#headers moon knight

[aracnista]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ★ moon knight

like or reblog if you save.

[vampyrebellion]

⭐️✨🌙🎀🪽

[m0on-boys]

made myself some moony wallpapers...

[almondcroissantsandink]

i drew this almost 3 years ago now and i still think it's incredibly funny

The race to Ammit’s tomb, Moon Knight, 2022, colorized

[romanarose]

To Have and to Hold

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Masterlist : Moon Knight Masterlist : Marc Spector Masterlist

Read on AO3

Summary: You and Marc just get married and he can't wait to get his dick inside you.

Warnings: Blowjob, butt stuff, anal play, cumming untouched, make-up smearing. I tried my best with some spanish and hebrew.

Immersivity: Reader is fem but no gentitle mentions for reader. Wears make up and a dress but I tried to write thing in a way that would make sense for a wedding in most cultures. Header is just for aesthetics, not mention of skin, dress, any of that. reader had grabable hair (theres a line about getting semi undressed so if you wear veils or hair covers that is you guys taking it off to smash.) Reader wears heavier make up and Marc can pick her up. Marc says the traditional chritian wedding vows (that doesnt mention anything religous) but thats not neccecarily the vows the said at the actual wedding. I know marc is jewish and the reader can be christian or not I knooooooooow

A/n: Jewish Marc <3 I tried to get pics of weddings from different cultures, the bottom one is from Guatemala is pintrest is to be believed! Add this to the list of fics i've written for @whatthefishh

1K Words

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Married. Finally married. Marc Spector was your husband, and absolutely no one was going to take him away from you.

After the ceremony, you and Marc run off to the nearest side room you could find, dodging all your family and friends in order to consummate your marriage right away. Giggling and laughing like children, Marc pulled you by your hand, dress flouncing around and his Kippah secure on his head. All alone finally after days of family surrounding you, the two of you quickly get into just enough state of undress for what you need. His dick in your mouth.

“My beautiful wife…” Marc grunts, thrusting into your mouth and stretching your lips around his considerable length. “My perfect girl…” Your mouth was so wet and warm. So soft around him, accommodating his hardness and beautiful eyes gazing up adoringly through your wet lashes. Marc placed his large, rough hand on your cheek, pulling his cock out just enough to turn and press it into your cheeks. He loved to feel himself inside you. 

You, in turn, love feeling him. It didn’t matter if he was stuffing himself inside your cunt, if you were feeling the vein of his cock along your tongue, his finger in your asshole with his sweet lips locked in on your tender flesh, or simply lying together watching TV with your fingers entangled in his deep brown curls. You were his and he was yours, and now it was sealed forever.

Marc’s dick slid down your throat, making you gag a little but Marc knew what you could handle. He didn’t want to hurt you, especially not today of all days, but he also knew what you liked. He also knew how to fix your make up, which you knew he was going to need to do as the tears began to blur in your eyes. 

You’re dripping wet, absolutely incomprehensibly turned on by the simple fact you are married, married to the most amazing man in the entire world. Oh, and an amazing ass. That was an aside. A side that your fingernails were digging into right now, anyway. He was built like a fucking PEACH.

Marc murmured, growing breathless. He was so fucking easy to get off with blowjobs, it made you laugh. “I love you so goddamn much…”

You relinquish his right buttcheek, but you don’t leave his cute little booty be. No, your hands stay busy, reaching under him to play with his balls, but that wasn’t their final destination, merely a pitstop to sliding a finger up his butt. One time you did that and he came on the spot, which embarrassed him but you thought incredibly hot.

Marc moans loud enough you swear you were going to get caught. He’s so fucking easy. Marc likes to act like a tough guy, but really he’s just a whimpering mess who likes his butt played with, and you were happy to oblige. When he’s particularly a mess, Marc-y Marc rambles, and today was no exception as you slobber all over his length.

“Perfect fucking wife, ahuvati, can’t believe I actually got you to marry me.” he chuckles a bit in disbelief. “How’d that happen, huh?”

You mumble around his dick. You’re a bit preoccupied to answer.

He laughs again. “Oh, right.” He shakes his head, cradling yours in his hands before sighing contently, balls beginning to draw up. “My wife, my wife, eeshtee, mi esposa… my fucking wife.” Marc thrusts in deep at that, and you know he’s about ready to cum because he’s losing control. What he doesn’t know is under your dress your thighs are rubbing together, as turned on as he was and you haven't even been touched yet. You just needed him to keep talking… Luckily, Marc always knew what you needed. Marc was strangely much more talkative during sex than he was outside of it.

“To have and to hold, from this day forward.” Wet thrust into your drooling mouth, mascara running down your cheeks and neck.

“For better or for worse.” Fuck, you were getting as close as he was, the heavy smell of sex heating up the small room. Everything felt erotic and warm, your dress suddenly getting sweaty.

“For richer or for poorer” His face was getting sloppy, but no less strong. You remove your hands from his sweet cheeks to play with his balls.

“In sickness and in health.” You scrape your nails across his left asscheek, no doubt taking some skin with you. You’re whimpering at this point, slit throbbing to be touched but you wanted to cum from his voice alone.

“Forsaking all others.” It was dizzying, the tone of his voice strong and sure and just so certain in his words. He was so certain this was forever and ever, and so were you.

“To love and- and to ch-cherish, shitshitshitshit!” He grips your hair and you grip his thighs, both of you cumming in time as he says his last words.

“UntilDeathDoUsPart” Marc spills out the final phrase in a hurry fucking his cum down your throat as he cries out your name, your own toes attempting to curl up in the wedding shoes.

Sliding his softening cock out your mouth, you see the remnants of your lipstick on him. Yeah, you were going to need him to fix your face. For now though, Marc puts his dick in his pants and drops to his knees, looking you in the eye with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you just cum untouched, baby?”

Playful, you smack his face knee. “Shut up!”

Full of joyous laughter, Marc picks you up and spins you around, making you squeal in delight. “Ani ohev otah! So fucking much!”

Nothing in the world felt better than being in Marc Spector's arms.

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

This goes out to my beleoved Mona who alway shared ehr thirst idea with me lolololol this is something we were workshopping together while I was in line for Bleacher lol (fun fact I stopped a fight there.)

For now, Im going to be focusing on my work for the ZIne, my pride event, and trying to finish either awakening or blessed be the fruit. thats my goal this month. Maybe more if you wanna be wild if were luky, but that series means so much to me I don't wanna half ass it. It needs to be perfect bc were about to deal with Santi's trauma.

Want to see more? Want to keep up? I dont have a tag list for follow @romana-updates and turn on noifications!

Thank you all so much for your support! Im considering doing something MK for the pride event (see my pinned post) but Im unsure yet. I know I'll have lots of joel and a Santi.

love yall lots!

[faretheeoscar]

Tire Tracks

Join the TagList! • Main Masterlist • Buy me a coffee! • Linktree

This is the first post for Moon Knight-Cember of this year, hosted by @crystaljelly64 I'll be participating mostly on the writing side, but might throw some art here and there.

Content: Steven Grant being chaotic!

A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes, no proof read.

Word Count: 1k

Special thanks to @silvernight-m for the amazing header! ILY mi vida!

"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your head, avoid bullets, repeat."

The mantra was all Steven could cling to as he gripped the wheel with sweaty palms. His knuckles ached, fingers stiff as he yanked it to the left. The tires screeched like banshees as the car slid sideways around a corner.

"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your—bloody hell!" he yelped, barely ducking in time to avoid a crackling spray of gunfire.

The bullets sparked off the side of the car, punching holes in the battered frame. Steven peeked over the dash, his heart hammering so hard he swore it was trying to jump out of his chest.

He didn’t even know how to drive. Didn’t have a license. Didn’t particularly fancy cars at all, yet here he was, careening through city streets like he was a stuntman in some action flick.

What kind of lunatic keeps getting into car chases? Oh right. Me. Apparently.

Sleepwalking was one thing. Waking up in a different room—or outside, disoriented and groggy—was something he’d grudgingly gotten used to. But waking up behind the wheel of a speeding car, dodging bullets? That was a new one. A terrible, terrible new one.

"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your head, avoid—"

Another sharp turn sent the car spinning wildly, and Steven’s stomach flipped as the tires skidded across the pavement, leaving hot black streaks. He clenched his teeth and braced himself for a crash, but somehow, impossibly, the car straightened out.

When did he learn to do this? Did he learn to do this? His muscles moved on their own, as if someone else was yanking the strings. He tugged the wheel into another sharp turn, narrowly missing a fruit stand. A cacophony of shouts and clattering wood followed behind him, but he didn’t dare look back.

“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!” Steven hissed under his breath.

He risked a glance at the rearview mirror. Black SUVs were tailing him, headlights blazing like predators’ eyes. He could see the vague silhouettes of figures inside—men with guns. Lots of guns.

"What do they want from me?"

Another volley of bullets pinged against the trunk, and Steven flinched. His shoulders ached from tensing so hard. The seatbelt dug into his chest like a vise.

The streets blurred together in a haze of neon signs, lampposts, and the glowing windows of late-night shops. Steven’s vision swam as he darted down an alley too narrow for the SUVs to follow.

“Oh, that’s clever, innit?” he muttered, a spark of relief flickering in his chest. “Good job, mate.” He praised himself.

The relief lasted all of three seconds. A motorbike roared behind him, the engine’s snarl like a wild animal ready to pounce.

"Of course there’s a motorbike," Steven groaned.

He floored the gas pedal, weaving through another turn, then another. The car fishtailed wildly but somehow—somehow—righted itself. Steven’s hands shook as he fought to keep control. His breaths came in short, panicked bursts.

"This isn’t happening," he muttered. "This is not happening."

But the blazing headlights in the rearview mirror told him otherwise.

Suddenly, the motorbike drew alongside the car. A man in a helmet leaned over, gun in hand.

Steven panicked. He twisted the wheel hard to the left, slamming the car into the bike. The impact sent the biker sprawling into the street with a loud crunch. Steven winced.

"Sorry, mate!" he shouted, even though he knew the guy couldn’t hear him.

For a moment, silence reigned. The SUVs had disappeared. The gunfire ceased. The tires stopped squealing. Steven let out a shaky laugh, loosening his grip on the wheel.

Then he saw the barricade.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no—”

A wall of flashing blue and red lights loomed ahead, police cars forming a jagged barricade across the street. Behind them, uniformed figures waved arms and raised weapons, their shouting muffled by the pounding in Steven’s ears.

His foot slammed on the brake, his hands yanking the wheel in desperation.

The car skidded wildly, tires shrieking as it spun out of control. Time slowed. Headlights swept across the chaos, illuminating the horrified faces of the officers as they dove for cover.

The vehicle tipped onto two wheels, balancing precariously as Steven clung to the wheel with a strangled scream.

The world tilted.

Steven screamed, a high, panicked sound that echoed in his ears. His stomach plummeted as the car seemed to hang in the air, suspended in a moment of weightless terror.

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

Then he woke up.

Steven bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like a drum.

“Just a dream,” he muttered. “Just a dream, Steven. You’re fine. It’s all in your head.”

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, which was damp and matted to his forehead. The familiar sight of his flat was a comfort: the cluttered desk, the stacks of books, the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling.

“Bloody stupid dream,” he chuckled, flopping back onto the pillows. He closed his eyes, hoping his heart would stop racing.

But as he closed his eyes and started drifting back to sleep, something again suddenly felt off.

The sheets were rougher than usual, and the mattress seemed... harder. Steven frowned, patting the bed beneath him. His hand met something cold and metallic.

His eyes flew open.

It wasn’t his bed. It was the seat of a car a different car.

Steven, looked around him, heart leaping into his throat. He was back in the streets, the engine idling, headlights illuminating a dark, empty street. Tire tracks streaked the pavement in looping patterns all around him.

A distant siren wailed.

“Oh, come on!” Steven groaned, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the steering wheel.

The sound of squealing brakes echoed in the distance.

"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your head, avoid bullets, repeat," he muttered under his breath.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a voice that wasn’t his own chuckled.

dividers credits to @sister-lucifer

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!

@eyelessfaces @howellatme @ierofrnkk @silvernight-m @ingoldthewizard

[stormyaxolotl]

would you do a Moon Knight pfp and matching headers post? comics > show, please and thank you

yeah! here you go :>

[moons-dunes]

Loki season 2 this, I Am Groot season 2 that. When does my son Moon Knight come home from the war, huh? What about that?

[bubuslutty]

Baby, bye bye bye!

platonic moon knight x fem!reader - twitter au

a/n: aw the au expanded! We've got 2 new characters now!

Unlocked: New Characters! Introducing Wade Wilson aka Deadpool and Logan Howlett as Wolverine because I loved the new movie so much and I know, in my heart of hearts, somewhere, in the multiverse, marc and darling are variant equivalents to wolvie and wade :D the relationship is similar, like in the grumpy x dipshit way.

Logan's header says "I love my HOT boyfriend!" btw

tags: @bobastayhigh @weblesstherains @h-leigh @unspokenmoon @ahookedheroespureheart @thursdaywritings @gebstargeb @softieekayy @fem-moony @peachjellypackets @pakhiya @darlinglittledevil @anixluxtt @mrs-cupidd @gebgeb @poeticabomination @i-love-sammwiches

[angel-of-the-moons]

Running With The Wolves

Wolfwalker!Moon Knight (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You're on the verge of being labeled a witch, but can one handsome stranger (and his two "brothers") save you from the same cruel fate as your mother, who was labeled as one and burned at the stake?

Can you handle the truth about your heroes identities, despite it all? Would you find out who your masked savior truly was beneath his cloak?

Only you could answer that.

TW/CW: Witch hunts, violence, graphic violence, graphic death, blood, public execution, parental death, persecution, grief, depression, Wolfwalkers AU, Moon Knight AU, incorrect lore

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I was watching Wolfwalkers and it gave me the idea for the boys. I did a little research into the lore, so some will be inaccurate (my pagan ancestors would frown upon me lmao) as well as historically inaccurate; so what is in this fic is largely based on the film. It will be especially inaccurate because y'know, Marc is American and Jake is Spanish and Steven is English etc, as well as Khonshu being around (but in the comics he's had a Viking Moon Knight so this isn't too far fetched he'd be in a place like Ireland) so please bear with me, my poor mind has been going through it lately and I wanted to write somethin' pointless, so enjoy this weird ass AU I came up with! (Header does not indicate the reader's race!)

Taglist: @enheduannasposts

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PT. 1

"I heard tha's the girl who lives on the outskirts." You heard a young woman whisper to her friend. Her accent was clearly not from Ireland. She sounded like one of the people from England. They'd been arriving slowly but surely, like a trickle from a leaky bucket, since you were a child.

Your skin prickled as you looked over the vegetables in the market stall, tended to by an old woman who was blind in one eye. Mary, her name was. Mary was probably one of the only around here who was kind to everyone, unless they gave her a reason not to. And those two English girls certainly gave her a reason...

"Aye, ye two hussies best be leav'n this girl be!" She spat, waving her old wooden stick around. "She 'ent done nothin' to ye!"

The two women jumped back with a yelp and scurried off, an armored guard eyeing you and Mary warily.

Your nose crinkled at him and you turned your nose up as you looked back at the crop Mary was selling.

"I'm sorry, lass. I don't like 'em either." Mary said, winking her blind eye at you.

You can't help but smile as you trade some herbs for the vegetables, placing the juicy morsels into your basket. "I just would like for things to go back to the way they were." You sighed.

"Like when I was a girl, before they came to our town. Things were fine, everything was in balance."

Mary leaned in, holding a finger to the sky as she spoke quietly to you.

"Aye, lass. But don't worry. The crimes these English folk are doin' to us? They'll be payin', mark my words! The land, the very sky itself is angry because we can't honor the promises we made so long ago." She grinned, half her teeth missing from old age. "Then, maybe we'll be forgiven."

"Aye, or maybe be consumed by the wolves and the forest while we're at it." You smile sadly. You remembered being safe in those woods as a girl, playing in the creeks, chasing birds and hares, the wolves singing on the breeze...

But the wolf attacks have become ever so common, now. None had been bitten, but their homes had been trashed, their livestock spirited away into the cover of night, wolf tracks everywhere. You were the only one whose homestead was spared. You often wondered why. The only thing different between your little plot and the rest of the homes that were driven empty was... wait.

They were all English.

You weren't. That house you lived in had belonged to your family for nearly half a century. The English farmsteads were placed on the grounds that were cleared by the King's woodcutters and soldiers, they were the ones being attacked. Not you.

But lately, you've heard other tales as well. A "devil in white" the King's men would ramble, their voices shrill with fear. A man in white armor who moved like a ghost, and fought like hell itself. You paid no mind, figuring it may be some hermetic hunter who called the forest home, who simply didn't want to have them invade his solitude.

Maybe--

"Lass, you should get home." Mary said, looking at you with worry as a small gaggle of women whispered and pointed at you. You were used to the stares, you'd been getting them as a child. But since the English arrived, those whispers became accusations.

"Witch."

Your mother had faced a similar accusation, given her odd habits and ways of whispering to the wind.

Some considered her addled, even moreso when she began raving of spirits and the voices she said came from the ground.

You remembered the night that she died, the horrible, evil way that she left this world.

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You were only twelve years old, gripped hard by the local men as the bishop to your village spoke from the Bible, quoting things about the crimes of witchcraft and how your mother could only be cleansed by fire.

You screamed, and kicked, and cried and cursed, but all that earned you was a punch to the gut as they lit the kindling beneath your mother's feet.

You'd heard tales of witch burnings, but you'd never ever thought such horrible deeds would come to your town; your safe, warm little home.

Your mother was strange, yes, but she taught you many things that had proven useful. The best herbs to cure the worst fever, the best tonics to drink to cure an ailing cough, how to track in the woods, how to trust the forest to show you the way home; but only if you respected it as a living being, and respected the souls who lived within.

She wasn't a "witch" to you.

She was your mother.

And she was right in front of you, burning.

"Mummy!" You screamed, your voice sounding as though you swallowed shards of pottery.

She looked at you, and smiled, crying and struggling against the ropes that bound her to the stake.

The fire crept up, up, until it reached her feet.

You could smell it--the acrid, disgusting stench of oil and burning flesh. You could see her skin blister, peel, and burn away as she screamed, begged for mercy. Mercy that the church was not willing to grant her.

You screamed and cried until your throat was raw and bloody, struggling until you broke free of the men's arms.

You didn't think twice on it--you leapt towards the pyre.

Your mother was dead. You knew this. But all you wanted was to hold her one last time, even if all that was left now was blackened, charred flesh.

Your soft, delicate hands burned, your dress beginning to catch aflame as you desperately tried to reach for what little remained of the woman you loved most in the world.

The pain was so blinding, so debilitating that your vision went white around the edges, and you saw the world begin to go dark.

"Damn it--put the girl out!" Was the last thing that you heard before you lost consciousness.

When you'd awoke, it had been two whole days since your mother's trial and burning. Two days since she plead to the "court" about how they were treating the land; that if they didn't change their ways they would all suffer for it.

The first face you saw was the bishop looking down at you with a solemn and sad expression, completely different from the way his eyes had gleamed maniacally as he cheered the death of your mother.

"I'm sorry, dear girl." He said kindly, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Your arms and hands were wrapped in clean linen--or, well, as clean as they could get it, anyway--your burns itching and painful.

You gritted your teeth, feeling hot tears burn as you glared at him, your throat still raw and aching.

"You killed her!" You meant to yell, but it only came out a hoarse croak.

"Aye, girl, I did. But I took no pleasure in it."

Liar. Filthy, disgusting liar! You wanted to shout, You smiled when she screamed!

"Your mother was bewitched by the devil, don't you see? The only way to ensure she could make it to heaven was if she was cleansed by fire." He told you, his wrinkled eyes looking at you with such gentleness you could almost scarcely believe this was your beloved mother's executioner.

"At least now, you know your mother made it to the gates of heaven. And hopefully God finds it in Him to grant your mother eternal peace." He continued, "After all, she loved you greatly, and there is nothing more pure than a mother's love. Even if it was the love of a witch."

You bite back bile that wanted to rise--partly from the pain, partly from disgust--and turned your head away, your tears heavy like chains that hung from your lashes and held your eyes closed.

"So hopefully, we can pray she found salvation and forgiveness in the fact she loved you so."

His hand brushed a lock of burnt hair from your face.

"Don't worry, girl... You can go home. But I must implore you not to give in to the teachings your mother no doubt gave you. None of that talking trees or animals nonsense, you hear?"

You wanted to kick him, to bite his disgusting fingers off and pluck out his eyes. But... all you did was nod, and say:

"I understand."

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Later that night, barring the English women's gossip, you'd had a fairly decent day. Your snare on the edge of the forest had gotten a nice hare; providing you with some nice soft fur and meat and bone.

You'd spent your days thereafter doing much of the same work you'd done since you returned to your empty home the week your mother died. You gardened, placed more snares, cleaned the house, worked the loom, began weaving a small tapestry.

One night, you were broken from your tedium by heavy hands on your door, making you yelp and prick yourself with a needle.

You stuck your bloody fingertip in your mouth and stuffed the tapestry into your heavy wooden chest, rushing to your front door to see what was the trouble.

When you opened it, there was the bishop, flanked by two men in heavy plate armor. You felt a shiver creep up your spine; the sight was eerily similar to the night your mother was taken away, only this time the bishop looked so ancient he looked like a piece of dried, brittle leather.

"Dear girl, thank God you're alright." The bishop breathed, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder.

Your brow creased, and you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off.

"That... That man, that devil whom the townsfolk here and elsewhere have been seeing--he was here. Tonight! He killed four of the King's finest men!" He said, panicked, his touch cold and clammy.

"And earlier in the day... wolves. A pack of white wolves! I feared for you, girl. I know that you're alone and so far from town." He shuddered a breath. His lungs sounded awful, even to your ears. Honestly... If the man had allowed it, you could have fixed his long coughing illness. He's been suffering for years with it, sometimes to the point where his surmons had to be delivered by proxy.

He was suffering... but so had your mother, whom he murdered in the name of his god.

Your jaw was tight, and you nodded. "I... I see. I haven't been attacked yet, sir. B-but I will keep an eye out and alert you if I see anything strange."

You wouldn't.

"I don't want that devil to hurt anyone else."

You hoped he chased them all away.

He mistook your shaky voice for one of mutual fear for the man that haunted the nights, like the dreaded vampires back in England and the smaller towns and villages.

"Yes, dear girl." He put his hand to your cheek and smiled, his aged features twisting in agony. "A good girl. May God protect you."

"And He, you." You replied, the words tasting like rotten meat on your tongue.

"Such a good girl." He turned, coughing into his hand. "May God help civilise this land..."

Thunder boomed in the distance, almost as if the very sky itself was urging the cruel men on their way, to leave you be.

As soon as your door was closed, you grabbed a nearby cauldron and heaved it over to your hearth, hanging it from the iron hook and dumping the pail of water into it to boil.

You hastily stripped your clothes free and dumped them into the cauldron, rushing to find your small bottles of tonics.

When you'd found the ones you needed, you dumped them, alongside fresh herbs, into the pot with your soaking clothes.

You knew, based on your own observations, that those who coughed often spread it through touch or spit. And he had coughed into his hands and touched you; you simply don't want to take the risk.

You had to start selling your healing tonics "under the table" as Mary said, as cleaning agents for clothes and blankets just so you could pass it to the townsfolk with sick family. You hated doing that, but seeing a sickly child able to run around with her siblings again without fear of that wretched cough was worth the pain of lying.

You watched as the water bubbled, standing naked as you poked at the fabric with your long wooden spoon, swirling it around and around.

Once you deemed it hot enough, you carefully picked up the cauldron and set it on your stone slab at the mouth of your hearth, you scooped some of the herbal water into your wash bucket and began scrubbing at your clothes mercilessly to rid it of any possible sickness.

Once they were clean enough, you hung them near the fire to dry (but not close enough to catch fire while you were asleep).

You felt goosebumps chill your skin as the wind rattled your shutters, so you grabbed a heavy woolen blanket to wrap yourself up in while you dug around for a new linen dress to put on.

It was a small comfort, given how early in the year it was, and these certain storms always brought unseasonably cold weather in their shadow, but you accepted it nonetheless.

You walked over to your wooden chest and pulled out your half-finished tapestry. It was one your mother started when you were barely hip-height; your father, strong and large, next to your mother, petite and soft. Interconnecting between them was you, holding their larger hands in your tiny ones.

Much of it was unfinished, and only within the last year did your grief finally allow you to finish what she started, as this was the only thing left that you had of her. When the church took her away, your mother knew they were coming, so she hid certain things out in the woods for safekeeping, only telling you their whereabouts. Once the church lifted it's eye from you one autumn day, you finally ran out into the clearing your mother hid her things in.

Being able to have something to visually remember your parents by wrenched your heart in a bittersweet way, but it was all you had of them, other than their rings you wore, hidden and slung low beneath your bodice so nobody would see.

You knew if the bishop found out... He would have them all destroyed, burned like your mother; and he would likely have you thrown into the stocks and publicly lashed as punishment.

In a twisted way, the bishop cared for you. He saw you as an innocent, God-fearing girl who had been brainwashed by your witch mother, whom only acknowledged the paganistic "Old Ways".

You hated having to keep up the act, but you didn't want to die. You owed it to your mother and father, wherever their souls were together, to live on.

You blinked, and a heavy teardrop splashed down onto the tapestry.

Your body jolted with the clap of thunder. How long had you been crying? Had you been crying this whole time, but didn't realize it? Oh, you hated how often these crying fits would strike you.

All you wanted to do was think of the happy times with your family, but it always came back to the fact that they were dead and you were alone.

You dropped back onto your bed, the old, dried wood creaking beneath your weight, the smell of the straw mattress stuffed with dried flowers and clovers soothing to your senses.

Your eyes felt heavy, weighted down from your painful thoughts, and you turned your head to look at the wreath above your bed, shamrocks with dried berries carefully strung together; it was something your mother taught you. You couldn't remember the significance of the thing, but making them when you were bored became a mundane comfort.

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily.

You would need to check your snares in the morning.

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Your leather shoes squelched in the mud as you carefully made your way to the treeline early that next morning. You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek to check if the coast was clear before venturing into the bushes.

It was early enough none had arisen yet to start the day, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon as you set off into the forest.

Yes, setting your traps beyond the treeline was dangerous, as they would tell you, but you knew the game in the woods was fat and ripe, perfectly full of meat. If you could hunt at all, you would try your aim at shooting one of those slovenly bucks with a bow and arrow.

But a hunter you were not. Trap-maker, yes. But no hunter.

Your tiny iron dagger was slung low on your hip, your mostly-empty wooden sack carrying fresh bait for any snares that were sprung, or if the bait had been snatched.

The first two traps hadn't been sprung, but picked clean, most likely by birds and quick-witted squirrels. No luck in catching anything.

But as you neared your final trap, you heard an odd noise. A wheezing sound, almost, followed by heavy pants and a whimper.

Your footsteps stopped as you peered around the thick trunk of an ancient tree, your breath catching in your throat as you looked at the sight in front of you.

It was your last snare, set up with some bread and berries to lure in a rabbit or squirrel (as was your typical game) but it seems that this time, somehow... you snagged a wolf.

And this was not a normal wolf; it was one with fur as white as the coldest snow, now muddied and stained from the soggy ground it flailed around in; your snare secured firmly around its neck and front paw, cinching the two together in a painful manner.

Your heart broke as you saw the creature struggle and wheeze, choking out quiet howls that couldn't be heard through the underbrush.

With your jaw set tight, you stepped out of the clearing, and the wolf turned to you, trying to limp away.

"Shhh, hush, now." You soothe the animal, your hands out in front of you as you got lower, trying to seem less threatening.

Yes, the townsfolk feared wolves, but you wouldn't just leave this beautiful creature to slowly strangle to death on one of your own traps; your soul wouldn't be able to handle the weight of guilt.

"I won't hurt you, sweetie." You say, your voice calm and soft as you reached out.

The wolf snapped tentatively at you, whimpering as the pain of the cord dug further into its throat and paw, red stains now blotching the white fur.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you..." You urge the panicked animal. Your own eyes locked with its dark brown ones, and you could almost hear its thoughts plead:

Help me. Please. It hurts. Please!

You wait for the wolf to still, and sit its haunches on the ground, those big, pained eyes staring right through to your very soul.

Once the wolf is calm, you hook your fingers through the snare, reaching for the part of it that looped around, and try to loosen it enough for it to slip free.

But to no avail, the amount of flailing the wolf had done had twisted and cinched it to the point you couldn't. Your brow pinched and you nervously chewed the inside of your cheek before unsheathing your dagger.

Upon seeing the glint of the blade, the wolf whimpered and panicked again, beginning to flail once more as you reached for it.

"No!" You say, frantically trying to calm the beast. "Stop! You're making it worse! Please--I'm not going to hurt you."

You grunt as you leap forward, crushing the wolf against you in a bear hug, trying to calm its thrashing body as you swing your sharpened blade through the cord, severing it from the branch it was tethered to.

You sliced your thumb in an attempt to cut the cord around its throat, but you somehow managed it, your blood leaving fresh streaks of red and pink through the wolf's surprisingly soft fur.

You drop your dagger and release the animal, falling back on your bum as you carefully crawl away as the canine heaved for uninhibited air, its barreled chest shaking with effort.

Once it had collected itself, it limped up to you, it cut paw hanging an inch or two above the ground as its wet, charcoal black nose sniffed at your wounded thumb.

Its pink tongue laved out and lapped up your blood, as if to say "sorry" for causing you to injure yourself for trying to aid it.

Your eyes however, were drawn to the cuts into the wolf's throat and paw, oozing small rivulets of blood as it stared at you.

"Oh... You poor..." You breathed, rising to kneel on your knees, dirtying your skirt even more.

"I... Those can get infected. Please. I... I can help you..."

You don't know why you were trying to bargain with an animal, but somehow it paid off. The wolf nosed its way into your lap, ears flattened up and eyes pleading up at you.

"Okay..." You murmur, scratching behind one of its ears. "Let's get you home, boy. I have stuff there that can help ya."

The wolf whimpered.

"Er... Well, I assume you're male?" You chuckle awkwardly, trying to think of how to carry this large and hefty animal back home without being seen.

"I'm not gonna violate you by takin' a peek or anything." You clear your throat when one of the wolf's ears flop as "he" tilts his head at you.

"Er. Okay. Let's go..."

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It was easier than you thought, getting him back home. As the sun crept higher, the fog and mist were your ally as you smuggled the "dangerous" animal back to the safety of your home.

You had to haul him over your shoulders and beat feet through the underbrush. Once you were safely inside, you had to (with great difficulty) maneuver the wolf down onto your bed.

You chuckled when he rolled over--and he was most definitely a "he"--and began rolling this way and that into your blankets, making small huffs and growls.

"Ah-ah..." You murmur, reaching out to brush your hand through his muddy fur. "You might make your injuries worse, 'kay, m'love?"

That seems to get the wolf's attention. You weren't sure if he could understand you, which honestly had you thinking you were crazy, but the way he sat up and stared at you, one ear flopping down as he looked up into your eyes sent a strange feeling through your body.

"Hmm..." You murmur, brushing your fingers tentatively around his wounded throat. From his muddy thrashing he'd accumulated a fair amount of dirt, and that would lead to infection.

You hike your skirts up and tie them around your waist, and you could almost swear you saw a look of modesty cross the wolf's eyes as his ears slicked back against his head and he buried his muzzle into your warm blankets.

You scratch the back of your head, a little confused at his reaction as you adjust your knickers and rush to gather your herbs you'd need, plucking dried leaves and roots that hung above your hearth.

You set the herbs down into your mortar and pestle and begin to grind them down, mixing them evenly into a dissolvable mass that would melt in the water once you'd boiled it.

You crack your knuckles and grab a pail, untying your skirts and smoothing them out, frowning at the mud stains as you reach for your door, making a "shush" gesture to the wolf.

"Stay quiet and don't go near the windows! It's dangerous if you're seen." You gently urge him before slipping outside into the morning light once again.

The trek to the well was always annoying, but your neighbors never minded you coming to fetch water, knowing how dangerous it could possibly be for you to hike to the creek at the edge of the forest just to get yourself some of the life-giving liquid.

You inwardly cringed when the Kenny's daughter, Aisling, was already at the well; her belly already round with her unborn child. Barely 19 years of age and she was already with a babe; she was often sickly as a child, this you remembered, so her family (namely her husband) was very concerned about her well-being and that of her impending birth.

Upon seeing you approach, Aisling smiled widely and waved at you, saying your name chipperly, almost like an excited morning bird.

You were really hoping not to have a conversation so early, afraid someone would know you were harboring a wolf inside your home...

"Hello, Aisling. Feeling well this morning?" You hum innocently at her as you tie your pail up, before cranking the wench and lowering it down to the water below.

"Yes, surprisingly!" She giggled, patting her belly with a soft smile. "M' little one decided it was a good day to let mummy keep food down."

"That's good! I still recommend broths if you feel nauseous, however..."

"I know, I know. My mum is constantly making sure of that." She sighed with a roll of her eyes, hooking her own two pails of water onto her yoke.

Your hairs raised and you reached out, the wench slipping from your hands and your bucket dropping all the way back down into the water below the earth.

"No! You mustn't lift something that heavy." You caution. "It's not good for your baby."

"Ohhh! You sound like my father." She sighs, frowning deeply, her hands on her hips. "I'm not helpless, y'know!"

"Yes, I'm aware, but--"

"Aisling!" Her husband panted, trotting up to the both of you. He was at least a decade or so older than she was, but nonetheless it was a good match; he seemed to love her greatly. He was English, and one of the few kind ones you've known, in fact. A gentle giant.

This fact was emphasized when his large bulky hand reached down to touch her belly, sighing with relief. "No, no, you know that you can't be out here alone! The wolves!"

"I 'ent seen no wolves!" Aisling pouted up at him.

"That doesn't mean no wolves see you, m'love." He sighed dejectedly at her. He gives you a kind smile and a nod, hoisting the yoke over his own shoulders, "Aye, lass. Glad to see someone else talking some sense into my pretty little wife, here..."

"Bah!" Aisling scoffed, throwing her arms in the air as she waddled back down to their house.

He shook his head with a chuckle, "I swear, if we have a girl and she turns out like her..."

"You'll have your hands full, alright." You sigh, cranking the wench again.

"Aye." He says, giving you a cautious look. "But, I must warn you, the same way I did Aisling... with these wolves about, it's dangerous..."

"I know." You smile. "I'll be fine."

"Alright..." He replies, giving you one last look before going back home to his wife and family.

You on the other hand, rushed back home with your water to your waiting furry companion...

You almost dropped the pail of water when you saw what he was doing. Somehow he managed to nose open up the chest containing your mother's things, and was insistently sniffing the tapestry.

"Ah! No, no, no!" You frantically say, setting the water down to rush over, gently shoving his snout to the side to close the chest.

"Gah..." You sigh in relief, and smile softly at the wolf, reaching out to pinch and squish his cheek. And surprisingly, he took it well, making a little "whurf!" as you do.

"Don't go through my stuff, it's not very polite after I risked my arse you take care of you." You chuckle, setting yourself to task of boiling the water with the ground herbs. You kneel next to the remaining bit of water on the floor, dipping a rag into the pail and making a clicking noise with your teeth.

The wolf tipped his head to the side, ears pricking up at the noise as he slowly moseyed over to you shyly.

"Oh relax, I won't poison ya." You chuckle, dabbing the soaked cloth onto his fur, cleaning him of the muck.

He of course, did not like this. He whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs, his gorgeous brown eyes pleading with you.

"Ah! That won't work on me, Mister... You need to be clean before I can clean your wounds!" You cluck at him, not falling for his cute little attempt.

Thankfully, he sits there and lets you gently massage the mud away, carefully cleaning around his wound sites before hastily grabbing the pot of boiling water and pouring some into a wooden bowl.

You scratch behind one of his ears and say softly, "Now... I'm going to take care of you, okay? Now... just let me..."

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"No! Down! Bad wolf!" You groan, watching as his tail wagged happily, one of your kirdles firmly in his jaws, daring you to come get it.

"Ooooh! I should have left you in the woods!"

His ears flatten back and his eyes get big, giving you the sweetest, saddest look you've ever seen...

And it definitely broke you.

"Ah... You little... mouth off my clothes!" You grunt, tugging the garment from between his teeth, groaning at the sight of tears from his fangs.

He dropped down onto his front paws, wagging his tail happily as he makes a playful whine and yip.

"Oi! Ya seem just fine now!" You scold the animal, shaking the torn kirdle in front of him.

It was true. In just one day, your furry companion seemed to have healed miraculously faster than what was natural. It concerned you... but you didn't feel threatened by the creature's playful antics.

If anything, having him around made you feel less... lonely.

Dinner was almost ready, a simple stew with vegetables and salted meats tossed in. You weren't sure if wolves could eat such a meal, but you would feel awful if you were eating and your new friend merely had to sit and watch.

You sigh and toss your clothes aside, watching with a snort as the wolf playfully dove for it, rolling around and kicking it with his feet as you used your ladle to scoop two bowls.

You curled your feet beneath you as you plopped a spoon into your bowl before placing the spare on the floor. Your wolf's ears perked up and he sniffed the air, licking his chops as he abandoned your torn-up kirdle in favor of investigating the food you placed for him.

You smiled around your mouthful as he accidentally dipped his nose too deep into the broth, whipping his head around with a heavy snort.

"Ah, that's not how you eat, by the way..." You hum innocently, and again, your wolf gives you an almost human reaction, flattening his ears back as he seems to glare at you for a moment, before lapping at the food, curling his tongue around to eat the bits of veggies and meat.

"Oh, I'd love to keep you, but you don't belong here, fella." You say, scratching his ear softly in an affectionate way. Your skin crawls when you hear a mournful howl travel from the forest, across the fields, and into your house.

Your wolf whimpers and looks at you.

"As soon as you're ready, I'll sneak you back out to the woods." You promise him.

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

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He looked out from the treeline, his glowing white eyes staring out from the darkness.

A large, fluffy animal--a gorgeous white wolf, fur stained with mud--sidled up next to him, ears flattened back.

"Still no sign of him?" He sighed, frustrated.

The wolf whimpered, his tail tucking and nose dipping towards the ground in a response that seemed to say "no".

"Damn it!" The man roared, his fists balling tight as he began to pace angrily.

"Still no sign of your third?" A deep voice rumbled from the trees.

He lifted his gaze to spot him in all his imposing glory--Khonshu; god of the night sky, the moon, justice and many things in-between. His lithe frame ominously perched on the limb of an ancient, thick tree. One of his legs dangled down while the other supported his arm, his dominant hand clutching his staff in a tight-fisted grip as he stared down at him.

But mostly, he was his fist of vengeance. He was dispensing justice against those who imposed their will on the weak; like the other Englishmen who oppressed the local populace with their threats of jail, execution...

He also had to deal with bandits. Bandits, constantly seemed to prey upon travelers trying to find better places to live, to eke out a livelihood to support their families.

But right now, he was on edge.

He was incomplete. He was missing a vital part of himself. Someone he would not be able to fully function without.

Finally, his tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth and allowed him to speak.

"No."

"He is alive. I can feel it." Khonshu sighed, almost sounding bored. "You and your wolves... Sometimes they are a gift... other times it is a curse."

It was true... there weren't many of his kind left, and they were useful as a commodity, but also a vast hindrance if they were separated. Very few were born after being hunted to near extinction, and even fewer still were bitten and turned.

He tipped his head to the side, "He will come back. But until then, we have work to do. There is a group of soldiers that have taken women and children from their homes. I'm sure you can deduce what it is that they intend to do to them. I want you to stop them and set their captives free." Khonshu tapped his staff against the thick bark of the tree, and in a sharp breeze, he vanished.

"Right..." He said, his throat tight; his body thrumming with anxiety, his hand shaking immensely at the strain of lacking such a vital part of himself. He wondered still, if he would be able to control himself, to hold himself back without him.

His wolf companion moved forward, nudging his snout into the palm of his hand, whimpering softly.

Sparing one last glance over the countryside, he made a hefty sigh.

"Where the hell are you?"

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Pt. 2: I will get to it eventually, I swear you guys

Extra super late author's note:

Yeah it's gonna be at least one or two more parts. I am gonna split it up to ease on the scrolling time for you guys! That and it feels neater than cramming so many lazy time skips into one post. I am going to get the rest of my drafts cleared (hopefully) and begin eating away some of those asks I have piled up in my inbox (that Tumblr didn't manage to delete by some miracle...)

My trip might be postponed, dealing with a lot at home, like me almost burning the house down today and almost passing out from the damn smoke because wooooo fire is bad

If I didn't have bad luck, I'd have none whatsoever!

[thisisarcanereverie]

Cutting Ties (DARK! Moon Knight x Reader) Part 3

A/N: I know, I'm back from the dead (shocker) I'm so sorry about the lengthy delay but here it is! This is Part 3 of a 3 Part fic. (Here is Part 2!) This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others.

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, slight suggestive content, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, I am also not responsible for your content consumption please be advised that this is a dark story with triggering elements, viewer discretion advised. English is my first language I just suck at it. No beta, we die like men! 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?

Weeks passed. 

You had begun to notice a pattern, similar to the one they had before, one day it would be Marc who woke you up with turkey bacon and eggs and slept by you with your hands in his hair and then Steven would take his place the next day with oatmeal with fruit in it in the morning and smothering you at night. The only difference was that Jake had yet to show himself since the night he brought you here. 

A small part of you was grateful for that but the larger (angrier) part of you wanted to see him again, if only to scream at him. However, you had to play this right, you had been working on both Marc and Steven on going to the doctor. You were careful, you knew if they said the wrong thing they wouldn’t go, so you played the part of loyal and dutiful girlfriend each day with a smile on your face and a calm, nurturing voice. Even your words were carefully thought out and rehearsed in advance, every time you mentioned the doctor you didn’t use isolating words like “you” and “me” or “I” instead using words that resembled unity and empathy (something they both had lacked in their childhood) such as “we” and “us”. With every sugared word you swallowed bile and chewed every insult into the insides of your cheeks. The Red Room was a vile place and you resent it with all that you are, but as you find yourself in this situation you couldn’t help but be thankful for their lessons in mental and emotional manipulation. Without them you don’t know what you would’ve done. 

However, as you lay there with Steven’s arm around your abdomen and your gaze fixed on the calendar that hung on the wall in front of you, you hope you can hang on another forty-eight hours, the day of the appointment. You purposely made it for a day. It would be Steven in charge of the body. He was easier swayed and manipulated than Marc. He would let you go with him to the appointment, he needs you at the appointment. You’re his angel, his love, you would hold his hand as he tells the doctor how badly he sleeps and as the doctor writes the prescription you’ll excuse yourself. It can’t be before the doctor writes the prescription, Steven will get nervous and start looking for you sooner rather than later, as the doctor writes the prescription however the appointment will essentially be over but not quite. He will have to sit there and get the prescription and go to check out where they will have him make another appointment for a check in with the doctor before finally having time to look for you in the stalls. It gives you thirty minutes give or take to escape the building without being detected and stealing a car to get to the next town over where you’ll call your ID guy. If the ID guy proves to be a bust you know Yelena was always on the lookout for ex-black widows and she might help you like Natasha did the last time you needed to disappear. The plan was complicated, sure, it required perfect timing and a shit ton of hope and luck, but it was all you had. You were no stranger to seducing, manipulating, and betraying. They were second nature to you, like a coat you’ve left in your closet for so long but it still fits like you've never abandoned it at all. Still though, you’ve never betrayed someone you had loved before, and the guilt at the thought of Steven’s confused and distraught face like the one he had at the apartment was almost enough to kill you. Steven was relatively innocent in all of this, this wasn’t his plan it was Jake’s. It wasn’t his fault that they shared a body. Still, freedom comes at a price and Steven, Marc, and Jake would never allow such a luxury. 

You find yourself slipping sometimes, finding yourself thinking it wouldn’t be so bad. That this life is exactly what you wanted to begin with, having your cake and eating it too. But you reminded yourself that this life was given to you without choice. That these men might love you in their own way, but all they want in the end is to possess you, to keep you whether it would be willingly or not, with chains or with vows. 

It was later than usual, you knew you needed to sleep. You need all the energy you can get, after escaping in a few days you will probably miss the bed seeing as you don’t know where you’ll be but in either case you doubt you’ll be sleeping with a quilt or a fluffy pillow for a while. You try to sleep, counting sheep proved fruitless and the warmth of Steven’s chest on your back caused your body temp to rise to an uncomfortable degree. But you tried to remain still, you’ve been under worse torture than restlessness and uncomfortable heat, you should be fine. 

…

You were wrong. 

Gently you tried to scoot away from him, hoping to catch some sort of reprieve to no avail. Tried extending your limbs to the cooler parts of your shared blanket in order to cool at least some part of you down but that only helped little, only one foot managed to break free from the too warm confines and that helped significantly but sleeping like that felt too weird (too many horror movies with Jake). You let out a little frustrated huff, your attempts to cool off were met with failure. You were so caught up in trying to cool off you failed to notice the slight stir in the man beside you until you felt his breath next to your ear. 

“Trying to escape again mi carissima?” 

Suddenly, you no longer felt the need to cool off. Instead chills ran down your spine as the urge to hurl crawled its way to your throat. Your body went stiff as you felt him move from your side to leave the bed. You avoided looking at him, the all too familiar feeling of fear and rage made you hesitant to gaze in his direction. You contemplated reaching towards the nearest object and throwing it in his direction. But you looked at the calendar instead, freedom was two days away, you can’t ruin it now by revealing your true feelings. So with a deep, shaking breath in you sat and mustered up all the love and tenderness you could as you gazed at him. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while lover,” you said affectionately as you imagined all sorts of violent, Taylor Swift worthy, things you would rather say to him, “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” you see him looking at you with apprehension, and what you could almost mistake for guilt. 

“I was giving you space,” he said as he changed out of his sweaty night shirt for a fresh one, your eyes lingered where his sleep pants hung on his hips. Damn, you had forgotten that while the man in front of you was certifiable, he was also hot as fuck, and that if he turned around you knew your eyes would follow south. You couldn’t help it, with hips and an ass like that how could you not look at it and go a little feral. 

“Well,” you cleared your throat a little, forcing your eyes to remain firmly on his face despite the almost magnetic force trying to pull your gaze downwards, “that was probably a wise idea.” 

“I thought I had to do this,” he says, Jake was never one to halfheartedly apologize when he doesn’t believe he should “for us.” 

“Still,” you said, hugging your knees to your chest, “don’t you think you should’ve brought it up with me? To give me a choice?”

“I’m giving you one now,” he said, eyes turning to you for the first time in weeks, “I wasn’t acting right before. I was angry and scared, you were going to abandon us like we didn’t matter. You weren’t even going to tell me the truth, you were going to leave that very night. I became rash, and crazy, and…” his eyes cast down towards the bunched up shirt in his hand, “I hurt you.” He tossed the soiled shirt into the laundry basket before turning his gaze back to you, “So I’ve been staying away, remaining a fly on the wall as I watched you with Steven and Marc. Punishing myself by seeing you but never touching you.” 

“If I didn’t know any better,” you said with anger rumbling in your chest, “I would almost call the tone in your voice remorse.”

“I apologize for hurting you,” he states moving to the side of the bed where he laid moments before, before sitting the mattress sinking with him slightly. “I regret that deeply but I don’t apologize or regret bringing you here.” 

“Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I am giving you a choice,” he said, eyes bearing into you, “now that you’ve lived here for a while, seen what our life can be like. Will you stay?”

What? 

Your eyes dart between his as your mind struggles to come up with any alternative motives he has behind this. He could be luring you into a false security, be sadistically playing with your feelings as a way to punish you further for trying to leave them behind. 

“What would you do if I went?” 

“I’d follow you,” he says with no hesitance, “I’d follow you anywhere mi carissima, from desert to tundra I’d follow you faithfully and without complaint.” his hands hesitantly grab yours, “I can handle myself, and so can Marc and surprisingly so can Steven. You don’t need to worry about us in a fight, but I will not force us to stay here. The choice is yours.” 

There was a lot to think about, there were many contradictory feelings swirling inside of you. A mix of shock, anger, and the tiniest glimmer of hope were the most prominent. You see his eyes and know he’s being honest. He won't force you to remain in this house they’ve built just for you, but he won’t let you leave him. Though, looking back you guessed you never did want to leave them anyways. You were going to leave to protect them and now that you know they were more than capable of protecting themselves…you weren’t sure. You could always lie and manipulate them further, then leave like you had planned to do since you got here. But you could also stay…you don’t know. 

“Do I have to decide now?”

“No,” he assured, “I won’t force you to,” he grabbed the spare pillow and throw blanket at the end of the bed, “I don't want you to get overheated again so I’ll sleep on the couch. So, don’t worry about making any decisions right now and try to get some rest…goodnight.” and with that he left. Leaving the door open behind him and leaving you in a state of shock and disbelief. You knew eventually you would have to see him again, he was a part of them but you’d never imagine it would go like this. You kind of imagined he would have the same look in his eyes like he did when he stabbed a needle in your neck, to act insane and possessive and obsessive and hold you hostage with no choice in sight. Except he just gave you one, something to ponder the next two days about. 

Dread fills you as the decision lies in front of you. Waiting for you to make a choice. 

Needless to say, you didn’t get any sleep that night. 

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The past two days passed in a blur before you were finally seated next to Steven as he answered the doctors medical questions regarding his overall health. Marc and Steven seemed to have calmed down slightly in terms of spending every minute with you and never letting you out of their sight. It was odd, and now you were conflicted. After Jake’s sudden (and brief) visit your mind had been running a million miles trying to figure out what angle he could be playing. Was this psychological warfare? Was he testing you? 

You excused yourself to the bathroom as planned once the intake was over, mentally your mind began counting down from thirty minutes as you stepped into the bathroom. As expected there were no cameras here in the women’s restroom, which was to your benefit, along with a window. It was smaller than you had expected but it was large enough for you to crawl out of. You were quick to silently click the lock on the door leading to the bathroom before you went to one of the sinks to turn the faucet on. Opening the window and crawling through was bound to make some noise and the rushing water was going to mute some of the noise you would be making. As your hand reaches for the hot and cold knobs you pause. Time was ticking away by the second, every minute you stood there undecided was a minute you could’ve had to get away. Yet here you were. Were you actually considering staying with them? 

It’s horrible, what a few acts of kindness can do. Giving you space, giving you a choice…and you’re a mess. Wasn’t that what you wanted to begin with? A choice? There are only two ways that this plays out, you know this. On one hand you go, you turn the knobs and you run, like you’ve always done, alone. There was no guarantee that Yelena would pick up, there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t be thrusted right back into the life of a mercenary, there was no guarantee that doing this would grant you the freedom you’ve fought so hard and yearned for so long for. Was it freedom if all you did was hide and run? What would happen if you stayed? Jake, Marc, and Steven were an unpredictable risk. Jake could be lying, you wouldn’t put it past any of them to lie and act in order to keep you, even Steven…on the other hand, maybe this was a pattern of yours. Maybe all you ever do in any situation is run, run away from every complex thought and feeling and you never turn back. Maybe the reason you never felt free was because you weren’t meant to be.  You can’t recall the number of times you’ve spent countless night staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, with gut wrenching guilt as you replay all the terrible things you’ve done as a widow; the people you’ve killed, countries you’ve lead into war that orphaned children, secrets you’ve both hidden and exploited. There were nights you’ve asked for some sort of punishment that would ease the guilt that was slowly killing you. Maybe this was it, maybe this was the punishment. 

Staying, knowing full well that this time there is no evil man behind you pulling your strings, that there was no one to blame but yourself for the outcome. Knowing that your last meaningful act of free will was to throw away the autonomy you had treasured as if it was something solid and tangible in exchange for a gilded cage with no means of escape and constantly wondering if you made the right choice. 

And never knowing if you did. 

Your shoulders slumped as the weight of it weighed heavily. What was it going to be? 

Freedom in exchange for redemption, or redemption in exchange for your freedom. 

You’re not as sly as you think you are–or–as you used to be. Jake had your plan figured out the moment you suggested Marc see the doctor for ‘sleeping medication’. He had to hand it to you, your manipulation tactics were impressive, the collective ‘we’ and ‘us’ and adoring looks and gentle touches were truly inspired. 

You silly, silly little spider…did you really think anything that Jake had told you was true?

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

Yes, he admits he may have fucked it up a little by going a little bat-shit crazy and sticking a needle into your pretty neck and forcing you into a home that wasn’t finished quite yet. But he made up for it, he let you get this far with your little trick. It was the least he could do, along with offering a fake choice. You weren’t even going to make it to the nearest payphone (which is surprisingly still functional given its obsolete status) before he dragged you back home kicking and screaming if that’s what it took. 

Still, though, he doesn’t like you kicking but as for the screaming (well, given the right circumstances he loves to hear you scream, especially when it’s his name)

So instead of outwardly calling your little game out, he decides to play along, acting none the wiser and giving the biggest performance of his life. 

He knows you like to think yourself a master manipulator, but the truth was that without the constant threat of death and Dreykov’s mind control, your manipulation skills have gotten rusty. A once sharp and carefully polished tool now dull and worse for wear. Against easily manipulated fools like Steven and (sometimes) Marc, it’s effective. But he was the only one who was truly your equal. Jake was the only one who truly understood you. Steven had false memories to comfort him and while Marc and Jake lived with the unhappy ones, and while he wasn’t perfect, at least their dad never forgot Marc’s birthday. Jake had no one, had nothing–not even his own body! Much like you did as a widow. You were the only person who could possibly understand him and by extension he was the only one to understand you. 

There is a strange power in being understood, it’s terrifyingly intoxicating, especially to one who is never understood. Jake had never been particularly interested in salvation or redemption in general, but you became his religion, the altar where he worshiped and the light that baptized him. Worshiping you was as easy as breathing, like it was what he was made to do. So he listened devotedly to every syllable from your mouth and he made a list of all you said. 

Jake had wanted to marry you before showing you the home he had built, (well him, Marc, and Steven), he had it all planned out, the only thing he didn’t plan for was that night. Suddenly his light was taken from him, his comfort, his home, his life was stripped away from him before he could utter a word. 

That would drive any man insane. 

He made a few questionable choices, sure, but he paid for them and now here was his reward. Driving back from the doctors with a prescription he doesn’t intend on picking up with you in the passenger seat. Willingly and holding his hand. 

He smiles, ignoring the way your eyes shine with unshed tears and how your fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls your hand for a kiss. None of that matters, you’re with him now. 

With no chance of escape. 

Ever again.

[silvernight-m]

Soft Jake Lockley is my religion!!!!

God I love him so fucking much!

Floorboards and Astroturf

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T•Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Jake has a surprise for you on a rainy day.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Short and sweet <3 (I hope)

Warnings: fluff, reader being a little grumpy, Jake Jumpscare, Jake calling reader 'amor', typos - my head is really not in the game atm, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 643

You were a little bummed out as you made your way home from work on Friday. 

Not because the traffic was bad (it was) or that the bus was late (as normal) and full to the brim (you did manage to find some space towards the back doors), but because it raining. 

And was going to continue to do so for the rest of the weekend. 

On Wednesday the weather forecast had said the weekend ahead would have clear skies. On Thursday it predicted sunshine. 

And now here you were with a full year's worth of rain over two days. Excellent. 

Not that weather patterns that changed at the flip of a coin wasn’t unusual. It was just that you’d planned to go on a picnic on Saturday with Steven, Marc, and Jake to Greenwich park. And now that definitely wasn’t going to happen. Unless you want wanted to swim there and back. 

So you were in a little bit of a bad mood when you got back to the flat. Shutting the door a little too hard, stamping your feet as you took off your shoes and sighing. 

You didn’t expect Jake to be grinning like the Cheshire cat right in front of you when you turned around. 

“Fuck!” You visually jump and Jake can’t stop a small chuckle. 

“Sorry amor, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Could have fooled me.” You said a little harsher than normal, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. 

He holds up his hands and smiles. 

“What are you doing there anyway, just… standing there?” 

“Waiting for you.”

You give him a look. 

“I heard your footsteps in the hall.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, and you decide to let his uncanny ability to differentiate individuals slip for now. “I have a surprise for you.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him as he steps forward and helps you out of your coat before handing it on the stand. 

“Thank you.” You mumble, starting to smile at how purposefully over the top he is acting, putting on a playful performance for you.

He takes you by the hand and leads you further into the flat. Once your field of vision isn’t blocked by Steven’s bookshelf you laugh quietly. A large grin spreads itself over your face, your shoulders relaxing. 

Jake smiles wider. 

He’s moved the furniture out of the way so that there’s a large space on the floor. There’s a large patch of floorboards that are covered with fake grass and topped with a tartan blanket. He’s also set up the mini projector with his phone, an image of a sunny park projected onto the bedsheet he’s draped over one of the bookshelves. 

By the blanket is a selection of food and drink, some that you purposefully bought for the weekend yesterday, and some that he’s obviously made today. 

“You like it?” He asks, eyes sparkling even though he knows the answer.

“I love it.” You say softly before you turn and hug him tightly. 

“I know you were disappointed about the weather…” he kisses your cheek. “I don’t deserve all the credit, Marc and Steven helped.” 

“Not true!” Steven suddenly chimes in.

“Came up with the idea and did it all himself!” Marc adds proudly. 

A touch of heat builds in Jake’s cheeks. “Yeah… well, you guys helped.” 

You giggle and kiss him lightly. “You’re the sweetest person in the world, Jake Lockley.” 

He grins, giving you another little squeeze and puffing his chest out a little. “I’m okay.” 

“The best.” 

He presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, but deep and longing. Slowly taking you apart with his tongue. “Does the best person get whatever he wants?” He teases. 

“I don’t know…” You pretend to think. “What does he want?” 

He nuzzles your cheek. “I think you have a rough idea.”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[kniferottt]

GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS

│ 𓆩𓆪 ; I'm lucifer or saint / she — her. scorpio. infp. 22.

Minors do not interact ; MDNI !!│My blog contains suggestive , dark , and 18+ content but it is not limited to it.│FLUFF ; ANGST ; SMUT — HEADCANONS ; DRABBLES (loosely used term) ; ONE-SHOTS etc.

© KNIFEROTTT. Please do not copy, modify, repost or translate my work. This is my only blog and I do not post content elsewhere.

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│ ⦻ ; languages, english and spanish.

blogs purpose, primarily x-reader. writing fanfic for fandoms and media I'm a part of / currently fixating upon, dead or otherwise. the occasional art piece.

requests rules, if you request please make it legible. if you have a specific idea in mind or want for certain details to be added, be certain to clarify. I tend to use expletives in my writing, if you do not want such language to be used please specify. If I am not comfortable with the request I won't do it. I love my anons !

requests availability, my requests are currently open unless stated otherwise and it will always be mentioned in my bio. I am currently in college and have a chronic condition. Writing will be posted depending on motivation, physical health, and schedule/workload. Please have patience. │ if requests are closed my inbox remains open regardless, I don't mind chatting.

fandoms, I write for lucifer ; ★sailor moon ; ★twisted wonderland ; ★ever after high ; JEM and the Holograms ; ★hollow knight ; overwatch ; ★lore olympus ; ★hazbin hotel ; ★rick and morty ; DC — batfamily.│ I am very selective in the fandoms I write for however If the media is not listed feel free to ask if I write for the media you have in mind, it is possible I could !

!¡ certain media due to limited information in canon, or things such as ages, and/or having problematic creators will be marked with a "★" to indicate those specific works while using the canon as a base will proceed with admin interpretation and independent portrayals. How distanced it becomes from the source material depends on the media. I do not support or associate with certain creators. all characters are adults in my writing !

MASTERLIST

│ ⦻ ; tba !!!

[stormyykat]

bc of loon knight as your icon and bc it's late af, i misread your header as 'autism be damned my moon can be a girl'

a win for avatars all over the spiral

[scarz-xo]

Taht’s a sickass gif in ur header where is it from :o

That's May Calamawy playing Layla from Moon Knight, she's an Egyptian-Palestinian actress too.

If I wasn't boycotting Disney and Marvel I would've suggested watching Moon Knight, great show in my opinion, Egyptian director, Egyptian composer, the Egyptian dialect was correct by all its users in the show.

The songs choices were also Egyptian (I know Warda is Algerian but the song is an Egyptian one, all love to Algeria).

I actually had a tote bag with a moon Knight design printed on it:

(Sadly I don't remember the artist to credit)

But it has done Egypt justice in most of its representation.

I still go back to the show as it brings me comfort tbh, I won't say more cause I would end up spoiling and I would hate to spoil such a great thing but we're still boycotting for the Palestinian cause as it's also May's home and what her and Oscar stand for.

[radioisntdead]

Could I request headcannons of the Hazbin Hotel Crew/Staffs and maybe others reactions to a batman or moon knight like hero appearing in hell and somehow drastically taking down its crime. (Let's just say they got the information from the news or word of Mouth)

I'm Batman [headcanons]

Warnings: reader's batman but more blood thirsty

Well, you'd have to admit falling to hell and immediately deciding to become a "hero" of sorts is one hell of a thing to do!

You honestly were expecting to see your deceased parents who died in your tragic backstory™ when you died but you were unfortunately meet with brimstone and sulfur instead!

You had practically nothing, no Alfred, no riches, no orphan children you adopted, just you and your insane spectacular sense of justice!

Honestly at first you didn't really catch the attention any of the hotel residents, sure there were whispers of you but it was assumed you were a up&coming overlord or something.

That was until a certain moth was taken out, brutally.

That certainly caught everyone's attention as more people looked into the type of folks you were taking out!

Not just sinners and overlords, but hellborn, like lmps, hellhounds, anyone you deemed criminal.

Honestly if you could leave the pride ring what was stopping you from trying to go after the sins?

As a side effect of your 'hero-ing' the pride ring's crime went down somewhat drastically, there was still the occasional terf war, or something of the sort but more people were careful about their crimes, nervous that you were near by.

Waiting.

Watching.

Charlie's thrilled about the decrease of crime! She's a little apprehensive about the vigilante methods that are causing it but she's choosing to look at the bright side!

Vaggie is on edge, there's still not much known about you aside that you dress like a bat and go after the more.. criminal sinners, she's worried you're going to target Charlie, not that you have much chance of harming her [despite the several plans you have, do you really think you could kill the princess of hell?]

Angel dust doesn't give a shit, he's grateful you permanently took out Valentino but he doesn't really care about the other shit you do, doesn't matter to him, he's enjoying having his soul back!

Alastor makes note of you, while he's not the main target of your little shenanigans, he IS an cannibalistic overlord who was a serial killer, it's not likely you'd be able to harm him but he prefers to keep an eye out, can't have you waltzing into the hotel and making a mess of the place!

Niffty's trying to figure out if you classify as a bad boy or not.

Husk doesn't particularly care about you or what you do.

Sir Pentious is chilling in heaven away from you. and his friends

Now if you ever decided to join the hotel, just to maybe keep an eye on things or maybe because you no longer have a little ol' mansion to live in and you are practically homeless in hell,

You are being watched

Mostly by Vaggie and Alastor,

Charlie tries to get you to chill out with the vigilante work, maybe you could not murder people!

It doesn't work, and for some reason you keep trying to get her to put on a costume and call herself Robin??

I imagine you brood in a corner while everyone else is being normal, going about their day.

You should've been there for extermination day! You would've taken out a ton of exorcists!

Good evenin' folks! It is good to be back on the air! Once again my apologies for my absence, but I am back again hopefully with a couple of fics that need to be edited and all that jazz, but for now I bring batman headcanons, I positively HAD to make this it's own header, I have no idea who moon knight is but I DO have some knowledge about Batman [and I may have rewatched the Lego Batman movie while writing at 3 am] these were a fun little thing to write before I get back into the groove of things!

Anywho thank you for tunin' on in, I hope you all have a wonderful night!