#dark!moon knight x reader

[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. ❤️

[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!

[kaycode1999]

[lunalockley]

Night Desires

Dark!Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 900+

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

Masterlist

gif credit

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

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

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

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

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

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

How dare you do that to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need everything and more.

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

Anything you need.

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

[lordkryze]

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

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

[mandofury]

Yandere Jake Lockley x Reader

Jake waited patiently for you to return home after a night out with your friends. You promised him it was just going to be a fun night out but he followed you anyway.

You never knew he was there but he kept a close eye on you, especially the people around you. All he saw was red as a man came up to you and put his arm around your waist. You brushed the man off but it was already to late, your fate had been sealed.

He left and followed the man who dared put his hands on you. Jake didn't leave a trace of what he did to that man and no one will ever find out what he did. He disposed of the body and raced back home to wait for you. When you finally arrived back home Jake was seated on a chair with a lone light shining on him.

You knew right away something was off, you were on edge. Waiting for what was to come. Jake slowly rose from his seat and made his way towards you. You stood still waiting for him, you tried to speak to him but he hushed you before you could speak.

"Baby, you were naughty." He spoke lowly. Once he stood right in front of you, he put his gloved hand on your cheek and lightly stroked it.

"Jake.." You whispered in return but Jake hushed you once more.

"Shh... I know you didn't mean it but you have to be punished. To be reminded of who you belong to." He spoke dangerously.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head, knowing all to well what that meant. You and Jake will spend hours in the bed being claimed and absolutely owned.

[romanarose]

Addicted

Steven Grant x fem!reader

Join my tag list to see future fics!

Moon Knight Master List

Marc's part here : Jake's part here

Summary: After Marc fails to take you in, Jake makes his attempt. When that fails, it's up to Steven Grant to bring you into the Innead before Khonshu has his head.

A/N: I started this series before I started @romana-after-dark and I went back and forth on whether or not to put this fic there or here. I opted for here, despite the darkish contents, as this is where the first 2 parts were. However, I ask you HEAD THE WARNINGS! While this is not dub con or non con, there is blood and knife play. As always, I extensively tag my fics to a fault, so if you read something you dont like and I warned you, that's on you, not me. Of course, as always, If I miss something, please let me know!

A/N2: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 9 MONTHS TO WRITE LOLOLOLOLOL

WARNINGS: PIV sex, lots of oral (f receiving), squirting, bondage, knife play, blood kink, (it's established they like wild sex and they consent), lil degrading, that's it? I think?

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

"I'm so addicted to all the things you do when you're going down on me in between the sheets

Oh every sound you make, with every breath you take, it's unlike anything when you're loving me"

A knock on a hotel room door only ever spelt trouble for you, but when you opened the door to see your handsome nemesis, you couldn’t help but smile, warmth gathering in anticipation. 

You open the door, leaning against the frame. “And you must be Steven Grant, pleased to finally meet you. Should I make a run for it before we fuck or shall we skip to the good part?” You tease him, but all he does is smile at you.

He’s got a soft look on his face, a gentle but knowing smile; almost a smirk, really. “Pleasure to meet you. And no, we wouldn’t need any of that nonsense this time, will we?”

“I don’t know, pretty boy, you tell me.”

Steven was standing with his hand stuffed in his pocket, a dusty blue button up with birds on it in a contrast to Marc and Jake’s clothes. Steven wasted no time walking in the hotel room like he owned the place, forcing you to back up until you were against the wall, his firm body pressed up against yours. “Now, shall we skip the pleasantries?”

“Strictly business, are we? Not even bothering with a spiel about taking me in, this time?”

Hands are on your body, gently sliding up and down the sides. “Oh, I will be taking you in, love.” His face was close, lips grazing over yours in shared breathes. “But first, I’m taking my time with you, and isn’t that better than a quick romp in the woods or the alley?”

He was cute, this one. You were certain Steven would fold much easier than Jake, certainly easier than Marc, the soft little man he was.

“Same rules as always?” You ask, taking a quick nip from his pouty lower lip to see what he’d do, but Steven just smiled.

“You want to stop, we’ll stop, but I’m bringing you in either way.”

“Yeah” You scoff at him, laughing a bit. That’s what the others said. “Okay, whatever, just ki-” You were cut off by Steven claiming your mouth, forcefully kissing you as his body pressed against yours. 

Reaching for his pants, you go to undo his belt but Steven’s hand catches you. He pulls away from the kiss, dragging your lip out between his teeth, an eyebrow cocked in your direction. “Now darling, you know you aren’t in control, right?”

His expression made you a little weak in the knees, but you were not deterred. It was a bit of a cat and mouse between you and Jake, so maybe you just needed a little power play. You would need to distract him, after all, if you were going to make another run for it. But first, an orgasm. They were quite good at that, if you remember correctly.

Keeping your wrist gripped in large hand, Steven kissed you as he undid his pants and stepped out of them, leaving his boxers on. “If my memory serves me, we’ve never been full naked in front of each other, is that right?”

You nod, trying your best to look submissive and innocent. “Yes sir”

He smiled at that. Got ‘em.

“That’s because Marc and Jake don’t know how to treat a lady, how to take their time…” Steven's eyes grazed up and down your body as he unbuttoned your pajama top, exposing your breasts which he brushed over with his hands with a soft murmur of ‘beautiful’. “They’ve never even tasted you, little dove, and isn’t that just a shame?” When you didn’t answer, Steven gripped your chin and forced you to make eye contact with him, tsking a few times. “I believe I asked you a question, darling. Marc and Jake never put their face between your legs, have they?”

“N-no sir” Yeah, that’s it. Fake submission… it still faking, right?

“That’s right, smart one, aren’t you? Now,” Relinquishing your face, Steven guided your hands to the hem of his shirt. “Would you like to do the honors?”

You give a small, quick nod and pull the shirt up and over his head… he was gorgeous. Their body was toned, strong, but soft at the belly, pecs looking juicing and ready to be sucked on.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, rolling your hips to feel his hard cock in his boxer briefs.

Once given permission, you put your hands on his body reverently. Slowly, you kiss him, then make your way down his jaw, sucking on his neck and down to his chest. You lick and suck and nibble a little bit before making your hair to the desired location. With Steven undressed and you only with your shirt unbuttoned, you could get Steven worked up enough, distracted enough…

“Good girl, good fucking girl” Steven groans out when you start sucking on his nipples, alternating between them. You feel him pull his dick out, throbbing in his hand as he starts to furiously masterbate. “Keep going like that, make daddy proud, little dove. F-fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, don’t worry darling, I’ll take care of you, just- god, god the mouth on you.” 

As his pumping grew more and more erratic, you can see he’s hanging his head back as Steven pleased himself to the feeling on you sucking on his nipples, ready to cum just from that. It was a shame honestly, you bet he’d look so so pretty cumming like this… but you weren’t getting taken in. When you reach for the bedroom drawer, trying to find your knife while he’s distracted, all movements from Steven stop and you find yourself being flung against the wall, face pressed into the plaster.

“F-fuck, you cheeky little thing. Thought you were going to distract me with orgasm, were you?” He was panting heavily, an irritated voice and hot breath in your ear as he restrained you against him, his cocked pressed into you.

“Yes daddy” You giggle; you were foiled, but wouldn’t be deterred. How’s that song go? You get knocked down, but you get up again, aint ever gonna keep you down. Isn’t that song about alcoholism? Whatever.

“Hm, guess since I can’t trust you on your own, we’ll have to tie you up.”

Oh no. Well, that couldn’t happen, how do you escape when you’re tied up? How do you stab him, shoot him, whateer the fuck you were going to be doing and playing with his blood after like the sick bitch you are with your hands tied. You can’t.

You try to make a break for it, turning to run for the door but with his fast reflexes, Steven grabs your hand and yanks your body until you are pulled flush against him. 

“No more flying away, little dove.” His mouth is on you again and you try to stay focused, try to kiss him so breathless that he lets go, try to distract him enough you can leave… but you find it’s you being swept away as he lays you down on the bed, his warm skin pressed to yours and wastes no time taking off your shirt just before your back hits the bed. With grace, he begins with his fingers at your bare sides, trailing up, up, over your side-boob, onto your arms. You move with him, wanting to encourage the gentle scratch so you raise your arms above your head, relaxing into his touch with your eyes closed. He was so soft, so sure of himself, so in control and tender you almost felt like you were in a lovers arms. With a big sign, you allow yourself to sink into the soft hotel bed, arms raised up so that they brushed the headboard.

The headboard that you now realized you were tied to.

“W-what? What the fuck?” You twist and turn trying to see what the fuck he tied you up in, and when you arch your back to look upside down, you realize you were tied with a strong gauzy material; it looked like what Marc’s suit was made out of. Oh god dammit.

“See love, isn’t this just better?” Steven ran his hands back down your naked top, pulling your shorts and underwear down as he began nestling down on the bed, preparing to lay on his stomach with his head between your legs. “Now just relax, and I’m gonna take care of you and your dripping wet little cunt.”

You tug at the bondage but it’s no use; you’re stuck.

“One more time, little dove.” Steven said as he began to massage your mound, eliciting a sharp gasp. “This what you want?”

Unable to fully response, you simply moan in agreement, until a crisp slap is delivered across your face. “Now, now, darling. Use your words.”

“Yes Daddy”

Steven’s mouth was on you in a second, fully enveloping your puffy, needy pussy that craved him so bad. You were addicted to them, you didn’t foresee this being the last time. It couldn’t be.

It seemed they were just as hungry for you.

Steven ate you out, and you mean ATE, strong arms wrapped around your shaking legs to pin them into place as he devoured the meal in front of him. If you could silence your own heavy breathing and moans enough, you could hear little whimpers escaping Steven’s mouth. Make no mistake, however, he was not submitting to you. Anytime you tried to tell him where to go or move you hips to guide him, you were reminded who was in control with sharp bites to your thighs and tummy.

“I know exactly what I’m doing love, I’m taking my time.”

And take his time he did. Steven sucked and licked and nibbled his way through you, building up the pleasure brick by brick before he ever even slid those fingers inside… and when he did… christ.

Steven knew exactly where he was going when he did, curling them up until he found the spot that made your body jolt upwards. With one arms occupied deep inside you, he was only holding you down with the other and this allowed for more movement… but when you looked down at him, the look in his eyes as he gazed through those thick eyelashes told you that you needed to keep still. You didn’t want to cross him. 

When your orgasm approached, it felt different to say the least, but you assumed the build up and edging was leading to a mind-numbing orgasm. You try to tell him.

“Daddy, daddy I’m gonna- oh fuck- I’m-”

“In my mouth” He pants heavily only breaking away from you for a second. “Need it in my mouth” was all he got out before separating licking between your folds while the slick fingers previous inside you rubbed on your swollen clit.

This was more than a big orgasm, this was something different completely, something wet and filthy and sloppy and it gushed out of you and into Steven’s waiting mouth. He was LOUD, moaning as he drank you down the results of your squirting spilling out all over his mouth. When Steven’s wet face finally came out from between your legs, there was a slight smile on his face and a dark look in his eyes.

Steven was enraptured with you.

“Need to fuck you.” Was the string of words from his wet mouth, coming out so fast it was nearly all strewn in one. Steven scrambled his way up your body and thrust in between your legs so fast, all you could do was cry out for more, more more, until he silenced you with a kiss; mouth still wet from your cum. “Tight little thing” He was breathy, sweat beginning to gather at is skin and his breath hot against your neck. “No longer Marc and Jake risked it all to fuck you, but they didn’t make your squirt, did they?” Steven bit down hard where your neck and shoulder connected. “Did they, little dove?”

“N-no! Oh god, Steven, Steven, Steven- oooohhhh” You neared the edge again, the frantic, desperate way Steven was claiming you taking you to where you needed to be despite the ache and pull on your wrists above you. You tug again, hoping for them to loosen, hoping to find some sort of edge of him, a step ahead, something to get him the way you got Steven and Mark, and looked to the knife on the bed side table. You had to get it somehow.

But Steven noticed, and sat up on his knees, never stopping his movements on you. He followed your eyeline to where the knife lay, and couldn’t help but scoff. “You really think you get to use that on me, do you? Fucking brat!” His hips sped up pace, making you scream, until he got an idea. You did it to Marc, he could do it to you. Steven reaches for the knife. “Might have to teach you a lesson, little dove.”

You know exactly what he’s doing… but you can’t find it in yourself to protest. You want them to own you.

“F-f-fuck, Steven, shit, do it, please! Please Steven!” You beg for him, tears at the edge of your eyes threatening to spill over. 

With a sly grin, Steven traces the edge of the knife over your skin, testing the waters, but when you don’t protest and in fact make sounds of pleasure in time to his frantic thrusts, he presses the knife deeper into you. You can feel the warm blood slowly drip down, staining the sheets that will certainly scare some hotel worker, and the euphoria of the pain sends you barrelings towards the climax. As you near your collective precipice, Steven picks up speed and drops the knife on the bed. Perfect. Once he feels you cumming on his cock, walls pulsing around him, Steven pulls out and jerks himself onto you, painting up your skin.

The picture he paints is soon smeared, Steven slumping over your spent body and taking you in for softer, passionate kisses. As he does, Steven places his hands over your wrists and as soon as the strong gauze-like material releases you from your hold, you quickly attempt to reach for the knife, fully intending on stabbing Steven like you had done to Marc and making a break for it, but Steven and those Moon Knight reflexes caught you.

“Little dove’s wings just can’t be clipped, can they?” He says to you, voice soft and dolly empathetic. He knew what was coming if you didn’t succeed in taking power back.

You smirk up at him. “A girl’s gotta try?”

He smiles back. “I supposed you do. Here.”

Steven grabs your wrists and as the bandaging reappears you think you’re about to go for round 2, but then you feel it, the suit repairing your skin. When they leave for the final time, there is no scar, only left over blood.

Steven leaned over you, both hands pinning your wrists next to your head. “Now, my darling…” He says, cocking his head to the side. “What are we going to do about you?”

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

WE'RE DOOOOOONNNNNEEE what do you think? Is Steven gonna take her in? it's for you to decide!

I had so much fun with this series! Again, if dark and smi dark interest you consider following my side blog. I ahve a yandere jake and a darkish jake, a D A R K joel series and few others, more coming out

Gotta say, ive been finishing up a lot of series lately that have been hanging around forever and it feels GOOD to get if off my chest.

likes are sweet, reblogs help spread my work and comments mean the entire world!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @luke-o-lophus @milkymoon2483 @kittyofalltrades @luciannadraven33 @the-fox-den @gingermous @jake-g-lockley @sofi786 @lunar-ghoulie @stealfromthedevil @pimosworld @stevengrcnt @80pairsofcrocs @kingtwhiddleston @marys2sblog @ahookedheroespureheart @drinkingwithkhonshu @fandxmslxt69 @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @whatthefishh @steven-grants-world @campingwiththecharmings @littlenosoul @mikaelak @runa-falls @lokisv7lkyrie

[thedarkcoven]

You’re My New Addiction | JL x Reader

Jake Lockley x f!Reader.

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

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

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

  Word Count: 1,487

Taglist:

@restless-mama​

@charmed-asylum​

@melodygatesauthor​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The hell?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thisisarcanereverie]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that had all been a delusion. 

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

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

Rain

Pinching

Jake.

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

Have you been blind?

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

“You’re up.” 

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

Marc. 

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

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

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

Those eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Neither.” 

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

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

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

“I know-” 

“No you don’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh

Oh. 

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

That had been Marc. 

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

Then you heard a familiar grunt and footsteps above you. 

The open window. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you do that?” 

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

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

You were wrong. 

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

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

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

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

Then the lights starting flickering, 

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been telling yo-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Ok,” he agrees. 

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

“No.” 

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

“Yeah.” 

You breathe in, “yeah.”

[emma23]

In the shadow of obsession:

Steven grant x reader

————————————————————————

Steven Grant's days were filled with the monotony of the British Museum’s souvenir shop. Surrounded by trinkets and replicas, he often lost himself in the allure of ancient myths. You were a regular visitor, always drawn to the museum’s rich history. Steven noticed you often, your presence like a warm beacon in his otherwise mundane life.

"Good afternoon, love," Steven greeted you one day, his voice soft and hesitant, as usual. He gave you a small, shy smile, his eyes lighting up with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

You returned the smile, eyes scanning the shelves before meeting his. "Hi, Steven. I’m looking for something special today. Do you have any new Egyptian artifacts?"

Steven’s face brightened with enthusiasm. "We just got some new scarab charms. They’re replicas, but quite exquisite. Would you like to see them?"

"Absolutely," you replied, following him to the display case.

As he showed you the charms, you couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed perpetually on edge. "You seem tired, Steven. Everything okay?"

Steven hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just some trouble sleeping, I guess."

"Maybe you should take it easy," you suggested gently. "You work too hard."

He smiled, a bit embarrassed. "I suppose you’re right. But it’s hard to stop when you love what you do."

————————————————————————

Over the next few weeks, you and Steven grew closer. You began visiting the museum more frequently, and each time, you spent more and more time talking to Steven. His knowledge and passion for ancient history were captivating, but it was his kindness and vulnerability that truly drew you in.

One evening, after the museum had closed, you and Steven found yourselves lingering in the quiet halls.

"You know, Steven," you said thoughtfully, "you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve met. Your passion for history is incredible."

Steven blushed, looking down at his shoes. "Thank you, darling. That means a lot coming from you."

"I mean it," you insisted. "You have so much to offer, yet you hide away here."

Steven looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of gratitude and longing. "Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong anywhere else."

"You belong wherever you want to be," you replied softly, reaching out to touch his hand. The contact was brief but electric, sending a shiver down Steven’s spine.

————————————————————————

The bond between you and Steven continued to strengthen, and with it, Steven’s feelings for you grew deeper, more intense. One night, after a particularly engaging conversation about Egyptian mythology, Steven finally confessed his feelings.

"I need to tell you something," Steven said, his voice trembling slightly. "I… I think I’ve fallen for you, love."

You were taken aback, unsure of how to respond. "Steven, I… I don’t know what to say."

"I know it’s sudden," Steven continued, his eyes pleading. "But I’ve never felt this way about anyone before."

You sighed, your heart heavy. "Steven, you’re a wonderful person, and I care about you deeply. But I don’t feel the same way. Not romantically."

Steven’s face fell, his expression one of devastation. "I understand. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

————————————————————————

Despite your rejection, Steven’s feelings for you only grew stronger. He started showing up at your workplace unannounced, his jealousy flaring whenever he saw you with someone else. One evening, after a particularly tense confrontation, you decided to confront him.

"Steven, we need to talk," you said firmly, closing the door behind you as you entered his apartment.

Steven looked up, a mixture of fear and determination in his eyes. "What is it, love?"

"This," you gestured between the two of you, "it’s not healthy. You’re smothering me, Steven."

Steven’s face fell, his expression one of devastation. "I’m sorry. I just… I love you so much, and it scares me."

"I understand that," you replied softly, taking his hand. "But you need to give me space."

Steven nodded, though his eyes remained troubled. "I’ll try, darling. For you."

————————————————————————

Despite your reassurances, Steven’s obsession continued to grow. He started following you, tracking your movements, and even breaking into your apartment to leave small gifts. One night, you found him waiting outside your door, his eyes filled with a dangerous intensity.

"Steven, this has to stop," you said, your voice shaking. "You’re scaring me."

"I can’t lose you," Steven replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You’re the only thing keeping me sane."

"This isn’t love, Steven," you insisted, backing away from him. "This is obsession."

Steven’s eyes blazed with a dangerous intensity. "Maybe it is. But I can’t help it. I won’t let you go."

Before you could react, Steven closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. The intensity of his desire was overwhelming, and despite your fear, a part of you responded to his need.

————————————————————————

As Steven’s obsession deepened, his behavior became more erratic. He started isolating you from your friends and family, manipulating your every move. One night, after a particularly heated argument, Steven’s control snapped.

"You don’t understand," he shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I need you. You’re the only thing keeping me sane."

"Steven, please," you begged, backing away from him. "This isn’t love. This is madness."

Steven’s eyes blazed with a dangerous intensity. "Maybe it is. But I can’t help it. I won’t let you go."

Before you could react, Steven closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. The intensity of his desire was overwhelming, and despite your fear, a part of you responded to his need.

————————————————————————

The morning after, you awoke in Steven’s arms, the weight of the previous night’s intensity hanging heavy in the air. Steven’s hold on you was tight, almost suffocating, but you didn’t move.

"Good morning, love," Steven murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," you replied softly, your mind racing with the implications of what had happened.

Steven’s eyes searched yours, a mixture of hope and fear in their depths. "Are you okay?"

"I’m… I’m not sure," you admitted honestly. "Last night was… a lot."

Steven’s grip tightened, his eyes pleading. "I’m sorry if I scared you. I just… I can’t stand the thought of losing you."

"You need to see someone, Steven," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "This obsession, it’s not healthy."

"I will," he promised, though his eyes remained troubled. "I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you."

You nodded, though doubt gnawed at your heart. "Okay. But I need some space for now."

————————————————————————

Despite your attempts to create distance, Steven’s obsession continued to consume him. His paranoia and jealousy grew, making him increasingly unpredictable. One night, after you had gone out with friends, you returned home to find Steven waiting for you.

"Where were you?" he demanded, his voice trembling with anger.

"Steven, I told you I was going out with friends," you replied, trying to stay calm.

"I don’t like it when you’re with them," he said, his eyes dark with jealousy. "I need you here. With me."

"Steven, this isn’t fair," you argued. "You can’t control my life."

"I’m not trying to control you," he insisted, though his actions said otherwise. "I just want to protect you."

"From what?" you asked, exasperated. "From living my life?"

"From losing you," he whispered, stepping closer. "I can’t lose you."

The look in his eyes was desperate, and you realized with a sinking heart that there was no reasoning with him. "Steven, I can’t do this anymore. I need to leave."

"No," he said, his voice breaking. "You can’t. I won’t let you."

"Steven, please," you begged, tears streaming down your face. "Let me go."

But Steven’s grip tightened, his eyes wild with obsession. "You’re mine, love. Forever."

————————————————————————

Months passed, and you found yourself trapped in a cycle of fear and manipulation. Steven’s obsession had only grown stronger, his love twisted into something dark and dangerous. You were isolated, your every move controlled by the man who claimed to love you.

One day, as you sat by the window, looking out at the world you could no longer be a part of, Steven approached you, his eyes filled with a possessive love.

"Everything I do, I do for you," he said softly, kneeling beside you. "You’re the only thing that matters."

You nodded, your heart heavy with resignation. "I know, Steven."

And as he took your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, you realized that there was no escape from the shadow of his obsession. You were his, forever bound by the twisted love that had consumed.

[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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[romana-after-dark]

Finish the Job

Yandere!Jake Lockley x GN!reader

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Summary: After months living in a room with only Jake, Steven and Marc as company, you can't say you aren't content most of the time. Sometimes, however you make a little trouble and Jake reminds you that he is the only one who can keep you safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Yandere!Jake. Reader is kidnapped. Implied/referenced rape (reader 'never said no' according to jake, but rather just gave in after an unclosed amount of time bc they were lonely/manipulated. The circumstances of this are v vague but remember, if you feel like you have to, its not consent.) Jake Lockley typical violence. Referenced past abuse.

A/N: I began writing this fem reader, as most of my fics are since I am fem, but I realized there was no reason this couldn't be gender neutral. So, that's what it is. If I missed changing anything that makes it seem like reader is fem presenting, lmk and I'll edit it but I looked through this several times.

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You couldn’t say the bed was uncomfortable. You couldn’t say the room was bland or boring. You couldn’t say you had nothing to do. It was a great room, actually. If you were being honest, you loved it here…

The problem was you couldn’t leave. When the man had taken you, it took a while to figure out what was going on with him; it was Steven that explained it, the DID. Honestly, maybe the mental disorder should have scared you more, but you were well versed in different disorders so it wasn’t something that phased you, rather than just made it a challenge to navigate your situation. You were given book after book after book to read, to entertain you when outside of Marc Steven and Jake’s company; it didn't matter how many you went through, you just had them. If you were feeling brave, you made requests but honestly after the boredom of the first month while you were still fighting it, you took what you could get. You were even given a laptop, although it couldn’t possibly connect to the internet, but you were writing. They didn’t even make you show them what you wrote, but Steven would often sit on the bed while you read to him your poems or short stories. You were saving your novel for when it’s finished.

Some days were better than others. 

Some days you and Steven talked for hours.

Some days you and Marc marathonned Star Wars.

Some days Jake held you so warm and so tightly you forgot they kidnapped you.

Today was not one of those days.

You were angry, you were upset, you missed your friends and you missed the outside, you wanted fresh air and you didn’t want to spread your legs for a man that took you away from everything you knew and wanted. 

“Why are you giving me so much fucking attitude today?!” Jake shouts at you, pacing the floor of your room so aggressively he had your throw rug all twisted up.

You were sat up on your bed, shouting back. “You KIDNAPPED ME, you HURT ME you RAPE ME-”

“CALLATE!” He screamed, storming towards you so fast you flinch and scramble back to the wall. “You know I don’t like when you call it that!”

A sardonic laugh. “What? Rape?”

“I never forced you! I never held you down! I never got you too drunk or high to resist-”

“YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE, WHAT OTHER OPTION DID I HAVE!”

His face is suddenly right up to yours, so close your nose brushed his briefly as he speaks in a dark, quiet voice. “I never heard you say no, mi vida”

He was right. You hadn’t. But they had worn you down, twisted your mind so much that eventually you just began… giving in.

He continued talking, his voice rumbling with the low octive “I only hurt you in the beginning, carino. Just until you began to listen. You needed it, didn’t you? Someone to take you away from everything, take care of you, feed you. Baby, we adore you, and it hurts us when you fight like this.”

Your eyes wheeled up with tears at his words. It’s true, you had become so dependent on them… you weren’t sure you could even shower alone anymore. You’d be lucky if you remembered how to toast bread. Sickeningly, a part of you liked it. You liked he cared for, pampered, adored, and fuck, worshiped. You had time to write, time to listen to music and podcasts. If you need to look up something for a book or research something from a podcast that interested you, you just asked, and the boys would monitor you. You didn’t really need anything except some goddamn freedom. What was that they said in The Handmaid’s Tale? There’s freedom too, and freedom from… They offered you freedom from, and made that clear.

“The world is dangerous, precioso. You know that as well as I do… perhaps better.” With a cocked eyebrow, Jake referenced your past trauma’s, forcing the tears to spill over. “You are too precious, too perfect to be put at risk again. Your family didn’t protect you, but I will.”

Still, you are ever-defiant, shaking your head. “N-no… you aren’t protecting me. You’re hurting me…” but even then, you couldn’t manage much conviction. You hadn’t so much as burned your tongue since Steven, Marc, and Jake took you, and he was right… the rest was just discipline. 

Jake frowned, but simple stood up. He went over to your desk, taking out a Glee notepad he’d found on ebay for you and a pen, tossing them in your direction.

“Write them down, all the names.”

You look at him confused. “W-what names?”

He stalked forward, once again close to you.

“Give me the full name of anyone who has ever hurt you or touched you without your consent.” His gaze was focused, intense. You knew he was on a mission when he looked at you like that.

“I don’t… I don’t know all their full names…”

“If you have workplace addresses, any identifying information that’s helpful. I promise you, I’ll take whatever you give me and I will find them. Every single person who has ever caused you pain.”

“What are you going to do?” You didn’t really need to ask, but you did anyway.

“You and I both know. Now write.”

The list was long, longer than any one person’s list should be. A few, you only remembered their first name so you wrote down what you knew… Jake had his ways. Still, you had some cheek in you, and when Jake looked at the paper, he frowned.

“What the fuck is this.” He smacked the paper with his hand. After the list of people who had violated or harmed you before you came here, were three names Jake recognized right away.

Jake Lockley

Steven Grant

Marc Spector

“You told me to write the names of anyone who hurt me or touched me without-” SMACK! Your head flung to the side from the backhand, and when your turned back to face him, his hand gripped your throat.

“You think this is funny, carino?” His face pressed against yours. “How do you think Marc would feel if he saw his name on that list?”

Your lip quivered at that… you didn’t want Marc to see. Marc was special to you, and Jake knew it; he often exploited your relationship with his alter for his own benefit.

“I’m sorry” You cried, apologetic.

His grip on you loosened, and he looked back at you with sympathetic eyes. Letting go, he tore the bottom three names off the paper and tucked the offenders into his pocket. “I know you are, amor. Now, you sit here pretty, and don’t worry about a damn thing for the rest of your life, si?”

It took about a month. He never left you for more than one day at a time, but he always made sure you had food and were provided for, even giving you access to the bathroom. You didn’t dare even look for an exit; they wouldn’t have left anything vulnerable, and you were on camera, you knew. It would just cause trouble.

It was after one of those such nights where you were alone that he came back to you, still somehow looking put together after being out all night. You knew he hadn’t slept. You awake to his footsteps, heavy boots on your polished hard wood floor. As you stir, a piece of paper is placed on your pillow.

Sitting up you rub your eyes. “Jake, what’s- ” But you are stopped in the middle of your sentence. Every single name is crossed out on the list you had given him. “Does… does what mean they are dead?”

He steps forward, slipping to stand between your knees and bedding over, placing his hands on your thighs. His face was intensely close to yours, dark eyes piercing yours. You lean forward, accepting him in, existing in his precise. Jake did this for you. You were safe here, none of these people could hurt you… but because they had, whether months ago or decades, it didn’t matter. They were dead because they had crossed you, because they had dared to touch what Jake Lockley laid claim to. Jake, Marc and Steven… they were where you belonged.

 “Jake Lockley finishes the job.”

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

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @the-fox-den @fandxmslxt69

[noforkingclue]

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

Of course anon! Hope you like the fic :)

Title: No Escape

Warnings: dark fic, mentions of murder non censual kissing

Prompt list: list

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

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

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

You were trapped.

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

“Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

When you didn’t answer he said sharply,

“Understand.”

“Y… yes.” You said softly

“Good.”

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

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

[ohlovxr]

the one where he fucks you in the kitchen

masterlist | series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clears his throat.

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

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

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

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

Your brows furrow, concern paints across your face.

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

“Stop what?”

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

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

It earns you a huffed laugh from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little panic ran through him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kaycode1999]

You literally can NOT convince me this whole scene wouldn’t be how pretty much all Bumblebee’s would react to someone hitting on his human SO/ crush in front of him 😂😂

Also I think we can all agree that bumblebee would be extremely loyal in any relationship