The Dark Mark (Mark/Dark/Wilford/Google x Reader)

4

When I came to, my head was throbbing. I couldn't move my arms, nor my feet, and my mouth was full of what I assumed to be a gag. I tried to focus, but my sight was too blurry. Whoever had hit me on the head had hit me pretty hard... I coughed, and pain shot through my head, back to front. I began to remember slowly what had happened. I'd been in the car with Mark... he'd been acting weird... and then I'd gotten out of the car and run because... It took me a moment to remember that he'd pulled over in a parking lot and had unlocked the door for me to get out. So who'd hit me on the head? 

I looked up after a moment, thankful that my eyes weren't as blurry. I was in a dark room, curtains covering the windows. It was still daytime outside, a halo of light shining around the curtains, but as I couldn't see my wristwatch I couldn't say the time. I could have been out hours, it could have been a day. I sighed, looking around the place. The ceilings were high, ornate carvings in the dark wood just visible with the small amount of light I had. I could see two sconces with candles melted down, not lit, and a few paintings of some landscapes hung. The furnishings were drab; in the corner of the room was a tall-backed armchair, but the remainder of the furniture was sparse - the odd cabinet lined the room, with one lamp, but not much else. I sniffed. Not a lot to go off, and that only added to the fear I felt. Suddenly, the door opened, breaking the silence. 

"Get in," a voice hissed, and something hit the floor behind me with a whimper and a thud. 

"Ow - please -"

"Oh, boo hoo hoo, does it hurt you?!" the voice said mockingly. "Get up." I twisted to see who was behind me. I didn't need to, though. A figure walked along, broken. He slumped down in the corner, next to the armchair. Mark. To my other side, as I stared at Mark, the curtains were flung open. I turned and flinched at the harsh light, only to see that the sun was setting. So it couldn't be the next day...? A guy stood there in the window, not turning around. He wore a yellow shirt, grey or brown pants (it was tough to see properly), and pink suspenders. Fear gripped me fully when I saw the small pistol in his hand, clasped together behind his back with the other one. I glanced at Mark. He watched me, his features marred by cuts and bruises and a black eye, one fresh line of blood making its way down his cheek. "It took you too long, Mark." The guy exaggerated the final'k' of Mark's name with a resounding, mocking click of his tongue. "I wasn't so happy when I was asked to step in to deal with your... messy attempt..." 

"I didn't want to do it," Mark muttered. "I told him he didn't need me to do it... I don't want any of this!" his defiance grew, but then disappeared, clearly having been beaten out of him. 

"Oh, I know... and what are we going to do with you?" the guy turned to me, his drawl slow and messy. I watched him warily, wishing I had room in the chair to back away. Indeed, the pink moustache pinned him as the one who'd hit me on the back of the head. He was my kidnapper. Mark with a pink moustache. Despite his eccentric exterior, I felt afraid of him.  "You are pretty..." he ran a finger down my cheek and grinned. "Y/N, am I right? Of course I'm right... I'm always right..." he chuckled and stood to his full height. "My name is Wilford Warfstache, and I'm very close friends with Mark." I could only look at him, eyes wide. "Not much to say... oh, perhaps it's this?" he touched the gag in my mouth. "Well now, the thing about that is that I couldn't have you screaming all over the place. They tend to scream, see, when you don't hit them hard enough... but you were silent. I think I hit you harder than I'd intended." He laughed, and then stopped, looking me dead in the eye. "He's going to love you, you know... he will love you..." He pulled the gag from my mouth and grinned. 

"Who?" I whispered. Wilford grabbed my face and cackled. 

"Oh, he is going to LOVE you!" he stood and twirled. "Mark here annoyed him. See, he had to call me in to do the dirty, didn't he? It goes without saying, I had to show Markimoo here how annoyed he truly was..." he laughed again. If I didn't know better, I'd have said he was drunk out of his mind, but the precision of his movements and the lack of smell on him proved he wasn't. He was sober. Just that mad... I told him as much.