#dark!marc spector

[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. ❤️

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Eclipse

Yandere Moon Knight System x fem!reader

A/n: This is quite long, so I am sorry if there are some errors I may have missed myself. :/

CW/Triggers: Slow burn, lewdness, kidnapping, obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking, mature themes, strong language, nsfw, m! masturbation, unhinged, alot of swearing.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Ever since Steven talked to you at the Museum, he became infaturated by you. No matter how bitchy Donna was to him during his job, whenever he saw you it was as if all the tension and anger has left him.

It was Marc who discovered you were working at the coffee shop nearby of the museum while he was waiting for his coffee. When he told Steven about it, he couldn't believe his luck.

Today Steven was on his usual shift, selling made up Egyptian sweets and doing inventory here and there whenever Donna demanded it. The gift shop was pretty much empty, giving Steven some time to rest and let the other two front. Jake was currently fronting, casually messing up the sweets only to put them back into place because he was bored. For the next couple minutes no one came into the gift shop, Marc wanted to just go home, Jake was bored and Steven was tired. Jake finally heard some steps towards the shop, letting Steven front incase it was a customer. You came into their view, walking past the gift shop.

*Stevo! Your crush is here!*

Steven let out a huff at Jake's remark. "Jake please.."

*Hombre, come on, go get her.*

"I bet she already has a partner, Jake. Just look at her."

Marc felt the need to chime in. *Buddy, she's always alone. You have to take the chance before someone else does.*

Ever since Steven knew where you worked, he was actually thinking about it but he was scared you wouldn't accept or already have a partner. Steven didn't show it, but his mind was already imagining how it would be like to walk you home, especially at late or night shifts, to make sure you get home safe.

"But I can't, what if she doesn't want to?"

Steven sounded like he was about to give up but he knew Marc and Jake would help him as much as they can.

*Then let one of us ask her out and you go to the date.* Marc suggested.

Steven leaned against the counter. "Like the last date? At the Steakhouse?" he couldn't help but chuckle lowly at the thought.

Jake felt the need to interfere. *Steven, compadre, why don't we go to her and you ask her out, hm?*

Steven paused to think. On one hand, he was really tempted to just ask you out, on the other hand, he was a bit shy to do it, he was afraid you'd turn him down, or worse, think he's some kind of a weirdo. "Jake? Marc? But what if she already has a partner?"

*Buddy, like I said, she's always alone even when walking home. So the chance is not that high.* Marc replied.

Steven checked the clock, only 15 more minutes until his shift ends. "Fine, if she's still here when my shift ends, I'll try asking her."

Jake and Marc were satisfied with the answer and Steven remained fronting until his shift was over, he packed his bag and made his way out, keeping an eye out incase you'd still be in the museum. It was already getting dark outside, Steven hasn't seen you anywhere and assumed you're already gone. As he stepped out of the museum he looked at the coffee shop you were working close by the museum, and he had to look twice because he saw you leaving the place. His heartrate and breathing quickened just a tad bit at seeing you again.

Jake had an idea he just had to share with Steven. *Should we follow her just for a minute?*

"Whoa Jake, are you telling me to stalk her?"

Jake let out a wince. *Ehh, I wouldn't necessarily call it 'stalking'. Let's just say 'protection'.*

*But we better keep some distance, we wouldn't want to scare Steven's lovely crush.* Marc added with a slight teasing in his voice.

Steven sighed before he slowly started following you from a safe distance. "Both of you are crazy." he cursed under his breath. They noticed you were a bit distracted by your phone, so Steven found it easier to follow you without you noticing that fast.

*Gotta admit Steven, she's pretty.*

*Yes she is. See? It was a good idea to follow her, huh?*

Marc's and Jake's words somehow put Steven at ease. As Steven followed you, he couldn't help but appreciate the way you walked. He was feeling so confident right now that if someone decided to attack you, he'd beat the person up.

*You really got a big crush on her, do ya?* Marc said amused, teasingly even as if he noticed something Steven did not.

Steven bit his lower lip. "A bit. Yeah. A bit."

Jake's snort echoed through the headspace. *A bit? Hermano, your dick is about to burst out of your pants from that 'a bit'.*

Steven was confused for a second before looking down on himself, seeing the obvious bulge in his pants he somehow didn't notice before.

"Oh bollocks..." Steven cursed under his breath.

*Well, our dick wants attention if it catches something it likes, buddy.* came Marc's teasing remark.

*Come on, Stevo, let's head back before someone sees our uh, 'problem'...* Jake suggested but Steven didn't want to leave yet, he wanted to make sure you get home safe.

"No wait, she hasn't even made it home yet." he argued, continuing to follow you from a distance despite the raging hard-on between his legs. While walking, Steven bit his lip from time to time to suppress the urgent need growing stronger with every second he watches you walk. "Oh my god, I feel like a bloody pervert."

*Nah, it goes away.*

*Oohh, ladies man speaking up.*

"Guys you're not helpin'!" Steven whispered in harshly. He looked back at you, seeing you walking towards a house, assuming it was yours. "I think she's home now." but Steven couldn't wait until he made it back home, the need was too much for him so he decided to search for an alleyway to deal with his need. Steven quickly found one just across from your house, he got behind a dumpster but looked around to make sure he's safe to go with his handiwork.

*Don't tell me you're dealing with yourself here.* Marc questioned.

*He may even get a look on his crush from here.* Jake chimed in.

"Sorry guys, I jus' can't wait any longer..." he fumbled with his pants, pulling down just a bit to get his throbbing cock free. The tip was already leaking generously as he gave himself a few strokes with a shaky breath.

*Dios mios, Steven... she really did mess your head up, eh?*

"Yeah." Steven rasped, leaning back against the wall and stroking himself slowly as the pre-cum leaked down on the floor. He looked at your house, seeing the lights turned on inside a room at the second floor which he guessed was your room. He saw you walking past the window, causing him to pump his hand faster. "Fuckin' hell..." he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, imagining how he could just summon his suit to storm into your room and rail you senseless.

Of course Marc and Jake noticed the way Steven relaxed, they knew he must imagine something dirty right now.

*I bet he's thinking about fucking her right now.* Marc said, his voice was strained already.

*Can't blame him.* Jake added, his voice was equally strained as Marc's.

Steven opened his eyes, his breath was starting to quicken, his lips were parted as he listened to Marc and Jake. "Jesus, guys..." he groaned, but deep down, he knew they were right. He wanted to fuck you. He wanted to feel you pussy gripping his cock. He wanted to–

At one point you came to your window to close the curtains, Steven eyed the way you stretched your arms, imagining how they'd look out stretched in other ways...

He almost came at seeing you by the window, but he slowed down, edging himself because he didn't want it to end. Not while he's thinking about you.

*Imagine how good she'd look getting split open on our cock, Steven. Going to ruin her for every other guy.*

Marc's words made Steven's mind slowly but surely go into a more darker territory. He knew Marc can get possessive, Jake too, and Steven wasn't like this but something about you– it made him ignore it. He wanted you.

Steven couldn't help himself at the thought of finally having you, his breath was getting heavy as he rapidly pumped his fist and with a relieved moan, he spurted his cum on the dirty alley ground.

"Fuck." he breathed, relaxing back against the wall to catch his breath. After a moment of calming down, he tucked himself back in, checking if he was still alone before making his way out of the alley but not before glancing at your house one last time.

*And now? What if she does have a partner already?* Marc asked, genuinely curious what Steven will do since he just jacked off in that alley at the thought of you.

"I don't know mate, m-maybe just accept it?" Steven asked, he wasn't sure what he'll do. Overthinking the possibility of you having a potential partner made his mind snap further more into the darker area. He wasn't even sure if he could accept it. And now with the knowledge that Marc and Jake like you too, maybe even as much as Steven himself does, there is a chance they can make the situation get out of hand.

"But now you two like her too, yeah?" Steven asked, he started making his way back home.

*Now I do, Stevo. After what you just did, I like her.* Jake confirmed.

*She's so beautiful, Steven. How could I not like her?* Marc confirmed aswell.

Knowing Marc and Jake like you as equally as him, Steven feels bolder but his mind scratches the twisted path again because he, Marc and Jake can be difficult when they want to and if they set their mind on something, it's a serious challenge to tear them off their mindset.

While you were sleeping peacefully in your bed without a single concern of what happened just outside your house, Steven soon arrived home, his mind was pre occupied by you and so were Jake's and Marc's too. Even though Marc and Jake didn't really care about Steven's crush on you at first, they did snap now. Usually they would just mind their own business and let Steven deal with his partners but now? Now they want a piece of it.

Steven prepared for sleep, flopping down on his bed and pulling the covers up. When he closed his eyes all he could see was you, just you. It drove him nuts, but he managed to sleep for some hours. He woke up with a start in the middle of the night, he catched his breath, rolling over to check the time, it was 4 am.

"Can't even bloody sleep." He mumbled, grabbing his pillow and put it on his face.

*It's because of her, isn't it?* Marc asked.

"Bingo." Steven mumbled into the pillow, sounding defeated.

*Why don't we pay a visit tonight? Nothing much, just a little peek and then we leave?* Jake suggested.

"You mean breaking in? If Khonshu finds out about that..." Steven trailed off, raising the pillow from his face, throwing it to the side and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

*Come on, Khonshu isn't even playing by the rules either. Besides that fucking bird won't give a shit about what we do with our suits.* Jake countered, he especially knew Khonshu would let them do nearly anything if it doesn't involve hurting or killing innocent people.

Steven sat up, running a hand through his messed hair. "A'ight, but we will do it after work, yeah?" he popped his shoulders, getting up to start with his restless day.

-----------------------------

"Dios, Steven, how can you get along with your bitchy boss Donna? This puta is a kick to the balls." Jake complained while walking out of the museum after a long day of Donna's non stop nagging, complaining and shooing them around.

*Well I dunno either, bruv. I hope one day she chokes on her bloody gum.*

Jake surrendered the body to Steven, wanting nothing more than taking a mental seat to calm down from all of Donna's bullshit. Steven had mentally mapped out the way to your house since last night's adventures outside of it. It was already late, Steven figured you must be asleep by now. His thoughts were right as they arrived at your house, seeing the complete darkness through its windows. Steven stopped infront of your front door, trying the handle to see if it's magically unlocked by some luck.

"Are we goin' to use our suit?"

Marc was quick to answer. *No, we break in the classic way. We don't want to destroy half her house with the suit.*

Steven nodded, letting Marc front who reached inside his pocket, pulling out a blank credit card and slid it between the door slit and the lock. The second the lock gave in and the door opened with a creak, Marc prayed you didn't have a security system or some aggressive guard dog who's just waiting to attack them. Luckily, no alarm, no foaming guard dog, only silence and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall in the hallway.

Marc stealthily creeped through the narrow hallway, stopping on the way to look around your living room before carefully moving on.

*Marc there's a staircase.* Steven pointed out making Marc look ahead and spotting the darkened staircase leading to the second floor. He took one step at a time, letting out silent breaths as some stairs creaked. After what felt like an eternity, Marc arrived at the second floor, spotting three rooms, figuring out which one is your main bedroom.

*Oi, the last door, mate.*

Marc saw the door being ajar, he sneaked towards the room, feeling the doubt rising up at this room being yours but he made his way over just incase. He pushed the door fully open, peeking inside, seeing the white tiles. It was the bathroom. A whiff of your shampoo entered his nose, the smell still lingering in the air. Marc had to stop himself from taking a deep breath to inhale the fresh smell. "It's just her bathroom." he stammered.

Marc was about to turn away but Steven stopped him.

*Wait.*

Marc stopped in his tracks. "What?"

*You think what I'm thinkin'?*

In confusion Marc's eyes roamed the bathroom, landing on the small amount of laundry in the corner. "You mean–?"

*Hell yeah bruv.*

Surrendering to Steven's silent demand, Marc entered the bathroom, closing the door and reached into the small pile. "For fuck's sake, Steven..." he murmured, pulling out one of your panties, feeling his dick growing hard in his pants.

*Come on man, just a little smell.* Jake encouraged, his tone sounding needy.

Marc pulled your panties close to his nose, already smelling your scent, savoring it as his hand snaked down on himself, rubbing his throbbing cock through his pants. "Ah fuck, she smells so sweet..." he ran his nose along the part of your panties that touched your core, inhaling deeply. Your sweet scent invading his nose, his hand quickly unzipping his pants, eagerly reaching inside to pull his needy cock out which was already starting to leak pre-cum from their lewd actions. "Shit, I can't wait to finally–" he didn't even finish his sentance, your smell mixed with the shampoo still in the air was driving him insane, he started fucking his fist, tightening it around his shaft, imagining it being your pussy gripping him, how much of a moaning mess they could turn you into if they wanted.

Just like Steven, Marc had lost his sense for right or wrong too. Marc had always been the more radical thinking one but his morale and semi-sane mind held him back to do something disastrous, but now he didn't care. All he could focus on rightnow is fucking his hand, getting all sorts of dirty scenarios in his now-fucked-up mind.

*Bloody hell Marc, you're making a fuckin' mess on the tiles.*

Steven's words snapped Marc out of his horny-trance, he looked down, seeing the drops of precum staining the floor. Marc couldn't care less about them rightnow but he reached for a nearby box of tissues to wipe the stains off the floor. "There, happy?" he rasped, resuming his handiwork on himself. "Fuck, Steven, what mess did you get us into..." he sighed in delight.

*Wasn't me, mate. It was all her. She's the reason we empty our balls inside her house while she bloody sleeps.*

*Ay Marc, keep the fuck going.* Jake slurred out from the neediness.

As Marc felt his orgasm build up, he could feel a wave of possessiveness wash over him. He knew it was wrong but you simply had your beautiful way messing with their already unstable minds, even if you just as much walked past them in public. In Marc's head, if you had a boyfriend, he'd be sure Jake and he himself couldn't stop themselves from making him disappear from your life.

Marc fucked his fist faster, wanting nothing more than to bury himself balls deep into you. "Guys, if she'd be here rightnow, I don't know if I could control myself..." his movements became erratic, his breathing heavy as he chased his release.

*You'd jump her? Like I would too, yeah?* Steven's voice had that mix of darkness and determination.

Marc couldn't hold himself back any longer. "Yeah, I would–" his breath came out in short gasps, he reached out to tear out a tissue from the nearby box, holding it infront of his cockhead. "I– a-ahh, f-fuck!" he spilled his cum into the tissue with a deep throaty groan, slumping back against the wall. After a minute of calming down, Marc cleaned up any evidence of their sins in there and placed your panties they smelled on back under the small pile of your laundry.

Marc let Steven front, who quickly left the bathroom, checking the middle room. He slowly and carefully opened the door, feeling a slight chill hit him as he looked inside, seeing just an empty bed with some furniture.

*Just a spare bedroom, her room must be the next one.* Marc stated.

Steven reached the third room, pressing his ear against the door to listen for any sounds. When he heard none, he carefully opened the door, the welcoming air with the smell of your shampoo invaded his senses, he couldn't help but take it in. "Look at this sleeping beauty." Steven murmured silently under his breath as his eyes finally landed on your sleeping form, securely tucked away in the safety of your bed. He approached slowly, kneeling down at your bedside, resisting the itch to reach out and touch your soft skin.

*She's such a beauty.* Jake murmured affectionately in their headspace.

*I bet her skin feels like silk.* Marc sounded so at peace.

"I want to lay next to her, take her into my arms..." Steven sighed dreamily, reaching out to ghost his fingers over your blanket-covered shoulder, stopping just at the edge of it, threatening to touch your soft skin.

*Oh you will Steven. You will.* Jake's tone had a dark edge to it. Steven wanted to question him but he just pushed it aside.

*We could try getting her phone number.* Marc suggested.

Your phone laid on the bedside table, Steven grabbed it, turned on the small light and unlocked it with your face ID, grinning internally at how easy you unknowingly made it for them. He quickly found out your number and wrote it down, not bothering to just put your phone back down without looking through it, he didn't wanted to be nosy, and although you managed to turn all their heads upside down they still respected your privacy. But it was tempting nontheless.

He tucked the piece of paper with your number on it into his pocket, his fingers almost moved on their own to touch your hair but Steven held himself together, instead lightly grazing your all too soft hair with the tip of his fingers, wanting nothing more than to run them through your hair and bury his face into them.

"Her hair is so soft. So goddamn soft..." he whispered silently. He realized they already stayed way longer than they intented, so Steven reluctantly straightened up, retreating out of your room and softly closing the door behind himself, leaving you asleep without even a hint of what happened inside your house that night.

-----------------------------

Back at their home, Steven was still awake, laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was still feeling so energized, like he could make a run around the blog without breaking a sweat. But instead, he just went for his rubix cube, trying to tire himself with it by solving it easily, messing it up, throwing and catching it but it only served to get sucked deeper into thought.

"Guys?" he asked silently, catching the cube.

*Something's on your mind, isn't it?* Marc questioned, he already knew Steven had something to think about because of how in thought he looked like while trying to tire himself out.

"We're fuckin' insane..." Steven breathed out.

*You've noticed?* Marc asked amused.

"No no no, not like that... I'm talking about her..."

*Let me guess, you keep thinking about her?*

"Yeah..."

*I think it calms you when I say Jake and I do too.* Marc admitted. He and Jake just kept it quiet, they didn't know Steven was like that too, and he also knew they could do something pretty fucked up when all three of them share the same opinion.

Steven put the cube aside. "But you know what that could mean, yeah?"

*Yeah.*

Steven sat up against the headboard and stretched his legs, grabbing the rubix cube again. "And now that we have her phone number..." he messed the cube up again, solving it quickly.

*You wanna call her?* Marc asked surprised.

"I can't help it, wanna hear her voice."

Before they could discuss any further a black fog suddenly appeared in the middle of the room and Khonshu materialized out of it.

"Jake Lockley." the god demanded.

"Steven here, mate..." Steven gave him a tired and annoyed look.

"Steven Grant." Khonshu corrected himself. "I need you tonight. Some scum needs to be cleaned up."

"Aye-aye, Khonshu..." Steven gave a weak mock salute, already being pissed they had to do some work for that pigeon again.

Satisfied with the answer, Khonshu disappeared as quick as he came with a grumble.

*Steven you should better get some sleep.* Marc said since it was still in the middle of the night.

Steven nodded, placing the cube back on the bedside table and got under the covers. He eventually fell asleep and woke up in the morning, feeling oddly refreshed and ready for the day. Steven got up and headed to work. On his way while sipping on his coffee, he saw you entering the coffee shop, it caused his breath to hitch a little at seeing you. He would do anything right now to just talk to you, hell even eye contact with your beautiful eyes would be enough for him.

Walking past you workplace, he got a good look inside through the glass and something caught his eyes. You talking to a guy, smiling and laughing. Steven's grip on his thermos instantly tightened and his blood began to boil.

You shouldn't be supposed laughing to this guy. You should be supposed laughing with them, smiling at them, looking at them.

Jake and Marc obviously were no fools, they quickly catched on how Steven was acting. *Wow, calm down buddy, that's possibly just her co worker.*

"You're right." Steven muttered under his breath, heading inside the museum. He spotted Donna chewing on her stupid gum, already making his way over to him.

"Stevey, lucky you doin the inventory for the rest of the week." She announced, chewing annoyingly noisy on her gum.

"Very lucky indeed..." Steven mumbled sarcastically. "A'ight." he gave her a small forced smile, he was just glad to walk away from her and do the inventory alone for some peace.

His shift passed surprisingly quick, he was alone the whole day so that was a huge plus for him and his nerves. At leaving the museum he let Jake front for the duty Khonshu gave them. Steven was too tired to do it, Marc just didn't want to do it but Jake was always there if he gets to kill some scum.

-----------------------------

Jake finished the job efficiently and quick. He chose to use the white limousine for the job, there was some blood on the hood but Jake didn't care, he'd clean it up the next day or simply drive into a car wash. But right now he had other plans.

Meanwhile, you just got out of your routine shower, drying off your hair as suddenly your phone began ringing.

Unknown caller

You answered anyway just to be sure. "Hello?"

"Ah hello, doll."

Thinking it had just been someone who dialed the wrong number, you didn't think much of it. "Did you call the wrong number?"

"No. Not at all, princesa."

Jake was leaning against the house opposite from yours, wiping some blood off his cheek he didn't knew he had from one of those scumbags he killed.

You narrowed your eyes. "Uh, seems like it, why else would you call me?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice, sweetheart. Is it a crime?" Jake asked with a smile, tilting his head to the side, making it so that you could literally hear it through your phone.

"Look, if this is some kind of a prank-"

Jake chuckled. "Come on doll, don't be silly, I just wanted to hear your voice that's all."

You got sick of this. "Well you've heard my voice. Bye." just like that, you hung up, blocking the number in the process.

*Aww, she has such a cute voice.* Steven sighed contendly.

"Gotta say, she's really cute when acting all tough." Jake smirked, getting back inside the limo.

Meanwhile after you hung up, you made your way over to your window, peeking outside but seeing nothing except a white limousine with what looked like a dark substance on its hood driving away. While the call gave you some creeps you headed for sleep anyway, in which you fell asleep soundly without any further thoughts.

*We can't get her out of our head, it's like she cursed us or something.* Marc said as Steven took over the body.

"She did Marc, she did. With her angelic beauty." Steven replied, he made his way to Gus' tank, feeding him and watching him swim.

*Stevo, since we are all going crazy on her why don't we... take it a step further?* Jake asked slowly, with a hint of determination.

Steven looked back to the mirror, seeing Jake look back at him with a slow smirk forming on his face.

Steven's thoughts went into the dark area again, he knew all of them were already too far into the mess.

"What's your plan?" Steven asked.

*Simple. We bring her here.* Jake shrugged.

They knew it was wrong, but you unknowingly made their minds snap in the worst way possible.

*But we gotta prepare everything. We wouldn't want her escaping.* Marc said.

Steven thought for a second. "We could just lock the door from outside?"

Marc nodded. *Yes but maybe make sure she won't even reach the door, you know?*

Jake clapped his hands together. *Handcuffs. To the bed.*

Marc, Steven and Jake agreed on their plan and started preparing. Shortly after they went to sleep, and for some reason tonight they slept peacefully, no waking up, no nothing. When they woke up the next day, Steven had the body for the most, only letting Marc and Jake front after he was done with his shift. When they got back home, Marc took the body and arranged everything they needed, then when it finally got dark outside, Jake got the body.

Jake dressed in his usual business attire, he got into the white limousine and drove to your place, knowing you'd be asleep already. Marc was fronting to enter and sneak through your house again, stopping infront of your bedroom door to let Jake front. Jake slid his leather gloves on, whistling softly.

*Bruv, you're acting like a bloody maniac with that.* Steven chimed in.

"No amigo, I am kidnapping her." Jake grinned, adjusting his hat. He opened the door silently, slowly stalking towards your sleeping form. Jake reached into his pocket, pulling out the cloth with the sedatives. He kneeled down at your bedside, admiring your beautiful sleeping features. He softly stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, not worrying you could wake up from that.

"You'll be ours, princess." he whispered softly. Jake noticed you stirring, so he made quick actions, pressing one hand down on your eyes so you couldn't see and pressed the other with the cloth on your mouth and nose. Of course you started to get scared, you tried yanking his hands off, trying to wiggle free but Jake didn't had to use much of his strength to keep you down. It only served to make them snap even further if that was even possible because they knew how fragile you were and how weak you were compared to them. And they loved it. Jake leaned close to your ear as you were getting weaker with every second.

"Shhh, hora de la siesta, princesa."

-----------------------------

It was absolutely no struggle to get you back to Steven's place, you were so delicate and pretty in their arms. Jake still had to clean off the blood on the hood of the limousine, so they laid you down on the bed in a spare bedroom, cuffing one of your wrists to the headboard.

You got brought back to consciousness some time later feeling lightheaded. You felt the handcuffs slightly scraping against your skin as you just realized you've been kidnapped.

"No... no no no..." you let out a whine, not even knowing what is going to happen to you but you suited yourself for the worst.

You tried tugging hard on the cuffs, but they were too strong to simply break. You started panicing, looking around for anything to get those cuffs off.

Sudden heavy steps echoed outside of the room, you stopped all movements. A whistle could be heard getting louder, along with the footsteps approaching the door. Your breath hitched and your heart went into your throat as the door finally opened. The person stepped inside, the shadows were hiding his face.

"Hola princesa, I assume your nap was good?"

*She looks so scared. So cute.* Marc spoke up in the headspace.

You pressed yourself up against the headboard. "Please, I-I have money..." your voice was trembling in fear. It was all you could come up with in your paniced state.

Jake snorted. "Tch, you seriously think we're after your money?" he couldn't help but grin.

"Then why am I here?"

"You haven't noticed a single thing, eh?" Jake chuckled. "How we were following you home," he started walking closer "how we broke into your house more than once..."

Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest. Jake kneeled down at the bedside.

"You're such an innocent angle, mi amor..." he reached out with his gloved hand to stroke your cheek, the cold leather did only a small fraction to cool down your skin.

"Please don't hurt me." you whispered.

"Oh no, we would never dream of hurting a flower like you. If you disobey however, there will be some consequenses." Jake had silently let Marc out, you noticed a chance in his accent.

You shook your head frantically, afraid of disobeying. "N-no, no. I promise I won't."

Marc was satisfied with your answer. "That's our good girl. See, you're starting to learn."

Just like Jake, Marc had surrendered the body to Steven, who just couldn't wait to get his hands on you. He removed the gloves and ran his fingers through your hair. The way his fingers scraped against your scalp made you almost forget you were kidnapped by them.

"Tell you what, dove. 'f you promise to stay put, I'll remove the cuffs, yeah?"

You nodded.

Steven got the key out and removed the cuffs, rubbing the sore skin gently. He sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the cuffs away and turning to you.

"C'mere, love." He reached out for you, you were about to scoot away but Steven ignored it and grabbed you anyway, pulling you into his arms.

He couldn't believe how soft you felt, as if you were made to fit straight into their arms. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you against his side.

"Don't be scared love, we will take care of you. You're ours now."

Steven, Marc and Jake were all so happy now that you're finally theirs. No one will take you away from them, you're staying with them. Forever.

[ozarkthedog]

💀marc has a blood kink and a bit of a sadistic streak i said what i said

warnings: 18+ only. mdni. dark!Marc Spector x f!Reader. sparring. blood kink. pain kink. no beta.

word count: 588

author's note: idk what this is but i love it & am not ashamed. p.s., hi, sorry i haven't posted anything in months. :) p.s.s. sorry this is so late @moonknightly but thank you for the dark! thots.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 · 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

“You gotta keep your hands up.” 

You respond with a pained gasp when Marc lands another punch. This time it’s to your jaw. It aches and pounds beneath your skin. You try to shake the pain away despite your world spinning.

“Again. Let’s go.” Marc commands harshly before circling your disorientated body as you try to regain your balance. “You won’t last long in a fight if you can’t take a few hits.”

You raise your fists and bounce on the balls of your feet. Marc smirks at your determination to keep up. “It's cute you think you can beat me.”

A growl rumbles in your chest and you strike without a plan.

He easily dives under your right hook before planting a savage fist in your belly. Air is ripped from your lungs forcing you to keel over. Marc sees his advantage as you choke on gasps of air and kicks your feet out from under you. 

You let out a sick grunt as you crumble to the ground. The hard training mat nicks your cheekbone when you fall face first against the flooring. Sweltering heat burns your body as bile races up your throat from the pain.

Marc stands over your heaving frame and clicks his tongue in disappointment. He roughly nudges your frame until you're lying on your back before crouching down over your body. His thighs encase your arms leaving you with no way to fend for yourself. You can barely breathe with his weight on top of you. No matter how much you struggle, you can't get free.

Darkness creeps into the warmth of his eyes as he sits on your chest and stares at your frightened face. 

“Stupid little girl. What am I gonna do with you?”

Marc spies blood pooling to the surface of your cheek. He thumbs harshly at the wound rubbing the spilt crimson into your skin. You whine from the pain and struggle once more under his massive thighs.

“You look good in red.” Marc smirks something deadly down at you before landing a devastating backhand.

White light flashes behind your eyes as your already abused cheekbone blazes like hot coals. Your lips part in a yelp as the room spins making you even more nauseous than before.

“Hey, hey, come back to me,” Marc husks, cupping your face in his hands. “I wanna see how much you can take.”

Your face burns with searing pain as he grazes his thumb over the welt and tugs on the skin,  opening the wound further. Marc watches with morbid fervor as crimson pours from the broken skin. 

He covers your mouth with a weighty hand dulling your screams to muffled moans while he works not caring that you writhe beneath him. You kick your legs towards his back hoping to land a blow but the angle is wrong, you can’t even graze him.

Marc barely feels you moving under his weight, he���s so invested in your turmoil. He drags two thick fingers through the fresh wound making you vibrate with a scream under his palm before curiously bringing the coated digits to his lips and sucking on them.

He moans around his fingers, eyes dropping closed for a beat, from the tangy, metal taste before sucking on the tips like after a delicious meal. 

“Shit.” He groans from deep in his chest before leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. “You know,” He begins, licking his lips and flashing his crimson stained teeth. “I can taste your fear.” 

💌 send me mail - feel free to scream at me

[runa-falls]

every time i hear this fucking song i have to reread @mewhenimsad's dream walking series (dark!marc x reader) 😩 UHHH ITS SO GOOD AHHH

[loveallmycreators]

So the number of times I come back to read this is probably embarrassing to admit but whatever. I don’t care. When I found this story, I screamed! I love your dark characters and was desperate for Moon Knight content. This is just absolutely brilliant! The situation is just so spot on cause I could definitely see this happening. I loved reader’s confusion and really felt the fear and panic! When you were writing that flip between M and S, I was obsessed.

I have to say that the characterizations of Marc and Steven were just so, so RIGHT that I was stunned. Moon Knight is my main Marvel Blorbo and so having one of my favorite authors write him and absolutely nail it is always a treat!

In the Moonlight

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, breeding kink, DID, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You wake up in a strange place with a strange man.

Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector

Note: I wrote this impromptu. My first Moon Knight Fic. (it’s a one shot :))

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like the gingerbead man loves gumdrop buttons. Take care. 💖

The first thing you see is a large sphinx. The jade eyes inlaid in sleek ebon, symbols in golden paint around the neck and paws, ears lined in a similar gilt. It takes a moment to process the shape as the edges of your vision remain bleary and indeterminate.

Keep reading

[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!

[moonyflesh]

[🇪🇬]

i would quite literally commit felonies to own Marc Spector/Steven Grant’s closet ((and overall aesthetic))

[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

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[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Hi, I really enjoy your writing! Keep up the good work!! How about a dark daddy Steven and Marc with a reader who craves praise and validation but is embarrassed about it (I hate my brain sometimes)?

Anony you're so sweet, thank you so much, feel hugged from me!

I can definitely come up with something. ;)

Cravings

Pairing:

Dark!Steven Grant x fem!reader

Dark!Marc Spector x fem!reader

Warnings: P in v, usage of daddy kink, oral f!, smut, nsfw, little to no plot (kind of brat taming especially on Marc's part)

Your daddies love giving you attention, you grew fond of it but you were embarrassed to admit it. Too bad they knew how much you liked it.

Steven

Knowing how needy Steven could get sometimes, you couldn't help but get the most of it out of him knowing he'd praise his little girl for giving him the attention he wanted.

Now he's on top of you, already having you stuffed with him "What's gotten into you being so attentive lately, hm?" Steven began to move in slow but deep thrusts, knowing very well how it makes you unable to speak logically.

"I-I don't knooow." you blurted out, already feeling your mind go dumb with how he's moving.

"Doesn't matter love. As long as you're a good girl for daddy you'll get whatever you want." Steven teased but he was sincere. He knew you can get all clingy because he loves the attention and in return he gives you what you want.

"Stevennn, you feel so good please ke-ep going." You already couldn't think straight.

Steven chuckled, speeding up and pounding into you "Mm, you're so perfect darlin', I can't get 'nough of you.." he pulled leaving only the tip inside before slamming right back in, making a loud moan escape your throat, becoming slightly red out of embarrassment at how weak you can get for some attention from Steven.

He leaned down close to your ear before whispering into it "Gettin' all loud again, love? Tryna make the whole complex hear how good I'm fucking you, huh? Is that what you want?"

Steven was right, you could never keep your noises quiet, not when he's riled up like that after you teased him almost all day. You knew from first teasing him how much trouble you'd be in. But you couldn't be happier about it.

"Not that I'm complaining about that, of course not but- fuck- you feel like a goddess. It's only fair the building get's to hear how a goddess is worshipped, yeah?"

Your body instinctively arched into him, desperate to get more of him. Steven might not seem like that in general, but this man can get quite fucking dirty when it comes to the person he loves.

It wasn't long before you felt the familiar feeling built up, it was fast approaching like a tidal wave with how sloppy Steven was pounding you and how cockdrunk he made you.

"St-Stevennn! I'm about to cum!" You warned with a needy voice, knowing it would drive him more crazy than he already is. Just moments after, you clenched down on him, gripping his cock like never wanting to let go of it.

"Fuckin' hell, love! There you go, getting what you want once again." Steven groaned deeply before shooting his sticky load into you. He held himself inside you for a couple minutes after collapsing down on you, happily spent.

"You were really going at it, Stevy." You giggled, moving your hands to run your fingers through his hair.

"Want me to keep spoiling you, darlin'?" Steven threatened playfully while his voice was muffled by your skin.

"No- I... no.." You couldn't help but burst into laughter. Steven pulled out after getting soft inside you and looked down at you

"Aww, don't be embarrassed now, love. I know you hate to admit it." Steven pinched your cheek softly before rolling off to the side.

Steven loved seeing you getting red like a light at night after he caught up on how attention-starved you were.

"Come here to daddy Grant." He pulled you into him, tucking your head on his chest and kissing your hair. "Now close your eyes, get some rest and when we wake up we will clean up."

You closed your eyes and in a matter of seconds you drifted off into dreamland.

-

Marc

You weren't sure how many orgasms he already gave you, but you sure as hell knew he wasn't done, you were already at the brink of another one and Marc made his impression clear he liked seeing you crumble beneath him

He looked up at you, his mouth only leaving your core before he wanted to speak. "C'mon baby gimme another one, I know you can do it." Marc immediately dipped back in, slurping every drop, leaving nothing behind.

Either this man had already lost the nerves on his head or he just did not give a shit on how hard you tugged at them. At one point you almost thought you ripped them out...

The next orgasm came out of you, easily getting slurped up by Marc and his greedy mouth. Now Marc was kind enough to give you a small break. "Want me to stop sucking your soul out through your pussy?" he ran a single finger through your swollen folds and you tensed up from the over-overstimulation.

"Please tell me you're done." Your words came out half-thinkingly.

In response Marc gave you the devilish smile that tells you he's not done with you. "Too bad... daddy's not done with you, babygirl. Should have seen it coming when you teased me all fucking day."

Marc was hundred percent right, and although you made a mental promise to yourself to not tease him all day, when you did, it was always the opposite result. You always stupidly thought he was bluffing but then reality hit you hard and you remembered in the last second that a man like Marc was never bluffing about something like that...

"You know I'm never done with you before you haven't had my cock." Marc got up and pulled his already leaking cock out before positioning himself over you. "You love it though, hm? Doing something to get me into the mood to get the attention you crave?" he nudged your entrance with his tip before entering you swiftly

"Holy shit, so tight so wet, so goddamn slippy..." Marc groaned, he had to seriously stop himself from shattering your lower region.

When Marc started to move, it was slow at first and then he step by step increased his pace, chasing his own pleasure as he lost himself completely in fucking your pussy.

-

"Fuckfuckfuck, Marc!" You couldn't hold it any longer, every time you thought he gave you the last orgasm you were fooled by yourself because he always did give you one more orgasm with his cock.

"Another one for daddy? That's my girl." Marc was panting, already getting close. His hips snapped for the last time before he finally shot his cum into you, rolling his hips a few times before pulling out and dropping down beside you.

Marc loved seeing you all fucked out, knowing he was the one who did it. He reached out and wiped some sweat off your forehead "You alright there, honey?" he chuckled.

"Phew, yeah..." You nodded, still panting and catching your breath.

"Always trying to get something out of me, don't ya?" he smiled.

You turned to your side "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Marc couldn't help but laugh "You know exactly what I mean."

You felt the warm embarrassed blush creep up on your cheeks again, "Shut up..." you mumured, trying to suppress the smile.

Marc smacked your shoulder playfully, loving how you always light up in embarrassment when he caught you trying to hide how much you love the attention he gave you.

With that, Marc pulled you into him, wrapping you up in his arms "Go get some shut eye, troublemaker."

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Hi, could you do a dark/yandere Marc and Steven in which they force the reader into a DDLG relationship or forces her to call them “daddy”? If this makes you uncomfortable, then that’s okay.

Heya Anony <3

This would actually be my first time writing something involving a daddy kink, hope this doesn't disappoint though. :,)

I literally had to google what the shortcut DDLG meant lmao.

Marc and Steven having daddy kink

Pairing:

Dark!Steven Grant x fem!reader

Dark!Marc Spector x fem!reader

Warnings: oral m! receiving, p in v, fingering, usage of daddy kink, possessive behavior, Steven being a *bit* too needy and dominant.

Steven

Steven came home later than usual, his boss Donna made him stay longer.

When he walked through the door, you were already getting ready for bed. Even though Steven told you to wait for him, you got tired and just wanted to sleep.

"Heyia love! Daddy's back." Steven's voice rang through his flat. You were already in bed when you heard him, sitting up and rubbing your eyes as he opened the door to your room, "Already wanting to drift off, are we, love?" Steven hummed.

Stretching your arms, you nodded "You're about two hours too late, I was getting tired."

"My pretty little darling got all tired, hm? But now I'm back like I promised." Steven smiled, walking over to you "Have you been a behaved little girl while I was away?"

"Yea I was." You nodded.

"And you'll still be that way for daddy, yeah?" He sat on the bed, his hand moving the covers away, revealing you in underwear.

"Yes, d-daddy.." You replied hesistantly, seeing Steven's hand slipped down on himself, into his pants to grab himself.

"You look so sexy like this, all submissive. So pretty. And all mine.." Steven's cock was already painfully hard, he had been thinking about you the whole time at work, coming back to his good little girl.

He moved closer to you, his other hand hooking its fingers on the waistband of your panties, "I want you to beg f' me. Beg me to fuck you." his voice lowered dangerously as he began to pull down your panties and spreading your lips, rubbing your clit slowly with his thumb to get you wet.

With a soft, almost whiney moan you obeyed "Please fuck me daddy, I need your cock. Please.."

Steven chuckled, leaning over you getting closer to your ear "S'that all you got, love?" He asked dryly, as he already worked on getting himself out.

"Need you so bad, my pussy wants to get owned by you, Steven-.."

Slap!

Steven softly spanked your ass cheek, making you gasp as he continued to work you up with his fingers, "Who?" Steven asked, slipping a finger inside of you, immediately getting soaked.

"Daddy- I mean daddy!" You quickly corrected yourself, feeling his finger slowly pumping inside of you.

"That's my good girl." Steven praised "Said you need my cock, yeah? Gonna give it to you."

He positioned his already free cock at your entrance, teasing you before he entered you, not stopping until his whole length was buried inside, "Mh-mm, here you go, got you wrapped nicely around me." Steven groaned, starting to move into you at a normal pace, hitting those spots inside you. You moaned, instinctively arching into him. Steven increased his pace, the pent up desires from the day started to fade away as he lost himself in pounding into you. "Thought about this all day, coming back to my little girl, getting to feel you again." Steven moaned, his hand coming down to rub you clit while he's thrusting into you, making you moan louder

"Love, you have to stay quiet for me, you will wake up the whole building." Steven chuckled, the way he was pounding into you and rubbing made you see stars, you tightened around him feeling your orgasm approaching.

"I'm close!" You whined, eagerly arching your hips chasing your imminent release.

"There you go love, go ahead and make a mess of yourself for daddy." Steven praised, getting close himself. Your orgasm came fast, gripping his cock like a vice. Steven's eyes rolled back in his head at the familiar grip you had, his cum shooting into you. Both of you were panting, Steven laid ontop of you with his face buried in your neck as you two calmed down. When Steven pulled up and looked at you, seeing you all fucked out and tired, he pressed a soft kiss on your lips

"You were such a lovely girl for daddy. Sleep now, you deserved it." You didn't even noticed anything after, you drifted off to sleep like a blown out candle.

-

Marc

Marc was so glad to be back, Khonshu was royally pissing him off, that old clunky bird was getting on his nerves with all the demands. Good thing Marc had his Scotch and precious little girl to make him forget about his day. When he returned, he went straight for a shower to wash away the evidence and blood from the day. You didn't hear him enter, you were in the kitchen when he came back, only hearing the noises of the shower made it clear that he was back. After they stopped you made your way to the living room, seeing Marc standing by his Scotch counter with his back turned to you, his hair still a damp from the shower, wearing nothing but his boxers.

"Hey Marc, how was your day?" You asked softly, not wanting to startle him. When Marc turned, he saw you wearing one of his shirts which was a bit too big for you, the hem hanging a bit past your waist.

"That old bone beak Khonshu was grumpy." Marc replied, swinging his glass, watching the liquid as it moved.

Sensing how boiled up Marc must be, you decided to make your way to the bedroom, while Marc flopped down on the couch getting comfortable, but he stopped you from walking further.

"Babygirl, where do you think you're going?" Marc called out amused, taking a sip from his glass.

You gulped, turning around, seeing Marc beckoning you over to him with a finger, "Come to daddy."

Marc set his glass down on the coffee table, turning his attention back to you "Get down." He ordered, the bulge in his boxers was already growing. You knew Marc had a shit day, you didn't want to piss him off anymore than Khonshu did. You obeyed, lowering yourself on your knees infront of him.

"Be a good girl and help your daddy relax, would ya'?" He asked, not beating around and freeing his throbbing cock "Go ahead, make me proud."

You leaned in, supporting yourself with your hands on his trained thighs his hand coming up behind your head, tangling his fingers through your hair, forcing your head down on his dick. Wasting no time, you took his girth into his mouth, lips wrapped around him, while swirling your tongue.

Marc's eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back on the headrest behind him "Fuck honey, just like that.." A sigh of delight came out of him. As your mouth served him, you grazed your teeth on his shaft, which caught Marc off guard and he almost came at that, his hand pushed you down forcing you to take him deeper as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

"Don't do that babygirl, don't make me cum too fast, I don't want to end it now." Marc gasped, suddenly pulling you off his cock "Get up here." He said, grabbing your wrist to practically pull you up.

You moved to straddle his lap, pulling your panties aside and positioned yourself over his cock while Marc grabbed your hips and easily pulled you down swiftly. The way you gasped as he stretched you was like music to his ears. "There you go baby, taking daddy's cock so well like you should." Marc started using you like a ragdoll, your weight was no match for his strength as he fucked you however he pleased. "Who does this pussy belong to?" He asked, his hips thrusting upwards to meet yours.

You couldn't think straight, his cock was hitting your sweetspots with every thrust, "My pussy belongs to you, daddy!" You moaned, Marc's grip on your hips tightened at your words, he felt himself getting close his movements increased. "That's right, all mine, hm? Only getting filled by my cock." Marc hummed, his breathing becoming heavy, "Cum all over my cock, honey. Do it." Marc ordered, feeling how your pussy tightened around him at the command. "Just like that, let that pussy coat my cock." Just at that, your pussy clamped down, gushing your juices all over Marc's cock, who just like you came too filling you up with his cum.

The two of you didn't move, you rested your head against his shoulder. Marc's cock has already softened inside of you "Such a good girl for me, that's how you make daddy proud, princess." Marc leaned in to kiss your temple gently.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Hi! Could you write a dark daddy! Steven and Marc with a reader who acts childish/immature? The reason being is because she was forced to grow up too fast as a kid/has childhood trauma. If this is too specific then that’s okay! Thanks!

Hi there anony! Of course! <3

We take care of you now

Dark! Marc Spector & Steven Grant x fem!reader

Warnings/Triggers: Mention of uncaring parentings, mature themes, slight hints of murder, boys being a manipulative, DDDNE if you squint.

Marc and Steven recently saved you from your abusive parents, mainly your father. Steven told you they were going to meet with your dad to speak with him about his behavior towards you. The word 'speak' easily rolled off Marc's tongue before leaving, but even you noticed the bitter taste it had after he said that. But they did get you out of the mess with your abusive parents, they were your saviors, so they only mean good, right?

You were awake early, you couldn't sleep that long and left your room to watch some tv with early breakfast while Marc and Steven were still sleeping. The sudden creak of the door to their room made you jump and look. He came out, yawning and stretching his back before noticing you on the couch.

"Since when are you awake?" Without a doubt it was Marc.

You took another bite of your food. "Couple hours. I couldn't sleep."

He gave you an confused-sleepy look before making his way to the bathroom to freshen up. After getting freshen up he got breakfast for himself and joined you on the couch, flopping down beside you sipping on his coffee. "You couldn't sleep?"

"Yes." you nodded.

"Anything on your mind?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep that's all."

Marc hummed understandingly in response.

Both of you just kept watching tv quietly, your eyes getting heavier with each passing second as you finally drifted off on the couch. Marc noticed and grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around you to keep you warm. It wasn't long before you woke up again, stirring softly and groggily looking around, spotting Marc asleep on the couch. Something in your mind told you to check your phone if your dad has messaged you. Strangely enough that the idea only popped up now and you haven't received anything from your dad after Marc and Steven went out to 'talk' with him. Sneaking past Marc, you made it to your room, took your phone and checked the chat between you and your dad.

–Please come back I promise to change.

was the last message you've received from him shortly before Marc and Steven met him. You've never heard even a peep from him after. You just thought they told him to never contact you again, maybe they did scare him enough.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your thinking. "Love?" came Steven's soft voice before opening the door and peeking inside. "Y' alright?"

"Yeah, I just checked something."

"Y' sure you're alright?" he asked again, stepping into your room, noticing how you clutched your phone. "Is there somethin' wrong?"

You gulped. "Nothing's wrong." you lied.

"Y' know we hate lyin', love." Steven's tone got more firm as he approached menacingly.

Letting out a soft sigh in surrender, you showed him your phone. "I was checking if my dad messaged me." you started nervously chewing on your lip.

Steven frowned for a second, looking at the screen and seeing the message he sent you before they dealt with him. "He abused you, love, lied to you non stop, neglected you, and we made sure he'd never do that again." he reached out to cup your cheek.

"Did you talk to him? Please tell me the truth." You relaxed into his touch.

"We did. He said he couldn't care less about you. It made us...angry..." He spoke softly, too softly.

You were torn apart between believing him and not believing him, glancing back at the last message your dad sent you. "But he sent me this." you showed it to him again.

Steven gave a small, eerie smile. "He fooled you, love. He wanted you to believe him and make you come back to him."

"I-I don't believe you..." your tone was trembling slightly.

Steven switched letting Marc front without you noticing. The thing that gave it away being Marc was his hand on your cheek tightening its hold possessively. "We only want what's best for you, honey."

Hearing Marc's sudden voice caught you off guard and made you tense slightly. "But–"

"No buts, sweetie. You don't need anyone else except us."

You sniffled. "Where is my dad?"

Marc cocked his head to the side, thinking how he could tell you without raising suspicion. "He's at a place where he can never hurt you again. Steven and I will take your dad's position from now on."

"Is he alright?" you asked carefully.

Marc smiled coldly, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Yes. He's in an 'unharmful' condition, no need to worry about him."

You began fiddling with your fingers, trying to understand what he just said. "Are you telling the truth?"

He chuckled lowly. "Of course, we would never lie to you, sweetheart." he leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your forehead before leaning to whisper into your ear. "Now, don't think about your dad any longer. We are your daddies now and we will take such great care of you."

Marc waited for your nod and pulled you into a hug, smiling wickedly at how dependant you are. But that's okay, they will never let anything happen to you. Ever.