#Layla El-Faouly x Reader x Marc Spector | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loud-mouth-loser · 2 years ago

Text

not him

summary: you’ve been steven’s best friend for a while and have had a crush on him as long as you’ve known him. unfortunately, his eyes are on layla, his alter’s wife. let's just say, you’re not the only one put off by this. this is a story of how you and marc bond over your sorrows.

pairing: marc spector x reader

rating: angst

warning: drunk kiss, one-sided pining, (kinda) cheating, angst, feelings (?)

w/c: 2.7k

a/n: sometimes you just need to feel needed

part two

----

Steven is the type of guy who has no idea what to do with his hands. But when it comes to you, he’s all hands on deck. He’s touchy and you think it’s partially because he’s touch-starved.

And you are too, but in a different way.

Where he craves for touch, you simply cannot process the feeling. It’s foreign. Overwhelming. You’re just not used to it.

But you pull through it because you like him.

And he has no idea.

Steven Grant, the most clueless man in London, gently grasps your hand like you’re not about to keel over from the mere presence of him. You never imagined yourself harboring a massive crush on your best friend, but it’s happened. Or, it’s been happening.

Steven sees you as a safe and reliable friend – one that wouldn’t get the wrong idea if he were to cuddle behind you or play with your hair. And he’s right, in a way. You do understand exactly what his intentions are. And that is nothing.

You’re one to never get your hopes up. Preferring to expect the worst so you’re never disappointed in the end. So you’re fine just being there for him because you’d rather have him as a friend than nothing at all.

He’s adorable really. At first glance you may think he’s a quiet bookworm, looking for a nice spot against the wall to live out the rest of his days, but really, if you give him a chance, he’ll talk for hours. And you’ll listen.

He has a higher-pitched voice than you might’ve expected. His British lit takes it up a notch and you think it’s endearing. He can go on and on about different Egyptian mythological stories, telling each one with details that you swear can only be known by those who were actually there experiencing them.

His eyes light up with a sparkle of his own that you crave to see whenever he’s around. It’s that type of look that spreads his passion and curiosity to whoever's around. You’ve never experienced passion like that until you met him.

And you want more. You’ll always want more. But…it’s too late.

Steven is taken. No – actually he’s married. Well, let’s take a couple of steps back, he’s actually two guys: Steven and Marc.

Marc, the American pessimist, is actually married to a woman named Layla and has been for years now. He just decided to show himself out of the blue one day and now he’s part of Steven. Or he always was a part of Steven, just a hidden one.

Steven, the romantic he is, quickly clicked with Layla and has been chasing after her like a love-sick puppy ever since. And much to Marc’s displeasure, he’s formed a bond with her.

“...And we kissed, can you believe it?” There’s that sparkle again. “I swear to you, she has the softest, most wonderful lips.” He drones on and on about Layla and you can tell it’s all genuine and innocent, which makes it so much worse. “She’s strong and brave, and possibly the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.”

She’s…perfect.

The back of your neck prickles with heat as he continues, “I know I’ve only known her for a couple of months, but I think – no, I know that I love her.” There’s a tingle at the back of your throat that tightens at his words, threatening to burn your eyes with tears if you’re not careful. You swallow it back, jaw clenched to control yourself.

After a moment, his warm brown eyes bore deeply into yours, thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand. You force a small smile at him, holding back the urge to pull your hands away from his. “That’s great, Steven. I’m so happy for you.”

You’ve never been so jealous.

—

Turns out you weren’t the only one unhappy with the news. Apparently, Marc punched Steven in the jaw when it happened (meaning he technically punched himself), telling him to stay away from his wife, but, of course, that didn’t stop Steven and Layla from seeing each other after.

So that’s how you formed an unexpected friendship with Steven’s other half. It’s nothing like Steven and Layla, you are simply just friends. Disgruntled friends at that. Drinking buddies if you want to be more accurate.

You’ve shared a case of beer with Marc countless times. Steven sleeps early so as soon as 10 pm rolls around, you’re stuck with Marc. Well ‘stuck’ is a bit harsh, but being that Steven is your preferred company at any time of the day, it’s true.

But you’ll admit, it’s not that bad.

He actually talks to you, sometimes. You were surprised the first time you got him to open up about how he and Layla were married, but separated. Apparently, being the righteous man he is, he suddenly made the executive decision to move away for her safety, worrying that his work as an avatar could put her in imminent danger. No wonder Layla was less than jazzed to find out about his life in London.

You knew a little bit about Marc and the Egyptian god, Konshu, but because it has never really directly affected your life, you’ve never fully believed it. The random bouts when Steven has disappeared, however, have been worrying, but Marc filled in the gaps pretty well while making sure to refrain from sharing any sensitive information. You realize Marc probably doesn’t have many friends he can trust with any information at all, so you’re willing to stay and listen like you would for Steven. And it’s fine. You’re content with the dynamic.

Marc is just different. More serious, less…gentle.

But don’t get it wrong, Marc can be enjoyable, even funny sometimes. Sometimes. He has this dry sense of humor that you never expected from him and sometimes it feels like he’s actually engaging in conversation instead of him talking at you. And when he’s in a really good mood, he even flirts with you for the hell of it. You never take it seriously, but that is something Steven doesn’t like – and he hasn’t even seen the half of it. You brush it off, believing Steven is just being protective while Marc instigates as much as possible to get back at him.

Tonight is one of those good nights. It started normally: Steven went to bed, Marc got out of bed, and you’re now letting old episodes of a sitcom run in the background as you trade stories about the horrible drivers you’ve encountered in the past.

“ – Then the guy stops in the middle of the road, green light, and everything, and opens his trunk because he wanted to change his shirt!”

Marc’s eyebrows are high on his head as he listens animatedly. “Right there?” His hand is wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer that’s half-drained already. He’s on his fifth, you’re on your third. It’s one of the heavier nights, but neither one of you mentions anything.

“Yes! Right there!” You smile against the mouth of your bottle at the sound of his deep chuckle. It’s so different from Steven’s, but you still enjoy hearing it. Maybe even strive to hear it. You take a deep swallow of your drink then set it down on the crowded coffee table. It’s littered with books, bottles, and a few remotes for various parts of the tv.

“Did you drive around him?”

“No, he was taking up two lanes with his crooked-ass park job! Oh my god, people were so pissed, honking and yelling at the guy – He didn’t even care!” You like him like this, light and open, like everything in his past has evaporated off his shoulders. You can see prominent smile lines at the corner of his eyes as he laughs at the story. Sometimes you wonder who put them there. Steven or Marc. Or was it a joint effort?

The energy in the room dies down as you close the story, but it doesn’t bother you. You just wait for him to continue the conversation, to do his part. That’s how this works: you speak, then he speaks, then you go again.

But he doesn’t, not this time.

You look at him, expecting a dumb question or controversial take on something like usual, but he just stares right back, eyes half-lidded. You’ve never seen that look before.

There’s never any real silence when you and Marc hang out – and even when there is, there really isn’t. That’s why the TV is always on, so you never have space to think. Like really think. It’s like having music play as you eat dinner: the noise plays over the sounds of obnoxious chewing and utensils scraping against plates.

You need that sound. Without it, you wouldn’t be able to sit here next to him. But sometimes it’s not enough. This time it’s not enough.

This silence feels different, even as the muffled voice of the TV drones in the background. It’s unnerving and it settles around you, like fine dust over furniture.

“Is that a new shirt or somethin’?” He sits up slightly against the arm of the couch, eyes sweeping over your body, “I swear, I’ve never seen your cleavage from this angle before.”

“Marc!” You cross your arms over your chest, “Stop looking you perv!” Your face blooms with heat, though it’s already quite warm from the alcohol you’ve been drinking. He has a teasing grin on his face, but his eyes convey something else.

“Mhm…You wore that for Stevey didn’t you?” His words come out in loops, slurred slightly from the drinking challenge you had earlier in the evening.

“And?” Your ears burn as you confirm his suspicions, “What if I did?”

One of his eyebrows lifts in amusement, “You know he’s in love with my wife, don’t you?”

You frown at him, “Yes, Marc. I’m aware.” Your hand reaches for your bottle of beer if only to have something to look at other than those familiar eyes of his. The label is starting to rub off from the perspiration on the glass.

“Then why do you keep trying?” You feel exasperated. Why do you keep trying? You know Steven’s feelings and intentions, and none of them relate to you. You’re his best friend and he’s…well, he’s taken. You’ve never wanted to risk losing your friendship with him, but at the same time, you’ve never lost hope.

“I… don’t know.” Your skin itches. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. Usually, you and Marc would spend a few hours taking turns talking about nothing then you’d call an Uber home and see Steven in the morning.

“Well…He’s an idiot.”

“What –”

Marc sits up, body almost leaning into your space, “Steven has no idea what’s right in front of him.”

“Marc,”

A hand catches yours and you’re thrown back to that day when Steven told you his feelings for Layla.

You are sitting in the exact same position on the couch as that day: you and him, hand in hand and face to face. But this is different. This time Steven’s mouth is telling you exactly what you want to hear.

“You’re beautiful.” But it’s not him.

Marc’s gaze searches your face for a reaction, but all you can do is stare back and look into those soft brown eyes. They have that sparkle. The same look you’ve longed to be directed at you since you met Steven.

You almost give in to that look, wanting to soak in the eagerness flashing in his eyes, but you don’t. You try to take your hands from his hold but he pulls you closer instead. His face is barely a few inches away from yours.

“We shouldn’t…” Your voice is low in a mere whisper. Like you’re sharing a secret.

He smells like him, and he should, you suppose, but it’s still odd to think about how Steven and Marc share a body while being completely different people.

His eyes are different though. His brows sit lower, almost grazing against his dark lashes, infinitely more intense than Steven’s curious look. He’s more alert, or at least, less tired than Steven. And somehow, Steven’s sleepless eye bags disappear when Marc takes control.

But he also looks at you differently. At first, he didn’t look at you at all. He was standoffish, uninterested, and unimpressed. But now, his eyes bore into you and pin you in place. He’s more than looking at you, he’s devouring you. And you like it.

“We shouldn’t…” He echoes your words almost like he’s agreeing, but his eyes flit down to your parted lips directly contradicting your shared sentiment. “But I want to.”

“I-...” He follows your tongue as it pokes out and wets your lower lip nervously, his eyes are nearly glazed over with desire. His hand cups your jaw gently and he slowly tilts your face to look at him. You lean into his touch, craving the feeling of his calloused skin against yours.

Your eyes flutter closed as he leans in, but the kiss never comes.

Instead, a soft sigh brushes your mouth as he holds you close, barely a few centimeters from meeting your lips.

He whispers low with his eyes trained on your parted lips, voice strained with desperation and need, “Please…let me kiss you, sweetheart.” He sounds so broken, yet so sure of this. Like he’s been waiting for this his whole life. You let out a small whimper at his words, unable to hold in how much you want him. His forehead rests against yours, “Tell me you need it as much as I do.”

You attempt to push against him, to capture his lips with yours, but he doesn’t let you. His hand keeps you just far enough to keep you from what you want. “Please.” You beg. Rather than giving in, he parts even further from you and you’re met with that hungry look of his once more.

“Say it.” He sounds so serious, his voice low and rough, but you can tell he wants it as much as you do. He needs this. He needs to hear it.

“I-I want it.” Your hands come up to cradle his face, “I want you to kiss me, Marc Spector. I need you.” The last word is barely audible as you crowd closer to him, nose nudging against his as you lean in.

You feel yourself melt against him as his lips meet yours, warm, soft, and bitter from the beer. There’s an unexplainable feeling that zips up your spine when he kisses you back, hungrily moving his mouth against yours.

You didn’t know a kiss could feel this good.

There’s a push and pull as you move against each other. As the kiss deepens with desire it’s abated by a softened touch as light as a whisper. You love the small sighs he lets out when you sweetly pull back, letting him chase your lips for softer, more playful nips. And then the deeper sounds when you’re flush against him, eagerly drinking him in.

By now, you’ve been pulled onto his lap, legs straddling comfortably over his. His chest rumbles with a groan as your tongue brushes against his, desperately taking in his intoxicating taste. You lean further into him, needing to feel his body against yours.

Your hands drift from his jaw into the soft curls of his hair, tugging gently at the ends, if only to hear that breathless groan of his once more. His hands wrap around your waist and drop to squeeze at your hips, holding you closer as if you aren’t already fully against him.

At some point, you have to break the kiss, if only for a second of air. You look at each other breathing heavily, wrapped around one another, unwilling to part any further.

Silence hangs in the air, but it’s light. Barely even there.

You look at him, and he looks right back, lips swollen with love, or at least the adjacent.

You let out a breath, more like a sigh of relief, when you see it: that sparkle. It’s still there.

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #steven grant x layla el faouly

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angel-of-the-moons · 20 days ago

Note

Agsfgs

He's a god of fertility, among other things

Imagine if Y/N prayed to Khonshu for their own fertility and just

Khonshu appears, offers them help with fertility, he gives them a few options. Just the regular magic method of helping or he physically helps them get pregnant... with his child, of course

Like, hot, but also can you imagine praying to a god, they show up and basically say "okay I can help you the normal way, or we can do this the fun way and make a baby together"

Obviously Y/N agreed to have a kid with him cuz like. C'mon. Look at him

He's of course a very attentive father and partner afterward. He's not blind to the struggle new life brings along with the joy

Okay, okay, I know this isn't exactly what you were picturing but--

Wings of A Prayer

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Infertility problems, mentions of miscarriages, self-doubt, depression, suicidal thoughts, sort of alcoholism, fluff, hinted at sexy times but nothing is pictured, Marc and the boys learn that there's more to the pissy old bird than meets the eye! (Naturally canon-fudging and merging with the comics again) And a major time skip! My personal headcanon that Khonshu looks like Oded Fehr rears its head once more!

A/N: Whew... this one is long! Surprisingly, no smut in this one. But I realized I am sorely lacking on Khonshu fluff since y'all are almost always just as horny for him as I am. I also did some research and... Wow. Some scary stuff. I'm sorry if this strikes a painful chord with some of you. I had to stop writing this a few times and take a break because it was making me tear up.

It had been... horrible, to say the least. Your life had been one giant trainwreck so far. Your heart had been wanting for something for so long, and... Well...

Your apartment was a gray, flat... hollow living space to you. It was lacking in... something. And that something was a giggly, chubby, cuddly little person. You thought about getting a pet, but... there was an itching inside of you. And itching for something--someone--of your own.

You had been living on your own since cutting off contact with your parents; and dating had been an absolutely dog shit experience since your teen years. But as you got older, and your friends all went their separate ways, living their own lives and starting their own families, you realized... You wanted that. To be the home you never really had growing up, a source of unconditional love and understanding.

You weren't stupid--you did your research beforehand, looked into every legal document you could. Instead of getting pregnant, you'd looked into fostering or adoption.

But you just... you couldn't afford it. The cost of adopting would have bankrupt you, and your increasing financial instability as the economy fluctuated was an obvious deterrent for most agencies. The same was for fostering--you simply worked too much to bre as present as they wanted you to be for a foster placement. And it didn't help that your particular neighborhood wasn't... stellar or "perfect" for a growing child.

The worst insult, perhaps, was when you looked into IVF after adoption and fostering were out of the question. It sounded like the best option, and so you went to your doctor. As uncomfortable and relatively invasive as the pelvic exam and tests were, your doctor assured you a pregnancy was easy enough to accomplish with the fertility treatments if you were able to get into a program.

Only... you hadn't. Your insurance wouldn't even cover half of the procedures, and your heart was sinking at the thought of going bankrupt and not being able to afford the child you so desperately wanted.

That was a low blow, but, you knew you still had options. You could get pregnant naturally. The real trick was finding a man who was willing, healthy, and responsible enough to agree to father your child.

As distasteful as sleeping with someone relatively strange to you was, you made the decision to be tactful. You made a profile on a dating website with the clear intentions that you wished to find a partner that was clean of any STIs, drug or alcohol addictions, and wouldn't cause problems for you if the impregnation was successful.

And of course, you assured that should they not wish it, you wouldn't put them on a birth certificate or come after them for child support. It would be difficult, surely, but you knew you could manage. There was always well-fare and WIC to help out with needs, as well as a few charities you could apply to. Your elderly neighbors even agreed to watch over your baby when it was born because they didn't have any grandchildren of their own; and the presence of a baby would brighten up their droll days when you needed the occasional break.

When you found a partner who was ready and willing to commit to your "requirements"--especially the STI tests with you present to be sure they were not lying--you both agreed to meet several times a week at his apartment to get down to business.

You planned your meetings carefully around your ovulatory and menstrual cycles, drank and ate anything that supposedly "boosted fertility"; and took every vitamin under the sun to help ensure it.

And then, you got the most wonderful news. You had been late on your period for nearly two months. Missing the first month wasn't a cause for alarm; after all, you had relatively irregular periods--which your doctor assured were because of stress and diet problems--and you weren't insistent upon a pregnancy test until you began to get sick during random times of the day or night and your body began to ache in places it hadn't before, such as your breasts.

You got your blood tested at your doctor's office and sure enough... you were pregnant! You reached out to the father when you got home, and after some arrangements, he agreed to send an unofficial check to you for the baby at the start of every month, but he wasn't sure if he could promise to be present for their childhood; which worked fine with you. It was more than you expected, anyways.

You immediately began to budget, alongside with the financial aid of the father of your baby, and began to prep your bedroom into a shared nursery for your impending arrival.

And as you were settling into your new routine and adjusted workload, you awoke during one night with intense vomiting. As you perched over your toilet bowl, pain began to radiate from your abdomen and deep into your body and pelvis, like sharp, pulsing, searing pain from inside of you.

It wasn't until you stood up to wash your face and brush your teeth that you realized you were bleeding. Your sleep shorts stained a disturbing shade of red. You immediately panicked; and simply ignoring the cost of an ambulance, you called 911, and phoned the father of your baby as dread began to soak into every pore.

It wasn't for several hours after all the tests and exams that the doctor from the ER finally came in with a sad, pitiful look on her face as she delivered the news.

You lost your baby.

It felt like the world opened up beneath you and you were swallowed by a void. You didn't even know you screamed until your vision went black around the edges; prompting you to take a much-needed breath. The father of your baby was sympathetic, he talked calmly to you, rubbing your back and speaking with the doctors for you while you struggled to cope.

They kept you for another day (after giving you some pill) to make sure you... passed the remains of the fetus so you didn't get sick from retained products of the conception.

You fell into a deep depression after that.

Weeks afterwards, you were a drone. You woke up, ate, worked, showered, slept, and performed the same duties again and again as if you were on autopilot. The father of your baby, Alain, checked in on you now and again, and at some point even introduced you to his new girlfriend (who was confused by the awkward situation at first, but in seeing what had gone wrong in your life, felt more pity towards you than anything).

Your elderly neighbors cried for you, made you food when you felt the absence of the want to cook or eat; and said they would offer up prayers for you.

You began to hide how... rotten you felt on the inside, after that. You feigned your old, "normal" behavior if not to just get everyone to stop treating you like some... Faberge egg that needed delicate handling. A doll so fragile from trauma and abuse you had to be put on a pedestal to avoid getting any more broken.

But deep inside you, that raw, twisted, pained feeling festered like a bad wound. It worsened when you discovered that your doctor had been horribly, profoundly wrong.

Your reproductive organs weren't in "perfect, healthy" shape. You had uterine scarring that appeared to line up with what was called Asherman's Syndrome. Your uterine cavity, as such, had a buildup of scar tissue and caused it to shrink, and the resulting damage is what likely triggered your miscarriage.

The doctor that had diagnosed your condition became suspicious, and called for an investigation into your primary doctor.

Turns out, he was responsible for many, many misdiagnoses on over a dozen patients. Many of which required some women to have hysterectomies done to save them; or have to be rushed into cancer treatments immediately. One had unfortunately lost her life due to a misdiagnosis and a fallopian torsion that wasn't treated in time. She left behind a husband and three little children who had to grow up without their mother.

The resulting lawsuits caused a media circus; and once again your life was thrown into disarray when you decided to be a part of it, having to recite the trauma of losing your poor, little baby to a bunch of strangers.

Your heart festered with rage. If you had known that your body was incapable of the one fucking thing it should have been able to do naturally, that you were one different decision away from the heartbreak you now suffered--you would never had tried to get pregnant. But like many of his patients, you took his word for it because he seemed so trustworthy. And if you couldn't trust the person your health was so reliant upon... who could you trust?

The doctor lost his license, and went to jail for the wrongful death, medical negligence and manslaughter of the woman he failed to properly diagnose and failed to treat.

The settlements were of little comfort to you all; those who suffered now-lifelong health problems, the family mourning a beloved wife and mother... and you, who mourned the life of the baby you never even got to feel kick, let alone name.

Your neighbors, Ebony and Malcolm Harris; Alain and his now-fiance, Amelia, had formed a bit of a cushion around you. Having an explanation for your misfortune, and then the financial boost from the punishment of the one responsible aided the pain somewhat... But it still hurt you so, so much.

Part of the settlement included paid-for counseling for those affected, and you took it. As dry and sour as it felt to yet again revisit the pain, you went through it.

But it still didn't help you when you looked at the toys, the unused clothes and set-up crib still sitting in your room, never to be used.

You spent a lot of time on the roof of your apartment building, contemplating... something. You wouldn't take the pills the doctor gave you. All they did was make you feel groggy and... numb. That felt worse than the guilt and grief, it didn't help.

You weren't sure anything would. You just wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to feel something, again.

You just wanted to be a mother.

"Oh, she's so... she's so..." Ebony sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief. Malcolm sat next to her, rubbing her shoulders and sniffling himself. They loved you like their own child. They had none to speak of, since their son died overseas almost 20 years ago. You were the first person whom they felt a familial connection with--who didn't treat them as pitiful, childless old folks who were one bad day away from a nursing home.

"We're so scared for her," Malcolm whispered, pursing his lips. Just like his wife, he loved you like a daughter, too. And seeing you so consumed with pain and want hurt him badly. "She's hurting so badly."

"She wanted to be a mama so badly!" Ebony warbled, her wrinkled hands trembling as her husband held her. "That poor baby just wanted her own baby! She was so excited! Showed us everything, talked about it--I even started knitting a blanket!"

Malcom's own nearly-withered features twisted in sympathetic agony, "Please... is there something--anything--you can do for her? Help her, somehow? Like you helped us?"

The man sitting behind the desk kept his hands linked together as he peered over them at the couple. It was true. He had helped them.

When Ebony grew I'l and eventually required dialysis, her body had been becoming increasingly weak and fragile; they were left without options. They tried prayers with pastors and in churches--but it didn't exactly do much with an absent god ignoring another desperate worshipper.

They were nearing the end of their rope when they heard through some whispers about him--the enigmatic "Dr. Moon".

They had only seen his face once, and that was after Ebony was miraculously cured following his strange "treatments", her kidneys back to functioning better than they had in her early 30s. After that, they attended private prayer sessions with him, the second high priest, after Marc Spector, whom he had only really interacted with a handful of times... And did not like how often he went against their god, Khonshu's word.

Begrudgingly, "Dr. Moon", later known to be one Yehya Badr, had started what would be known as the "Midnight Mission" with Spector. In his constant absence, the two agreed that it would work better if Yehya saw to the Mission while Marc traveled to hunt the cult of Ammit, and Khonshu's former high priest, Arthur Harrow.

And, while watching over the Mission and the innocent people... Yehya used his healing abilities and decided to open a free clinic from within the holy place. Many were hesitant to accept treatment from a religious institution, but soon patients and potential followers alike began to trickle in from the streets. People like Ebony and Malcolm.

Yehya felt for the couple and the story they now told him, his brow creasing beneath his white mask, mouth twisting into a pained frown. You sounded on the brink--ready to take one last hurdle into the beyond for the sake of the child you never got to hold.

"Healing something like that..." Yehya sighed sadly, standing up from his chair. The wheels squeaked softly as he pushed it back, and walked to the window that overlooked the street below. "...it won't be easy. I may not be able to do it alone, like when I treated you, Ebony."

"Can't you--can't you call on Him, again? Like you did before?" Malcolm pleaded earnestly. The love these two elders had for you touched him, made his own heart squeeze in his chest.

"Please... if--if His power can come from love, just--just take ours and give it all to her... please!" Ebony sniffled, burying her face in her hands.

Yehya swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly pulled his mask away from his face, walking over to take their hands in each of his. He could feel their heartache through their frail and gentle grip.

"I will see what I can do. Your faith--and love--might help this young woman you two adore so much. But I cannot predict how Khonshu will help her, should he choose to directly get involved."

Another repetitive day. You managed to force yourself to eat some takeout you had leftover from last night and microwaved that for dinner, eating alone in front of your TV as it droned on with some boring reality show you weren't really paying attention to anymore.

For the eighth time that week you contemplated packing away and donating all the baby items in your apartment. But every time you touched them you just broke down into a sobbing fit; your heart rending itself from the reality of what had gone wrong with you.

You couldn't even bring yourself to go into your bedroom, anymore. Everything was in there.

So, you'd taken to sleeping on your couch for the past few months. You only went into your room long enough to get things you needed, clothes and the like (the former just sitting in clothes hampers unfolded after laundry days) before fleeing in the bland space that was your meager living room.

After you finished eating, you sipped at the hard lemonade in your hand. Drinking to cope was bad, but something inside of you kept you from relying on it too heavily. And you never drank to get drunk; only enough to fuzz your senses enough to let you sleep on some nights.

And tonight was one of those nights.

You were on your fourth lemonade when the lights began to flicker in your apartment; your TV freezing frames when it began. Maybe your landlord was fiddling with the power to the building again?Had a fuse blown to the building? Whatever...

"I don't need this right now..." You grunted, taking a deep swig; one mouthful closer to the bottom of the bottle.

"Wasteful." A disembodied voice rumbled, making a chill creep up your spine.

"I... What--" Your head whipped around as you tried to figure out where it had come from--your TV was still frozen, so it couldn't have been that--you were still relatively sober so it couldn't have possibly been drunken hallucinations.

Suddenly, you jumped and yelled in surprise when the bottle went flying from your hand and smashed to bits on the wall, the drink within running down the drywall in rivulets from the impact.

"What the f--"

"My priest told me of you," The voice hummed. It felt as if something unseen was circling you like a predator does with its prey. "And of the pain you have endured, little one. There are those close to you who pleaded for my aid to help you, to heal you."

You felt the presence stop behind you, crowding you in and making your blood still within you; but you just couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The lights flickered weakly once more before going dead, as did your TV, swallowing you in darkness.

As your eyes adjusted to the inky darkness, this voice's words sunk in. "Heal you". "Help you".

"Who are you?" You swallowed.

"I am the god, Khonshu. I protect the innocent, I bring justice. I heal those that ask for it."

Yeah, no. You must have slipped and hit your head. You remembered Ebony and Malcolm saying they'd pray for you--but this was... this was impossible! But... some aching, gnawing, painful part of your heart begged for you to hear the voice out.

"How could you..." You cleared your throat, trying not to sound as scared as you felt. "How could you help me?"

"That remains to be seen." The voice replied with a thoughtful tone. "How do you wish for me to help you? I was told but precious little of your story--only from those around you. Not from you. What is it you wish my aid for?"

Your eyes slowly move to where you instinctively knew your bedroom door was. Even in the dark, you could feel the depressing aura clinging to the space call out to you like a siren in the black sea. The voice seemed to be able to "see" what you were looking at, as well.

Somehow--this Khonshu knew immediately what you were too scared to voice.

"I see." He told you, his voice growing soft and somber, if a touch sympathetic. His presence leaned away from you.

"You wish for me to heal the damage done inside of you?" He mused gently, "To enable you the ability to bear a child? It is easily enough done; but I sense something else bothering you."

Your hands knotted in the hem of your shirt; your stomach twisting itself into a nasty ball of writhing, anxious snakes.

"I... I can't go through it all, again." You croaked, your voice coming out hoarse. "The stress of finding... I just... I can't. It just... I don't want to--to risk it happening all over again, even if..."

"I see..." He murmurs again, giving you your space to breathe, "Then there may be another option--a guaranteed method--to ensure a healthy pregnancy and a healthy child..."

The way your heart hopefully leapt within your ribcage almost hurt--your stomach dropping into a pit. Sure, you may be going crazy and this could be a hallucination... But would it be so bad to give in, to live in some fantasy to alleviate the pain and grief you've been suffering with for nearly over a year?

"So you... you're... offering to... what, be the father of my baby?" You whispered.

A feather-light touch brushed your arm, the feeling warm and gentle on your skin, "Only if you wish it. I can help you, but only if you want me to. I can heal you, but only if it was what you truly want. When a child is produced, I will ensure there will be no struggles for you and the babe."

"You... promise? That it'll work?"

"I swear it."

You swallowed. Thinking hard.

But some part of you had already made a decision--and that part of you spoke: "Okay."

"Very well, then..." Khonshu murmured.

In the span of a breath, you felt large, warm arms wrap around your waist, tugging you close. And then, the next thing you knew... you were laying on your back, in your bed, with him hovering above your in the dark.

Even with the dim lights in the streets below barely filtering in through your blackout curtains, you couldn't clearly make out his appearance. The shadows that were being cast merely gave you an image that couldn't possibly have been true.

"Can I see you?" You whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Only if you wish it." He reminded you softly, his hand caressing your hip, beginning a slow, sweet trek up beneath your shirt.

"I do."

The dim light of the candle at your bedside table flickered to life--the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla filling your senses.

You finally got to see him. And you weren't afraid.

Marc felt uneasy as soon as they got off the plane, and Layla soothed him with a touch as she linked her fingers with his. He didn't like being here--the city was teeming with cruelty and injustice... and he knew Khonshu wouldn't let him rest long. Him, Steven, or Jake.

"Marc, just breathe." Layla said to him as she adjusted the strap of her travel bag with one hand, her other squeezing his. "It'll be fine. If Khonshu has a problem with you taking it easy--"

Layla scoffed, blowing a puff of air from out of her cheeks as they walked out of the terminal, Marc hauling their suitcases behind him, their wheels squeaking sadly beneath the weight. Some of their less... legal belongings were being smuggled in and would be delivered to their destination later in the night.

"Well, the old bastard can deal with it. I'ma here, and I'll pick up the slack if I gotta." She assured him.

Marc's shoulders sag; he can feel Jake plucking at the edges of his mind, giving him gentle reassurances and his oath that if anything happened; he would be the one to bear the brunt of Khonshu's work in his stead. Even Steven spoke up to voice his assurances that all would be well--after all, they had Layla with them!

"Yeah," He sighed, smiling at her and bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, "You're right. It's also just..."

"Just..?" She led on, quirking a brow at him.

"The last time Badr and I spoke, it kinda ended in a fist fight." He smiled warily.

"Oh, gods, of course it did..." She snorted.

"I mean, I shattered his nose and he broke one of my knees, so... Yeah. Bad." Marc grinned, earning an elbow to the ribs from his lovely wife.

"Can it, Spector. Don't make me worry about you even more!" She laughed with him.

"Ouch!" A man holding a dry erase board laughed; the writing on his sign clearly stating "SPECTOR" in bold black letters on it. He stood in front of a pristine white car. It was Marc's. Or, well... apparently it was Jake's... A purchase he'd made without Marc's knowledge at some point... like the limo back in London.

Jake would apparently make spare cash when he would take over while Marc slept and Steven lay buried. All without their knowledge, of course...

"Hitting you with the Spectorrrr, is she?" Jean-Paul grinned, his thin, pointed mustache quirking like a fidgety caterpillar. "So cruel!"

"Well, he deserves it." Layla grinned, leaning in to hug him, "Frenchy! So good to see you! How've you been? How's Rob?"

"Happy as a clam in some nice clean water! And my physical therapy has almost concluded." Jean-Paul smiled, kissing each of Layla's cheeks in an affectionate greeting when she asked about his lover.

He lifted his eyes to spot Marc, bringing him in with a closed fist to give a shoulder-hug, "I'm glad you've gotten yourself sorted, Marc. Rob and I were worried about you!"

"As sorted as a guy with two other guys living inside his head that's in service to a pissy god can be, anyways..."

"Ahhh... Right. Right." Jean-Paul said, clicking his teeth as he popped the trunk to the car so Layla and Marc could load their things up. He opened up the back door for them to climb into the backseat."

"Hey, I can always drive us, Duchamp." Marc smirked at him, the corners of his eyes creasing in humor, "After all... it is technically my car."

"No, no--" Jean-Paul grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Let me do it, c'mon. It gives me something to do, today!"

Layla nudged Marc with a giggle and he relented, climbing in behind her.

Marc sighed as Jean-Paul helped them unload their bags, his eyes following Marc and Layla's to the building in front of them; the doors decorated with carved crescent moons in the frosted glass.

He had been to the Midnight Mission only a handful of times--and every one of those times was to assist Marc as his pilot during intense missions for Khonshu. And he of course met Yehya Badr, the two men had a respectful relationship. He himself had conducted a few healing rituals to help with the phantom pains Jean-Paul occasionally felt in his legs.

But he knew that Badr and Marc didn't always get along; Yehya being a die-hard and devout follower of Khonshu and Marc being a bit of a renegade who tended to go against his word and do things his own way. And he knew it had been a few years since the two parted on... well--rather bad terms.

"Well, better get the torture and inevitable lecture over with..." Marc grunted, shouldering one of the duffels. Layla helps gather the rest, letting Jean-Paul close the door and trunk.

As they crossed the threshold, Jean-Paul winced, "Oh, right! There's something you should know about, by the way..."

Marc looked at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Well, Yehya isn't the only one who lives in the Mission anymore." Jean-Paul grinned as their floors squeaked on the waxed marble floors.

"Okay, and...?"

He rubbed his mustache with his index finger, smiling a little bashfully as he looked away. "Well, er... it's kinda... Uh, awkward... Well, I mean, that is--"

"Spit it out, Frenchy." Layla smiled, rolling her eyes.

A door could be heard swinging open from somewhere down the hall as they leave the foyer, and Frenchie laughed, grinning from ear to ear as a small, rambunctious human suddenly appeared, colliding with Marc's legs and wrapping her arms around his legs and giggling.

"Daddy!" She giggled excitedly, rubbing her face on his jeans.

Marc on the other hand, began to immediately panic--his eyes going wide as he looked to Layla, whom in turn looked at Marc with her eyebrows risen the highest on her brow Marc has ever seen--awaiting an explanation.

Marc began to sweat, "Baby, I swear to God I didn't--"

The child looked up at him, and frowned. Her little brows creased and she pouted, her bottom lip poking out as she studied Marc. "...Oh." She said dejectedly, sighing deeply. "You're not my Daddy."

Marc's heart felt like it was gonna explode--Jake and Steven had come to co-front to see what all the fuss and anxiety was about. Steven immediately began to go on about how darling the girl was, her shiny and clear her eyes were--how smart and at the same time seemingly ancient they looked. Like polished obsidian stones, a dazzling array of lights shimmering from somewhere deep within.

Jean-Paul laughed and clapped his hands, his face turning red from the force of his laughter. The child brightened up and rushed towards him, allowing him to scooped her up and swing her in a circle, "Hello, petit gâteau!" He crooned, kissing the girl's cheeks.

"Uncle Frenchy!" She giggled as he swung her around one last time before setting her down.

"Yes, yes, it's been a while! A whole week!" He grinned down at her, letting her hang off of his hand. She swung from it for a moment, studying Marc and Layla curiously, the fabric of her dress flowing almost like water as she did so.

"This is--well, I guess this could technically be your... er..." Jean-Paul smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your big brother Marc? And Layla, his wife."

Marc and Layla's jaws dropped, their confusion and curiosity only growing more and more.

(Oh, this'll be good...) Jake snickered, rubbing his chin. Through their reflections in a nearby portrait, Marc could see Steven elbow him.

'Ay, lay off! We can be curious without bein' rude about it, yeah?' The Brit huffed.

Jean-Paul was about to explain, but...

"Savah!" You sighed in relief, running out to see them. You knew Jean-Paul, from his healing sessions with Yehya and how he loved to babysit your daughter. He was apparently a trusted friend and ally of "Moon Knight's" so you knew he was harmless.

"I... agh. I'm so sorry if she jumped you..." You smiled apologetically at them as you scooped her up, bouncing the tot on your hip as she giggled into her hands. "We were playing hide and seek--and she must have slipped out when I wasn't paying attention!"

Steven couldn't help but squee at how adorable the girl was, Jake had to concede that, yes... she was stinkin' adorable. Even Marc was having a hard time arguing the point, and he was very, very awkward with kids.

"Savah, it's one thing to go up and hug your Uncle Frenchy, but it's another to go up to strangers you don't know." You say, gently scolding her. Her little grin falters, and she frowns cutely.

"I felt it... I thought it was Daddy..." She mumbled, plucking at one of the buttons in your blouse.

"Felt" it?" You asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back at Marc and Layla.

"Right! That brings us to the introductions, eh?" Jean-Paul spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "This is Layla el Faouly--er, well, actually Spector now, ain't it?--and Marc Spector, her husband. He's the Moon Knight."

Marc jumped, his eyes going wide at how casually Jean-Paul had introduced him with his mystical alter-ego, barely even registering it when he introduced you by name; "And this lovely little bon bon, is Savah, her daughter."

"Ohhhh..." You said, your posture relaxing, "That's why she got her "funny" feeling! Sorry, she thought you were her dad."

"I, uh... No harm no foul, but..." Marc laughed nervously, smoothing his hair back, "I could've lived without the heart attack of me possibly blacking out and oops'ing a baby with somebody at some point in time..."

Layla actually laughed, "Oh, please... like you have game with anyone but me, Marc."

He looked at Layla and deadpanned; "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised at how many people swoon for Jake's "Spanish charm"."

You blinked, looking at Jean-Paul for an explanation, and he gestured to continue down the hall, "Ah... let's go and... get some tea, hm? Explain a little bit."

"Right, right, I've never actually met this one." You reply, nodding.

"Mhmm, and he definitely doesn't know about you."

Basic introductions happened over warm cups of tea in one of the furnished rooms off the foyer. Badr had shaken hands with Marc, surprisingly polite and almost friendly before he briefly turned his attention to little Savah, helping fix her doll she had accidentally popped the leg off of when she got too rough, and ruffled her hair before leaving once more.

However... Jean-Paul had yet to fully introduce the two of you to the couple. He mostly let Marc and Layla explain who they were, and what they had been doing. Since obviously, you were so trusted as to even know about Yehya's identity as Hunter's Moon; they trusted to tell you about hunting Ammit, and ultimately defeating her.

It was less than an half an hour after that, that Savah suddenly perked up again, hopping up and down into place, her eyes sparkling even brighter. The glimmering lights in her dark depths caught Marc's attention, stopping him dead in the middle of his sentence, "Uh..."

"Oh... look's like he's home after all... wonder what he was waiting for?" You muse, smiling at your daughter happily, watching her as she ran to the door when it began to open.

A man walked in, then; with tanned ski, graying black hair, and a short beard walked in; his white suit crisp and immaculate. His hazel eyes were stern, his chiseled features only softening as Savah rushed up to him, holding her arms up expectantly until he picked her up and cradled her body gently against his, kissing her forehead gently.

"Daddy!" She squealed, giggling as she tried to wrap her tiny arms around him. It was now pointedly obvious this man was indeed to be her father--especially because of how many of his facial aspects she had. She had your skin tone and hair color, but certainly had his looks...

You rose from your cushioned seat and walked over to them, brushing your nose affectionately against his with a smile as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

"See? See?" Savah said excitedly, grinning like mad. "I told you I felt Daddy! I always do!"

"Yeah, you do, munchkin. Yeah, you do." You snorted, shaking your head.

Jean-Paul cleared his throat and awkwardly stepped around the three of you; "Well... I guess I don't have to do the rest of the introductions after all... I'll see you two later!"

"Bye bye!" Savah called out to him as the door shut with a faint click behind him.

Savah's father looked at Marc with a rather bored expression, almost... annoyed, really. Gave Layla the same look, as well. Marc rolled his shoulder stiffly, suddenly very uncomfortable under his unflinching gaze.

"It took the both of you long enough to get here." He said in almost a sneer; his voice unmistakably, painfully familiar.

Layla and Marc shot to their feet, almost falling over themselves as the realization dawned on them. Jake and Steven were in an uproar within Marc's mind.

"Khonshu?!" They both cried.

His brow quirked upward in an unimpressed gesture, "Gah. How can you two be so perceptive when hunting artifacts and evildoers, but cannot pick up on this? I am disappointed in you, Marc. You should have figured it out, first."

"Th-that's why her... her eyes--?!" He sputtered.

Finally, the corner of Khonshu's mouth tilts upwards in a cocky smirk; his eyes flashed an almost blinding white. And when Savah looked at the both of them, they could see the lights in her eyes swirl and shine even brighter in tune with Khonshu's, shifting and dancing until they briefly solidified in an unmistakable crescent-shape before parting in a fractured dance, again.

"Yes, this is my daughter." He stated proudly, his arm tightening around you a fraction, "And my wife."

"Wife, huh? When did that happen?" You snorted, giving him a snarky look.

"I assumed it happened sometime after Savah was born." He hummed, his snark matching your own, "After all, you live under my roof, mother my child, sleep in our bed..."

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him, "Smartass."

You looked at the couple across the room and smiled awkwardly, "I never did get to explain much... But, since that's outta the way... mind explaining to me why there's such a weird vibe in the room, right now?"

Marc and Layla merely blinked at you, before once again exclaiming in unison:

"You had Khonshu's god-baby?!"

#🌙 answered #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #layla el faouly #khonshu #khonshu x reader #Khonshu x you

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fluffyprettykitty · 4 months ago

Note

Oh cute idea!!

Layla and Marc Spector x reader (poly) on a date, maybe like a sleepover date or something?

Totally ok if not!

"Sleepover Date"

Pairing: Marc Spector x Layla El Faouly x female reader

Word Count: ~300 words

Author’s Note: we are gonna pretend it's still spring and I did those on time

PS: dividers & banners by @/saradika

Main Masterlist ・❥・Marc Spector Masterlist ・❥・Layla El Faouly Masterlist

...

....

.....

It's late, very late for a work night, but you really needed to destress, and that after work always helped. The music was playing softly on the background until Layla turned it up just a little bit. She came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of snacks, carefully balancing it on one hand.

Marc was carrying the mattress from the bedroom to the living room, carefully placing it in the middle so all three of you could fit. He expertly placed the fitted sheet along with three blankets and some pillows, making a joke about how they never seemed to be enough for his girls.

You walk on the mattress and properly plop down with a thumb giggling all the way. Needing the comfort and presence of your loving partners after a long stressful week. Layla places the tray on the couch as Marc comes laying down next to you.

"How should we spend our lovely evening?"

"We had what we do right before you broke the tv!" You said glaring at Marc who had accidentally let the bunny eat the cords. Accident is wrong cause the kept saying 'aw look how cute his little teeth are!'

"Not broken, just need a little... do over"

"We need a new one."

"Exactly do over."

"That's not a do-over."

"Slight reconstruction."

"We need a new one!"

"A cord....we need a new cord..."

"You can't fix it!"

"I know a guy...."

"Marc, you don't know shit. We need a new one!"

"Shut up, both of you."

Layla shook her head before sitting on the couch annoyed with your shared bickering.

"I'm thinking either sharing ghost stories or...." You cut off Marc and shook your head.

"I'm not getting up from the bed, no truth or dare or anything psychical, " you retorted and pulled a blanket over you. Layla laughed as she poured drinks into glasses.

"I'm game for anything honestly. But ghost stories...You know I got the best..." She winked at Marc and he nodded his head.

"Very well, ghost stories it is."

And thus a lovely night soon turned scary.

for updates please follow my library blog @fluffyprettykittylibrary

#selenewrites #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector fluff #marc spector x you #marc spector x layla el faouly x reader #moonknight fanfiction #moonknight x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc x layla

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lockley-spktr · 11 months ago

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Moon Knight (2022)

Episode Two: Summon The Suit

With little time to react, Steven is thrust into a war of the gods as a mysterious partner arrives.

Two years ago today.

April 6th, 2022

#oscar isaac #steven grant #mr. knight #steven grant x reader #khonshu #marc spector #marc sector x reader #moon knight #may calamawy #layla el faouly #layla el faouly x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #disney #disney+

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mochimoqa · 10 months ago

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The Climax Problem

Literally thought that this was so funny and I wanted to make it a small story lol

Also, this was basically from this post by @faretheeoscar

This is the link to the original post! ^^

Gender neutral Y/n x Steven Grant

Warning: 18+ Mentioning of climaxing (aka: c*mming), some inappropriate jabs here and there

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

We all know of how innocent Steven is and crazy for you. But him releasing during a make out session? That's crazier.

You cupped his face as you kissed him passionately. Your tongue fighting with his and moaning into each other's mouths. You gently pulled his curls as he moaned from the action.

The passion needed to die down as you needed to go to work.

"I gotta go, baby." You pecked his lips and he responded with a small whines.

"A- Alright, love! I'll be waiting for you!" He waved goodbye to you as you waved back and closed the door.

Steven sighed as he looked at his pants. The noticeable bulge in his pants as he unzipped them and revealed a patch of his seed in his boxers.

"Bloody hell..." Steven mumbled to himself.

He got up and took off his pants and boxers to the dirty laundry. He walked to the restroom and looked at the mirror.

"Why do I even do that..." He massaged his temples.

"Looks like someone has a hard time to stop cumming." Marc looked at Steven in the mirror with his little smirk.

"Look, I just can't help it...! Y/n makes me feel so good! I- I- I just can't help it!"

Steven turned around facing at another mirror staring at his reflection.

"You gotta ask some advice for that problem of yours, hermano." Jake crossed his arms and cocked a eyebrow.

"You don't think I know that, Jake?"

He sighed as he cleaned himself with a wet towel.

"Have you ever tried to masterbate before? That could help you, Steven." Marc chuckled.

"What!? Marc! You know I could never do that! And I'm gonna wait til I marry Y/n...! How could you even think of that!?

"Steven, you poor sad little virgin." Marc sighed.

"What about you go on reddit and go to r/Advice?" Jake smirked.

"Reddit...? No, I shouldn't..."

"It's the only thing to help you." Jake chuckled lightly.

"D'oh... alright..." Steven sighed as he grabbed some new boxers and put them on.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

"Steven, I'm home!!" You placed your bag on the floor as you took off your shoes. You walked into your shared bedroom and see him laying down.

You laid down next to him and peppered his face with small kisses.

"Hi." You smiled lightly and played with his curls.

"Hey..." He smiled lightly but then faltered to a small frown.

"Aww... what's wrong...?" You cupped his face.

"It's uhm..." He sighed. "Love, uhm... during out make out sessions... I uh... I cum."

You frozed when you heard that.

"Like, pre-cum or...?"

"No, like full-on climax... and it's embarrassing... just instantly releasing during a make out session...! And I went to Reddit for advise... I- I just know that you're gonna judge me..."

"Steven, that's not embarrassing at all... to be honest, I find that really flattering."

"Really...?"

"Yes, it makes me feel good. It let's me know of how good I can make you really feel..." You leaned into him and gently kissed him softly.

He pulled away and smiled.

"Thank you, love..."

This got me cracking up 💀

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this :]

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bubuslutty · 7 months ago

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if you litter, you're a bitch!

moon knight & reader - twitter crack au

a/n: special thanks to @runny-mascara for the help with the bit of Spanish in here. much love 💙 and this is for you anon, ask and you shall receive 💙

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

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homeybadger · 5 months ago

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Of Gods and Lattes (Part One)

Summary: When you- local coffee barista turned Avatar of an ancient Egyptian god- get kidnapped, you're thrust into a whole new world Warning(s): Non-detailed kidnapping of reader, mild non-graphic combat Note(s): I'm torn between a few possible deities in connection to this story: Thoth, Heka, Ra and Anubis. I'm open to any suggestions!

Coffee making had always been a kind of a personal ritual for you. Humming to the rhythm of the milk frother, each step was precise, measured. You'd often imagined that brewing a latte was akin to crafting a potion, each ingredient essential to the final result- smooth, energizing, and restorative. There was something special about it, providing tired mothers and businessmen alike with the necessary energy for their days. But, your shift was cut short when you were taken. You didn't remember the exact details- it all happened too fast. One moment, you were wiping down the counter after a busy lunch rush, and the next, someone grabbed you from behind, pulling you into an alley behind the café. A van. Darkness. Rope. Now, here you were, hands bound and sitting on the cold ground in some dilapidated warehouse. Cold metal presses against your wrists, the uncomfortable bite of handcuffs incessantly reminding you of your current predicament. You shift slightly, testing the restraints, and a wave of dull pain ripples through your body. Of course kidnappers weren't gentle. In front of you was a man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing what looks like an approximation of tactical gear, face obscured by a mask. You narrow your eyes. This is the guy, the one who took you “Ah, you’re awake,” he says, his voice deep but trying a little too hard to sound intimidating. He paces slowly in front of you, his boots echoing in the room. You lean back- feigning more discomfort than you actually feel. It's difficult to feel very threatened when a literal god is nearby. "Yeah, guess I am. If this is about money, I’m not really-" “Money?” He cuts you off with a harsh laugh. “No, no. This isn’t about money.” He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. “I know what you are. I know who you serve.” At that, you raise an eyebrow. This should be good. "Anubis' power will be mine!" your captor croons, pacing once more like a professor rehearsing a lecture. You eye the crude symbols scrawled across the floor a bit behind him, white chalk instantly declaring their presence. They're meant to be ancient, powerful runes- instead, they look more like the artistic attempt of a child high on sugar. The symbols are sloppy, some even backward, and you swear a good portion of them are just random doodles. Whatever this guy thinks he's doing, it's nowhere near invoking anything close to Anubis. You feel him, your god, closer this time. Your captor continues his rant about power, the gods, and his supposed mastery of ancient Egyptian rites. Something about raising a man named Arthur from the grave. Arthur... Sparrow? Farrow? It was hard to hear behind his mask. You sigh internally, feeling the distinct thrum of your god's power settling behind you. "Anubis will rise," your captor says, voice reaching a crescendo, "and he will grant me dominion over life and death!" You can't help it. A chuckle slips past your lips. The man stops dead in his tracks, glare attempting to shoot daggers into your soul, "What's so funny?" You shake your head, biting your lip. "What?" "Your symbols." you gesture with your chin to the floor, "They're wrong. Even if Anubis was the one you were trying to summon, which- by the way, he isn't- this wouldn't work." His eyes narrow behind the mask, clearly thrown off. "What are you talking about? These are ancient runes of power, crafted by-" "By someone who hates you apparently." you interrupt, "You think you can bring death under your control with that?"

"You know nothing of these powers! Anubis will answer, and I will-" "You don't even want to summon Anubis." If it was physically possible for your captor to glare harder, you're sure he would have by this point. Your god stands in the corner, his eyes gleaming in the shadows. He doesn't speak, but his presence fills your soul with a sense of calm. Of inevitability. "What?" "Anubis is about funerary rites, guiding souls," you continue, "not... whatever it is you're aiming for here. Osiris is the one you're thinking of with this resurrection business." Your captor tenses, fist slowly curling into a ball. "You said you know what I am, you have to have assumed I researched things." He scowled, clearly thrown off by the correction, but before he could respond, the door slams open. She's quick, moving with a grace that immediately makes it clear she's not here to talk things out. You've seen her before- the woman who's been making appearances in the headlines recently, the Scarlet Scarab. Her appearance is striking, strong and purposeful, like she's not here to take nonsense from anyone. But it's what you see just behind her that really makes your breath snag in your throat. Hovering over her shoulder, watching with an intense curiosity, is the goddess Taweret. You almost wave- an instinctive gesture, like you’re greeting someone you recognize- but then you remember your hands are securely bound. Khonshu is there too, looming at the edge of the room, his towering skeletal form and crescent-shaped staff impossible to ignore. You’ve heard of Moon Knight too- another vigilante working alongside the Scarlet Scarab some days. Khonshu’s presence is cold, oppressive, but you know he’s not here for you. The Scarlet Scarab strides toward your captor, her expression hard. “It’s over,” she says flatly, no room for argument in her voice. Your captor stumbles backward, panic setting in. He gestures once more toward the chalk symbols on the floor, muttering something incoherent about power and magic. “Anubis is not coming to help you,” you say, unable to keep the exhaustion out of your voice. “And even if he was, this isn’t how you’d get his attention. You’ve got it all wrong.” Your captor spins to face you, his face contorted with anger. “You think you know more than me? I’ve spent years studying these texts!” You feel the sheer, absolute weight of your god’s presence now, a calm certainty settling over you like a familiar blanket. Your god is always with you- but in moments like these, his influence becomes palpable. It’s as if he’s standing just behind you, his ancient hands resting on your shoulders, steadying your resolve. Relax, you hear him whisper in the quiet corner of your mind, a voice like rolling thunder, yet somehow soothing. He is a fool.You shift slightly, testing your cuffs again. The metal bites into your skin, but you feel the tension begin to give, a soft pulsing energy coiling beneath your skin. There. he whispers again, Got it. The cuffs click, and with one last movement, they snap open. “I’m telling you,” you say, that same hum of power underscoring your words, “You might’ve spent years studying those texts, but you don’t understand a thing.” The captor’s rant finally falters. His eyes flick toward the Scarlet Scarab, and for the briefest moment, you see his bravado finally crack. She takes a step forward, ready to finish things, but something shifts in the air. An unnatural pulse of energy, twisted and wrong. A shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, an ethereal form that seems to manifest out of thin air. Some kind of twisted guardian or specter, summoned by the captor’s sloppy rituals. A flash of white and silver darts forward, crescent shaped weapons glinting faintly in the lighting. Your captor slams the door open, fleeing into the night- and you decidedly ignore the coward in favor of ducking.

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poppyflower-22 · 8 months ago

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Moon Boys

(These are just small discerptions that explain the one shot or parts as shortly as possibly)

Fluff:

Nothing yet...

In The Middle:

Its Marc's birthday in which you only know because of Jake and Stevan but Marc doesn't like birthdays. Hurt/Comfort. HERE

Past Avenger reader. The boys find out your true identity when they call you in. Part 1, HERE Part 2, HERE

Ex Widow assassin. You find Marc when on a mission but it's not only Marc, your husband. Smut with Steven. HERE

Iris Avatar. Soule mate Au. You help Marc on his mission, but it gets hard when you feel something. Hurt/Comfort. Smut. HERE

There on the run. It's like a vacation. Smut. Jake doesn't show but they know he's there. HERE

** Reader thinks Jake and Marc are Steven's twins. They both start felling something for her but when the truth comes out Steven doesn't want to want to think of the possibilities. But maybe it's too late. Major, Hurt/Comfort. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE

Marc and Steven are so happy with you, but Jake doesn't want you around and wants you gone. The two boys won't be having it. Happy ending. Hurt/Comfort. HERE.

Series:

Reader is a college student. Full Masterlist. Starts as Steven then all the boys. Smut. HERE

Reader is an OC. Full masterlist. Smut. Reader is with the moon boys and Layla at the end. HERE

Dad's best friend. ⬇️

1. Marc. HERE

2. Jake. HERE

3. Steven. HERE

A full series about marrying the boys and kids. And more. So much Smut. HERE

Konshu fell in love with a goddess and now Marc has to spend time with her Avatar. Smut. Part 1, HERE. Marc knows he shouldn't lie about Steven, but it seems that Steven is better a match then him, leading to a miss understanding. Hurt/Comfort. Part 2, HERE.

Jake was fine in the shadows until something, or someone makes him more present. Hurt/Comfort. Smut. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE

Psychologist reader. Smut. Hurt/Comfort. In which the boys represent a unique opportunity. HERE

Frank Castel gets jealous that you moved on, and the boys want to know why he was in the flat. Jealous boys. Smut. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE.

Jealous Smut Marc, Jake and Steven. ⬇️

1. Marc. HERE

2. Steven. HERE

3. Jake. HERE

Baby Scarb. Teenager reader. Has spiderman powers. HERE

Pregnant reader. After your brake up with your ex-boyfriend you move into the boys building and they fall in love with you no matter that your pregnant. Smut. HERE

Polly/Konshu:

In which Konshu takes control of the body. HERE

Polly/Layla:

Nothing yet...

Dark/Possessive:

Possessive Marc fucks reader in Jakes car to piss him off. HERE

Smut:

Its Marc's birthday. Maybe he will start liking his birthday from now on. HERE

Marc new being Konshu avatar come with side effects, but he didn't know them fully until you. HERE

It wasn't often you saw them all in one night. Steven doesn't know about Marc and Jake. HERE

Marc teaches you control along with Jake and Steven. HERE

Being Steven's girlfriend and Marc fucking you. HERE

Jake, Steven and Marc take turn having sex with you. HERE

Jake decides it time to come and play. HERE

Centered around Jake. No one knowns why the sound makes Jake tick. Virgin Jake. HERE

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uselesssomebody · 1 year ago

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𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 (18+)

the do's (rules & information):

readers must be over 18 reading these drabbles

all works will be under or roughly a thousand words

thirty-one days of smut drabbles

ten days are open to requests for the kinks

ten days will include dark content (will be properly tagged)

five will include a dominant reader

the don'ts (what i am not interested in writing):

i only write fem!readers, with all involved characters being over 18

the kinks i'd appreciate you don't request are anything to do with anal penetration, bodily fluids (besides blood and cum), and certain dom/sub dynamics like age play or ddlg

otherwise, ask away, and i'll see if i'm comfortable writing your request!

the kinks and the characters

october 1: shower sex w/ frankie morales

october 2: ball worship (dom!reader) w/ eddie munson

october 3: sex pollen (dark) w/ din djarin

october 4: consensual non-consent (dark) w/ miguel o'hara

october 5: threesome (ffm) w/ marc spector & layla el-faouly

october 6: requested kink & character

october 7: breeding kink (dark) w/ duke leto

october 8: somnophilia (dark) w/ eddie munson

october 9: mutual masturbation (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 10: threesome (mmf) + double penetration (in one hole) w/ frankie morales and santiago garcia

october 11: titfucking w/ javier peña

october 12: requested kink & character

october 13: exhibitionism w/ poe dameron

october 14: dacryphilia (dark) w/ joel miller

october 15: temperature play (dom!reader) w/ din djarin

october 16: phone sex w/ jack daniels

october 17: corruption kink (dark) w/ dio morrissey

october 18: requested kink & character

october 19: edging (dark!dom!reader) w/ basil stitt

october 20: recording/blackmail (dark) w/ jonathan levy

october 21: mask + glove kink w/ jake lockley

october 22: hate + mirror sex w/ javier peña

october 23: cockwarming (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 24: requested kink & character

october 25: overstimulation w/ jake lockley

october 26: size difference w/ miguel o'hara

october 27: knife kink (dark) w/ bucky barnes

october 28: free use (dark) w/ joel miller

october 29: sex toys w/ natasha romanoff

october 30: requested kink & character

october 31: period sex/blood kink w/ santiago garcia

the characters (you guys can request)

from stranger things, i write for eddie munson, robin buckley, billy hargrove or steve harrington

from marvel, i write for bucky barnes, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, jake lockley, marc spector, steven grant, layla el-faouly and miguel o'hara

from star wars, i write for poe dameron, or din djarin (the mandalorian)

from triple frontier, i write for frankie morales and santiago garcia

miscellaneous oscar isaac characters i write for include basil stitt, jonathan levy, duke leto, kane and orestes (agora)

miscellaneous pedro pascal characters i write for include joel miller, javier peña, jack daniels (agent whiskey), dio morrissey

if you want to request another character, don't hesitate! i will see what i can do.

notes

guys i know i haven't written in like 1200 months but i wanna get back into the mood with the short smutty stuff

besides, i've never done kinktober and every other one i've seen bangs so hard i simply couldn't resist

side note - dark fics will be only available on my adjacent dark blog: @darkuselesssomebody, but will be linked on this masterlist. if you wanna read the dark drabbles and future dark work, give it a follow!

i am also willing to take non-kinky & halloween themed requests, so if you have any, let me know!

𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

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ozarkthedog · 1 year ago

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summary: while having a private moment with your boss, the ceo unexpectedly drops by… or so you think.

pairings: Boss!Layla El-Faouly x afab intern!reader x CEO!Marc Spector.

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Alt Universe. slight dubcon but reader is willing. power imbalance. free use. f/f -> f/m. established relationship (layla x reader). oral sex (fem receiving). fingering. sex in a private office. dirty talk. praise kink. cum feeding. cream pie.

word count: 3.8k 😅

author’s note: if a fic could come to life, i'd choose this one. thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta'ing and the mental support. i haven't written a fic this long in a while. hope you enjoy. 💙

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

“I have the paperwork all ready for you to sign, Ms. El-Faouly.”

Your boss, Layla, peers up at you with her deep brown eyes from behind her monitor. “Hey, one second. I’ve got to finish this email real quick.” She sends you a soft smile in return before nodding to the right towards a big stack of papers sitting messily on her desk.

Layla had one of the corner offices and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite spot in the entire building. It floods with sunlight all day long and it’s got a great view of the city. Layla was also another reason why it was your favorite.

“How was your day?” She asks, typing as you place the paperwork on top of the stack.

She’s wearing that dark gray, silk blouse and skirt combo you helped her pick out last week during a night out on the town. You told her it made her look powerful and inviting as you got down on your knees for her later that same evening.

“It’s going alright.” You sigh, drawing imaginary patterns on the corner of her desk.

Layla clicks send on the email and turns her attention to you. She leans her elbows on the edge of her desk with a pensive brow. You can see her brain working on ways to fix your problems before you even tell her. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Nothing is wrong, I swear.” You raise your hands, shaking your head while the gorgeous woman looks you over quizzically.

Stretching your arms over her desk, you grasp her hands, giving them a squeeze. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just..”

“What is it?” she asks, tucking a few strands of her wild curls behind her ear. She leads you around her desk by your clenched hands and pins your chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell me.”

Your eyes dance around the room, landing everywhere but on her. She gives your chin a slight shake and forces your eyes back to hers.

You take a deep breath. “Am I doing a good job?”

Layla’s heart sinks. “Of course you are. Why on earth-”

“It’s just, it’s so much work.” You cut her off, spilling your worries now that the dam has been broken. “I hate not being able to get everything to you on time. Not to mention there’s so much paperwork. No one ever says thank you but they’ll definitely yell when you’ve done something wrong. I don’t know if I’m doing things right-”

“C’mere, baby.” She ceases your ramble and pulls you down into her lap and into a searing kiss that makes your head swirl.

Tender, yet fierce lips encompass your own, stealing your gasps with fond affection as she winds her arms around your waist and maneuvers you into the position she wants.

You settle into the pose, kneeling over her lap with your legs on the outsides of her thighs, the cushion of her expensive chair a grateful soft bedding as she forms you to her body.

“Should we really be doing this?” You ask between broken, breathless kisses. It was after 5pm, so it was less likely anyone would walk in on you and her. Still, hesitation nestled in your belly.

“Everyone is gone for the night.” She confirms before lewdly dragging her tongue along the seam of your lips. “There’s no need to worry about them.”

Layla presses her forehead against yours sensing your apprehension. She searches your timid eyes for a moment trying to find the right words to express her gratitude.

“You’re doing a wonderful job. I’ve gotten no complaints from anyone. So if they have an issue, they haven’t told anyone,” she says, holding your gaze. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you more about how lucky I am to have you. My life has been so much better since you started working here.”

She holds your face, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek. “In more ways than one.” She winks, playfully.

“Layla!” You gasp, lightly swatting her on the chest.

She sends you a look you know all too well. The raised eyebrow and slightly parted lips mean trouble is coming. In a good way.

“Oh, baby, you don’t know what you started.” Her hands tickle your ribs in a flash making your eyes bug as you try to keep your giggles at bay. You squirm incessantly in her lap, wishing you could break free but she had a strong hold around your waist.

Your skirt slid up your thighs in the process of all your wriggling, no longer hiding your want for her as your panties are noticeably soaked through.

“Oh, baby, you really are desperate for me.” She coos, eyes growing soft as she feigns a pout. “Poor baby.”

She skillfully undoes the pearly buttons on your white, flower-patterned blouse, sliding the thin material off your shoulders and onto the floor. Soft, warm hands palm your breasts, feeling your heartbeat beneath your skin before she makes you gasp by wickedly pinching your sensitive nipples.

She teases her fingers down further then and along the soaked cloth of your panties, drawing light circles over your throbbing, hidden clit. You whimper into her chocolate curls, a soft pathetic mewl, begging her for more as you perch wearily in her lap.

“What do you say?” she asks with a sharp tongue and pointed stare.

She weaves her arm around your hips, smoothing a palm over the curve of your ass and dragging your panties down in the process before seeking out your aching warmth once more. A well-manicured finger teases down the slick, puffy seam of you from behind, teasing and torturing you until she’s satisfied. She loves breaking you into little pieces and putting you back together.

“Please-” You gasp as your hips buck on their own accord, chasing her fingers for relief. “Please, Layla.”

The older woman’s painted lips tug into a sly smile, “That’s my good girl.”

Your world is consumed. Her brunette curls smell of lavender and spice. They tickle your cheek and senses as she plays your body like a well tuned piano. Her hold on you is immense. There’s never any doubt that she doesn’t adore you.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Layla coos, grasping the back of your neck with her free hand as her other cups your searing mound. You jolt from the touch but do as she says, meeting her soft yet stoic expression with watery eyes.

She pins you with a firm stare as she slowly presses two fingers into your soaked core. You know better than to turn your gaze from her but your eyes flutter as she finally grants you the sweet relief you’ve been begging for.

“That’s my good girl,” Layla praises as she fills you to the hilt, knuckles grazing your puckered hole and claiming every inch of your cunt.

Deft fingers glide with prowess as a steady, toe curling rhythm is set. Your body trembles as a foggy bliss rolls into your mind. Your knees shake, desperately meeting her thrusts, wanting nothing more than to come around her fingers.

“You take what I give you, sweet girl.” Layla coos, nudging her nose against your cheek. She doesn’t like it when you get greedy. “You know that.”

One of your hands clutches the back of her chair while the other has her blouse in a death grip. A scolding is in your future but you could care less as you rock back onto her fingers chasing the pleasure she’s finally allowing.

Something heavy in your gut twists. The knot Layla began tying when she first got you onto her lap starts tightening. Your muscles ache, ready to collapse under the pressure when she gives you the word.

Just then, a quick succession of knocks rap on her door.

Your head whips up as Layla’s fingers go still. Ice courses through your veins freezing the searing wildfire that burns in your abdomen. You knew it was stupid to try anything at work. Besides the occasionally secretive kiss, you both kept things to a dull roar. No one knew about your relationship and you wanted it to stay that way.

“Shh. Be still.” Layla whispers, unfazed, as she cups her free hand along your jaw. “You trust me. Right?”

You nod in her tender hold, hips pressing just a bit harder into her palm. “Good girl.”

“Who is it?” Layla calls out. Your body jolts as her fingers begin moving again and you send her a bewildered look.

“Marc,” a gruff voice sounds from the other side of the door.

Shit — it was the CEO.

Marc Spector built this company from the ground up. He and Layla had been working together since almost the beginning. They explicitly trusted and respected one another even when they didn’t meet eye to eye.

You’d met Marc only once. It was a brief interaction as one of your coworkers showed you around on your first day. He was personable and made you feel welcome even though you were a lowly intern.

You thought he was handsome and could kill someone with his smile. His jet black quiff would curl on humid days when he forgot to gel it. It made you admire him even more for some reason.

“Come in.” She answers while holding your worried gaze with her own unwavering one.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “Layla, what’re doin-” you hiss, squirming to get free from her arms again.

“Remember your safe word.” she says, quickly just before Marc walks in.

“Layla, I was wonderin-” Marc starts as he steps into the office and instantly cuts himself off at the lewd display.

You can’t breathe. Shame and embarrassment flood your system. If the floor could open up, you’d gladly jump in.

Marc stands in awe. You couldn’t turn to face him but you spy his reflection in the darkened window and that’s more than enough. You don't know how you could ever look him in the eye after this.

“What’s this now?” He ponders, intrigue shaping his words as he steps closer, tapping his knuckles on Layla’s oversized desk.

“I was just rewarding her for doing such a good job,” Layla responds like she doesn’t have you propped in her lap with her fingers buried deep inside your cunt.

You see Marc nod in the reflection and take another step closer. Your body burns like red hot coals as you feel his eyes on your body mainly where Layla’s fingers slowly thrust into your shiny, slick opening.

“That right?” Marc questions with a curious tone as he rubs a hand along his rough five o’clock shadow.

“She’s so attentive and such a hard worker.” Layla praises, finally looking in your direction. “I had to show how much I appreciate her.”

Marc chuckles. It’s a deep huff of laughter that rumbles from his chest and it makes your insides melt. “Is she any good at helping relieve some stress?” he asks pensively while looking at your holes like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“She most certainly is,” Layla smirks, raising a sculpted brow before sliding a finger under your chin, tipping your face in toward her. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

You’d been with Layla since the first day you started working, shared any and all free time together along with the inner workings of your bedroom. Explored each other’s bodies freely and with such passion. Falling to Layla’s feet came naturally to you and she made you feel complete; loved even.

You trusted her to push your limits whenever the time came but you didn’t think you’d ever be in this situation.

“Why don’t you show him how much you love being employed here, baby.” She dubiously insists, slowly nodding her head for you to comply.

You finally gather the courage to look over your shoulder.

Butterflies flutter wildly in your belly as you take in the devilishly handsome man. His hair is mused, like he’d been running a hand through it all day and his button up shirt is loose at the collar, exposing a column of tan skin with two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up exposing his muscular forearms. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

A nervous chortle bubbles up your throat at the nickname. Your insides turn to jelly; and your brain to mush. Your core can’t help but clench as the older man takes you in with a ravenous gaze.

“Oh, she likes that.” Layla quips upon feeling your pussy clamp down on her fingers.

“Does she now?” Marc croons, stepping up right behind you. He smooths his hands along the shape of you. His warmth feels good against your skin and you can’t help but moan when Layla curls her fingers along that spongy spot that makes you feel lightheaded.

“Damn, that’s a pretty pussy.” He drawls, crouching down behind your bent form. With your ass in the air, you already felt so exposed and now the owner of the company was getting a front row view of the most private parts of you.

Sticky, wet noises fill the room as Layla splays her fingers deep inside your velvet channel. You bite your lip to keep your moans at bay. So overstimulated and heated, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“Want a taste?’ Layla asks, jogging you from your stupor.

Marc grunts in response. You look back in time to watch Layla feeding him her shiny, cream coated fingers. The debauched noise he makes while he licks and sucks her fingers clean has your heart falling into your lower half.

You meet his lust filled gaze as he stands. Layla’s fingers leave his lips with a pop, and he palms his hard length through his dark slacks. “You gonna show me how good you are at serving your superiors?”

A nervous whimper escapes from your throat at his question.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, lapping at some of your fallen cream as he pulls his cock out and gives it a languid tug. You watch dumbstruck as he pumps his length, from the obscenely thick base that’s littered with dark wiry hairs to a bulbous, desert blush tip that weeps in his hand after every twist.

“Is that a yes, sweetheart?” he questions.

A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth at your stupefied gaze. Marc raises a hand and grasps the back of your neck, moving your head in a crude up-down motion. “This is how you say, yes.”

Another deep chuckle burrows into your brain and makes you go even more dumb.

Fire ignites in your belly and races up your body, making your face burn. Your mouth bobs open and closed like a fish, wanting to answer him but you can’t even form the simplest word.

“She tends to go a bit brain dead when she gets overwhelmed.” Layla thankfully answers for you.

She thumbs your cheek. “But that pretty pussy of hers makes up for it.”

“You don’t say…” Marc quips before tapping his tip on your soaked folds. Your slick drips down your inner thighs showing that you would indeed make up for your lack of communication.

He notches the thick head past your dripping opening before slowly sinking into your cunt. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out, pressing his full length all the way and grinding the cut of his hips against your ass.

“God damn.” Marc grits, hissing through his teeth at the way you squeeze him.

You whimper from the immense stretch. It feels like his cock is burrowing a new space inside your body. “Layla. Too much–” You gasp, having never felt so full before. “So. Big.”

She cups her hands around your face, hushing your cries. “I know, baby. I know.”

Marc’s hips never falter. He plunges into your heat with an unyielding, merciless pace, pushing slick and cream from between your folds, making your belly twist in pleasurable pain.

His strong hands knead your fleshy hips, pulling you back on every brute shove, forcing you to take every inch he gives. “Such a good girl. Doin’ just what we say.”

Your core clenches that much tighter knowing you’re making them happy. “You love it don’t you, pretty girl?” His heavy balls slap against your exposed clit making you mewl and writhe in the combined hold they had on you.

Sticky, sweet bliss drowns your senses. You’re a wanton mess. A plaything between two beautiful gods as they have their fun..

You whine when Marc slows his rhythm, canting his hips so his cock stays buried deep. “I thought you were one of the best.” Marc sighs with a shake of his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. “But it seems you’re not as attentive as I thought.”

Your brow furrows as you look at him over your shoulder.

“I think it’s time to show your Boss how much you appreciate her.”

Marc moves quickly, dragging you out of Layla’s arms and down onto your knees in front of her spread legs. Layla quirks a brow at him.

“What? I wanted to see how attentive she really was.” Marc says, talking about you like you weren’t speared open on his heavy cock.

Layla pulls her dress up over her legs and spreads her thighs. Her panties looked much like your own, wet, sticky, and just begging to be removed.

“Go on. Show her how much you love being on your knees for her.” Marc commands. With a snap of his hips, he jolts your bones and forces your head between Layla’s thighs. “Eat your boss’s cunt.”

Heat flames your face at his words when a familiar hand curves around your jaw. Layla pulls her panties to the side and leads you gently, well as gently as she can while you’re being plowed from behind, to her slick folds.

She sighs as your tongue licks a long stripe from her weeping opening to her clit. You flick the tiny nub, drawing tight circles for a brief moment before sliding down her folds. You lap hungrily at her slit, freely licking into her tight hole and sliding your tongue in and out from her heat.

“There you go.” Layla coos down at you with a smile. She scratches her nails along your scalp making you purr against her clit. She grinds her cunt against your mouth, chasing her pleasure. Nothing made you happier than making Layla feel good. Your core throbs when she gasps and fucks her mound onto your tongue.

A rough, grating moan crawls from Marc’s chest as your cunt quivers and milks his length. “Such a good girl letting us use you like this.” He grits, slamming his hips harder into your ass and knocking your face steadily into Layla’s cunt. “Like you were made for it.”

Your core spasms at his words. You did love being on your knees for them. At their beck and call, wanting to be of service however they needed.

Marc lays his body along your spine, pressing his clothed chest against your bare back, and nuzzles his curved nose along your cheek. A large hand slinks around your hip and notches nimble fingers against your clit, swirling tight circles around the throbbing nub. “Wanna know all the pretty noises you make when you come.”

“Oh, they’re just the sweetest.” Layla moans, breathlessly as your lips lock around her clit. You suckle the tiny nub until

she’s digging her fingers into your hair, writhing and gasping.

Marc groans at the sight of his business partner unfurling with pleasure. His breath is hot in your ear and he crowds you even more, leaving no chance of escape.

“Come on, girl. Be good and come for us.” Marc commands, shifting his hips until his throbbing tip grazes that hidden spot behind your clit.

With Layla humping your face and Marc sheathing his cock further inside you with every shove, you’re pushed to the edge before you can even think. Your cream coated lips fall open with a feverish wail as your body locks tight.

Your muscles shake uncontrollably as you careen off the edge. Your soaked core clenches like a fist, forcing Marc’s pace to stutter and drag him along with you. He lets loose a dark roar when his balls draw up and he fucks your trembling core to the brim with his thick seed.

His cock twitches between your folds, pumping you full with every last drop. “God damn, you weren’t kidding. She more than made up for going all dumb eariler.” He slowly eases from your core with a hiss and tucks his half hard length back into his slacks.

Your head is still reeling from the powerful orgasm and Marc’s compliment makes you just that much more lightheaded. Thank goodness you were already on the ground.

“Oh you’re making such a mess.” Layla gasps when she sees the thick river of white that runs down your thighs. Your knees ache from being on the hard carpet for so long but the pain is forgotten as the pair crowds over you.

You whine as Layla and Marc drag their fingers through the hot stickiness and press them into your mouth.

You gag heavily around the two sets of fingers, tears pricking your eyes as they cover your tongue in the combined spend. “Good girl. Clean up the mess you made.” Marc nods slowly, heavy lidded with a deep moan of satisfaction as you choke and sputter while Layla proudly smiles down at you. “Did so well for me; for us.”

She shares a curious look with Marc before turning her gaze back to you and thumbs the last bit of white into your mouth.

“Might need to borrow her again sometime soon.” Marc comments as they help you onto your feet. “You know how stressed I can get.”

Your legs are shaky, like a newborn doe, as Layla brushes down your crumpled skirt while Marc helps you back into your blouse, securely buttoning you up.

“We’ll see about that.” Layla responds as she gathers you into her arms and sits back down on her chair, tucking your sleepy head under her chin.

“I’ll see you ‘round the office, sweetheart.” He raises a hand and tenderly grazes your dewy temple with his knuckles.

As he sees himself out, he winks at Layla and she smirks before he shuts the door leaving the two of you in peaceful silence.

As you relax in Layla’s arms, burrowing yourself into her safe warmth, you notice through sleepy eyes that her monitor is still on. The email she was typing when you dropped off the paperwork lights up the screen.

𝚃𝙾: 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 (𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌)

𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 - 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙻𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚊 𝙴𝚕-𝙵𝚊𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚢

𝙲𝙵𝙾 𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌

*evil laughter* they were in cahoots the entire time!

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

#layla el faouly #marc spector #Layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly x reader x marc spector #marc spector x reader #oscar isaac #may calamawy

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loud-mouth-loser · 1 year ago

Text

not him - 2

summary: marc has had his eye on you for a while now. he's seen your interactions with steven and has held himself back from taking you for himself, but what happens after he finally makes a move?

pairing: marc spector x reader

rating: more angst

cw: pining (really intense pining), jealousy, miscommunication, mentions of past kiss.

wc: 2.7k

part one

[author's note is at the end of the chapter to avoid chapter spoilers!]

---

Marc’s POV

It’s your laugh, that soothing, sweet sound – so inviting that he wants it to soak right into his skin. When he hears it, he holds it close to him, making sure he doesn’t miss a single note. Letting it replay in his head until the next time he sees you.

Marc has never considered himself a funny guy – or hadn’t for a while. He never had a reason to joke around, a reason to smile or laugh, but then there was you.

So now he tries his best to incite that laughter, if only for a mere taste of your sweetness.

He’s equally addicted to that view. The sight of soft lips parting into a bright smile, your shoulders shaking with each stilted breath, your eyes glistening with unerupted joy; a bliss that he’s craved to know since the day his brother passed. And it’s genuine.

Everything about you is genuine.

Then, when you come down from the laughter, you look up at him with a ghost of a giggle still thrumming in the air, still tugging at the corner of your mouth. He can’t help but stare back, wishing this moment could last forever.

It’s just you and him, nursing sweating bottles of beer on his ratty old couch, the TV running quietly in the background as you unconsciously lean closer as the night progresses. He plunges into that gaze wrapped in innocent moments and admiration, a look that whispers unspoken sentiments and unattainable promises.

You are looking at him, yes, but you also see him.

He feels it wrap around him, a warmth that reminds him he’s worth being around, that you want to be there with him. It sparks a revelation within himself that if he could make you laugh, or even look at him the way you do, maybe…being him is ok.

And maybe he wants to stay.

But then there’s that smile – no, not your usual amused grin or the bashful one he attempts to lure out whenever he gains enough confidence to tell you how pretty you look – the cherry-red lie that’s specially curated for Steven.

It’s a mask you use to preserve your friendship, to convince the oblivious man that you’re happy for him even when your side of the bond is crumbling, struggling to stand up straight.

The first time Marc saw that smile was from the reflection in his apartment.

He usually doesn’t stir or interfere while Steven is fronting, unless there’s an emergency of course, but there was a pang of energy that woke him up. And now he’s wondering if it was you.

He watched broodily from the fish tank; jaw clenched tight as Steven sat in front of you holding your hands in his. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, but he can’t help the ire burning low in his chest as he watches you position yourself closer to Steven, eager to hear what he has to say.

Marc’s eyes drift from your hopeful face to your joined hands.

He wonders how that feels: to hold your smaller hands in his, to squeeze them just so as to remind him that you’re real and there with him, to feel you squeeze back and run the soft pads of your fingers over his callouses.

Your softness smoothing over his jagged ends.

You like it – the touch. Steven’s touch.

He can see it.

But you’ve always liked it when Steven gives you physical affection, even if it was all platonic. You’d lean into him, practically craving it, eagerly presenting yourself to his hand. And he’d give it to you, merely enjoying the closeness you offer him – nothing more.

Your eyes are wide, and you lean in, listening intently, but at the same time, you’re not hearing a thing. Marc can see that you’re lost in Steven, a feeling he’s often had around you.

The giddy comfort you felt from his touch instantly dissolves as he continues to speak, “And we kissed…” You lean back from him, quickly covering your reaction with a blank expression. Marc can see right through it.

Needless to say, Marc also isn’t too happy hearing about Steven’s escapades with his estranged wife; He’s always been protective of Layla, but now more than ever. Layla had once been his rock, keeping him grounded as life attempted to sweep him away. She was the only person he trusted for a while, the only one he could lean on and hold whenever he wanted to give up.

Because of that, he left.

Too much of a great thing can only lead to a horrible ending.

Right?

He convinced himself he did it because he didn’t want her to get involved in his life of violence, of his life as an avatar. She was always getting dragged into business that wasn’t hers, used as bait to lure him out of the shadows, and Khonshu was starting to hint at making her his next avatar.

That is a reason, a sound reason, but he can admit now that that wasn’t the main reason. At some point, Marc realized could never love her the way she wanted him to.

When he first felt it, he couldn’t shake it. He was forced to face it until it utterly consumed his thoughts, until he could taste it hanging from each word, turning every whisper into a sour void. He felt unworthy of her affections and ashamed that he continued to take and take, drinking in every last drop of warmth she could supply. Anything to numb that looming darkness that threatens to drag him under the bloody viscous waves of his past.

And all he could give in return was surface-level words and cool kisses. Guilt dripped from his embrace and soaked against her soft skin, and he knew he had to pull away.

Steven, the lovesick puppy, was completely oblivious to what he was inviting her back into: danger, violence, and an unspoken truth.

Marc should be jealous that his wife and alter are continuing to fraternize behind his back, or angry that Steven went against his wishes and welcomed her back into his life, but he’s not. Mostly, he’s nervous to face what he wasn’t strong enough to do, scared that he’ll continue to push it away until it swallows him whole.

Then there’s you.

Your eyes are glassy and empty as you nod robotically as Steven rambles, lost in his own words. “...the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.” Your hands attempt to retreat from his and Steven doesn’t notice, but he does.

The audacity of Steven to talk about this stuff to your face astounds him. How can a man who shares his body be so clueless? So stupid to not see what’s right in front of him, offering herself for any ounce of attention he shows.

“I love her.”

And there he sees your heart shatter.

“That’s great, Steven. I’m so happy for you.”

—

All he can do is stare back, eyes taking in your swollen lips and wrinkled clothes. Your bodies breathe together, catching a breath as you process what just happened. There’s a voice in the back of his head urging him to pull you back in, to drink the ambrosia of your lips until you melt against him and beg for more, while he still has the chance. But he knows that if he were to move the spell would be broken.

And he was right.

When the stare breaks so does the moment. You clumsily slip off of his lap and sit back on your side of the couch. His hand hovers over your figure as you move away from him, a ghost of the touch he once had on you, desperate to stop you from leaving him. Fingers grip painfully into his palms as they curl into a fist of frustration and loss.

You both sit there for a second. It’s easier to think when your bodies are pressed against each other. When you aren’t tempted to lean in for one more kiss.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to get this far.

Ever since meeting you, he’s tried his best to keep his distance, to watch you pine for Steven from afar as he harbored his own longing for you. Marc never believed he deserved it, you, always taking three steps back before he could touch a perfect thing. Before he could ruin what was already breaking.

He’s supposed to be detached from real life, from anything outside of his work. He’s convinced himself that he was okay with letting you go, even promising Steven he would give him complete control of the body once he was done with Khonshu. But now he doesn’t think he can. He can’t leave you.

Marc finally builds the courage to look over at you.

Your eyes are closed, not squeezed shut, just closed. The soft glow of the TV pools over your body. You could probably feel his eyes on you so you begin to talk.

“I’m confused.”

“Confused.” He repeats with a soft nod, letting the word settle in his mind.

He doesn’t know what else to say. Of course, you’re confused, this whole night has been a series of bold actions and heated words. One second you’re having a pity party at your crush’s flat and the next you’re crawling on top of his alter. You still haven’t had time to really go through your emotions.

“You like me…” You finally look at him, brows furrowed as you navigate through your thoughts.

“I do.”

“And I like Steven…” He frowns at that but nods. You both know it, that’s how you ended up here in the first place. “..And Steven likes Layla, but you’re still…married?”

He sighs, “It’s been over for months, sweetheart.”

“Well, aren’t we a group of lovers?” You joke.

Neither one of you laughs.

Deep brown eyes meet yours, “I meant what I said. Steven is blind if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

“I-I don’t know where to go from here.”

He places his hand on top of yours. And you let him.

“Stay…” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, didn’t mean to say anything at all, but when he’s with you, he feels out of control.

He sees the little furrow of your brows as you digest the implications of his suggestion. Stay and forget about the consequences. Stay and pretend it's just us. Stay and let me love you.

“Marc –”

He interrupts you before you can finish your thought.

“For tonight.” He just isn’t sure he’d be able to take what you were about to say. If you could stay like this, even for one more night, just you and him and the memory of that embrace, he thinks, maybe he’ll be okay. Even if you leave him in the morning. Even if you run away from what could have been. “It’ll be easier to understand after a night of rest.”

You stare solemnly at the edge of the couch, “Yeah.” For a moment he holds some hope that he’ll be able to hold you tonight and sleep like everything is right in the world. But then you gently slip your hand out from under his. “I should probably go though.” His palm burns. You push yourself off the couch in search of your discarded jacket and shoes.

“You can crash here,” He feels desperate. You’re slipping from his hands and he’s frantically grasping at the evading warmth. “It’s late and there’s more than enough space in this flat.” He wants to reach out again but he’s afraid you’ll reject his touch this time.

“Steven has work tomorrow morning.” You say sheepishly as you slip an arm into your jacket. Of course, you’d know Steven’s schedule. “He needs to wake up early…and it would be awkward to find me on the couch.” As if he’d let you sleep anywhere but in his arms.

“Ok, but I should walk you home.”

You tug at the bottom of your coat, flattening it onto your body. “It’s fine,” You look back at him, hovering by the door, “Really, I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss how you’ve switched from talking about the situation to yourself.

He murmurs your name, not knowing what he can say to make you stay.

“Marc.” You echo back, voice soft and – tired. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

—

“Whot was that?”

Steven didn’t wake up for work the next day. In fact, he didn’t ‘wake up’ at all. Marc did. He woke up around 1 pm with a throbbing headache and a loud, berating British man yelling at him from the inside out.

After you left, he sat there in silence and moped, hoping you’d stop in the middle of your commute home and realize you wanted to come back to him. You didn’t. Once he received the ‘got home safe.’ text from you, he decided to drink whatever was left in the fridge before passing out. He’s regretting it now.

“Steven, please.” He presses a hand over his forehead, trying to soothe the ache as he blearily stares at the mess of empty bottles from last night. “Not right now.”

“Not right now?! You snogged my best friend!”

“Oh, come on.” Marc tugs on a shirt before making his way to the bathroom. In the small cheap mirror, Steven stares right back at him, a disgruntled glare burning right into his skin, “You weren’t going to do it.” That makes him blush.

“If–If I had known…”

Marc tries to ignore him, splashing some cool water on his face to wake himself up. How can Steven even complain about it when – “Wait – how did you even find out?”

“I saw her…” He says uneasily, “pulling away.”

Marc groans into the towel as he dries off, “You were there? How much did you see?”

“It’s not like I planned for it! I’m not a perve or anything, I was just…pushed to the front all of a sudden!” Shit, he must’ve gotten too excited. “I tried to leave as soon as I got there.”

“For the record, I wasn’t planning on any of that happening either.”

“Why would you do it then? You’re going to confuse her.”

“Confuse her? Steven,” He shakes his head, “She’s obviously in love with you and you still wave whatever weird relationship you have with my wife in her face.”

“Well, hold on a minute–”

“Go back to sleep, Steven.” Marc walks over to the couch, longingly staring at the spot he was in last night. “I gotta clean up.”

–

Your POV

Your hands nervously fiddle with your phone, opening, closing, and reopening your messaging app. You stare at the text you sent last night:

‘got home safe.’

You actually got home 15 minutes before sending the text, but he doesn’t need to know it took you that long to type out 3 words. It’s crazy, you tell yourself, how many texts you drafted, edited, and deleted before hitting send. What if he doesn’t want to hear from you again? What if Steven gets it instead of him? What if he thinks you’re being clingy just because you shared one kiss? One, blissful, enamoring, show-stopping, kiss?

He hasn’t answered it yet.

Read 1:56 am

Which is fine. You’re fine. It’s only 3 pm and Steven is probably still at work, so he hasn’t had a chance to text you back. It’s fine.

You hate the way your heart skips a beat when a typing bubble comes up. Fuck, did he see your pathetic attempts to text him earlier? You quickly exit the app, not wanting to expose yourself if he sends the text and you immediately ‘read’ it. The phone vibrates abruptly in your hand as a banner drops from the top of your screen.

‘Hey 🤠! –’ Already from the emoji use you can tell it’s Steven, ‘–Wanna meet up for tea ~4:30? Let’s go t…’

You let out a sigh. You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed. Steven is your best friend and you love hanging out with him, but there’s this anticipating giddiness when you think about Marc. The feeling you used to have about Steven…

It’s crazy how one kiss can flip your life so completely. Not just that, but how fast you went from mourning the chance of one relationship to melting into the development of another.

You open up the conversation. You really should talk to him.

‘okay 🫡 i’ll meet you there'

---

a/n: sorry this took so long (literal months). i had half of this written for a while and was so sure i'd get it done within a few weeks, but then I let it sit in my drive until I picked it up TODAY and finished it lmao.

so most of this chapter delves into marc's thoughts before and during what happened in the first part, some of steven's thoughts + the aftermath of the kiss. i know a lot of ppl wanted a confrontation between the reader and steven, but I didn't want to rush into it when we don't even know how marc really feels ab the reader :3

i thought it would be interesting if steven found out about the kiss through marc (and I also didn't know how to write out the reader admitting it to him) bc that's how marc found out ab steven breaking the readers heart. i also wanted to explore how the reader is grappling with her feelings towards the two guys!

i def want to write more, but I can't promise when the next part will be out. I'm a notoriously inconsistent and SLOW writer, so bare with me. thank you for all the support on my angsty journey and I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3

#marc spector x reader #marc spector #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight #angst #steven grant x layla el faouly

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moonyflesh · 9 months ago

Text

“Technical Difficulties” - [Steven Grant x Reader]

WARNINGS: fluff, single use of profanity

CHARACTERS: Steven Grant (Moonknight; MARVEL)

🌙 .*.. ☎️

Your eyes flitted over the open book in your lap, a soft yawn leaving your plump lips as you flipped one of the yellowing pages, your eyes droopy with exhaustion (and possibly a hint of boredom).

Lulling your head back into the large leather couch, your eyes hazenly scanned the large studio apartment, analyzing what a mess it really was.

A cozy, almost welcoming mess, but a mess nonetheless.

You stood, stretching with a slight groan as your back popped, and you tossed the old, hardcover book on the messy coffee table by your calves height, your eyes scanning the papers that littered the surface, analyzing the Egyptian studies and documents for only a moment, before you tore your gaze away from the “fascinating hieroglyphs”.

A soft, oh-so-sweet accent rang through the flat, drawing your gaze through the seemingly endless bookshelves.

Steven.

The strong cockney accent had you walking through the maze, your fingers dragging along the spines of the old, once-read books on each shelf, rounding a corner to be greeted by the adorable sight of none other than your loving boyfriend, Steven Grant, hunched over his brand new phone.

Paper manuals splayed out over the already cluttered wooden desk in a frantic splash of white and black text, illuminated by a small desk-lamp as you raised your eyebrows in amusement.

A small pair of “grandma glasses” hung precariously close to the tip of his nose, slipping lower before he would mumble a complaint under his breath and push them back up with a sigh.

“Did you call for me, baby?” You asked, rubbing at your eyes with a soft yawn, before running your hands through your hair, undoing any knots.

“Ah- there’s my beautiful darling!”

He immediately seemed a pound lighter when his posture straightened up from the device in his hand, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, a smile of simple relief on his chapped lips.

“Were you sleeping, love?” He quickly questioned, his eyebrows knitting at the sight of your sleepy gaze on him, but smiled and nodded when you shook your head negatively.

“No. Was just bored- i was reading one of your books and just could not find any interest in the concept of worshipping cats,”

He chuckled, faking a face of offense at your distaste in such an interesting matter.

Well, to him anyway.

You wandered to his side, elbows first on the desk, ignoring the stacked papers as your eyes curiously draped over the phone in his hand, noticing how it still was flashing the bright white greeting screen, the word “hello” in different languages flashing slowly over the screen like some sophomore’s lazy slideshow presentation.

“I uh- well, I’ll admit i’m still not fond of your begging me to get a new phone,”

He chuckled out almost bashfully, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his crooked, tanned nose once again.

“I cant figure this bloody thing out, love.”

You smiled down at the device, tilting your head in your hand, a small laugh passing your freckled lips.

“I did not beg. I simply…asked. It’s 2025, Steven. You couldn’t keep using that damn flip phone.”

Steven scoffed, a small, playful frown on his face as he cocked his head oh-so-cutely to the side, scrunching his nose at the fact that you were probably right.

You always were, though.

He smiled, nudging your shoulder with his own playfully, scooting back out of the desk’s main area in the rolling office chair.

“I’m just askin’ for sum help, darling,”

He smiled lovingly up at you, like you were the most angelic being out there. Like he was so hopelessly in love with you.

How true that really was, you couldn’t imagine.

Sighing, you gingerly took the phone out of his hand and began the basic set up, casually pointing at buttons and certain things he should remember in terms of having a smartphone, like where the flashlight ability was, etc.

“Alright, you need a password. Something that’ll keep your phone locked, until you wanna use it.”

His eyebrows curiously knitted together, as if that was the silliest thing in the world.

“A…a passcode? Ooo, it’s like a riddle every time i want to contact you! Well- except ill already know the answer every time-”

Your heart swelled with a small huff, his innocence too much for your corrupted thoughts as you laughed.

“Uh- yeah. Like a riddle. So….?”

He pursed his lips for a moment, scratching at his black curls that were messily unstyled and stuck to his forehead.

“Make it…make it your birthday, yeah? That way I’ll never forget, and you’ll always be able to get onnit.”

He looked up at you, his hands reaching out for your hips, drawing you to his seated form, letting you stand between his thighs with a soft smile, one that absolutely melted you, and you couldn’t resist.

“…my birthday?”

He nodded eagerly, rubbing mindless circles into your hips through your loose trousers, shrugging.

“Would you rather it be our anniversary date-?”

God how dearly you loved this man.

“No, no- i just-”

He leaned closer to you, leaning into your stomach as he buried his head into your tummy, nestling his forehead there.

“I don’t deserve you, Steven.”

The man guffawed, and playfully smacked the back of your thighs with a small huff, chuckling into your tummy.

“Now why would you ever say such a thing? Course you deserve me, love. you deserve the whole bloody universe, really,” You smiled, running your fingers through his hair with a puff of acceptance, shrugging, before moving your attention back to his phone, typing away at his contacts, which consisted of, well, no one.

“i’ll add my number in, yeah? you want anyone else in here yet? Donna, maybe?”

The woman’s name brought forth a shudder from the man snuggling against you earning a bark of laughter from your glossy lips.

“alright, i’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

Pressing a few numbers, you inputted your number into his contacts, labeling it with the simple first letter of your name, and a brown heart emoji.

You cheekily pinned yourself to the top of his chat thread, but didn’t bother to tell him how you did it, or how to undo it.

“alright, you’re all set up, sweet boy,” you purred out, tugging softly on some of his curls, the raven strands of hair that stuck to his forehead being swiped away by your fingers gingerly.

“i’m probably gonna take a nap, if that’s okay? might steal your bed- that couch is awful for my back-”

He nodded, his lips brushing over the skin above your pant line, where his fingers had rested over your belly button under your blouse, curiously tracing the soft, speckled skin and stretch marks around your hips.

“y-yeah, that’s alright love. i’m gonna finish this tour outline and then i’ll join.” He smiled up at you, shifting so his chin rested on the plush of your abdomen, a lazy smile tugging at his face when you pulled the magenta glasses off his crooked nose.

“handsome chap.”

“pretty gal.”

You both chuckled at each other’s words, before you leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth, and pulled away with a soft grumble of a ‘mm’ from his chapped lips, and he scooted back into the large pine desk with a soft, overworked sigh.

“don’t be too long, okay? ‘s cold without you in bed,” You mumbled, wandering further and further away from him in open space of his flat, to the sand ring round his bed, where you kicked off your house shoes and socks, and climbed into his crisp sheets with a soft sigh, smiling at his ‘won’t be much longer!’ from across the room.

Your eyes fluttered shut when your nose inhaled his scent on one of his many pillows, a content groan leaving your lips as you laid on your side, yawning.

Sleep welcomed you more warmly with the knowledge that Steven had an easier way to contact you.

…

And it was a plus that he had a picture feature now.

…

you were definitely going to abuse that opportunity.

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angel-of-the-moons · 3 months ago

Text

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Just a little angst, and Taweret being a big ol' softie!

A/N: After a billion years--finally! I promise I haven't forgotten this fic I swear you guys, my mental health has just been... so so bad 😭😭😭 This chapter is going to mostly be filler and some dialogue as I try to get back into the swing of writing for the boys after so long stewing in my own depression

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

Chapter 16:

Moon River

"So, just to be clear..." Steven asked, his hands clasped around the tiny muffin you'd given him. "You're... you're okay with..." He moved his hand around his face, gesturing to himself a little comically.

You giggled at his silly gesture; and nod as you guide him through your shop, past the maze-like bookshelves. He had been at your apartment for a good several hours, even long after he (Marc's?) laundry was done and he had changed. You didn't mind at all--it was nice. And having a sort-of explanation as to the boys' identity situation was something nice.

And you'd be lying if you weren't happy it had been a welcome thing, learning more about them. Even with how often they came to your shop to speak with you, they were still mysterious in some ways. And you were grateful for them beginning to trust you enough to let you in. You could tell it wasn't easy for them--any of them--to just... let people in.

"Yes, Steven." You finally said, "I'm okay with everything that's going on with you."

Steven's shoulders sagged with relief as he nibbled his muffin--much like a gerbil, which you thought was adorable--and muttered; "M'kay... was worried because... y'know. Most people would call a looney bin and toss me in?"

"And people who do that instead of trying to understand someone and accept their mental health--no matter how... odd it is--are horrible people." You explained, frowning. "You--Marc, and Jake included--are my friends. I wouldn't be a very good one if I tossed you in a padded room and wiped my hands of it."

He gave you a sheepish smile, his brown eyes lighting warmly, "Yeah, yeah. You're a... a really good person."

You patted his shoulder and looked outside, "You are too, Steven. Seriously. I mean it, sweetie. Now... if you and your muffin don't wanna get soaked... I suggest you hurry home, now." Your eyes twinkle as you continued; "Or you'll have to run between the raindrops."

Steven laughed softly, "...Thank you."

You reached out, almost on instinct, and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. It was so natural in the moment that it shocked you. The action brought a bit of--well, embarrassment and surprise and you cleared your throat--you and Steven both glancing away from each other as you dropped your hand away from him.

"I... I'll see you later." He peeped, a bit of color rising in his cheeks.

"Yeah--yeah!" You laughed awkwardly.

You facepalmed as the door closed behind him and he disappeared into the night (with you, of course, locking the door behind him). You looked down at Puck as she twined between your ankles, and huffed.

"Well... I guess I should start listening to you more often, huh? You knew who they were before they even told me!"

Puck gave you a long, slow blink and sat at your feet. As if in response to your question, she gave a long, loud meow.

"Mhmm." You chuckled, leaning down to give her a scratch behind her ear, "A wonderful judge of character, you little scamp."

As you disappeared between the shelves, Puck looked towards the counter where the register sat.

And, behind the counter, Khonshu stood, looking down at her with contempt. The fur on her spine rose and her ears flattened back as she began to growl.

"Hush, you contemptible little street urchin." He scoffed, stamping his staff.

"I will not harm your human companion. You may tell your mistress I intend no harm."

Puck hissed at him once before scampering off to follow you, leaving Khonshu's ominous, looming shadow to darken your shop. He hummed in thought.

He would keep this revelation to himself.

For now, this secret wasn't necessary to be revealed to Marc and the Worm. Though Jake Lockley was easily the most loyal of the three, he knew that telling Steven and Marc of this discovery may only drive a further wedge between himself and possibly one of the most useful Avatars he'd ever taken under his blessing, in order to protect you, and the other two sharing the body. And he could not allow that to happen.

Not when they still had so much work to accomplish.

Layla's fingers swiped across the marble counter, a look of nostalgia crossing her face as her hand pulled away with dust. Either Marc would come and clean the flat on his own, or he had someone else come do it.

If he'd left it completely empty, there would be a lot more dust.

A thin layer coated nearly everything in the flat. She hadn't used it since before she found out about Steven Grant. Gods, that felt like lifetimes ago, already.

Her eyes traced the few pictures lining the walls. The first picture she took with her old Polaroid camera; the morning after their first successful "rescued" artefact. A simple lazy day in a hotel bed, their hair messy and Marc half asleep, looking at the camera with bleary eyes...

Their wedding day.

So many memories. Happy, all of them. And it genuinely pained her when she and Marc ended it all. Mutually, yes, but still. He was a person who loved with his entire being, not just his heart.

But she knew full well now that Marc, Steven, and even Jake were all meant for you, from the very start.

Her fingers reached out to pluck the photo of them on their honeymoon off the wall, holding it with a fond smile on her face.

They went to France, for this one. Granted, yes, it was also for another mission Khonshu had sent them on, but Layla had convinced Marc that, what better place was there to spend their honeymoon than the City of Love itself? Marc had actually enjoyed it, despite declaring he wasn't having fun at the time, especially when she convinced him to try a rather stinky cheese.

Oh, the face he made! That was the picture she held now. His nose scrunched and his tongue sticking out of his mouth; hand blurred as it frantically reached for a napkin to spit in. And Layla, smiling as she got herself in the snapshot. Marc always had this thing for sniffing his food and drink before eating, maybe it was something that carried over with Steven? She remembered reading up in some article that some autistics would do that with food and drink.

Even back then, Steven was with them and she didn't even know it. When they first ran into problems, especially after finding the Scarab pointing to Ammit's ushabti. She'd moved out of the flat--storming off into a cold winter night and telling him to call her when he got his head out of his ass--and got a small one somewhere on the other side of town.

Apparently, it wasn't long after that that his mother, Wendy has passed away. She can't say she grieved for that woman's loss. The one time she met her, she was piss drunk and smelled like vomit; saying the most horrific things to Marc while he balled his fists and held in tears; his own father merely tucking his head in shame instead of defending their only (living) son.

Layla had enough that night. She remembered taking that bottle of bourbon and throwing it against the wall, shouting right back at Wendy about how abusive and cruel she was, how horrible of a mother she was. Layla had gotten so heated that she even shouted, "If Randall was alive today, he would be ashamed to even call you his mother! Treating his big brother that he loved so much like he's a piece of trash. Go to hell!"

She pulled Marc out by the hand and held him in her lap that night, letting him sob and cry into her fuzzy bath robe as the stress of the evening crashed down on him. He apologized for Wendy. He said it was once again, all his fault. That he never should have brought Layla to meet his family.

Layla remembered stroking his hair and telling him to stop. That Wendy was a horrible woman, she let her grief consume her instead of protecting and treasuring the son that she had left, she blamed him for everything bad in her life. Blamed him for Randall's death. Blamed him for her alcoholism. Blamed him for how much of a "freak" he became when he first began to disassociate and Steven would front. She would beat him relentlessly, call him an idiot for pretending to be the adventurer from his favorite film, Tomb Buster.

Marc did his best to treat those memories, to give Steven only the best so he didn't have to suffer, but once they died and went to the Duat, poor Steven learned the truth. But Marc only did what he could to protect him, Jake did, too, despite them not knowing about him yet--all because they loved each other.

She placed the picture back on the wall, her brows pinching slightly as the realization dawned on her. Why Marc kept the flat. Why he didn't tell her.

Marc Spector loved with his whole being, after all.

Keeping the flat, in a way, was a shrine. A shrine to his dedication and love. A shrine of guilt that he couldn't give Layla the marriage and love life she deserved. A shrine to all the memories they made together--even the bad ones. A shrine to his own perceived failures. His own self-hatred and guilt that had been hammered into his psyche by the very woman that had given him life in the first place.

She didn't realize she'd been crying until she felt the tears drip down her nose.

Marc suffered for so long, blamed himself for every bad thing in the world for so long, and thought he was undeserving of love. That all he did was hurt people. But that just wasn't true.

Marc was an endless pool of love, even if he didn't declare it with grand gestures. He showed it through things like bringing Layla her favorite treat (marshmallows) when she was sad. Helping her when her menstrual cramps would become unbearable on the last few days of her cycle. How he would have fun helping wrangle her curls into her bonnet for sleep; massaging her shoulders.

Trying to keep her out of harm's way and go after Ammit himself--so she wouldn't ever get hurt by Harrow and his people.

Layla wiped at her tears, moving to the tissue box by the telephone in the wall--Marc insisted on using things with buttons, the old fashioned goof--and dabbed her tears and blew her nose.

Marc, Steven, and Jake were so close. So, so close to getting what they truly deserved in life: the other half of their soul. She knew that you would love them back in return, your heart would burn so brightly for them that it would keep them warm even on their worst nights out in the cold. That you would be their torch in the dark of night when Khonshu's moon would fail to light their way.

But she couldn't just tell them. She had to wait, to let the four of you figure this out on your own. Forcing you together before you were ready would not end well, and she couldn't bear to see the boys--and you--hurting in any way.

"Are you alright, m'love?" Taweret's calming voice soothed, her large frame leaning down to peer at Layla with her dark, empathetic eyes. Her little ears wiggled and flapped out in worry, her fingers twitching to comfort her somehow.

Layla smiled, nodding almost hesitantly, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... remembering, is all. And, I just... I hope they sort this out, soon. They need each other. So badly..."

Taweret sighed, cooing as she scooped Layla in her arms, holding her in a warm, protective embrace. Her large hands smoother over her back, caressing her in a comforting manner.

"Hush, my darling. I know, I know it's hard." The goddess murmured, "I know you wish to break down and tell them everything. I know it's hard knowing Jake doesn't want to tell the other two about her because he's scared. You just want what's best for them--and she is it."

"They deserve each other." Layla whispered, sniffling into her embrace. "I want them happy."

"Oh, but they are." Taweret pulled away, looking down at Layla. She swiped her thumb over her cheek to sweep away her tears.

"Don't you see? Even if Jake won't tell anything to them--even if Steven, Marc and that sweet darling girl don't know it, yet... They have been happier than they have been in a long time. No offense to your marriage, 'f course." She giggled apologetically.

Layla laughed suddenly; more of a hiccup really, as Taweret cupped her cheeks in her palms, locking eyes with her beloved Avatar, "Steven is opening up to someone new, Marc is letting his guard down. Jake is smiling more."

"Even if they don't know it yet," She spoke gently. "They are so very, very happy, just by having her near. And thanks to your help, it sort of fast tracked it all..."

Layla smiled up at her, her warm, dark eyes still swimming with tears as she sniffed. Taweret dabbed her cheeks with a fresh tissue, encouraging her to blow her nose afterwards before flicking her wrist and making it disappear in a flash of magical fire.

"Layla, you are their guardian angel. They love you so much. You are a huge part of their lives. That alone has pushed them through the darkest parts of their lives so far, and now, you will be here to comfort them as this all settles in."

"Thank you." She whispered.

"Anytime, love." Taweret said, planting her warm muzzle on Layla's skin to give a kiss to her forehead. A goddess who embodied motherhood simply could not ignore those very instincts, especially when it came to her Avatar.

As she vanished, Layla left the flat feeling refreshed--energetic even.

She had a good feeling about this. Things were finally looking up.

Chapter 17: Later this week? Maybe?

#moon knight #A Rose Under The Moon #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven universe #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley #layla el faouly #Taweret #Khonshu

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