Marc Spector X Reader Novels & Stories

Mara said, her voice hushed as though she was respecting the quiet. I ran my fingers along a spine. "Does he read?" A beat of silence before she said, "Yes." There was something in Mara's face when she said it, something complicated that wasn’t affection. It was understanding, and resignation, and perhaps something like weary acknowledgment. It was the look you give something you understand implicitly but could never articulate in human language. "Mara," I said, choosing my words carefully. "What kind of man is he?"

I say as he slides into the seat. He lifts my mug, reading the little chalkboard logo. “I’m full of surprises.” “Dangerous ones? “Depends. Is caffeine and questionable literature your definition of danger?” He smirks, loosening his coat. “What’s the book?” I glance down, then grimace. “Some wildly over-hyped thriller about a detective with a drinking problem. Groundbreaking, right?” Marcus leans over, plucking the book from my hands before I can protest. His shoulder brushes mine in the process, and my pulse spikes like it has no sense of boundaries. He flips through the pages with a skeptical eyebrow.

Théo listens with complete attention. He says, at the end: that is a better gift than an object. Gregor says: I thought you might think so. Marcus gives him a subscription to a newspaper, the same one Marcus reads, delivered to the compound specifically addressed to Théo. He says: a man your age should be reading the news properly. Not summaries. The actual paper. Théo says: I have been reading your copy when you finish with it. Marcus says: I know. Now you have your own.

THE NEXT PART OF THIS BOOK IS GRAPHIC AND TRIGGERING. It includes: -r*pe -s*icidal thoughts -self h*rm -s*icide attempts -sexual ab*se Please don't read on if any of these bother you, it will get intense and upsetting. I'm warning you now so anyone who may be triggered by these themes doesn't walk into it without knowing beforehand. Marcus pov Friday 1st November 2019 *********************************

During his nights at Black Halo, he served men with more money than God and more secrets than the Devil; men who bought silence with six-figure wire transfers. He stood abruptly, crossing to his bookshelf. He pulled down a dusty, spine-cracked textbook: The Philosophy of Morality and Desire. Tucked inside the back cover was a single, heavy, embossed business card. MARCUS LEE. SENIOR PARTNER. "Who is that?" Bena asked, squinting to read the gold foil.

She feels the tension even if she doesn’t understand all of it. I know I fucked up with Xander. I know how bad it looks. I still don’t care. I won’t let anyone disrespect her. Not him. Not anyone. My phone vibrates inside my jacket. I leave it there. Marco’s phone buzzes right after. He checks it, his jaw tightening. “And so it starts,” he mutters. “What?” He turns the screen toward me. The video is shaky. Grainy. Still clear enough. Me. My fist. Xander Chen. The Gala of Hearts. The Éclat Magazine watermark sits in the corner like a warning.

“Why would you even read it, Jackson, why? If that were me, I wouldn’t even consider reading it the answer would be no. Just because he said, I had someone else and had moved on you just had to consider it didn’t you.” “No Alena, you have it all wrong, for a start, he said all that after I refused and read the contract, I did what most would do in my situation, read it because that contract is only ever handed over if you are playing dead. Hardly anyone gets to see it in their lifetime, so of course, I read it.” I don’t know what to think, I look at Marcus, and he is just sitting staring at him.

He adjusted and crossed his legs as I sat, giving me time to take in his appearance. My throat went dry immediately. Shit. He looked good. Like really good. Mad fit. Absolutely jaw-droppingly handsome. I totally would do an older man like him. This was why Theo was smitten? How the fuck was I meant to compete with this? On his chest pocket was a pin attached to it: Dr. Marcus Thunderson.

My voice was louder than I meant it to be: “You sick bastard!” He immediately turned to face me. Mr. Scarpa. Mr. Scarpa was calm and composed yet again, even in this situation. He was still in all black. His eyes fell on me like a slow-falling guillotine. “Montana,” he said with a smooth, unreadable voice. “How do you do?” How… how dare this man?! He didn’t let me speak as he raised an eyebrow and pointed to the big screen. “Oh, this?” he calmly said, like a nouveau riche. “You were aware your husband recorded you every time you both had sex without your consent, right?”

He just watches the floor numbers count down. "What were you two talking about?" he asks as the elevator doors hiss open. He steps inside, not holding the door for me. I step in beside him, the scent of Jaxon’s sandalwood still clinging to my senses, making the elevator feel too small. "He just gave some advice," I say, my voice flat. "Suggested some reading material for next time." Marcus lets out a short, mocking snicker. "Next time? There won't be a next time, Elena. That man is a hack. 'Sexually self-centered'? I’ve never heard anything so absurd in my life. I’ve already canceled all future appointments.”