they’d thrown over your head prevents you from seeing anything, it barely lets your breath out, let alone letting light in. Something heavier than the empty canisters of gasoline that had been pushed aside to make room for the two of you lands against you, and you yelp, flinching before you realize—it’s the professor. Your hands are aching and sore where they’ve been bound behind you, so you can’t help him right himself. 

He groans with pain. 

“P-professor Hartwell?” You don’t think they can hear you in the cab, not over the sound of the tires on the road. Still, you try to keep your voice low. “Professor are you alright?” For once, you actually hope to hear his grim, irritated voice—but you hear nothing, only the rattling breaths in his chest as he pants. You wait a moment, and try again. 

“Professor?” 

For another few heartbeats, the only sound is that of the truck beating the road beneath it into submission, before your mentor takes another wet, rasping breath. 

“Y-you must not let them.” The words are nearly lost in his pained wheezing. You know you’re probably imagining it, but you can smell copper through the bag, taste it thickly in the air. “They’ll want you to read from the book,” this time, you know you aren’t imagining it—something hot and wet seeping against your side where the professor is pressed against you. 

“You must not.” 

“What—what book? P-professor sit up, you, you have to sit up a—and stay awake—” The cough that wracks his frame sounds loud and painful. You feel his body spasm as the truck hits another something, and the back of your head bounces hard off of the side of the bed, making you see stars against the inside of the bag. 

“Gods forgive me,” he rasps. “Forgive me. I never knew it would—-” His pained rambling is nonsensical, devolving into strings of words you can barely understand. “Bury it, burn it, make it dust and scatter it to the wind, you hear? Destroy it!” Hands grasp your shoulders, his, you realize, bony and thin, the tips digging into your flesh insistently. He’d been bound, just like you were, hands secured behind your backs with zip ties—so how did he hold you now? Shaking you like a rag doll as he shouts into your covered face, the scent and taste of his blood choking you. 

“Burn it all!” It’s hot, so hot, hotter than you’ve ever been, even here in the desert, and your dry lips crack and bleed as your head snaps back and forth on your shoulders. All you taste is fire and blood. “To ashes!” His voice booms in your ears and in your skull and for a moment you fear he will fling you out of the bed of the truck, but he releases you, collapsing against the hard plastic beneath you with a bang. 

You swallow, running your dry tongue along your aching lips, almost afraid to speak. 

“Professor?”

There is no answer.

—

When the truck finally stops, you ready yourself. 

The door to the cab creaks as it swings open, and the impact of boots in the sand makes you snap to attention. You wince, shrinking back as the tailgate opens, rough hands grabbing at your ankles. You kick, struggling and cursing as you’re dragged from the truck bed, the breath knocked from your body as you land on your back, hard. 

“Fucking bitch.” Someone curses, and you hear boots scuffle against the cracked asphalt beneath you just in time for you to ready yourself for the blow. It comes, a steel toed boot digging hard into the softness of your belly. You wheeze. A rough hand knots in the collar of your shirt, pulling you up. The bag is ripped off, and hot—but fresh—air immediately surges around your cheeks. It’s still night, the moon big and full and nearly sun-bright above you. You blink, your eyes watering in the sudden light. 

The man above you grins, his blue eyes creasing at the corners. “Think we’ve got a live one.” His thickly accented words are mocking. Russian, maybe.

“F-fuck you!” Your voice trembles, but you don’t care, lashing out again with your own legs until he kicks you again. This time, you puke, bile stinging your cut lips as it erupts out of your mouth. You heave onto the road while he stands over you, laughing. With his boot, he rolls you over onto your belly, planting a knee in the center of your back, pressing hard until you cry out. The sound of a knife being flicked open makes your eyes widen, and you struggle beneath his weight. The blond leans down over you, his hot, liquor stained breath coating the side of your face.

“Keep it up, curly,” he presses the knife to the side of your face. “They don’t say nothing about you being in one piece. Only breathing.” You release the breath held in your trembling throat as he pulls the knife away, leaning back to grab at your bound hands. The edge of the blade slides through the plastic like soft butter, and immediately you crawl out from underneath him. 

“Mikhail, enough.” There are two other men watching, a dark haired one and another blond. 

“Fuck off, Rumlow.” 

“You killed the other one. You want to explain to him why you’re coming back down two hostages?” Rumlow crosses the road to squat in front of you, one hand resting comfortably on his knee, the other loosely gripping a pistol. He snaps, like he’s trying to get your attention, even though he already has it. “You see that old fuck?” He points to the body of your professor in the bed of the truck to your left. You don’t need to look to know he’s dead. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken since his tirade earlier, how could he be living? 

And more than that, you don’t want to look. Because you will see him zip-tied, hands bound—the same hands that had gripped you with unearthly fury, blazing hot like an avenging angel. No, you do not want to think of that at all. 

“Unless you’d like that to be you, you’re going to behave.” He cocks the gun. “Understand?” 

You nod. 

“Good.” 

Mikhail glares at Rumlow hatefully, and then at you, and you can tell he doesn’t enjoy being called to heel. 

“Give the bitch her water and put the bag back on, Jensen.” He sneers, before spitting into the dirt at your feet. “Cyka.” You don’t know what the word he says under his breath means, but you get the feeling it doesn’t mean anything good. The other blond, a lanky, tall man with glasses, jogs around to the other side of the truck, tugging open the door. He roots around inside before producing a water bottle. You nearly drop it as he tosses it to you, fumbling to get the cap off before pouring the contents down your aching throat, sparing a few drops to rinse your face. 

It’s done before you realize it, and you find yourself shaking the bottle to get the last drops out. Mikhail laughs. 

“Back in the bed, cyka.” He snaps, kicking at your feet. “Let’s go.” You hesitate, your hand trembling as you pause above the tailgate. The professor’s body is still there, lying in the bed of the truck like a broken doll. Mikhail shoves your shoulder. “Move.” 

“I—the body,” you choke out, licking at your lips to ease the burn of speaking. “Can’t you… do something?” He heaves a put upon sigh. You don’t know what you’re expecting, not really, but you clap your hands over your mouth to stifle your shocked scream as Mikhail grabs Professor Hartwell’s ankle and hauls him out of the bed of the truck. He goes easily of course—he’s dead, you remind yourself, fucking dead—landing on the edge of the old road. His body rolls off the side into the sand filled ditch along the side of it, and you know in just a few hours he will be completely covered. 

This road is old, seldom used, by the looks of it, deep cracks filled with sand, and no signs for miles in any direction. Large portions of it have been taken back by the desert, Sand and tufts of wispy grass eclipsing the road’s broken remains. 

You don’t want to leave the professor here. 

You have little choice, though, as Mikhail, whose patience you have finally worn thin, shoves you into the bed of the truck. The tailgate nearly catches your fingers as he slams it closed, and you let out a dismayed cry as your face presses against the hard plastic of the bed and you find it wet. You scramble up and away from it on your hands and knees, wiping your face with your hand and whimpering as it comes away red. 

The truck starts up again, bumping along the abandoned road as you watch the professor’s hooded body grow smaller and smaller in the distance, and then finally disappear altogether. 

—

It’s nearly dawn when you arrive, the edges of the sky turning pink as finally, you see lights. Artificial ones of course, mounted atop a double-thick chainlink fence. The floodlights atop the guard station illuminate the entire truck for close to ten minutes before finally it slows to a stop beside the checkpoint. You cower against the side of the bed as an armed guard shines a flashlight into your face, ever aware of the intimidating looking machine gun strapped to his back. When he’s satisfied, he mumbles something you don’t catch into a walkie-talkie, and the entrance slides open. 

He makes some sort of sign as the truck rolls away, like the cross almost, but only on the right side, and the gate slides closed again behind you. Jensen helps you out of the bed, but directs you with a firm hand on your shoulder towards a long, narrow building. It sprawls out for uncountable meters, but only two, three stories high. You aren’t really afforded a proper look as you’re shuffled inside, Mikhail grumbling bad naturredly behind you. 

The lights inside buzz artificially, and you wince and stumble as you attempt to adjust to them after outside. There is a large staircase leading up to the other floors to the left of the door, but beyond it the building stretches on in a maze of narrow hallways. 

The line of men before you can be no better described than as priests, long black vestments with red satin trims, white collars at their throats. One of them steps forward, his face twisting in distaste at the mercenaries. 

“He wants to see her.” He looks at you with equal disdain, before glaring at the men behind you. “Where is Professor Hartwell? He was to accompany—”

“The old man didn’t want to come.” Mikhail snaps. “It seem he had little… change of heart since last time.”

Last time?

The priest heaves an irritated sigh. “Fine. He—he’s not going to be happy about this, you know. He would have at least liked to speak with him—”

“Then let him tell us that.” Mikhail is big—which feels like an understatement, looking at him. He’s a tank of a man, broad shouldered, and built like a brick fucking shit-house. He knows it too, squaring his muscular shoulders and fixing the priest with a glare. “Yeah?”

He caves. “Fine.” His irritated gaze finds you once more, and you have a sinking feeling that you will be the recipient of his ire. “Come, then.” He grabs you by the wrist as if touching something unpleasant. “Let’s get this over with.” 

You consider running, just for a moment, before the idea laughs itself out of your head. It would be stupid even to try. Defeated, you follow the priest up the stairs and down the corridor, glad at least to be away from Mikhail. The hallway is nondescript, which feels very much on purpose; so you wouldn’t be able to recall a single descriptive thing about this place—

It could be anywhere. 

The third or fourth door on the right is open, and he ushers you inside before stepping in himself and closing the door. Inside is like an office, neat bookcases lining the walls on either side of the wide desk. On the other side of it, is a man. 

He peers at you, long fingers steepled together beneath his chin. His black hair is slicked back, sharp green eyes taking in the still stinging cut above your left eye, your bloody nose and heat chapped lips. 

“A pity about the Professor.” He says after a moment. “I’d looked forward to seeing him again.” You don’t say anything. The impression rises in you that this is a man who likes to hear himself talk, and you want to hear what he has to say, if only to gain an inkling of understanding about your own predicament. The man leans forward, cocking his head. ”Do you know who I am?” 

“No.” You reply dryly. “Should I?” He doesn’t like that. His expression only changes minutely, a slight narrowing of the eyes, a tightness in the smile—but enough for you to see it. 

“Should? I don’t know about should,” he drawls. “But I’d think you’d at least like to know who’s been signing your paychecks for the last six months, hmm?” Your stomach drops to your feet, and though you try to school your expression into one of forced nonchalance, the man behind the desk’s sly smile turns victorious. “Oh, he didn’t tell you.” 

“I get paid by the university,” you reply through tightly clenched teeth. “I—”

“And who do you think pays them?” He stands from behind the desk, rising to his full height like a snake uncoiling. “There’s a reason your department is so well funded, Love.” You try to take a step back as he approaches, but the solid form of the priest behind you boxes you in. He towers over you, forcing you to look up just to maintain eye contact as he steps closer.

“I expect Horace thought he would have more time.” There is a brassy colored cart next to the desk, and he plucks a glass from the topmost shelf, before rummaging around on the one beneath it. “Ah, here we are.” He produces a crystalline decanter, and your throat constricts thirstily at the sight of the clear liquid inside. You don’t know how many days it’s been since you’ve last had a proper drink of water—the bottle in the car a proverbial drop in a dry ocean—but you suspect it’s been more than three. You watch, ashamed of your own need as he pours it into the glass. 

“More time to explain, to scheme, to scheme with you. But that’s the thing about hubris,” he sighs, filling a second glass and drinking deeply—gratefully from it. You watch him, unable to stop your dry throat from swallowing reflexively as he does, imagining cool water filling your own mouth. 

“Oh, would you like some?” He asks, offering it to you as though he’d thought he already done so. You gulp it down, chasing the stray drops from your lips with the back of your hand. “You’re welcome.” 

“What do you want from me?” You ask, dropping the glass back onto the table gracelessly. He grimaces. “And you still haven’t told me your name.” 

“Loki.” He refills your glass. “I just need you to read something for me.” He says, the words nonchalant. “Just a few passages. I know you can.“ Loki’s hawkish eyes narrow at the corners as he smiles at you. “Horace was an excellent teacher.” 

It’s useless to deny what you both know is true, grueling nights spent poring over texts and tablets older than your entire family line, helping Professor Hartwell translate and document. 

And the man in front of you had paid for all of it. 

You must not. Even the memory of his words feels hot, sweeping through your skull like hot desert wind. Burn it all to ashes.

“What do you want me to read, exactly?” Loki’s smile widens uncomfortably. 

“Just a book.” 

“And if I don’t?”

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate, Love.” Loki says, inspecting his nails. You can’t stop yourself from scowling at him, baring your teeth between your cracked lips as you sneer. 

“Stop pretending I’m forcing your hand, you—”

“Awful, what happened at your dig site.” His brows knit together as his expression turns smugly apologetic. “It’s always nasty business, when someone involves innocent people in what should be private affairs.” 

“Fuck you.”

“My hand was forced.” His grip turns vicious, his thumb digging into your skin hard enough to make you whimper, his eyes hard and cold. 

“Do not force it again.” 

—

The observational cell you’re forced into seems outdated, repurposed for its current use as a jail. The guards stationed at the end of the hallway barely spare you a look as you’re marched by, the muzzle of Mikhail’s gun pressed against your spine. Only one of the lights swinging from the damp ceiling actually works, buzzing to life dimly as Mikhail shoves you inside unceremoniously. 

As the rusty bolts slide shut, the bare bulb above you goes dim, leaving you in near darkness, aside from what little light filters in through the observational window in the wall above your head. The air is stagnant and moist, the sound of dripping water coming from somewhere in the darkness. 

I’m not alone in here.

You don’t know how you know that, because there’s no tell—merely the presence of another living thing pushing against you like holding magnets with like polarities together as hard as you could. Your skin prickles with the knowledge, cold sweat dripping down beneath your dirty collar. You swallow. 

“Hello?”

For a moment—a minute or two at least—there is no response. 

“You’re not the professor.” The voice sounds…tired. 

“I keep disappointing people that way.” 

There is a sound like metal rubbing against metal, and just at the border of the darkness, you see movement. The man that emerges from the darkness is tall, broad shouldered with dark, curly hair. High cheekbones and wide dark eyes. Bare chested, with iron manacles at his wrists, and ankles. There’s a collar at his throat, as well, and as he steps closer you note the chains that travel backward, disappearing into the shadows. His linen pants are dirty at the bottom, his bare chest peppered with old, yellowing bruises. 

“Who are you, then?” His gaze saddens as he looks at you. “No one they like, if you’re in here with me.” You eye his chains, gesturing at them with your hands. You laugh dryly. 

“No,” you agree, thinking back on your conversation with Loki. “No one they like.” 

“I’m Marc.” He offers you his hand. “I’m sorry you’re here.” You tell him your own name. 

“Me too.”

—

They come for him every night, you realize. Dragging Marc out of the cell for hours until dawn, when he returns bruised and bleeding, exhausted. 

It happens on the third night you’re there, Mikhail and Rumlow barging in as the two of you sleep, back to back on the cot. You still ache where he kicked you, and Mikhail knows it, lunging toward you only to watch you flinch back as he laughs. 

“Where are you taking him?”

“Be careful, cyka.” He says, spitting at the ground near Marc’s feet. “You’ll get rabies from this one.” Marc doesn’t react, his dark eyes trained hard on the wall. He’s just as big as them, but he doesn’t fight back as Rumlow shuffles him out. You watch through the window until you can’t see him anymore, your face pressed against the glass. 

The sun is peeking through the narrow window on the opposite wall, high enough to let you know it’s late morning at least when they bring him back. Marc looks changed, somehow more fragile, his face drawn and skin pale. His skin bears fresh wounds, new bruises, and the skin around his mouth is stained dark, dry red. 

Marc stumbles towards the cot, throwing himself down onto it, his shoulders heaving. 

“M-Marc?” Your voice sounds timid and terrified, even to your own ears. “What—what happened?”

He lays there, facing the wall for a long time. 

“I’m Jake.” He says finally, turning to peer at you over his shoulder. You take a step back—this isn’t Marc. “He—what they did… it was too much. I’m driving right now.” His eyes are darker, more serious, face drawn tight with emotion he won’t name—no. This isn’t the same man. Same body—different person. Fleetingly, your brief and unenjoyable psychology class flits back to you—Dissociative Identity Disorder—

“Okay.” 

You hesitate before placing a comforting hand on his bare shoulder. His skin is clammy. Jake glares over his shoulder at you. “I’m not Marc.”

“I get that. You’re bleeding.” There aren’t any bandages, but you’re more than willing to sacrifice your outermost layer of clothing for the cause, helping you tear them to shreds. The pail of water you’re given every morning is meant to suffice , so you try to make it last, cleaning the wounds as thoroughly as you can afford to. After a few passes, Jake relaxes beneath your touch. 

“Thank you.” He seems unused to softness of any kind.

“Don’t mention it.” 

The conversation that day is minimal—Jake’s not a talker. But he makes his presence known in other ways, watching you with quiet eyes from across the room as you investigate every corner. Occasionally, he offers commentary when you prompt him. 

No, the windows never open. 

Mierda! Keep climbing up there and you’ll break your damn neck. 

Keep that up and the guards will be down here to check on us in no time.

When sleep is unavoidable, Jake doesn’t stop you from laying down next to him on the thin cot. 

“Goodnight, Jake.” There’s an answering grunt from beside you, though he says nothing. 

When you wake in the middle of the night, he is gone again. 

—

 When you do finally dream, you wish for the abyss again, the dreamless dark that you’d feared as you dozed in the truck. That would have been better than seeing it again. The sand is burning hot on your hands as you scramble over the dunes, gunfire pockmarking the sand only inches behind you as you trip over the shifting earth toward the jeeps. People are screaming, there’s wetness on your face, you realize it as you move to wipe the sweat from your eyes only to discover it isn’t sweat at all—but blood. 

So many bodies. And you know all their names—Ursula, Ahmed, Ricky, Britney, David—You know all their names, and they bleed out into the thirsty sand and are lost as you watch. 

The sting above your left eye worsens, and as you lick your lips you taste the wound, clinging to your tongue as the professor grabs your arm—

Run, run—

You wake up screaming, flailing in the dark on the threadbare cot. The chains rattle as he scrambles towards you, hands up placatingly as you raise your own, ready to defend yourself from threats both real, and imagined. One of the guards pounds on the window with the butt of his rifle.

“Keep her fucking quiet!”

“Hey,” Steven approaches you like he’s talking to a wounded animal. His voice is soft, kind.“You’re okay. You’re here, right? You’re not there, the place in your dreams isn’t real, right? It’s a dream. It’s the past, it’s not here, okay?” You sob into his chest, clutching at him as he rocks you back and forth as gently as if he were holding a baby bird. 

—

You’re afraid to ask what they make him do, afraid to have him confirm what you already know. The place where it happens can’t be far away from your prison. If you strain hard enough, force yourself to stay up as late as you possibly can until terror and exhaustion put you to sleep again, you can hear the screams. 

And something… else. 

Howling.

Sometimes he comes back naked, clutching his pants in trembling hands, retching up red bile into the far corner where the half-broken toilet is. The word for what he is dances on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to say it, give it air and space and reality. 

—

They chain you like Marc when they come for you, marching the two of you through the impersonal concrete maze before forcing both of you into a large room. There’s a stone altar at the center, and you nearly trip over your own feet at the sight of the man bound and gagged upon it. Your questions do the same in their haste to escape your mouth. 

“W-what? Who is that? What—”

Rumlow presses the gun against the back of your head, pulling down the hammer. 

“Walk.” 

You do, swallowing the words back down in a cold, terrified lump. 

Loki waits for you on the other side of the dais, a pleased expression on his face. He steps aside as you approach, positioning you in front of the man. You watch as they loop Marc’s chains through iron pegs only a few feet from the man, whose eyes are wide with terror. Only minimal sound escapes around the gag, though, spit leaking from the corners of his mouth. 

“Here we are. Now.” He taps a long finger against the podium. “Let’s begin.” You stand next to him, squinting down at the book. It’s old—not paper, not really, comprised of pressed thin sheets of fibrous plants, painted over with flaking black ink. But the letters are familiar, and after a moment, you begin to read. The words are halting, clumsy as you sound them out. The more you read, the more you understand. 

This is not just a passage you’re reading, holy text from some archaic book—no, these are commands. Ones that make your tongue burn as the words leap from it.

The dais fills with silvery light, and when you look up, you see the moon, framed perfectly through the skylight. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? The moon had been full the night the professor—

“Are you deaf? I said read.” Loki snarls, grabbing the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. You can’t though, not when Marc’s cry of pain splits the air. He writhes down there on the floor, his body contorting. You watch, horrified as his limbs lengthen and thicken with sickening cracks, the bones and muscle shifting under his skin. He moans, his body shuddering, back bowing unnaturally as his legs shift, bones splitting skin before it crawls closed again like it has a mind of its own. 

Marc mouths something at you that you don’t understand, not right away—you can’t, his jaw is breaking now, and lengthening into something new, something that doesn’t support speech, not the way his human mouth did. 

Forgive me. 

“Read!” You hadn’t heard Loki cock the gun, but it presses into your skull intimidatingly. 

Your head buzzes with the power of the words as you begin to speak them, again, your vision blurring. Understanding comes, even as the syllables fall clumsily from your unfamiliar lips. 

“King of roads. 

King of thieves. 

King of vengeance. 

King of nights and moons and just blades

I weild your fist

I wield it justly—”

Where once there had been a man, now stands a hulking beast, the head of a jackal, and something like the body of a man, but wrong, the limbs long—like they were made for running on two legs and on four. Its yellow eyes roll. 

“Eat now, fill yourself with flesh and spirit on those who have wronged you,

O King of Moons

King of Roads

King of Vengeance—”

You can feel the tears gathering in your eyes as the beast sets itself upon the man, claws and teeth shredding flesh in a flurry of hot, wet, red. You want to close your eyes, to stop reading, but you can’t—the book will not let you go, not until it’s finished. You see the room before you, see the thing that was Marc as it devours piece after piece of the man on the altar—but you can see beyond, too, through the moon’s eyes like mirrors—

You’re trembling now, seizing, blood leaking from your nose and the corners of your eyes as you strain to let go of the pulpit, to look away from the book, to close your eyes—but it has you, now, a holy conduit for unholy ends. You can practically feel your blood boiling in your veins—

And then nothing. 

part two

Hello friends! I no longer maintain a taglist, so please follow @box-of-bones-library​ for updates and new work, thank you!

Likes and comments are amazing, but reblogs are golden! Please consider sharing my work so that others can see it too!

[lordkryze]

Maybe in another universe I have every opportunity to make my dreams come true

(How Steven works as a tour guide in another universe)

[romanarose]

2000 followers!!!!

Graphic by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog 🥰🥰

Wow, I'm in tears y'all I can't believe I'm at 2k!!!!!

I'll be straight up, the 1k celebration was a lot ;-;

And with school, I can't commit to a whole lot especially writing things for people who don't interact with my shit at all. So, I decided to do something specific

My talent lies in series more than one shots. It's where I shine. So I think the celebration will be centered more around my different universes! Acceptable universes will be listened an linked at the bottom.

Here's how to participate!

Fuck Marry Kiss

Pic 3 canon characters or OC's from any universes. If you say "Marc Spector" Specify if its from Seattle or Sunshine. Make sure I know which series bc there slightly different characterizations sometimes. Same with reader. MOST of my readers have a nickname like Little One or Madonna. Example: FMK: IYWBW Santi, Lorenzo, and Puppy Girl reader

2. Bonus chapter or thoughts (or thots)

Ever wanted to know how Zach and Lorenzo fell in love? Ever wondered what Jana and Will's friendship is like? Wanted to see what Guard Dog! Joel and Reader do for fun? Now is your chance! Please be clear if you're looking for thoughts or an organized chapter. Example: Can I please request a scene with how Santi calms down Laci when she has PTSD now that's she's a few years into healing? Example 2: Was wondering if you had some random thoughts of what shows Jake and Sam have watched together over the years?

3. Crossovers!

Want two characters from different universes to meet? Have a cross story ship? Think two readers or OC's would be besties? Think a pair of characters would be fun in a different AU? Come on over!

Example (From Fen): Leather and Lace Santi and Laci meet The Wrong Way Joel and Little one

Example 2 (Also from Fen): What if Sam met Becca.

Example 3: I think Angela from Blessed be the Fruit would absolutely love Candy and they should date.

Acceptable universes to ask for fics or crossovers from:

If You Wanna Be Wild (Santiago Garcia x Latina!Reader/OC x Javier Pena) with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside (Steven Grant x OC x Marc Spector) Seattle (Marc Spector x Jewish!OC) Leather and Lace Universe (Santiago Garcia x OC, Frankie Morales x AfroLatina!OC, William Miller x Vietnamese!OC, Ben Miller x M!OC) Awakening (Reader x all 4, IronPope, FishBen) Darkness on the Edge of Town (Joel Miller x reader, no age gap) DBF!Joel Miller Holiday Fucks (Joel Miller x reader, large age gap) Pieces from my dark side blog @romana-after-dark are allowed too. I have 2k followers here but Ill want to open the worlds in here to the event.

The Wrong Way (Dark!Joel Miller x reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x reader DDDNE) Guard Dog (Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!reader) Blessed Be the Fruit (Dark!Joel Miller x darkish!reader) Puppy Girl (dark!Joel Miller x reader, pet play) Room's on Fire (Reader x Santiago, Francisco, Will, Ben, FishBen, FishPope)

If you have other ideas, just ask!!!

Spring Break is coming up so im excited to do some of these and my commissions!

I CANNOT thank my lovely followers enough for all this!!! I love writing so fucking much and many have reached out to me about fics being healing for them

so, thank you. I mean it. Man of these stories, like LaL universe or TWW have been healing for me, processing a lot of feelings through them and i pu tmy heart and soul into my stories, so it makes me so happy and proud yall want to read.

[thedarkcoven]

You’re My New Addiction | JL x Reader

Jake Lockley x f!Reader.

Stalker!Jake Lockley. Dark!JakeLockley (obvi). Choking. Hair Pulling. Mentions of alcohol. Smut without Plot? Teasing. Biting/marking. P in v (no protection- wrap it before you tap it). Noncon/dubcon. Knife play. Bondage themes (ie: using duct tape to tie reader up, using fingers as a gag). Semi-public sex (Sex in his limo). Jake is a rough man (Marc like to get to the point). Some Dark!Steven x Reader. Some Dark!Marc x Reader. Noneducated depiction of DID (MCU writing- also not a Spanish speaker so sorry if its incorrect)

No edit/nothin but word vomit. Sorry for any mistakes lol

- Dark themes. This writing isn't for everyone just an fyi so if you're not into that sorta stuff then don't read- i want everyone that visits my blog to feel comfy with what they like. Sorry if its not the best. Was kinda rushed and this is my very first Moon knight writing <3

  Word Count: 1,487

Taglist:

@restless-mama​

@charmed-asylum​

@melodygatesauthor​

If anyone wishes to be added/removed please let me know

The sound of the bassy club music was deafening, making your body vibrate with each beat as you and some of your female friends danced together, drunk and giggling from downing a shit ton of your favorite drinks. You told your friends you were going to call for a cab as you gave them goodbye hugs. You knew you were at your stopping point and there was a man making you feel uncomfortable.  

You let out a shaky breath as you pulled your jacket close to yourself, looking around nervously as you began to walk quickly, going into a nearby alleyway that you usually took for a shortcut to your apartment. The sound of footsteps echoing behind you made you shiver as you reached into your pocket to grab your keys to use as a weapon. Before you could wrap your hands around them a leather-gloved hand clamped over your mouth. Your eyes widened as the smell of cigars and cologne filled your nostrils. A dark chuckle vibrated against you as someone held a knife against your throat.  

"Now now, sweetheart. No fighting me, alright? And I won't hurt you. I promise." He smirked as he began forcing you back to where you came from toward a white limo.  

The interior was cherry red leather. The seats squeaked slightly under your weight as the man quickly placed you into a seat. He grabbed the duct tape that was in the seat beside you and taped your wrists together. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of the man in front of you. His eyes were dark as chocolates, his skin sun-kissed, his lips in a tight line of concentration before using the same knife from earlier to cut the tape.  

Your eyes widened as the man's eyes met yours with a smirk on his face. He tutted his tongue when you quickly averted your gaze away from him but he wasn't stupid. He gripped your jaw firmly, forcing you to stare at him, his smirk widening into a grin as he stares you up and down as if to size you up; his tongue swiping across his bottom lips to wet them.  

"Oh, we're going to have so much fun, Cariño" The man spoke, sending shivers up your spine and a pool of arousal straight to your core.  

You jumped slightly as he slammed the door shut before climbing into the driver seat, opening the window panel that separated the front from the back, and glanced back at you before driving. You could hear him rambling on to himself as he kept glancing at the mirror.  

Something inside of you was telling you to try and escape. Call for help from the window. But something inside of you was telling you no. But why? What if the man decided to end you after he was finished getting what he wanted. You were most likely going to be used as a toy and thrown into a ditch somewhere.  

Amid your thoughts, you were unaware of the man stopping in a dark wooded area that was a few miles away from the town. He opened your door and fixed his leather gloves causing them to squeak slightly with his movements as he grinned down at you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and quickly began scooting away from him to scream for help. Would anyone even hear you? Before you could get a sound out the man climbed on top of you, placing his hand around your throat as he held you close. His mouth centimeters from your ear as he pressed himself into your ass making sure you could feel his erection that was struggling against the fabric of his black slacks. He let out a deep groan as you squirmed against him, causing you to rut against his cock that so desperately needed to be buried deep inside the warmth of your soaked channel. You let out a loud whine as he pushed you onto your back, a sadistic smirk on his face as he pulled his knife from his pocket.

Your eyes widened as he brought the face up to your face, dragging the sharp tip down your sensitive skin down to your chest and dragging it slowly along your clavicle leaving a trail of red welts in its wake before pushing under your left strap of your dress and pulling it toward the side making the strap fall loose in two pieces exposing your black lace bra. A low guttural growl vibrated his chest as he took in the sight of you after doing the same to your second strap and tossing your dress off to the side.  

The man gripped your hips and began grinding his hips into yours, pressing his lips to yours before he tensed, throwing his head back and his eyes rolling back. He looked down at you, his demeanor changing as his brown eyes scanned your body.  

“Holy hell, love. Arent you just a fantastic sight? So-Sorry about all these. Just couldn’t help ourselves now could we. M’name is Steven with a V. Thank the gods Jake finally got you where we wanted you.”  

“The hell?”  

“Sorry yeah um, the body is shared by three different people. Marc is the host, Jake and and I are an alter, and who ever fronts is who you get a joy of bein’ with, love. Hope this doesn’t affect your thoughts on us. I-I mean of course they won't. We’ve been watchin’ you for quite some time. Bit excitin’ innit? We just had to get you. You’re our new addiction after all.” He gripped your thighs as his eyes rolled back again.  

When he came to his appearance seemed to change again. He seemed more dark and mysterious, his thick brows furrowing together as he clenched his jaw as if he was pissed off. And boy was he. He snarled as he flipped you onto your stomach, ripping your lace underwear off as if they were nothing, pulling your ass back against the erection that was begging for attention roughly as he shoved two thick fingers into your mouth.  

“You know the thing about Steven and Jake... they like to take their sweet ass time and draw things out. Work you up where as I...” he quickly undone his belt and pants with one hand, pulling his aching cock free before pushing the thick leaking head against your tight entrance. Slamming his hips into yours not letting you adjust as he slammed his hips into yours over and over at a punishing pace. The sound of wet noises and your muffled sobs rang through the car, fogging up the dark glass. “I like- to – get – to - the – fucking - point.”  

Marc groaned loudly as he used his hand that still had two fingers in your mouth to pull you back until you were on your knees and your back pressed against his front. It was painful yet gave a deliciously new angle that he abused your cunt with. Your drool drenching his arm as he reached his free hand around to rub your clit as he pounded into you. While your brain melted, Jake fronted, Spanish profanities slipping from his lips as he continued what Marc was doing. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and moved his hand down to your throat, squeezing hard but not enough to block your breathing.  

All you could do was whimper and beg, nonsense falling from your tongue as they made a mess of you. Jake smirked at the cute noises you were making, their names leaving your beautiful swollen lips as tears streaked your face. His hips snapped harder up into you, the tip of his fat cock brushing against your special spot that made you lose control repeatedly until you were gushing, soaking his pants and the floor of the limo.  

“Holy fuck, Princesa. Your cunt just made such a big fucking mess on my cock. Such a good girl for us, aren't you? Letting us tear you open and being obedient for us. Gonna fill – fuck- gonna fill this tight little hole up until you can’t hold anymore. You’re our now, sweetheart.” Jake’s thrusts became sloppy as he rubbed your clit faster, making you clench tightly around the base of his throbbing length, the girth spreading you open a bit more as he began twitching inside of you.  

He pulled whimpers from you as you felt the warmth of his hot spend filling you to the brim while he rocked your hips into his softly until you were both cooled down from your highs. Jake smirked as he placed you onto your back and fixing his pants before giving you a quick kiss to your lips.  

“Now. It's time for us to go home. Got to get some rest so we can continue breaking in our new little toy. When I’m done with you. You’re not going to be able to walk for a few days.”

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Only for you

Dark!yandere Marc Spector x gn!reader

Category: Twisted Letter - I recommend you read the informations for twisted letters first ->here<- if you haven't already.

Summary: Reader has escaped from Marc and he's on the hunt.

Dead dove do not eat - you'll get exactly what's in the tags!

Tags: Threats, hints of captivity, yandere themes, possessive Marc, reckless Marc, dark themes, use of sedatives, mention of kidnapping.

Hi troublemaker,

You've done a big mistake, honey. Do you really think I wouldn't go after you if you escaped? Why did you even run in the first place? Didn't I promise I would keep you safe forever and take care of you? You're an ungrateful little brat...

I should have known you were up to something, you were so good the past few days it made you suspicious. You were just biding your time and strike when the moment was right, didn't you?

But all that doesn't matter anymore, I know I can't trust you now - or atleast you have hell of a job to do that will make me forgive you and give you atleast some trust back.

Do you know how worried I was when I discovered you ran away? How furious? You know exactly how I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt and this is how you repay me?

I swear once I have you back I will not let you out of my sight again, so there's that. But I will think about to cuff you to your bed so you won't be able to make any fuss.

And I really hope for you that you're atleast smart and don't run back to your house again, because that's the first place I'll check. Don't think you can run forever, I will get you back where you belong and you will learn to accept it.

Oh and I wouldn't recommend calling the cops, they can't stop me, not even the goddamn army can. The only thing they can do is stand in my way. And once I've tracked you down it's over for you.

You know I would go through hell for you. After I first kidnapped you I felt guilty, I admit that. But you had to have someone in your life who will protect you. I am the only one, and once I set my mind on something, I will go after it, and rightnow that's you. I promise once you're back I will improve security measures to make sure you stay put. That includes a fingerprint lock for the front door.

But don't worry, at first I will take away a few privileges, but if you behave and be good again I will give them back to you. And in return I expect you stay with me and don't scurry away, or else I might have to remove some of your privileges permanently...

I really hope you understand why I went after you. To keep you safe. I can be the sweetest and most loving guy in the world, but I can also be your worst nightmare. And trust me, you don't want to see that side of me...

And if I catch you, you better come peacefully or I won't hesistate to use sedatives on you.

Wherever you are rightnow I hope you know it's only a matter of time before you'll be back in my arms. And if someone tries to take you away from me, I'll teach them not to mess with me. If you got hurt I will take such good care of your wounds.

Lastly, I hope you understand that I'm doing this all for you. Only for you...

--Marc Spector

[noforkingclue]

Hello can you write 12 prompt with moon knight, more dark

Of course anon! Hope you like the fic :)

Title: No Escape

Warnings: dark fic, mentions of murder non censual kissing

Prompt list: list

Marvel tag list: @geocookie21, @greeneyedblondie44, @purebloodwitch, @sessa23, @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You scrambled back until your back hit the wall. You flinched as the cold of the stone seemed to seep through your thin shirt and you couldn’t help but shiver. You looked around, trying to find a way out, but you knew it was useless.

You were trapped.

Heavy, wet footsteps slowly approached you and you pulled your legs up to your chest. You hide your face against yours thighs and wished, hopelessly, that he would just go away. The footsteps stopped right in front of you and you heard someone sigh.

“Look at me.”

It was a voice you had only heard a handful of times. He was usually kept away from you, used as threat to keep you in line but now he was out and free. From what you could see from tonight, he had no intention of giving up control.

Rough hands cupped your face and forced you to look up at him. He grinned at you and stroked his thumbs against your cheekbones. These were hands you had felt a hundred times before and yet they felt so different each time. Steven’s were soft and always slightly shook whenever he touched you, almost as though he was afraid. Marc’s were more certain but there an underlying caution before he became rougher.

Jake, well, Jake was a different kettle of fish. The handful of time you had the displeasure of meeting him he was always rougher. Dried blood was always under his finger nails and you shuddered to think about what he did to get that there. Often you’d see Steven the next morning scrubbing them cleaning and muttering under his breath. They always tried to shield you from him but that just made Jake crave you all the more.

Jake grinned at you and pressed his lips against your forehead. You tried to cringe away but he wrapped his arms tightly around you. He sat down and pulled you into his lap. Resting his chin on top of your head he ran his hands up and down your arms.

“I would burn all that is sacred and pure just to keep you safe,” he said softly, “understand?”

When you didn’t answer he said sharply,

“Understand.”

“Y… yes.” You said softly

“Good.”

He pressed a rough kiss against your lips. Your hands flew to his shoulders and tried to push him away but he was stronger. When he broke the kiss the two of you were gasping for air.

“We’re going to look after you,” Jake said against yours lips, “nothing will ever take you away from us ever again.”

[thisisarcanereverie]

May i request a Yandere Moonknight System with a reader who’s like visiting London on work or something and they meet one of the boys. over their stay they get close as the boys show them around London and they sort of ignore the fact reader eventually has to leave untill they tell the boys they’re leaving the next day and they snap and take reader. Idk if that makes sense. 🤍

Cutting Ties (Dark! Moon Knight x Reader)

A/N: This is Part 1 of a 3 Part fic. This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others. (I got a little carried away with this idea Anon so thank you for the suggestion)

Now if you can interact or want to, please do! Like, reblog, reply!

DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS: kidnapping, angst (like a ridiculous amount of it), light cursing, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, English is my first language I just suck at it. I do not own the picture above but i DO own the header below, it's something that I made. I might make a few others idk. Enjoy!

Summary: You're a former Widow on the run, only in London for a year you meet Steven Grant, a goofy gift shoppist. But is there more that meets the eye?

You weren’t sure what it was about London, maybe it was the almost constant cloud looming over the city-or perhaps it was the way you barely understood what the people around you were saying- but you didn’t get what all the hype was about. Yes, it was beautiful if you put a filter over it looking at it through a tourist’s perspective. However, looking past all the buzz and touristy wonder, it was just like every other city- gray, busy, and foul smelling–filled to the brim with more people than it could possibly provide for. The only difference was the currency and the fact that everyone sounded like they came out of either Downtown Abbey or Derby Girls. 

You sighed as you reminded yourself that you were only going to be stuck here for another year, until this identity expired, then you got to go somewhere else, maybe somewhere warm and remote. Though you doubt it, that’s the thing about being on the run–you don’t get to choose where you go. You’ve been running close to 8 years now, almost a decade. Ever since Natasha Romanoff sent the Red Room hurdling from the sky and freed every Widow in the process, including you. How you got here exactly was a very long story, with parts you would rather not relive. 

You looked out the window of the bus, filled with thoughts of nothing but warm places with lots of sun and color with next to no people around. You could probably stay there longer than usual, hell maybe forever if you were careful. You could feel a small smile gracing your features as you thought of a nice, quaint home; decorated with plants, a nice kitchen to practice cooking in–oh and a sunroom that doubled as a greenhouse of sorts. You started making a list of flowers you would like to grow when you felt a sudden, foreign weight on your shoulder. You turned your head away from the silver light of the window towards the dark mess of curls next to you. You recognize him almost immediately, you don’t know his name but he always got off at that museum you’ve been meaning to visit, he always looked so tired with dark almost bruise like circles under his eyes; his dark hair almost in a permanent state of unkempt. You looked at his face a bit longer before your eyes trailed to his hands, his knuckles were white with how harshly he was gripping his bag and sweat was starting to form on his brow. A nightmare. You got those as well. 

As gently as you could you shook him, it didn’t take much until he bolted upright and took a few very sharp breaths. You could see his eyes dart erratically in fear before finally settling on you, you couldn’t help but remark on the lovely shade of brown his eyes were. A moment or two passed by before his eyes met the ground and his cheeks flushed. 

“I’m so sorry” he hurriedly apologized, eyes still trained on the ground, “didn’t realize I nodded off there.” 

“It’s quite alright,” you assured smiling gently at him, “if you don’t mind me asking but do you suffer from nightmares often?” his eyes went from the ground back at you, “I don’t mean to pry it’s just that I’ve seen you a few times on here and you always look exhausted.” 

“Yeah um,” he cleared his throat, “I, uh, I would guess so– not that I can’t tell the difference– it’s just complicated to explain–not that I wouldn’t tell you if I could, it’s just the best way I can explain it and I probably sound like such a knob.” You hold in a slight chuckle as his cheeks flush even more. 

“I don’t think so,” you say, “I get those kinds of dreams often as well. The ones you feel like they belong to someone else…but not at the same time, I guess it really is difficult to explain out loud.” you hold out your hand and introduce yourself as the man beside you hesitantly accepts it. 

“Steven Grant.” 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

That was almost a year ago, after introducing yourselves you gave him your number (which he called not even an hour after he got off the bus). At first you would just meet up for tea but tea quickly became more intimate. You would call each other during the nights that were the hardest to sleep or to dream. You would tell him about your hope to live somewhere remote one day, in a place full of sunshine and color and he would be silent and listen. It wasn’t long until he confided in you about his condition, and you met Marc Spector and Jake Lockely respectively. 

You weren’t sure why but when Marc appeared he seemed familiar, for a moment you wondered if you had met him at some point but you were sure that you would’ve remembered. The Red Room forced you to have a good memory after all. 

Jake on the other hand was completely different from Steven and Marc, where Steven was shy and Marc stiff, Jake was suave. He had kissed your hand and said dirty things to you in spanish, to which you surprised him by replying fluently and dirtier. 

After some time you grew comfortable with Marc and Jake and went on dates with them as well. For a while you were happy, first time ever since coming to London. You were practically living in Steven’s small flat and you spent your days living as a normal person would. You pretended not to notice the weird things, like them leaving in the middle of the night or the strange looks they would sometimes get looking at absolutely nothing. You never pried or judged, it wasn’t like you aired out all the skeletons in your closet either. You never told them your real name (or at least the name the Red Room gave you) or where you came from or basically anything of substance at all about your past. You didn’t want to, it wasn’t like you didn’t trust them, but you feared what would happen if you did tell them. Tell them your real name, that you used to be a Black Widow and killed people. That the reason why you hated the color red was because it reminded you of the Red Room and the blood that stained your hands, how your nightmares were memories and that ghosts that haunted you refused to die. 

Somewhere along the way you started to forget that this life you were living with your job and your boys wouldn’t last forever. That sooner or later reality creeps in and brutally murders the fantasy you have created and as you hold the almost expired passport in your hand you remember the cold truth. That you never should’ve gotten involved, that you slipped and got attached and worst of all..you’d gotten someone else attached as well. Without you knowing the year you had left in London was almost up, in less than two months you will be off again to a new corner of the world with a new name and a new life. 

Deep down though you knew, knew that you couldn’t not go. Choosing to remain this person you’ve created with her perfectly normal job with her perfectly normal life with her not so normal–but still perfect–boyfriend was never an option. Too many people want you, for various reasons from recruitment to revenge for what you did as a Widow; and those people would stop at nothing to get to you, even if that meant hurting someone you’ve loved. 

You’re doing this, for them, you had to leave. There was no other option, and it was better to break it off now rather than leaving in the middle of the night. You fought the urge to be selfish, to keep living this life with them until you board your one way flight. So with a deep breath you stuffed your passport back into its folder in the drawer you owned and grabbed your trench coat and umbrella. You did not let a single tear fall as you hauled a cab to take you to the familiar route to their flat. You tried not to think at all, you knew if thought for a little too long you would talk yourself out of this. You knew this would probably be easier over text, you wouldn’t need to tell those big brown eyes goodbye and see them fill with tears or hate. It would be so easy…but you couldn’t. You knew that if you didn’t end it in person Steven, Marc, or Jake would show up at your door and wouldn’t leave until you did what you were doing right now. Telling them in person that it was over. 

You didn’t waste time when the cab stopped in front of his building, you told the driver to wait and that you would be back down in just a few moments. Your heels clacked against the wet pavement towards the door which a kind, elderly neighbor of Steven’s you’ve gotten to know opened the door for you to which you smiled and thanked him. Every move you made was robotic, you weren’t even thinking you were just on auto pilot. Hoping that they wouldn’t be able to tell the slight shake in your hand or how stiff you were. You reminded yourself that you were doing this for them, and for you as well. 

You entered the lift and pressed the button for their floor, the fluorescent light flickers a few times and the hum and rattle of the wires lifting the metal box do nothing to quiet the thrumming of your heart. Seconds pass by like hours before finally the sliding doors reveal the dimly lit hallway. One you’ve walked through dozens of times by now looks more like death row. You let not one tear drop as you walked, you couldn’t–you couldn’t let those doubting thoughts and happy memories pass through your head as you knocked on his door. Hearing a shuffling and the clattering of dishes before you hear them walk to the door. You could tell by the slight difference in gait that Steven was fronting and it hurt. You had hoped silently that it wouldn’t be him, your sweet Steven, with his unkempt curls and goofy grin. One who read you facts about Egyptian mythology and ancient history during stormy nights, who woke you from nightmares and held you gently like you were the most precious thing to ever exist. The sleepy man on the bus who laid his head on your shoulder and slept, who called you not even an hour after giving him your number. Please not him. 

He opened the door and sure enough it was Steven. 

“There you are love,” He said, a wide smile adorning his face as he ushered you in, “Me and the boys were wondering where you were,” he kissed your cheek and took your coat, “dinners almost ready if you need to wash up.” You stood there motionless, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t the first time you’ve cut ties with someone that you’ve cared for. However this was different, he was different. Steven, Marc, and Jake were probably the first people you’ve ever loved. You would do anything for them, anything, as long as they lived and were content and happy. 

Even if it meant hurting them. 

Even if it meant you could only watch from afar. 

You took in a deep breath, willed your heart to stop beating before speaking. 

“Steven.” He stopped immediately, you never called him by his name, only ever called him your sweetheart, or baby, or whatever other nickname came into mind but never his name. He turned away from the little stovetop and looked at you. You willed your voice to not falter as you continued, “we all need to talk.” 

“Oh god,” Steven whispered, “how bad?” 

“We need to talk,” You said not answering, “please.” 

Wordlessly Steven turned the stove off as he made his way to you, you held up your hand when he was only a few steps away. 

“Are they present?” You asked. 

“They weren’t before but now they are,” He said, eyes furrowing in worry, “we’re starting to get a little worried love what’s going on?”  

“I,” you start before swallowing the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, “I’ve gotten a call from the main office, they’re relocating me in a few months to help on a different classified project.” 

“Oh,” Steven said with confusion written all over his face, “where?” 

“That’s classified.” You said, nails biting into your palm to stop yourself from getting emotional. 

“When will you be back?” 

Silence fills the room, you bite back the urge to say anything that would give him hope. After a few seconds you see his eyes widen as he looks at the mirror beside you. 

“No,” he said to the mirror, “no, no she’s not,” he turns to you with tears pricking his dark eyes making them shine, “love, tell them that you’re not-” 

“I am,” you say, careful to keep a cold tone despite the urge to cry, “I’m not coming back. It’s a permanent relocation.” 

“But you can still come to visit,” he says hurriedly, tears still pricking his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair, “we-we, we can um, we can face-call or um, or we can text and call and we can make this work, I know we can make this work love.” you opened your mouth to say something when he cut you off, a few tears leaking through and leaving wet streaks down his cheek, “or you could tell them no, tell them that you refuse the offer!” 

“I can’t say no,” you said gently. 

“Yes you can,” Steven said, his large hands gripping your shoulders, “you can tell them no.” 

“I can’t Steven,” you tell him, “I’ll lose my job if I do and I can’t.” 

“Then we can face call,” he says, his hands now cradling your face, leaving small kisses on your face that feel like knives in your heart, “we can make this work.” 

“We can’t,” you said as you gently pry his hands from your face, you reach into your pocket and grab the spare key he gave you after a month into your relationship and put it in his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Wait,” Steven says silently, his head hung, his crying seemingly subsided “can you please stay, stay with me, be with me until you go.” 

A moment of silence happens, for a moment you reconsider, but then you kiss his lips. Salt and vegan chocolate stain your tongue until you pull back, resting your forehead against his momentarily. You imagine what life you could’ve had with them, one full of good days and bad days. You’d adopt a cat with him, you would laugh as he declared the cat his mortal enemy for looking at Gus for a moment too long. You’d save up together and buy a nice cottage in the countryside, maybe you’d get married, maybe you wouldn’t. But you could imagine what it would be like to grow old with him, when your hair would turn white and gray, when your skin would start to sag and he would still be there to tell you you’re as beautiful as the day he met you on that small bus all those years ago. It’s a nice life, one you know you would be more than content with. 

But you know it’s not a life you can have. 

“Goodbye.” 

With that you left, closing the door behind you and walking to the lift. Walking away from the life you knew you could never live, not without constantly looking over your shoulders. You knew secrets always have ways of coming to the light, so even if you did stay how long would it be until he discovered yours. How long until he has a gun to his head and a target on his back? No, this was the choice, this was the only option. You made the right call, while you may not get to live that life; he still could. He’ll find someone else, someone to love and who will hopefully love him as much. 

The doors slid closed and the wires hummed and groaned as they lifted you back down where the cab was waiting. You decided to walk and paid the cab for their time. You knew with the heels you were wearing you would regret it later but you didn’t care, you needed some time to think. You walked through the lit streets, you watched as people laughed and a few occasionally public criers. You stopped and waved at the living statue man that Steven introduced to you before walking on. This was a path that you and the boys would walk sometimes, they didn’t like going out much and neither did you, but the exercise did you good. You checked your phone to see how much time you had left before you had to board your flight. It seemed like you had enough time to go home, grab your duffle and carry on before the cab you called before you left arrived. 

“Excuse me miss,” You turned to see a little girl no older than ten addressing you. She was a small thing, with dark curls and even darker eyes, she dressed as a white gown with a flower crown. “Do you care for some flowers?” You remember briefly seeing similarly dressed kids in the plaza not too far away, you gathered that maybe she had wandered away from the group unnoticed. 

“You know what,” You kneeled down to her height, “I would love some flowers, but first let’s get you back to your group alright?” the girl looked around as if she’s realizing she’s not where she’s supposed to be, for a moment you’re worried about her crying as you see tears start forming in her eyes. You take the hand not holding onto the small basket of flower seeds gently, “don’t cry little one, we’ll get you back to your group all safe and sound.” You see her nod as she holds your hand in her tiny one as you lead her back to the brightly lit plaza just a few buildings away. She points to two women frantically looking and calling out a name. You let her hand go and watch as she runs towards who you assume are her mothers. 

“Oh my stars,” you hear the taller woman breathe out in relief, “where did you run off too?” 

“I-I went to go give flowers.” You heard the little girl sniffle before she pointed at you, “she helped me.” You gave a small awkward smile and wave before the smaller woman gave you a hug. 

“Thank you so much,” She said before letting you go. “We were talking with the play director for one mo and the next-”

“No need,” you said, “she’s a sweet kid, adventurous too apparently.”

“You have no idea.” the mother sighed as she looked at the now giggling child in her wife's arms, “Angie loves to get into trouble.” you see her smile before returning her gaze back to you, “anyways thank you again.” 

“No problem,” you say before turning your eyes towards Angie and her taller mother, “it was nice to meet you, and you too Angie–listen to your mum’s.” you went to walk away before you felt a soft tug on your sleeve. You looked down to see Angie holding up a packet of flower seeds to you. 

“Here’s your flower miss,” Angie said sweetly, tears long gone, “thank you for helping me find my mum’s.” you gently take the packet of seeds from her and smile,

 “you’re welcome, good luck with your play.” You said as you waved her goodbye as she went to take her place next to the various other children in similar attire. You stood there a moment longer, watching this small family you’ve encountered. All you’ve ever known of family was what the Red Room told you of. Your birth certificate was destroyed along with every other Widow’s, even then you doubt that your parents still walked the earth. Dreykov wasn’t one to leave loose ends. 

You walked away from the plaza then, away from the brightly lit place and back onto dimly lit streets making your way past the few passersby and back to your building where a single duffle bag and carry on waited for you. 

You had been brave the entire day, you had not let a single tear drop but once the door to your flat closed behind you all the resolve you had crumbled. You slid down the door as tears profusely fell down your cheeks leaving hot traces behind. You couldn’t hold back the sobs that had threatened to come out earlier. Your fingers shakily trace your lips as you hold onto the last kiss you shared with him. Your hand then went to your chest and clutched the material of your shirt as a sharp, throbbing pain in your chest grew. Every part of you was screaming, all for different things. There was physical pain like the ache in your feet and the pain in your chest, but the emotional pain–that was the worst of it. This was the kind of pain that teetered between hell and heaven.

So this was it. 

This was heartbreak. 

You don’t know how long you stayed there–teetering–but you knew you couldn’t be long. Soon you would have to pick yourself up, bite through every step as though it didn’t feel like you were walking on glass, grab that duffle and carry on, and leave. You let out a bitter smile as you remember that fateful day you met your boys, how you were planning on what flowers to plant in that dream home of yours. You reached into your pocket and grabbed that small bag of flower seeds. 

Purple Hyacinth. 

Sorrow

You laughed at the irony. 

How fitting. 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“What do you mean my flight is canceled?” 

“Just what I mean ma’am, the weather report-” 

“It’s bloody London, has there ever been a clear sunny sky in London?” 

“No..bu-” 

“Alright,” you sigh, pinching the bridge between your brows, “I’m not trying to be difficult, I know you’re just doing your job, are there any flights cleared to take off?” You see the person type a few buttons on their keyboard and a few clicks of the mouse before looking back at you with false sympathy. 

“I’m sorry ma’am all the ones cleared already took off.” 

Shit, that leaves you with two options: going back to the flat or staying at the airport until morning…with a sigh you grab your bags and get ready to grab a late taxi back to your place. At least there you could shower and cry in private. First thing tomorrow morning you’ll get on the next plane to, you look at your ticket again Cincinnati, Ohio. At least you won’t stay there, your inside guy did you a solid and got you away from people. You’ll be in a small property big enough for one in a small town. It wasn’t ideal but at least you were away from the city stench. You’ll have to drive to places this time instead of hailing a cab, but you didn’t mind. All in all, it was an ok set up, much more preferable than your previous arrangement. 

You tried to hail a cab for ten minutes, everyone that passed was either already paid or just didn’t see you. Eventually you thought you were going to have to bite the bullet and sleep on the uncomfortable airport lounges when a cab finally pulled up. You thanked god as you put your luggage in the trunk and got into the backseat. 

“Where to miss?” the man asked, you didn’t even look at him as you replied. Instead watching the water drip steadily down the window pane. 

“Too bad for the weather eh?” This driver asked in a thick cockney accent. 

“Yeah I guess,” you replied, “though I guess it fits.” silence passes before he replies. 

“Tough day issit?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” you said, closing your eyes, “it just doesn’t end.” 

“Know what that’s like,” he replies, “I had a share of bad days myself.” 

“Oh yeah?” You responded. 

“Like today,” You hear him respond, “I burned my hand while making dinner for me and my girlfriend, we’ve been going on for a year or so by now. She is the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, inside and out. Anyways the day only gets worse from there, she comes about half an hour early to dinner without warning. I knock my poor toe on the way to the door to let her in; hurt like anything. So I open the door, she’s as  radiant as ever, only she’s got this sad look in her eyes, something I’ve never seen before. Turns out, she’s been lying to me… she said her job was taking her away and that she wouldn’t be able to be with us anymore.” a sinking feeling settled into your stomach, “we begged, we pleaded but no. She was adamant, and then she left, without another word. Isn’t that cruel?” You open your eyes to look into the rearview mirror, a chill went through your body as your eyes met a familiar dark pair. “Isn’t it mi carissima?” the accent drops into the deep spanish accent. You’re about to open the door when you feel a pinch on the side of your neck, and slowly the world blurred and then faded into nothing.

(Here's Part 2)

[ohlovxr]

the one where he fucks you in the kitchen

masterlist | series masterlist

He hasn’t fronted much since Marc and Layla met you. He’s left it all to Marc. After all, he’s the one who saw you first. He’s the one married to Layla, and the efforts made to have you were executed by the both of them. They were a team, and he simply wasn’t a part of it.

He hasn’t let Steven front at all, as a matter of fact. The poor guy’s riddled with guilt and might just say something he shouldn’t. It’s too risky.

He was just a bystander, not that he really minded, but that didn’t mean he felt nothing. He saw you, lived with you, nearly as much as Marc did. He fell in love with you just as Marc did.

He bided his time; he waited for the right moment to have you for just a little while, if not only a few minutes. He just wants to feel you. To have you feel the love he holds for you.

Jake decides the perfect time to front was the middle of night. When the bed shifts slightly, the woman sliding off of it trying to be as quiet as possible, and the soft patter of bare feet across the wooden floors could be heard heading out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

He follows after a few moments, careful not to wake Layla, and is greeted by the sight of your back turned to him when he enters the kitchen. A little light underneath a cabinet dimly lit up a portion of the space.

He clears his throat.

Startled, you jump and turn around. One hand is holding a glass of water and the other comes up to press against your chest. A sleepy smile graces your face when you realize who it is. “Marc, you scared me.”

His mouth twists a little with dissatisfaction, but he lets it drop quickly. He doesn’t imagine there’s any way you’ll be calling him Jake anytime soon.

You saw it anyway. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“No,” this was the first time he’s spoken to you himself. If Marc knew what he was up to, he wasn’t letting himself be known just yet. “No, honey, you didn’t. I just,” he takes a breath, “couldn’t sleep.”

Your brows furrow, concern paints across your face.

His sweet girl, always the worrier. Jake hums, stepping towards you, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

He manages to corner you against the counter. One hand comes up to press between your brows to smooth away the tension. You giggle at the playful gesture before he says, “stop worrying,” with a hint of a smile. He brings his other hand up to cup over the small bump of your stomach. “How are you?”

You reach back to place your cup onto the counter then bring the same hand up to cup his face. You smile up at him and he knows then that seeing you from a mirror is nothing compared to this. “Stop that.”

It earns you a huffed laugh from him.

“We’re fine.” You nod your head towards the glass of water. “Just thirsty.”

Both his hands slide down to knead at your thighs and both your hands slide up to hold onto his shoulders. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Jake shrugs before easily lifting you by your thighs and setting you down onto the counter, a soft gasp leaving your lips in the process. He ghosts his lips over yours. “No reason. I just couldn’t.”

A little hmph comes from the back of your throat when he presses closer to you and the sudden feel of him, half-hard, is against you. “I dunno. I think I’m feeling the reason right now.”

With a teasing pinch to your thigh and click of his tongue, he mumbles, practically against your lips with how close he’s gotten, “stop being cheeky,” before he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and drags you into a kiss. One that’s long and messy and expands into multiple because of how neither of you seem to be able to pull away.

His hand comes to push the shirt you wore, Marc’s, up before pushing your panties to the side. You moan needingly into his lips when he slips his finger into you and presses up. He can feel how wet you are, still full with some of Marc’s cum from when he had taken you over the couch just before you’d gone to bed.

Thinking back to it makes his cock jump against you in its confines. You’d gotten so wet for Marc so easily. He’d gotten as far as rubbing your swollen clit through your panties before you were begging for his cock. Before you were insisting that you were and could take him just like that.

Jake had never wanted to take over so bad. To tell you how perfect you are when Marc eased his cock into your sopping hole and you’d taken him in like your body was made just for him. To be the one cupping the bump of your belly where his baby grew as he fucked into you in a way that brought pleasured tears to your eyes. To be the one you looked back at with the most love and adoration in your eyes.

He presses another finger into you, curling them both upwards to prod at your spongy g-spot. You whine, finally pulling your lips away to speak hushedly, “C’mon, Marc, you know I can take it.”

Jake groans and presses his forehead against yours as his eyes close.

You persist, the hands on his shoulders tightening their grip. “Please.”

It’s all he needs to open his eyes and see yours staring so desperately up at him before he’s pulling his fingers out of you to pull his pants down and letting his cock spring free. Greedily, you bring one hand down to guide him to your entrance, rubbing his tip over your already dripping cunt.

He coos to you as he pushes one thigh back gently to get you open to him. “Easy, mi amor. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even with that, you’re easing him into you and tugging at his shoulder impatiently, wordlessly telling him, “come on, move!”

You’re so distracted that you cease to notice the new term of endearment slipping from his lips.

He has to drown his moan against your lips once he’s fully seated inside you. What he watched didn’t even begin to compare to how you’re making him feel. Your arms wrap around his neck tightly, bringing him so close that he could feel your heart beating through your chest and into his, your legs clinging to his waist and trying to pull him further into you. Your pussy flutters around his cock and makes him twitch as he rests in there for a moment, letting your walls mold to his shape while he kisses you.

When he starts thrusting, he doesn’t bother pulling out much at all. His cock hits parts deep inside of you that have you clenching around him and gasping into his mouth. He does it enough that your slick starts dripping down the base of his cock and to his balls.

His hands support your back as he pulls you to the edge of the table, getting his tip to start poking at a different angle.

It must’ve been the one Marc had fucked into, the one that brought you to tears and that the man had abused until you were surely sore and swollen, because a broken noise escapes you the second he hits it.

A little panic ran through him.

“Shh,” he murmurs with his lips against your forehead, bringing a hand up smooth over the back of your head, “It’s okay, honey, I know.”

Jake wasn’t scared of many things, but there would be Hell to pay if Layla wakes up and finds him doing this to you instead of her husband.

You whine, looking up at him with teary eyes and pupils blown wide with pleasure, your legs locking even tighter around him. “O-Oh, my-”

“That’s it, huh?” He breathes a laugh, licking his lips as he watches your eyes roll back and letting his thrusts get a little harder. “That’s where you need it, princesa, I know.”

It only takes a couple more thrusts before you’re falling apart around him, melting into his arms as your pussy flutters and squeezes his cock, urging him to spill into you.

He follows you quickly, spurting cum deep into your womb.

He’d say he hopes it takes, but he’s lucky enough to already have you getting so pretty and round with his baby.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Jake Lockley/Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? • Status: Ongoing

Part One: “I can’t do this anymore Jake... I can’t…” ‘Kill any more people’ is what you want to say, what you should say. But he’d know you were lying. “I can’t do this so frequently.” 

Before he left Egypt, Jake destroyed all the remaining ushabti’s – setting all the previously imprisoned god’s free. That was the main reason he felt so responsible for what happened to you.

Part Two: His attention darted back to you. A deep scowl darkening his features. “What do you know about that, old bird?” There was a hint of something behind his words, uncertainty but also intrigue. “Who are you?” He paused for a second, “and who do you think I am?”

You wake up in bed after the previous night, but it's not Jake laying next to you.

Part Three: “I,” Marc swallowed, just about managing to pull his lips away from yours. He cupped your face with his right hand, pressing ever so gently as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s Marc, I didn’t- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

Marc manages to get you both passage over the Caspian Sea in a fishing trawler, things get complicated.

[atlasscrumpit]

Hey there! I had 3 weird ideas to throw out there. Yandere MK boys with a reader who is either a werewolf, has a symbiote (like Venom), or has mind control powers (or more like mind powers Scarlet Witch has maybe?). Like they use their powers on the boys to try and escape. Idk something like that. Anyhow have a good day/night. :)

We warned you

It wasn’t too bad here, you secretly enjoyed it.

Having them take care of you felt nice and you definitely weren’t used to it.

But, Jake was angry and you were getting scared.

“I didn’t mean to break it.” You whispered, looking down at the broken cup.

“But, you still made a mistake didn’t you, mi amor?” He growled, stalking towards you.

“And you know I like to help you learn lessons.” He said as you felt tears in your eyes.

“Fuck off, Jake!” You screamed as he froze and looked at you in shock.

“That’s it.” He growled before lunging towards you, you quickly held your hand up and entered his mind.

You never wanted to do this to them, but you had no choice.

Your eyes glowed brightly as you stared at him, tears running down your cheeks.

“Get on your knees.” You whispered as he slowly obeyed and went to his knees.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, trying your best to stop crying.

“Stay here on the floor for three hours and don’t even try to find me.” You whispered before dropping your hand.

You quickly rushed around grabbing some of your things in a backpack before you ran out of the door crying.

—

It had been about an hour and you sat in an alleyway crying.

You wanted to go back to them more than anything, but Jake had hurt you and Marc or Steven hadn’t helped you.

Suddenly everything around you began to become dark as you looked around in fear.

“No…” You whispered as you slowly fell unconscious.

When you awoke again you were in an endless dark void, your knees to the ground and your wrists chained.

“Little witch thought she was more powerful than a god.” You heard a voice growl as you shook and looked up.

“Khonshu.” You whispered in fear before you saw three figures behind him.

“I think it may be time for a punishment.” Khonshu growled before Marc and Steven rushed forward.

“Enough, Khonshu!” Marc yelled, quickly kneeling to you as you cried out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done it. I was so scared, I’m sorry.” You cried out as they looked down at you.

“I know, I know you’re sorry. But, what you did isn’t easily forgiven love.” Marc whispered as you shook your head.

“No, no please, please I don’t want to be hurt.” You whispered before looking to Steven.

“Please, don’t leave me here with him.” You cried out as Steven looked at you sadly.

“What you did was wrong, love. That was an awful thing to do, once all of this is over we can cuddle as much as you want, okay?” He said, you sobbed even more and thrashed in the chains.

“Let me go!” You screamed as the three men began to walk away.

“No! Please, don’t leave me!”

—

Steven sat beside you bedside, watching your peaceful face in your sleep.

“How much longer will Khonshu keep her?” Steven whispered, running his finger over your cheek.

“As long as she deserves, Steven.” Marc replied as Steven looked at you sadly.

“She needs to go through this, Steven. She has a lot of lessons to learn.” Marc continued, making Steven nod.

Suddenly you gasped and woke up, beginning to panic.

You kept muttering Stop over and over.

Steven quickly leapt up and held onto your shoulders.

“Baby, it’s okay! You’re safe, I’m here!” Steven shouted as you rocked back and forth.

“Stop it, stop it, please.” You muttered as you began to cry.

“Looks like she needs more.” Khonshu growled before Steven stood up.

“No! You will not touch her again!” Steven shouted before going back to you.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, love. I’m right here. No more punishment, such a good girl.” Steven whispered, cradling you.

You growled and held your hand up about to use your power again, before Marc took control.

“I don’t think so love.” Marc growled before he pinned his arms above your head.

He reached across to the bedside table wear a black collar was, he quickly clipped it around your neck, before backing away.

“There you go, baby girl. No more powers.” Marc whispered, a little out of breath as you clawed at the collar.

“I hate you, I hate you so much!” You screamed as Marc just watched you.

“Throw your tantrum, babydoll. It’s not coming off.”