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thedarkcoven · 11 months

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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.”

#Moon Knight #moon boys #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #dark!moon boys #dark!moon knight #dark!marc #dark!steven #dark!jake lockley #sorry this got posted a tad bit late #tumblr gave me issues cause it didnt wanna post lol

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get-your-fics · 2 years

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A Taste of Your Own Medicine

Summary: One of your patients starts causing you trouble.

Pairings: Dark!Moon boys x dark!male!psychologist!reader

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Electroshock therapy, homophobia, mistreatment, non-con hand job, self-harm, vomit, spit kink, torture, violence, blood, past trauma and child abuse, near drowning, choking, degradation and praise kink, hair pulling

Note: this is a historical au and part of me and @bamposworld’s pride month collab! 🌈 this is also my first time writing for a male reader so i had fun trying something new. heed the warnings and please enjoy!

You turned your back as the orderlies struggled to hold the patient down and buckle the straps around his wrists and ankles. You listened to his sounds of struggle as you adjusted and fidgeted with the dials on the machine he was hooked up to.

When you turned to face him, Marc Spector was practically frothing at the mouth, thrashing against his restraints and howling like a feral animal. You stared at him with a blank expression. “You’re only making this harder on yourself, Mr. Spector.”

Each of the orderlies had an arm and a leg in their grasp and were trying to pin them to the chair despite his resistance. One of them looked up at you with wide, frantic eyes. “Maybe we should administer a muscle relaxant?”

“That will make the treatment less effective,” you immediately replied in a monotone voice.

The orderly gave you a skeptical look, but didn’t question you any further.

You ignored him and leaned over Marc. “Hold still.” Your eyes flitted over his head, making sure the electrodes were in the right place.

He reeled back and spat at you. His saliva landed thick and warm and slimey on your face. You flinched as it slid down the bridge of your nose. You wiped it away with your sleeve before it could reach your lips.

“You’re a monster!” Marc snarled, a wild look in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, regaining your composure. “I’m trying to help you.”

“If that was the case, then I wouldn’t be here,” he seethed.

You narrowed your eyes at him with disdain. “Applying a hundred and twenty volts for six seconds,” you said to the orderlies, your eyes on him as the command left your lips.

They let go of him as you walked over to the machine. Marc still struggled, but the restraints did their job in keeping him down. “Shouldn’t we give him a mouth guard or something?” the orderly piped up, his pitch rising.

Your head snapped to glare at him. “What would be the point in that?” You shrugged. “If he bites off his tongue, maybe he’ll be quiet for once.”

You flipped the switch without another word, not even deigning to give him a warning.

He finally stopped moving, his eyes shooting wide as electricity flooded his brain. His muscles tensed, his jaw clenching tight like it was wired shut. He slowly started to writhe, garbled slurs and nonsensical pleas leaving his lips as he quivered in pain.

The corners of your lips turned up into a slight smirk. There was something so strangely satisfying about wielding your power over another person, especially someone who taunted you the way he did.

And oh, did he taunt you. Your gaze slid from his agonized expression down his body, over his tanned, toned arms and the hard planes of his torso to settle on the bulge in his pants. Blood rushed down to your groin. You could still feel the sticky remains of his spit on your face, and part of you wanted him to do it again, to lick it off and feel it slide down your throat.

Before you could start to drool and your eyes glazed over, you were reminded of your time in a place much similar to this, only the roles were reversed. You were the one strapped to a chair instead, forced to guzzle ipecac and stare at photos of half-naked men before spewing your guts out.

Bile started to climb up your throat, and you dug your fingers into the palm of your hand so hard your nails broke the skin. You blinked, breaking out of your trance. You focused on the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins to distract yourself from the nausea, high off the power trip as you listened to him whimper and whine.

Six seconds went by agonizingly slow, but not slow enough. “Doctor,” one of the orderlies chirped, nervous gaze shifting between you and the ticking hand on his watch.

You ignored him, your eyes glued to Marc as he convulsed. You want to push him over the edge, to drag out his suffering for as long as you could until you broke him irreparably.

“Doctor!” the orderly shouted louder.

You cursed under your breath and flipped the switch again, the machine powering down. Marc’s body went lax, sagging into the chair. His head lolled on his neck, and his chest heaved up and down as he regained his breath.

You walked over to him, your hands clasped behind your back and the soles of your shoes clicking against the stained tile. “How are you feeling, Mr. Spector?”

His eyes rolled back into his head, only the whites showing. He went rigid, his hands flexing against the restraints. He stopped just as suddenly as he started, and when he blinked, his eyes were back to normal.

“I’d feel a lot better if I wasn’t strapped to this bloody chair,” he said in a thick British accent.

You glowered down at him. “I take it that it didn’t work.” You retreated back to the machine. “No matter. If it doesn’t work once, merely try again.” You gritted your teeth as you cranked the dial up as high as it could go.

“Doctor,” you looked over your shoulder to see one of the orderlies had snuck up on you, “that’s way above the recommended voltage.”

“Need I remind you who the licensed professional here is?” you snapped. “I know what’s best for my patient. I don’t need the opinion of some untrained neanderthal.”

The young orderly blinked and took a step back as if you’d slapped him. “I’m sorry, sir, but you could seriously hurt him.”

“Maybe then it’d shock that foolish persona from his head,” you hissed.

Just as the orderly opened his mouth to argue further, Marc started to seize again, nothing but the whites of his eyes showing. You went still, your brow furrowing. Maybe the treatment had worked, and he was reverting to normal? For some reason, that prospect disappointed you.

He stopped shaking, and when he opened his eyes, you could’ve sworn they were darker than before. His gaze locked on you, the lines of his face settling into a grim expression. A pit formed in your stomach. You had a strange foreboding that something bad was about to happen.

You were proven right as he ripped his restraints straight out of the chair with a loud roar.

The blood drained from your face as he leapt free from the chair. He grabbed the orderly closest to him and threw him at the wall. There was a loud crack as he slammed back against the tile. He sank into an unconscious heap on the floor, blood starting to ooze from the wound on the back of his head.

Both you and the orderly left froze as he turned his crazed stare your way. Your survival instincts kicked in as you grabbed the orderly’s shoulders and shoved him in Marc’s direction. The orderly flailed as he collided with his chest. He stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes like an owl, and you thought you saw the crotch of his pants turn a darker shade.

Marc grabbed him and reeled back, baring his teeth before latching onto his ear. The orderly cried out as Marc tore through flesh and cartilage, a sickening squelch filling the room. Blood sprayed as he pulled away, his mouth smeared with gore and shredded bits of skin dangling from between his jaws.

You looked at where the orderly’s ear should’ve been, but it was too much of a mess of welling blood to make out what was left (though, if you had to guess, you didn’t think there’d be enough to salvage).

Marc’s gaze trained on you, and he pushed the orderly aside. Alarm bells went off in your head as you dashed for the exit. He bounded towards you inhumanly fast, and you narrowly escaped his grasp as you made it out into the hall.

You spun around and slammed the doors closed behind you. He pounded against them, and you struggled to keep them closed, the doors jostling under your hands. You frantically searched for something close by you could use to keep them closed.

Your eyes lit up as they landed on a nearby janitor’s cart left abandoned in the hall. You risked it and grappled for a broom with one hand. Marc managed to push the doors open a little wider before you returned to kick them shut in his face. You heard him growl on the other side.

You slid the broom through the door handles, muttering prayers under your breath that it wouldn’t break. You stepped back cautiously and watched through the window with bated breath as he banged his fists against the doors over and over, your heart hammering in your chest. But the doors didn’t give. The broom stayed firmly in place.

You let out a sigh of relief, bending over with your hands on your knees. Eventually, Marc came to the same conclusion as you and ceased his efforts to break the door down. He stepped back, his shoulders hunched like his hackles were raised and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You stood up straight and made eye contact. He barely seemed human anymore, with his hair all over the place and his clothes spattered with blood. He looked more like a bloodthirsty animal pacing the length of its cage, its eyes burning bright with a fierce, desperate desire to be free, fueled by pure, unadulterated hatred.

Your heart nearly burst from your rib cage when someone called your name behind you. You spun on your heel to see the director of the psych ward, his white coat billowing as he rushed down the hall towards you with security in tow. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful or even more concerned to be confronted with Dr. Harrow after what had just transpired.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his face drawn into a grave expression, though that was hardly out of the ordinary for him. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him crack anything even close to being called a smile.

“It’s Marc Spector,” you wheezed, panting for breath. “He went crazy, started attacking the orderlies.”

His gaze shifted to the window behind you, and his face paled at what he saw. He turned to the security guards waiting obediently behind him for their orders. “Go, see to it that he’s taken care of.”

They nodded silently, and like sentinels, marched past you, one drawing a taser from the holster at his hip, the other holding a needle poised and at the ready. You opened your mouth to warn them, but Dr. Harrow was pulling you away before you could.

“Don’t worry about it, dear. They’ll handle him.” He grabbed you by the shoulders, keeping your focus on him. “What happened that set him off?”

You thought back to turning up the dial on the machine, your own words echoing in your ears: “Maybe then it’d shock that foolish persona from his head.” You tried to conceal your wince. You figured it’d be better to leave all that out lest he find it distasteful of you.

“I… I’m not sure,” you lied through your teeth, though the stutter wasn’t forced at all but an afterproduct of your close encounter. “I was just doing the treatment as normal when he broke free from his restraints.” Your brow wrinkled, confusion setting in. “I don’t understand. He’s never been this violent before.”

Dr. Harrow pursed his lips, his face drawing into a pensive expression. “He must not be taking to the treatment.” He broke from his thoughts, glancing down at your hand. “You’re bleeding.”

You looked down to see blood running red between the gaps in your fingers. You lifted your hand closer to see crescent moon shaped marks in the skin of your palm. Drops of dark blood welled from the cuts and dripped from your hand, landing splat on the white tiled floor.

“It was Marc,” you fibbed, averting your gaze from Dr. Harrow. “He scratched me before I managed to escape.”

There was a moment where Dr. Harrow was silent, and you could swear he was trying to decipher if you were lying or not by the way he simply stared at you. But then, he replied, “Well, it’s a good thing you got out of there before he could do worse.”

You nodded, trying to hide releasing the breath you’d been holding. It was hard to believe he hadn’t seen through your ruse, for he was unnaturally perceptive, but maybe you’d known him so long now that you’d finally learned how to trick him.

“We’ll discuss altering his treatment plan at another time.” Dr. Harrow was already looking past you into the other room. “I have to clean up this mess before it spreads across the entire ward.”

He blew past you like a gust of wind. You stood still, like your feet were rooted to the grout beneath your shoes. You watched as a guard carried a now unconscious Marc under the arms out of the room. The other came out rolling the two orderlies on gurneys.

Sessions with Marc were simultaneously the best and worst parts of your work day.

For one, he was sat directly across from you less than two feet away. You could reach out and play with his dark curls if you wanted, brush your fingers along the stubble on his chin and trace the line of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat.

But you couldn’t. Not just because you were his doctor, but because whenever salacious thoughts filled your head, your stomach sank with shame and guilt in kind. Your fingertips burned, your bones ached to just reach out and touch, but you could do nothing but dig your fingers into the leg of your pants. It was like you were burning alive right in front of him, but you couldn’t even scream, just grin and bear it.

And you hated him for it.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Spector.” You plastered a wide grin on your face. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

He didn’t respond to you, his lips clamped together. He merely shook his head, and your gaze caught on the curl that fell loose and draped itself down his forehead. (It surely couldn’t be sane to feel envious of a lock of hair of all things.)

You hadn’t seen him for days after the incident. The ward had him locked away somewhere, separate from the other patients until they were sure he wouldn’t have another outburst. It had been torture, but also the first breath of fresh air you’d taken in weeks, knowing that you wouldn’t be sucked into his gravity.

You hated him for unearthing this part of you that had lain dormant for so long. Why him? Sure, he was handsome, but you’ve met many a fine doctor in your day. Why did one of your patients have to awaken this insatiable urge within you, someone who depended and relied on you wholly, someone who you spent day after day with, who was so close within your grasp and yet just out of reach?

“Then I guess we’ll jump right into it.” You folded your hands over the desk in front of you. “I’d like to start by talking about what happened a couple days ago.”

His face went a shade or two paler, which was remarkable for someone who looked already malnourished and sleep deprived as he was. He had deep, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, his cheekbones were sunken in, and his skin was dull and sallow. (And yet this was the face of the man who had infiltrated your every waking moment and even your sleeping ones, as mortifying as it was to admit.)

“It wasn’t me,” he blurted.

You cocked your head in a precise manner. “Was it Steven?”

He shook his head, clenching his jaw so tight the tendons in his neck strained. You were mesmerized by the way they stood out from under his skin. He could be so enticing without even trying. It was why you took such pleasure in punishing him so thoroughly for tempting you, for forcing you to relive the guilt and shame you’d suffered through for years.

“So if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Steven,” you quirked a brow, “then who was it?”

He swallowed hard, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know.”

You ducked your head, trying to catch his eye. “Was it some other personality?”

“Maybe,” he muttered under his breath, “it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

You sat up straighter in your chair. “Tell me about him.”

He perked up. “Like what?”

“Well, you can start with his name.” You offered an encouraging smile.

He visibly deflated. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” you repeated.

He shrugged. “I black out every time he takes over.”

“So you have no memory of putting two orderlies in the hospital?”

He blanched. “He did what?”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That’s awfully convenient, Mr. Spector.”

“I wish I knew.” He buried his hands in his hair. “I really did.”

“Do you have any idea where he might’ve originated from?” you asked, exasperated.

He shook his head, his eyes glued to the wood grain pattern on the desk.

“Well, Steven came from the abuse you suffered from your mother when you were younger, correct?”

His head shot up. “What does my mother have to do with this?”

“You use Steven as a mechanism to cope with your trauma and deal with the guilt you feel over your brother’s passing,” you said matter-of-factly. “Maybe this other persona derives from something similar.”

He pressed his palms flat against the desk and leaned closer to you, a crease between his brows. “That was an accident.” His voice started to raise.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t brought your brother into that cave,” you pointed out. “And you feel guilty because of that.”

His eyes went wide as he fell back in his chair. His muscles locked into place, and his eyes rolled backwards as he started to shake. You merely observed him with an unamused expression, having long gotten used to his theatrics by now. He seemed to pull them in the middle of every session, especially when you started to get to the root of the problem.

He stopped shaking and blinked, his eyes returning to normal. He let out a deep breath, grabbing the arms of his chair. “His brother’s death wasn’t Marc’s fault,” he said in a British accent.

Your expression didn’t change. “Marc, you know how I feel about you doing this during our sessions together.”

“For the last time, my name isn’t Marc,” he seethed. “It’s Steven.”

You stopped yourself from sighing. Here came the same old argument you’d had over and over again time after time. It was deja vu at this point, like you were just going in circles. “I’m not playing pretend here, Mr. Spector. I’m a doctor and I refuse to acknowledge this delusion that you have another person living inside you.”

“So what am I? Just some silly coping mechanism then?” he sassed.

You picked up your pen and clicked it on, scribbling down on your notepad. “That would explain why you came out when I started talking about his brother.”

“I came out ‘cause you were being an arse, and Marc wasn’t having it anymore.”

You looked up at him, clicking your pen off. “Thank you for the insight, Mr. Grant,” you spoke his name like venom was spewing from your lips, “but I’d like to finish this conversation with Marc please, if you would.”

“Sorry, love,” he stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head with a smirk etched across his face, “but this ‘coping mechanism’ isn’t going anywhere.”

You wanted to crush the pen in your grip, partly because of his smug, conceited defiance, and partly because the way he called you love made your pants feel tight.

“Fine.” You set the pen down and forced a smile on your face. “Maybe you’d like to tell me about this mysterious third person then. I have a hard time believing he’s in there with you, and yet neither of you know anything about him.”

“‘Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom,’” he recited. “Aristotle. But you knew that already, didn’t you, Doctor?” He flashed you a cheeky smile.

Your own vanished. “Since you have so much to say, I’d like to hear your theories on where he came from.” You tilted your head. “Do you think he appeared during Marc’s service in the war?”

His smirk faltered the tiniest bit, and it was enough to make your soul sing. “What makes you think that, Doc?”

“Well, it’s clear that he arises from some need to protect Marc.” You drummed your nails against the desk. “He exhibits physical strength and took over when I threatened to shock Marc again. It only makes sense that Marc created him as a survival instinct on the frontlines.”

He looked taken aback, blinking at you with wide, round eyes. “This must be why they pay you the big bucks, Doctor.” He recovered from his shock. “Is that what you told your boss when he asked you why you went above the appropriate voltage? Because you were hoping to induce a reaction from someone you didn’t even know existed yet?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Was he trying to threaten you? “No, he didn’t ask.” Your smile was poisonous. “When a psych ward patient attacks a bunch of orderlies, he’s not usually concerned with what the doctor was doing.”

He hummed. “Usually,” he parroted you. “Now that’s just bad practice.”

You glared at him. “Let’s focus back on the matter at hand.” You tapped your desk. “Could you tell me his name perhaps?”

His grin widened until it stretched from ear to ear. “Maybe you’d learn more if you asked him yourself.”

You went rigid in your chair. You remembered the way he – whoever he was – had stared at you the last time you’d seen him, like he wanted to tear you limb from limb with his bare hands. You were sure if you hadn’t gotten out of that room in time, if you hadn’t kept the doors closed long enough until security had arrived, that you wouldn’t be sitting in your office today.

The things you wanted to do to wipe that grin off his face polluted your mind. “And maybe you’d like to stay out of solitary confinement.” If he was going to level threats your way, then two could play at that game.

His brown eyes bored into you. “I guess we’re at a stalemate then.”

You pursed your lips. “So it would seem.” You glanced down at your watch. “That’s about our time for today, Mr. Spector.” You flipped through the file on your desk. “The medication isn’t working, and neither is the electroconvulsive therapy. I’ll have to discuss further treatment with Dr. Harrow. Until then, I’ll schedule you for hydrotherapy for the rest of the week.”

His lashes fluttered as his eyes went white again, and then he was staring at you with a desperate, defeated look on his face. “Why can’t I just go home? The treatment isn’t working.”

You stared back at him, your face as hard as stone. More than anything, despite the way he tormented you with his proximity to you, his presence, his mere existence made you feel more alive than you had in years, maybe more than you had in your entire life. Before him, you felt like you were sleepwalking, like you were stumbling through life as hazy and discombobulating as a dream. But now that he was here, you were startlingly, frighteningly wide awake.

“As far as you’re concerned, Mr. Spector, this is your new home,” you stated evenly and plainly. “You’ve proven because of your ailment, you’re a danger to yourself and to others. You won’t be allowed to leave until we’re sure you can be a fully functioning member of society.” You pointedly looked at your watch again. “Now, I really must ask you to leave, Mr. Spector. I don’t want to keep the next patient waiting.”

Maybe you couldn’t have him the way you wanted, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least have him any way you could.

The door to Dr. Harrow’s office was shut when you arrived.

You rapped your knuckles against the glass window bearing his name, the blinds closed on the other side. You waited patiently, listening for the soft “come in” that sounded from the other side of the door. You twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Dr. Harrow looked up from his desk when you entered. “Doctor,” he gestured to the chair across from him, “please take a seat.”

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you. You crossed the distance to his desk, clutching Marc Spector’s file to your chest. You sat down, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor as you pulled it out.

“You wanted to talk about Marc Spector.” You set the file down on his desk and flipped it open. “Neither medication nor electroconvulsive therapy have proven to be effective. I currently have him undergoing hydrotherapy, but that’s only a temporary fix to tide him over.”

You looked up to find him staring at you, an amused expression on his face. “Look at you. Right down to it.” He rested his hands on his cane, leaning against it. “You sure are in a hurry to help Mr. Spector, now aren’t you?”

You blinked at him. “I’m just doing my job.”

He gave you a knowing look. “You’ve always been my most dedicated pupil.”

You nodded tersely in agreement. “Do you have any suggestions as to more permanent solutions for Mr. Spector?”

He pursed his lips, his brow wrinkling in thought. “I did have something in mind.”

You leaned forward in your seat, your eyes wide and eager. “What is it?”

“I believe a lobotomy is the next logical step for Mr. Spector,” he said flippantly, as if he was discussing something as casual as the weather.

You had to keep your jaw from dropping. “A lobotomy?” you repeated, trying not to gawk at him.

“Our patients who have undergone the procedure in the past have shown great success.”

“Yes, but,” you fidgeted with your fingers, choosing your next words carefully, “don’t you think that’s a little… extreme?”

He lifted a brow. “Need I remind you he put two of our staff in the hospital? One of our orderlies may never be able to hear again because of him.” He tilted his head. “I think that’s a little extreme, don’t you?”

You wanted to point out that the orderly was never really good at listening anyway, but held your tongue.

“If he’s so resolute to believe this lie he’s concocted for himself to the point that he’s a safety risk, then we must cut the problem at its root,” he spoke sharply. “A lobotomy will keep him from hurting anyone ever again.”

It would keep him from a lot of other things, too. You’d seen what had become of lobotomized patients. They were nothing but unfeeling, unthinking zombies with dull, lifeless eyes drooling all over themselves. They were barely able to string a coherent sentence together, nothing but rotting, gray mush as a sorry excuse for brains in their heads.

Although that’d be the ultimate punishment for Marc Spector, it would be the last one he got. There’d be no more torturing him, no more taunting and teasing, no more satisfaction as you watched the smirk slip from his face and that hopeful light dim in his eyes. That’d be it. It’d all be over.

If he became a walking shell of his former self, you’d return to the one you were before him.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think a lobotomy is the answer,” you said.

“Oh, really?” He threaded his fingers together and folded his hands on top of his cane. “You believe your medical expertise outranks mine?”

You swallowed hard. “I just think there must be some other way to go about this.”

“There is no other way. It’s the only option we have left.” He narrowed his eyes at you until they were slits, like he was trying to pierce through your skin and stare straight into your soul. “You’re quite insistent on fighting me on this matter. Why is that?” He cocked his head. “You’re not growing fond of Marc Spector, now are you, Doctor?”

The tension in the room smacked you in the face like a heatwave. Sweat started to bead on your forehead, and you tugged on the collar of your shirt uncomfortably. “What?” You wheezed a chuckle. “Of course not.”

“Good.” He continued to eye you suspiciously. “I’d hate for your feelings to get in the way of your work. After all, you’ve come so far.” His lips quirked into a smile, yet it was anything but friendly. “Don’t undo all the progress you’ve made.”

You knew he wasn’t talking about Marc anymore. You looked up at the poster on the wall behind him. It was one of those cheesy motivational ones, a picture of a smiling rainbow with the accompanying text: ‘After every storm comes a rainbow.’ It was faded, but you remembered seeing it in its prime, at another time years ago when it had hung in an office very similar to this, when Dr. Harrow hadn’t been your boss but your psychologist himself.

You forced your lips to curl into a wavering smile. “I assure you, Dr. Harrow, Mr. Spector is nothing more to me than any other patient of mine.”

“That’s good to hear.” He tapped his cane against the floor. “I’d hate to have to strip you of your credentials because you went against my professional opinion.”

Your smile didn’t falter. You were getting pretty good at faking it by now. After all, you’ve had years of practice. “I’ll schedule the lobotomy for the end of the week.”

“I’m glad we came to an agreement.” He leveled his stare at you. “I think you’ll come to see things my way, Doctor. It really is the only option, for everyone’s safety.”

You knew something was off when you got to your office and the door was unlocked.

It creaked on its hinges as you pushed it open. You peeked your head in, your pulse thudding in your wrists. But your heart rate started to slow when you saw that it looked the same as it always did.

That didn’t stop you from taking caution as you tiptoed inside. Your eyes flitted around the room, searching for any sign of danger, but there was nothing. The room was empty, and the lights were off, just how you’d left it.

You approached your desk and sifted through the files piled into neat stacks on top. You flipped open the first file to see Marc Spector’s grim face staring back at you. You let out the breath you’d been holding and closed it.

You pressed a hand to your sweaty forehead, heaving a sigh of relief. You must’ve forgotten to lock the door last night when you left. You could’ve sworn you did, but it was the only logical explanation. When did you become so careless? That wasn’t like you at all.

You grabbed your clipboard and left your office, triple checking the lock was in place. When you were satisfied with how the door stuck after tugging on the handle, you continued down the hall. You had to be more careful in the future.

You started on your morning rounds. You popped into rooms, checking in on your patients as usual. Everything was going smoothly when you glanced at your watch and the corresponding time on your clipboard. Marc was scheduled to have a hydrotherapy session in the washroom.

Your heart skipped a beat. You changed course towards the washroom. You told yourself you just wanted to check up on him after your tense session the other day and your meeting with Harrow and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you could catch a glimpse of him in the nude.

The sound of running water got louder as you drew closer to the washroom. When you entered, you saw it was empty and one of the faucets had been left on. The tub was now overflowing, water pooling around the basin and spreading across the tile.

You rushed towards the tub in a panic, splashing in the ever-expanding puddle as you got closer. You leaned over and twisted off the faucet, hissing as a spray of hot water hit your skin. You stood up straight and wiped the sweat from your brow before settling your hands on your hips, huffing.

It was dead silent without the incessant noise of streaming water filling the room, nothing but the occasional drip from the faucet. A loud slam from behind you shattered the silence, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. You whipped your head around to see the door to the washroom was now closed.

You furrowed your brow. Before you could even start to ponder where Marc and the orderlies were or who had just shut that door, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge. Your muscles seized, locking into place. You felt like a deer who could sense it was in the crosshairs of a hunter, like the heat of someone’s stare was burning into the back of your head.

You weren’t alone. Someone was watching you.

A hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, and before you could open your mouth to scream, they shoved your head down into the bath.

It felt like you had been dunked face first into a tub full of acid. The hot water stung your skin. You screamed, but you knew no one heard it. You felt like the water was singeing your skin so bad, you’d be surprised if you still had any by the time this was over, if it ever would be.

Just as you started to run out of air, the hand tugged on your scalp, pulling you out of the water. You gasped, blinking to clear the dots from your vision. When it came back into focus, you looked down at the steam rising from the water’s surface to see your reflection, but there was another face beside yours as well.

The face belonged to Marc, but judging by the fury burning in his eyes as he stared at you, it wasn’t him you were looking at.

He leaned forward, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he hissed, “Not so fun, is it?” His voice was thick with an accent you were too dazed to identify.

Before you could reply, he plunged you back underwater.

Your arms flailed, your hands grappling for the edge of the tub. You tried to push yourself up, but his other hand shoved between your shoulder blades, digging your ribs into the lip of the tub. You wheezed, all the air leaving you and turning into ineffective bubbles that rose and popped at the surface.

Your legs buckled, and you dropped to your knees. His grip on your hair was so tight, you thought he’d have a handful of strands in his palm once he let go. But the pain on your scalp was nothing compared to the heat of the water. Your skin was going numb at this point.

Your lungs started to burn from lack of oxygen. They felt like a house of cards folding in on themselves. Your mouth opened and closed, desperately seeking air, but all you did was swallow mouthfuls of water instead.

Your struggle against him started to slow as your might left you. It felt like you were moving through molasses until you eventually flopped over the tub, your limbs going limp. Just as your eyes slid shut, you were suddenly ripped from the tub again.

You were thrown onto your back, groaning as your shoulder blades collided with tile. You coughed, your throat painfully constricting as you hacked up the water you’d swallowed. Your head spun as you inhaled as much of the precious air you’d been deprived of as you could, oxygen flooding your brain too much too fast.

You heard dull, muffled footfalls stomp closer to you. You looked up through half-lidded eyes as a blurry figure loomed over you. You blinked, and Marc’s face glaring down at you came into focus. It took you way too long to remember who he was and what you were doing here. No doubt he scrambled your brain nearly drowning you to death.

“Who are you?” you rasped, your voice hoarse.

He bent down until he was crowding your space, his face hovering over yours. “Jake Lockley.” His deep timbre sent a chill straight down your spine, despite how your head still felt like it was aflame. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Doctor.”

You stared up at him dumbly. You swore he made you lose forty IQ points. “You were the one who hurt the orderlies.”

“That’s me.” He cocked his head. “Have you been looking forward to seeing me again, Doctor?”

You didn’t answer, swallowing so hard it hurt. “Why are you doing this?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, you didn’t think he even heard you.

“Why do you think?” He reached down, and you gasped as his hand encircled your throat. “You can dish it out but can’t take it, huh?”

You were too weak to even fight back. “I’m doing my job,” you choked out.

“Torturing your patients is your job?” He squeezed a little tighter, baring his teeth. “Chopping up their brains?”

You blanched. He had been in your office. “It’ll be good for Marc,” you said coolly. “I’m trying to help him–”

“No, I’m the one helping him!” he cut you off, his voice shaking with rage. He rattled you like you were nothing but a ragdoll in his grip.

“By hurting people?” You grasped for any semblance of emergency training floating in your scattered head at the moment. “You’re only making his life harder. You’re not even real.”

He laughed in your face. “Isn’t that sweet? You’re still trying to analyze me, even with my fingers around your throat.” He squeezed your neck as if to remind you his hand was there. “You’re not the one in control here anymore, Doctor.”

He let go of you, and your head fell back against the tile so hard, your vision went white for a moment. There was a dull ringing in your ears, but as much as you wished the dark would claim you and you could just float away, you were still painstakingly conscious.

“You treat us like we’re toys, like you can take us out and have your fun and put us back in our box broken again.” He crouched over you, his eyes slowly scanning down your body. “Maybe you need to see what it’s like to have someone play with you.”

He placed his hand on your neck, and you closed your eyes, waiting for the final blow. But instead of choking the life out of you, his hand moved down your chest and over your stomach, his fingers spread out like a big, warm spider crawling across your skin. You watched in disbelief as the distance between his hand and your groin shrank to an infinitesimal amount.

He snickered. “Don’t act like you don’t want this, Doctor. For all your flaws, one thing you’re not is stupid.” His tone was anything but flattering, and the glint in his eyes was taunting. “I saw how you looked at Marc, at Steven. You looked like you wanted to rip their clothes off with your teeth.”

If your face wasn’t on fire already, you were sure it would’ve heated up in embarrassment. You weren’t entirely sure you even had a face anymore. (At least then he couldn’t see a physical admission of your guilt.)

“They thought you were disgusting, you know.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “A nasty, pathetic man using his power to perv on his poor, helpless patient. They would never even think of touching you.” The corners of his lips curled into a smirk. “But I’ll give you what you’re so desperate for, Doctor.”

“I-I don’t want you,” you stuttered, not intimidating in the slightest. You couldn’t trust your voice anymore, not when your brain was already failing you and now all your blood was rushing down south.

He hummed, his smirk not faltering for a second. “How about this…” He leaned closer to you until his face was inches away from yours. “If you’re not hard right now, I’ll stop and let you go.”

Your eyes went wide with alarm, your gaze flitting everywhere except up at him. There was no doubt in your mind that if he touched you now, you’d be as hard as a rock.

“Why so quiet, Doctor?” he teased. “Give up already?”

Tears started to brim at your lash line. “Please, don’t do this,” you begged in a fervent whisper. “I’ll do anything.”

“You will.” You envied how sure of himself he sounded. “But I need a little leverage first.”

His hand finally slipped lower to press over the growing bulge in your pants. You bit back a mewl as your nerve endings lit up like a livewire at his touch, resisting the urge to arch up into him.

“Well, what do we have here?” He squeezed down, and you jolted under him. He grinned at you. “Looks like I win, Doctor.”

He slowly started to palm you through your pants. Every muscle in your body pulled taut, like a string about to snap. Your face pinched, holding in every whimper that threatened to spill out. Your toes curled in your shoes, and your nails scratched at the tile on either side of you.

“Are you about to come already, Doctor?” he sneered. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

He removed his hand from you, and you hated yourself for silently mourning his touch. But in the next instant, he was unbuckling your belt and undoing your fly before shoving his hand down your pants.

You couldn’t keep your moans in anymore as his fingers encircled your bare cock. He smeared the precome leaking from the tip down the shaft in slow strokes. You bucked up into his hand, desperate for more friction.

“So needy,” he chided. “You’ve been waiting for this a long time, haven’t you?”

You didn’t know why you nodded. You felt like you could breathe fully for the first time in maybe your whole life. You were delirious with pleasure, every cell in your body crying out for more. Your brows furrowed as you stared up at him, your teeth sinking into your plush bottom lip.

“You love this, don’t you?” He hooked his fingers through the belt loops of your pants. “I bet you’d love it even more if you saw what I was doing to you.”

He tugged your pants down your hips. If you had any strength left, you would’ve absentmindedly lifted your hips to assist him. He finally got your cock free, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away as he spat in his hand before stroking you even faster before.

“You make me sick, you know that?” His tone was laced with venom. “Your patient is jerking you off, and you’re getting off on it. If you think we’re crazy, then you must be even crazier.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. His words hurt, piercing you like blades, and yet you could feel your cock swelling and flexing in his grip.

His free hand grabbed your chin. “Open for me, darling,” he commanded. “Since you liked it so much when Marc did it, I’m willing to bet you’ll love it even more now.”

You parted your lips without thinking. You felt like you were disconnected from your brain, like it had shut off.

He spat in your mouth. His saliva landed hot and heavy on your tongue. He squished your lips together. “Now swallow.”

You did as he asked, your Adam's apple bobbing as his spit slid down the column of your throat. His eyes followed the movement, a satisfied smirk toying at his lips.

“You’re doing so well, Doctor. Being so good for me,” he spoke over the slick sound of his palm sliding up and down your shaft. “I want you to keep being good and come for me. Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

Your skin started to tingle from your impending orgasm. But as the pressure mounted in your abdomen, nausea started to churn in your gut. Oh, no. You gritted your teeth as saliva pooled in the back of your mouth. You wondered if your face was turning as green as you felt.

“Come for me, Doctor.” His whispered words made you even more sick to your stomach. “I want to watch you come all over yourself.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away your conditioned reaction to pleasure. You mustered all the strength you had left, attempting to sit up. “Please, please, please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, whether you wanted him to stop or continue. It was getting harder and harder to speak as it was.

It felt like hot lava was pooling low inside you. Your stomach clenched, and next thing you knew, your balls drew up as you came everywhere. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you got lost in the wave of pleasure that crashed over you. You let out a low moan as you thrusted up into his grip. Come sprayed everywhere, all down your thighs and staining your button up shirt.

Your body twitched as you came down from your high. Jake didn’t let up, pressing the pad of his thumb against the vein pulsing along the underside of your shaft and twisting his wrist on the upstroke. He watched his hand move up and down your cock torturously slow, almost as if he were entranced by the power he wielded over you.

You fell back against the tile, your body finally going lax, but the worst was far from over. You couldn’t fight the wave of nausea rising inside you anymore. You barely managed to turn your head to the side before you emptied the contents of your stomach onto the tile floor.

There wasn’t much, just the pale brown coffee and chunks of stale bagel you’d nibbled on for breakfast. Your jaw ached when you finally stopped, your throat burning all the way down to your esophagus. You collapsed defeated on the floor, all the energy drained from you.

Jake, for the first time since meeting him, looked shocked, like you’d caught him off guard. “I did not expect that,” he admitted. “That must be a first, coming so hard you lose your lunch.”

He threaded his fingers through your hair and tugged on your already abused scalp, forcing you to look up at him. His face wasn’t coy or flirtatious anymore. It was down right mean. “I want you to cancel the lobotomy you have scheduled for Marc.”

You blinked at him. You couldn’t understand a word he was saying. “What?”

“Do you think I gave you a hand job just for the hell of it?” he snapped. “I did it to save us. The lobotomy. Cancel it.”

Reality was starting to set in, and dull panic began to rise in your chest. “But… I can’t.”

“You will.” He yanked on your hair. “Unless you want someone to find you like this. I wonder what they would think — if they knew you came when a male patient touched you like I did?”

You clenched your jaw. Doctors abusing their power and having affairs with patients wasn’t unheard of, and it was normally swept under the rug. But if they found out that Jake had been the one to do this to you?

They’d lock you up in here with him.

“Fine! Fine.” Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ll try, okay? I’ll try.”

“You’ll do it. Or you’ll lose a lot more than your precious job,” he spat. He patted your cheek condescendingly. “Don’t worry. Marc and Steven won’t remember any of this. Only I will.”

He let go, and your head landed with a thud back against the tile. He stood up and started for the door. He stopped in his tracks abruptly, looking back at you. “This was a good session, Doctor.” His lips curled in a lopsided smirk. “I think this will be very helpful for me moving forward.”

You watched him go and disappear from your sight. You wondered when you became so cruel that you created a monster all on your own. Your reckoning was by your own hand.

You stared up at the ceiling, laying in the puddle as it crept along the grout in the tile to the edges of the room. You laid there as your cock softened with come staining your pants and vomit lining your mouth. Your lab coat was soaked through with bath water, several shades darker than its usual pristine white.

You didn’t care if anyone found you. You were dead in the water anyway. If you called off the lobotomy, your boss would fire you, and if you didn’t, you’d be disgraced and probably have to flee the country if you wanted to keep your head on your shoulders, if Jake didn’t decide to dole out your punishment himself. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

And at this point, you thought you might as well dash your brains out on the rock.

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