#steven grant x layla el faouly

[loud-mouth-loser]

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

[gebstargeb]

Steven and Layla :3 🌙🌙🌙

#give me 5 whole buckaroos and ill draw you something like this #comissionsopen #moon knight #steven grant #moonknight #layla el faouly #steven grant x layla el faouly #layla el faouly x steven grant #moonscarab #art #moon knight fanart #moon knight tv #my art #digital art #marvel moon knight #moonknight art #art style #chibiart

[traveller-of-the-knight]

*Steven and Marc narrating*

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight memes #moon knight meme #moon knight funny #funny moon knight #incorrect moon knight quotes #incorrect moon knight quote #incorrect moon knight #layla el faouly #layla el-fauouly #steven grant #marc spector #steven grant x layla el faouly #marc spector x layla el faouly #may calamawy #may calamawy cute #scarlet scarab #the scarlet scarab #moon knight show #moon knight disney+ #moon knight series #moon knight tv #moon knight mcu #mcu moon knight #moon knight layla #mcu memes #marvel memes #marvel disney+ #moon knight fandom

[guruan]

Hiya! Since I'm all for soft!Steven can you draw him sleeping on - idk - Layla? My bbs deserve eveything 😭💝💘💖💕💞💗

This is so sweet 🥺🥺🥺

Babies!!!

Hope this fills your heart ❤

Guruan's 1k followers celebration

#moon knight #moonknight #steven grant #layla el faouly #stevenlayla #steven x layla #steven grant x layla el faouly #sketch #fanart #guruan's 1k followers celebration

[dadstielkline]

#steven grant #marc spector #layla el faouly #steven x layla #steven grant x layla el faouly #layla x steven #layla x steven x marc #layla x marc #moon knight #moon knight system

[lazlolullaby]

Where is the Moon Knight AU where Marc and Layla's patron Gods are swapped? and now my brain can't work because it extended into a full roleswap AU?

Layla's father came back from a successful dig with a trove of information and a lovely little ushabti of Khonshu. However, Abdullah is acting strange, talking to thin air, going out at night, researching further into obscure things. The lights are also flickering no matter how much she checks the generator and the wind keeps blowing despite the doors being shut.

Abdullah El-Faouly is the Eye of Khonshu: being banished for so long from the world, the God needs some time to adjust before going forward with his plan of punishing evildoers. (this was Khonshu trying so hard to be like the Ennead, but he could not abandon his nature to protect.) Abdullah ends up breaking the contract and Khonshu leaves the ushabti behind as a token of protection.

(then there is Arthur Harrow, the Talons of Khonshu. While his willingness to perform violence is a boon, sometimes he is too eager.)

Everything is fine for a while, then mercenaries break in to find the artifact. Bushman threatens them. Layla fights and takes down most of them, but her father is still hurt. One of the remaining mercenaries turns on Bushman. (He starts the mission as Marc - but since he can't handle another innocent death on his hands, backs out and swaps with Jake.)

During the struggle, Layla gets shot. Jake gets things done and then scatters. (he believes that he killed her. this has. repercussions on the system.)

Khonshu at first just wanted to revive Abdullah, but at his insistence he gives up being an Avatar so Layla can be revived. "she is going to be angry. You won't be there to see it." "she would have gone after them anyway."

(Khonshu abandons Harrow for this, not sure if it was worth it.)

Abdullah is right. Layla does go on a hunt, now as the Wings of Khonshu. Moon Scarab, to the underworld and the rumor mill.

She's mad about everything. Mad that her father presumed she needed saving, mad that she has to listen to an angry bird. (Rage, though it burns hot, always burns out. It's better than the cold certainty of Harrow's punish before wrongdoing. It is worth it.)

(Layla isn't unhinged, she's just gripping very tight to the hinges, thank you for asking.)

Weeks pass and she finds the last person of the mercenary group. A man cuffed to a wheelchair in a psych ward, sedated.

"His mind is fractured. Broken." Khonshu says. "It could be a fitting punishment, to keep him here. His body rotting while his mind spins in fruitless cycles."

"or he could be very good at hiding. One way to find out."

Layla is an excellent forger - a release for the merc, a small flat and money to keep him in town while he recovers from treatment. She feeds him a lie about being a family friend. There's a flicker of distrust.

"I've got a condition - blacking out, memory issues, insomnia - I'll be up reading all night." He says his name is Steven, but she knows better. "Are you sure you want to be flatmates?"

"I have places to be at night." Khonshu flickers the lights.

"Oh. Fine. Night owl, that's...fine."

"Don't worry about the lights, the landlord never answers the calls." don't mind that she's the landlord.

Her coming home with bruises and cuts. Steven flinches, insisting they go out to get bandages because they don't have a proper first aid kit. The awkward stare off with a hurt lady and a nervous guy VS the night shift cashier that's Seen it All. "bar fight. I won." Layla grins, blood on her teeth.

(The little moment where they're close as he's putting a bandage on her nose and being. so. tender. to someone who's never been more than 'distractedly polite' to him. His face changing to something new, something strange and lovely.)

When she finds him hitting himself, it's not that hard for him to explain. "I don't - I don't know if this is real. Jake is very sure you're dead!"

It turns out after the night of the attack, Jake got them far away as possible. He resolved to become a night driver and Steven to keep house in the day. Marc woke up and realized an alter was trying to build a life and just...let them. Better than mercenary work.

Steven gets worried about his missing time and gets therapy...and the therapist realizes, tells them and pushes them too hard to "come together as one whole"...Jake snaps and he's forced into a psych ward.

They cribbed together some form of communication on the psych ward thanks to a different therapist and the other patients. Marc's immense guilt wanted them to stay. But Jake and Steven wanted the body out. If they spent more time in the ward, they might reveal some crimes and the system doubts that they'll be allowed this level of help in a prison.

When Layla arrived to take them, it was an opportunity they didn't want to refuse.

"We don't want to be one person. We want to be ourselves." Steven fully introduces them after that. "We are the Hippo system! Like the Hippocampus of the brain that works with memory - that's Marc - and navigation - that's Jake!" He spells it out, "He Isn't a People Person Otherwise!"

"Who's he?"

Steven shrugs. "I dunno. I'm just here for general life, Jake is here for protection and gossip and Marc...he's well. Not as social as he'd like to be. I'm not supposed to know about it, that's not my "function", as the doc would say but...whatever happened that made us us was too much for one person to bear. It happened before we met you, so it's not your fault."

Layla shrugs. "What can you tell me about that night?"

"I can't tell you. That's part of the point, us being separate and all."

She eventually gets an answer out of them. Layla also lies and says she wasn't as badly hurt as they saw and shows off her Moon Scarab suit with the healing. (Jake accepts that answer at face value. Steven is a little concerned but willing to let it slide. Marc is suspicious.)

Now with their first round of secrets gone, they feel more at home. The Hippo System settles in as a decent partner in her artifact retrieval - he can put his mercenary skills to a good cause and she doesn't have to hide that burning rage as much. (the rage dims, is soothed and that's not good for vengeance.)

Khonshu starts to intrude, making noises about using the Hippo System as his next Avatar. Layla pulls away, tries to keep them apart because she Knows any more pressure on that mind is going to break them apart.

Wendy Spector dies and the Hippo system is thrown out of balance.

(The rage ignites. She's always held it together - her family after her mother died, her composure when people talked over her and her knowledge of Egypt, her home, now the Hippo system. It's always been up to her and she's resigned and vicious and not holding back.)

Layla makes a judgement call and goes after Harrow alone.

The system recovers. Steven now knows why he exists. He does not flinch from Layla's rage, does not fall for Harrow's twisted philosophy, not like Marc or Jake would. He rallies the system to action, to save the world.

Harrow was able to get dirt on Marc's past and tries to kill him with Judgement, but it doesn't work. He reveals about Khonshu, that his partner is lying to him and it does strain the relationship.

Things follow canon. Khonshu gets sealed into stone. Layla dies and Marc blends in as a follower.

Tawaret tries to ask him to be her Avatar, but he refuses. "Do you know what I did as a child to my brother? What my mother did to me over and over for it? Why would you even want me to defend women and children?"

And he releases Khonshu. "Ah. Big pigeon! No wonder Layla was so bloody ready to be rid of you! Get back to her then! Go on!"

And Tawaret comes back. "Temporary Avatar. I don't want any more voices in my head than I started with."

And he becomes Hippo Knight, because why not?

And they win against Harrow and the cult of Ammit. The system helps Layla stop giving into her rage to kill Harrow. Everyone should be able to choose good or evil.

(Steven kept in contact with the patients and nurses in the psych ward. Harrow is preaching violence again and well. He made his choice. Jake drives Layla over to meet with him. Marc holds her tight.)

#moon knight #layla el faouly #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #steven grant x layla el faouly #khonshu #marc spector x layla el faouly #lazlo's lulls #roleswap au #something about layla gets some mental illness and the system gets some stability #idk i kind of liked the thought of Layla's first impression of the system being him at his worst in the psych ward #then her learning about the different alters when they're ready #and the hippo acronym is VERY steven so #Inaccurate did system much like the show

[p-taryn-dactyl]

Chaos is a Friend of Mine (1)

a/n: so quick storytime: i am obsessed with ancient egypt. i love the history and the culture and the mythology - it's all so beautiful and interesting to me. it actually started after i read the Kane Chronicles so thanks rick so when Moon Knight was announced then released, I think I had a stroke from how excited I was. And the show surpassed all expectations I had like....it was amazing. (i think my parents had a grudge against Moon Knight bc it reignited my passion and i talked nonstop about literally anything to do with ancient egypt.) okay sorry for that, the fic will start now (this the first part of a new series)

prompt/plot: you were once the avatar to the god of chaos - living your best life as you exacted torment upon your enemies. but when he was encased in stone, you lived your life in hiding from the Ennead. When the pyramid crumbled, Marc, Steven, and Layla didn't think about the consequences. After all the statues were broken, the formerly trapped gods went back to their former avatars (if still alive). now, you're back as a threat to the world and to kill the new avatar of khonshu. word count: 1.8k taglist: @nyx-aira (thank you for the title! i hope you like the fic!) pairing(s): (all platonic/enemies - for now) steven grant x fem!reader; marc spector x fem!reader; layla el faouly x fem!reader warning(s): gif not mine and not really relevant to the fic but it's cool; reader is a bit crazy - you're a villain, congrats; changing perspectives/POV; use of Y/N

The chaos came on Tuesday, like it always did. It started with all your plates falling out of the cabinets, hitting the ground with muffled bangs. After the fifth time, you had traded out all your plates to plastic. Then came the bookshelf. Books pushed themselves off the shelves, opening on the floor, the pages ruffling as your AC came on. But the most annoying was when your blanket was ripped from you, exposing you to the cool air of your apartment. 

“Uugghh, what ghost did I piss off?” You mumbled to yourself, getting up from your chair, setting your coffee down on the end table. As you bent down to pick up the plates, waiting for the blinds to start opening - the pattern of chaos ingrained in your mind, you heard a shattering noise followed by liquid spilling. You stood up straight. 

“Oh hell no-” You stormed over to where you set down your coffee, sighing angrily as you saw your mug in pieces and the coffee all over your floor. You flared your arms upward, frustration in your voice as you yelled at your ceiling. 

“Okay, what the shit did I do to you? Did you live here centuries ago or something? Did-” You were cut off by the feeling of steaming coffee steeping into your sock. As you hopped on one foot, hissing in pain, you noticed the coffee forming strange puddles. You crouched down, cocking your head to the side as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Maybe your floorboards were uneven. But as the steaming brown liquid continued to swirl, you recognized what they were forming. 

“Hieroglyphs?” You whispered in disbelief, hand reaching out to trace the symbols. Just as your fingers touched the coffee, the hieroglyphs seemingly translated in your mind. You scrambled back at what it said, chest heaving in shock. After you calmed down, you stood up calmly, aware of the presence behind you. You rolled your shoulder before raising an eyebrow. 

“So..you’re back?” You shook your head, laughing as excitement weld up inside of you. You turned around, a smile itching to form on your face. 

“Hello Set.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marc was vibing. He was free of Khonshu’s burden, free to live his life with Layla and Steven, without any possibility of danger ahead. He leaned back in his patio chair, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he basked in the sun. Layla sat in front of him, her hair creating a halo around her head, glowing in the sun. Even though she was no longer the avatar for Taweret, she was still a goddess. The streets bustled around them, families out shopping, vendors calling out their goods, music playing faintly in the distance. 

“Why are you smiling so big?” Layla asked as she took a drink of her sugar cane juice, a happy look on her face. Marc spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the energy around them. 

“This! We can finally have a moment like this without having to look over our shoulders! We can finally take a breath!” Marc looked down at the mirror he now carried around, seeing Steven smiling as well. 

“I can’t believe it’s actually over.” Steven gushed out, as he fronted. Layla’s eyes widened in excitement when she heard Steven’s voice. 

“And how are you doing? Do you plan on going back to your museum job?” Before Steven could answer, Marc’s reflection yelled a “No!”. Steven laughed, shaking his head. 

“I think I’m going to have to talk to the voice in my head about that.” Layla chuckled, shaking her head. Marc put on a faux offended look. 

“I really thought we had gotten closer Steven, I really di-” when he didn’t finish, Steven raised the mirror up, concern written on his face. 

“Marc, what is it?” Marc fronted, looking around, a bad feeling growing in his gut. Layla set down her juice, also looking around. 

“Marc what-” people started screaming, their eyes glossing over. Marc stood up quickly, knocking his chair over as he, Layla, and Steven watched the chaos around them. People were running around, clawing at each other, their words garbled together like they were speaking under water. Layla squinted, looking at the ground, taking a cautious step towards Marc as she watched sand seep through the streets, rising and falling like an ocean caught in a storm. Soon, Marc and Layla were back to back as they watched the chaos unfold. The sand rose up, swirling around them like a tornado, crashing to the ground, crushing the table they were once sitting at. Steven fronted, rubbing his forehead. 

“What the bloody hell.” He mumbled as the crowd started to become more violent with each other, some people’s eyes dripping sand. Everytime Layla or Steven tried to move, they realized their legs had gotten trapped in a pool of quicksand. They heard a woman scream as her friend threw a knife at her, scrapping her side, their heads snapping in that direction. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A new voice spoke, a woman’s voice with overlapping echoes. The quicksand rotated, causing them to turn around, letting them see the owner of the voice. A woman sat on the edge of the roof of the building across the street, leaning back on her arms, a pleased yet nostalgic look on her face. 

“You’re doing this?” Layla asked, her voice filled with disbelief. The woman shrugged, her eyes still focused on the crazed people. 

“Maybe. But don’t worry, darling, it won’t last long. It will stop when I get what I want.” 

Steven and Layla looked at each other before Steven asked. 

“And what do you want?” His voice was hesitant, but without fear. The woman laughed to herself, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her rings. When she looked up, her eyes were pits of fire, burning into Layla and Steven. 

“I want the avatar of Khonshu. Dead.” She turned her gaze to only Steven who swallowed, letting Marc front. Marc chuckled, scratching his head. 

“Look lady, I guess you haven’t heard yet. I’m no longer Khonshu’s avatar!” The woman with eyes of fire faked looking disappointed before bursting into a giant smile, laughing loudly. She stood up. 

“Oh honey, it’s cute that you actually believe that.” She placed her hands on her hips, smirking. “You know, when my friend was released from his prison of stone, I thought: Finally. You know why? Because I’ve waited years, decades, to kill Khonshu once and for all. Killing his avatar is just the first step. But then,” she laughed, raising her hands in the air - causing the sand to rise up Layla and Marc’s neck to their chins, “I find out the avatar of Khonshu that I knew had gone crazy, started a cult, worshiped the alligator lady, became her avatar, then got shot in the head. By Khonshu’s new avatar.” She watched with glee as Marc seemed to put it all together. His chest fell, shaking his head as he looked towards the sky. 

“I’m still Moon Knight.” 

“Well, not exactly. Your third identity is, you and Steven are just along for the ride.” Steven fronted, much to Marc’s annoyance. The egyptologist frantically traced his mind, desperate to figure out what she meant by her friend trapped in stone. 

“You’re an avatar.” The woman raised her eyebrow, looking to the side then back at Steven. 

“Well duh. And I thought you were the smart one.” Steven shook his head, confusion etched into his face. 

“But who’s your-”

“Set.” Layla spoke, her face hardening as she named the god of chaos, deserts, and disorder. The woman pointed at Layla, making a finger gun motion. 

“Bingo. But don’t worry, you haven’t met him yet. This,” she waved her hands towards the street, “is all me.” She said proudly. Just as Steven was about to respond, the woman’s eyes lost all of their humor, shining with hate as she looked behind them. Layla and Steven turned their heads to see Khonshu behind them, holding his scepter in a menacing way.  

“Y/N. I thought you were dead.” She shrugged. 

“You thought wrong, pigeon head.” The moon god growled, preparing to attack. Y/N cocked her head to the side, as if listening to someone speak. An evil smirk grew across her face. She flicked her wrist, the sand surrounding Layla and Steven collapsing, sending them to the ground. Y/N smiled at Khonshu, no warmth present. She adjusted her cuffed sleeves and collar, waving as she dissolved into sand, disappearing into the wind. In a flash, the sand in the street was gone, and people carried on as they were before, no trace of the madness from a few seconds prior. Marc fronted, turning towards Khonshu, anger written in his eyes. 

“I thought we had a deal.” Khonshu nodded solemnly. 

“We did. But now we see that Moon Knight is still needed. Set has been released and his avatar, that Y/N, is arguably more dangerous than he is. She won’t stop till I’m dead, killing whoever is in her way.” Layla shook her head, frustration seeping in as she ran her hand through her hair. 

“And why is that our problem?” Khonshu sighed, pointing to her wrist. 

“Because of that.”

On her wrist, or seemingly under her skin, was a shifting symbol. A Was-scepter. Marc groaned when he saw the same thing on his wrist. 

“She can track you with that mark. She’s able to see wherever you are, hear what you hear, hunting you like a predator,” Khonshu looked towards the horizon as Marc and Layla looked at each other with devastated looks,

“No matter where you go, she’ll find you.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You reformed in your hotel room, shaking excess sand onto the floor. You cracked your neck and knuckles, rolling your head to the side. Set appeared on the bed, lounging with his arms behind his head. You rolled your eyes, taking off your rings as you went to change for bed. 

“I’m not sharing the bed nor am I sleeping on the floor.” You called out from the bathroom, pulling pajamas on. When you walked out, you saw the mule headed god playing with a TV remote, jumping when he accidentally turned the television on. You shook your head, muting the sound when you took the remote from Set. 

“Can you see them?” He asked, his voice like cries of war. You closed your eyes, smiling as Marc Spector and Layla el Faouly came into view - furiously packing their stuff, looking around cautiously. Marc was scratching as his brand, the was-scepter seemingly burning him. When you opened your eyes, you nodded. A smirk grew on Set’s face, the fire in his eyes burning brighter. He got off the bed, raising his arms like a champion in battle. Your hotel room walls shifted and reformed, creating itself into a palace on the inside. You laughed. 

“You’re so dramatic.” Set shrugged, nodding acceptantly. You sat criss cross on the bed, looking at Set intensely, your own eyes burning with flames.

“So, what’s next?” Set laughed.

“Well, my child, we get your revenge.”

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #layla el faouly #layla el faouly x reader #khonshu #set (the egyptian god) #seth #setekh #fem!reader #moon knight fanfiction #Y/N is so alike to my main character of the book im writing #khonshu x reader #steven grant x layla el faouly #marc spector x layla el faouly #i'll probably add some of my OC's later on as other avatars just a fair warning

[howaboutcastiel]

More Than Alright

A sweet, sweet first time with Layla x Steven (approved by Marc, of course) 3.4k words. 

Content: PIV sex (protected), oral (f receiving), fluffy sweetness

“You sure you want to do this, darling?” Layla asked as Steven stared at her with wide, startled eyes. 

“Yeah—yes, definitely.” He had been dreaming about this moment for months. There was no way in hell he was backing out now. 

She had him on his back, pinned underneath her weight as she pressed hot kisses into his neck. They had both had an idea that the night would end up here, but dinner and wine and laughter had made time get away from them. Steven and Layla had been talking for hours before they even shared a single kiss. After that, the make-out session was another lengthy endeavor, one that migrated from the sofa to the bed and now had Steven rock hard in his boxers. 

They had talked of this moment before—with each other and with Marc. He’d come around to the idea fairly easily. Sharing with Steven was just part of his life now, and he couldn’t deny how happy his alter made his wife. They’d become close friends immediately after they met, and become something more nearly as quick. Finally, the whole thing between them was starting to feel complete. Steven, Marc, and Layla, together and sharing everything. 

Almost everything. 

“I’m just a bit nervous,” Steven admitted. Layla smiled against his skin, nuzzling him and making him release a breathy chuckle. “You’re so used to Marc… and he knows what he’s doing.”

“I don’t care about that. Don’t think about Marc right now. It’s just me and you.” She continued to suck along his collarbone, running her tongue along the edge of his v-neck undershirt. Steven switched between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut tight, apprehension filling him to the brim. 

He’d never done this before. When would he have even had the chance? And Marc and Layla were married, surely they knew each other’s bodies as well as they knew their own. Steven didn’t know anything at all. He ran his hand slowly along the curve of Layla’s back, trying to take a mental inventory of the shape. The softness, the warmth. His hand dove lower, but he was so scared to touch her that his skin barely grazed her panties as he followed the curve.

“Yeah, just me and you.” He repeated Layla’s words out loud, hoping they would give him peace of mind. Her tongue traced over his adam's apple daintily and he hitched a breath as another wave of blood rushed down between his thighs. Steven couldn’t help himself.  Caught up in the feeling, he dug his fingers into Layla’s skin and grabbed a proper fistful of her ass. She keened at the feeling and ground her hips down into him. 

“S-sorry!” Steven grumbled, thinking he must have hurt her. She shook her head and unlatched from his neck to look down at him. 

“No, don’t be.” She took in the nervousness painted all over his face. Steven blushed at the way she peered into him, but Layla didn’t seem nearly as worried. “You’re overthinking this. I want you, baby. You. Steven Grant. And I don’t want you to hold anything back from me.”

“But what if I hurt you?” His voice was barely a whisper, almost a whine. “Or what if—what if I do something that you don’t like? What if I make myself look like a right fool?” 

“You’d never,” she assured. Layla dipped to peck his lips, grinding into him again while she was at it. He chased her kiss as she leaned back again and he shuddered at the movement of her hips. “You don’t look like a fool, baby. You look beautiful. And sexy. And if you hurt me, I’ll tell you, but I’m a lot harder to break than you think I am.” 

He nodded, reassured but still not convinced, and she leaned down again to latch their mouths together. The kissing, at least, Steven knew he was good at. They’d had ample practice already with that, and the wine had only made him more curious about the inside of Layla’s mouth. He licked and hummed into her until the lack of breath ached in his throat. When she pulled away, she crossed her arms along her waist to pull off her blouse. 

“Oh, God,” Steven mumbled, both out of fear and awe. His heart was beating hard against his ribs, and he was mesmerized by the way Layla’s hair bounced as the fabric pulled it up and let it fall. Words fumbled from his mouth. “You’re gorgeous, darling. Bloody gorgeous.” 

“So are you,” she replied without missing a beat. A wide, softened smile was spread across her face, which gave Steven a warm feeling in his chest. Yes, he was nervous. Yes, he was going to be rubbish at this, but this was Layla. This was his Layla. It would be perfect just because it was with her, and she would be happy just to be with him, too. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much.” He was so focused on her face that Steven hadn’t even noticed her now-exposed chest. His eyes danced along her neck and shoulders, enamored with her soft caramel skin and the way her collarbone stuck out when she moved. He ventured lower. Her breasts were held by a simple, pink-laced bra, cupped perfectly in his line of sight and right in his arm’s range of motion. 

“Don’t be shy.” Layla noticed how his eyes hesitated just too high, and the way that his fingers twitched as his pupils followed the outline of the lace. He look startled for a moment before pulling his hand up to her bust. Steven traced the tops of the cups with the pads of his fingers while Layla ground into him again. 

His apprehension was starting to be replaced by something else. With each roll of Layla’s hips, a bit of the fear chipped away and made room for a morsel of desire. Attention to Layla’s eyes and hair and smile began to falter to an eye for her breasts and her hips. Steven caught himself lingering on the skin of her belly or taking lasting glances at her neck and jaw. He felt the urge to buck up into her. More than that, the thought stuck in his mind to grab her waist and pull her down onto him. 

“Layla,” he started. She raised her eyebrows as she ground a long, deliberate thrust against his crotch. Steven’s dick was aching in his pants now. He didn’t know exactly what to ask for, though. So he didn’t ask. “You’re so—so good. God, love. It feels good.”

He arched his back to prolong the contact. Steven snaked his hand around Layla’s back as she stilled her hips. He fiddled with the clasp of her bra for a moment before it snapped apart, causing both him and Layla to gasp. With the success of one-handed bra undoing giving him a much-needed boost of confidence, Steven braced himself on his elbow and scooted into a sitting position. 

“There’s my guy,” Layla grinned as he pulled the straps over her arms. He pulled the cups away in a slow, smooth motion.

When Steven looked up at her, she was almost startled to see the pure lust on his face. Though lots of wonder remained, the fear was gone, and Steven looked like a man on a mission. Sweat made his curls cling to his face, his pupils were so wide his eyes might as well just be black, and his lips hung slightly open as he panted and darted his tongue across them. He looked like he could devour her. Like he wanted to. 

“Steven?”

Without further thought, Steven leaned forward to press his mouth against her sternum. Layla whined at the surprise gesture, leaning into the heat of his tongue between her breasts. The taste of sweat was intoxicating. He pressed himself further, bringing his hand up to squeeze her skin as he sucked a mark along her breastbone. Her own hand shot up to his hair. 

“Steven!” Each passage of his tongue sent shivers down her spine and heat between her legs. His breaths were peppered with quiet whimpers and he started absentmindedly bucking his hips as he moved his mouth over her nipple. Layla’s panties were almost soaked through. “Oh, fuck.”

“You alright?” He pulled away, worried. She scoffed at him as she glanced at his blushing face through her eyelashes. 

“Don’t stop. More than alright.”

She tugged his shirt until it was bunched under his chin. Reluctantly, drunkenly, Steven leaned away long enough for her to pull it over his head. The same thought crossed her mind that had crossed his, causing her mouth to become dry and her tongue to tighten inside. The thought passed as Steven latched onto her breast and grazed the skin with his teeth. 

Layla had gone into this thinking the focus would be all on him. After all, it was his first time, wasn’t it? Surely Steven didn’t know the first thing about pleasuring a woman. Surely he would be too wound up to even think of her needs. That’s how most men tended to be, right?

Oh, how she was wrong. 

When she started to grind her hips into him again, Steven groaned and sputtered and tightened his grip. He didn’t stop his attack on her breasts, though. Not until Layla grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his chin up so that she could give him another kiss. 

“You ready?” She whispered between breaths. He whined into her mouth. 

“Oh, God Yes.”

Layla placed her hand on the center of his chest, coaxing him back down against the mattress while her other hand worked at his belt buckle. His cock was straining helplessly against his work pants. Steven couldn’t hold back the whimper he let out. 

“You sound so pretty,” she chuckled. “I’ve barely even started.”

The moment the belt unlatched, Steven’s mind went racing back to the nervousness of before. He tried to rationalize himself out of it. It’s the same body, right? She’s seen Marc naked a million times before. This is nothing. But the thoughts were doing nothing to calm him, and he shuddered as she tugged the belt out of its loops. 

Oh, God. I can’t believe this is actually happening. What if I fuck this up? Layla is so perfect and smart and I can’t be nearly as good as her at this. Oh God—

Steven, relax. 

Layla stepped off of her place straddling his waist so she could remove her own clothes. Steven was grateful for that, having been distracted and a little terrified. 

Marc? What’re you doing here?

Trying to calm you down. You’re too in your head. 

You haven’t been here the whole time, have you?

What? No! You just called me forward because you’re so nervous. You gotta relax. 

That’s easy for you to say. You’ve had sex with Layla plenty of times. You’re an expert at it!

It doesn’t matter, Steven. I wasn’t always an expert. You have to start somewhere. Just stop overthinking. 

I don’t know if I can. 

Steven felt Marc mentally roll his eyes, and he was gone again back into the headspace before Layla had taken off her pants. Her panties were cute and lacy. They matched the bra that Steven had excitedly discarded somewhere beside the bed. Layla must have chosen a matching set just for him. 

Because she would do anything for him. 

“Just let me take the lead here, yeah?” She offered, seeing the fear that had returned to his features. He nodded and steadied his breath, and Layla planted a kiss on his belly before reaching for the button of his pants. Steven lifted his hips and helped her pull the fabric down off of his thighs. When they were off, she returned to her place atop his hips, one knee on either side of him. 

He felt like jell-o when he met her gaze. She looked stunning above him, hair draped over her shoulders and lips plump from kisses. Her eyes were lidded and her cheeks were flushed, and Steven couldn’t keep his eyes off of her long enough to follow the hand that snaked under his boxers. 

“Shit,” he gasped as Layla’s fingers grazed his tip. She wasted no time pulling his cock from under the fabric. Steven watched the hint of satisfaction run across her features as he tried to buck up into her hand. “That’s—oh, fuck.”

“That feels good, hmm?” She was smiling, and Steven had to squeeze his eyes shut as she flashed her teeth. He wanted to last long enough for her to enjoy herself. He wanted to savor this moment. “Just hold on for me, baby.”

Layla pulled a condom from the bedside table, ripping the wrapper with her teeth. He had to focus very hard on his breathing as she rolled it down onto him. Steven was sure his thighs were going to be sore tomorrow from how hard he was tending them. Then the rubber was on to the base, and Layla was lifting herself up to hover over him. 

Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. 

She pushed her panties to the side, and Steven registered for a split-second how absolutely soaked she was. Her fingers danced along her entrance for a few moments. Then, Layla started to lower herself onto him. The tip of his dick had barely grazed her cunt and Steven was catching a whine in his throat. 

Don’t overthink it. 

That was easy. Because as Layla sunk down another inch, Steven forgot altogether how to think. His mind went blank and his vision went static. His hands were steady on either side of her waist, but he was anything but composed on the inside. Layla took him to the hilt and her ass was flush against his hips. She stayed there for a moment, adjusting to him. 

“Can I—” Steven heard himself talking, though he couldn’t feel his lips. “Can I move?”

She nodded, and both of them keened as he rolled his hips hesitantly into her. There was a pause. He looked up to see her head tilted back, her neck exposed to him. On her exhale, Layla let out a soft whimper. This time, she was the one to move. 

God, she felt so good around him. So tight, so hot, moving at the perfect pace. Steven moved his hands up her back and pushed her forward, wanting to taste her again. When she was almost flush against his chest, only holding herself up for balance, she found a new angle that sent shock waves up her spine. 

“That’s it, baby. Right there.” She clenched around his cock and closed the gap between their lips. They were both working, and failing, to keep the pace of their hips in sync. Steven’s control faltered as he grew close to the edge quickly. Every time he hit that spot inside her, she clenched down and pushed deeper onto him, and he couldn’t control himself. 

“Fuck, Layla, I’m not gonna last like this.” He wanted to hold on longer. Just a bit longer. He was making her feel good. He could see by the way her eyes rolled and her arms tensed that he was making her feel good. He didn’t want to stop making her feel good. 

“It’s okay,” she cooed. “Just let yourself go.”

“Not so soon,” he tried to protest. Steven was already at the edge, though, and Layla didn’t let up at all after his warning. She continued in her pace, grinding down on his dick and lifting off a half-inch before pushing down again. He couldn’t hold back his orgasm, and it was barreling toward him. “I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, baby.”

His hips jolted and stilled, and Steven’s body radiated with pleasure. He’d gotten himself off plenty of times before, but this felt so much better. He hummed with satisfaction as she continued to ride him through his climax. A squeeze to her hips signaled that he was coming down, and she lifted herself off, disposing of the condom while she did. 

For a moment, he just laid there. Panting. 

“Bloody hell.”

“That was so good, baby.” Layla was beside him, curled into him. She was whispering into his ear. “You did perfect. I loved every minute of it.”

He collected his breath, then turned his head to face her. She looked overjoyed, but she also still looked as pent-up as ever. He hadn’t lasted long enough to make her finish. 

“I know you’re probably tired now. I’ll go get you a washcloth and you can relax and—”

“No.”

She looked puzzled. “No?”

“I’m not done yet. It’s your turn.” He grabbed her shoulders and pressed his lips into hers. Layla immediately reciprocated the touch, whimpering into his mouth. Steven pushed her onto her back. His lips moved to her neck. 

“What do you mean ‘my turn’?” Her question came out choked and desperate. 

He pulled off to look at her properly. Steven looked a lot more confident now that he was on top of her, though he still looked like he only half-knew what he was doing. “I mean, I’m not going to let our first time end without you getting off.”

“Darling, you don’t have to—”

“Yes I do.” She wanted to keep protesting, but his eyes were pleading. Please let me do this. Please let me make you feel good. She relaxed underneath his touch. 

He peppered kisses from her jaw to her bellybutton. Steven’s fingers hooked under Layla’s panties and pulled them off slowly, savoring the curve of her legs on the way down. He could barely stop himself from burying his face between her thighs the moment he got them off, but he steadied himself. He pulled her legs apart gently. 

“If I’m not getting you there, tell me what to do.” He made her agree. Layla nodded, her eyes suddenly filled with desperation. 

Steven ran his finger along her slit, collecting her arousal and feeling for which places drew a reaction from her. The top of her entrance seemed to be a good spot, as she whined when he pressed the pad of his index finger there. Steven slowly pushed his finger inside, drunk on the feeling of her. 

She mewled, and he added another. 

He moved his hand slowly, feeling inside of her the same as he had done on the outside. His hand was facing upward and he was pressing against her stomach when Layla’s whole body jolted forward. 

“There!” She cried. Noted, he thought. 

Within a few seconds of pumping his fingers, Steven lost the morsel of self-control that was keeping his mouth away from her cunt. She just sounded so pretty, and felt so good around his fingers. He brought his lips down right above his fingers. 

Steven’s tongue danced along her entrance while his fingers quickened their pace and deepened their force. The noises coming from Layla were heavenly—and sinful as well—and Steven moved his mouth upward. He felt the little bud touch his lips, the one that caused her to shake underneath him, and he knew he had struck gold. He closed his mouth around her clit, hollowing his cheeks and licking stripes with his tongue. 

He had never heard her so unhinged. Layla’s groans and whines increased in intensity and frequency. They mixed with expletives and her hand shot down to tug harshly on his hair. Steven smiled against her skin. 

“Keep going,” she begged. He had no intention of stopping, anyway, but he made a point of humming his affirmation. Layla was rolling her hips into his face, grinding down to fuck herself on his fingers. She wasn’t holding anything back. “God, baby. Don’t stop!”

Layla arched her back and squeezed her eyes shut and she was coming around his hand. He marveled at the sound of her and persisted in his pace well after she cried out and tugged his hair so hard he yelped. Steven was sure to lick his fingers clean, lapping her up like water in the desert. He only lifted his head once Layla had been laying still for several moments, gasping for air. 

“You alright, love?” His voice was soft. She chuckled lazily, not lifting her head to stare down at him. She tugged on his hair again, signaling him to move up to her chest. He obliged and found himself peering into her big brown eyes. Her smile was bright. 

“More than alright.”

~~~

I'm feral for Layla if you couldn't tell

#moon knight #moon boys #layla el faouly #steven grant #layla x steven #steven x layla #stevenlayla #steven grant x layla el faouly #masterlist

[beautifulbows924]

Surrounded By Every Lie

Steven Grant x Gender Neutral!Reader, Marc Spector

Masterlist

A/N: This was a request from @bibli0thecary, I really hope you like it! It’s definitely a bit darker than my other works, but I enjoyed writing it. & I’m considering making a second part, so let me know if you’re interested in seeing one! As always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments and if you like my work consider leaving a tip! Thanks:)

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Angst, Lying, Spoilers if you squint, Dark!Steven, Happy ending?

A special thanks goes out to @takedownshoe and @daddysfavoritesexkitten for being my beta readers. I really appreciate you taking the time to workshop this with me!

“Steven?”, you call out, slipping the extra key to his apartment in your back pocket.

Met only with familiar silence, you flick on the light, your brows creasing with worry.

It's been too long since you last saw him.

The floorboards creak underneath your weight as you begin to pace back and forth. It’s not that he hasn’t disappeared like this before, but you always receive some type of warning. A text, a phone call—something.

Stifling a yawn with the back of your hand, you decide to call it night, your eyes fluttering closed as the fatigue of the day catches up with you.

The door slowly creaks open, footsteps startling you awake.

Your heart races as you listen for any noise that could discern who the person is.

Persons, you quickly realize. The sound of a woman’s laughter filling your ears.

Holding your breath, you throw the covers from your body, tiptoeing behind one of Steven’s many bookcases, eyes squinting to see between the stacks.

Wild curls frame her face perfectly in the low light. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, his around her waist, lips locked in a passionate kiss. She’s beautiful.

Pulling back, he murmurs softly to her.

A painful sob threatens to escape your lips. You can’t hear his words, but you can imagine the sweet nothings he’d say to her, the ones he used to save for you.

Maybe, if you had been paying more attention you would have noticed it was a goodbye.

Tears running down her cheeks, worn papers held tight in her grip as she kissed him for the last time. A wistful look in his eyes as he thought of what could have been, but wasn’t meant to last.

You move backwards in disbelief, your back hitting the wall with a loud thud. Gritting your teeth, you barely manage to hold back your pained grunt as she walks through the door, leaving behind a smitten Steven.

Looking at him through blurred vision, you try to cover your sobs with your hand as they force their way into the room.

Steven looks startled, his eyes searching for the origin of the noise, before settling on you, “You’re not supposed to be here”, he deadpans, british accent traded for an american one.

Your heart breaks, “I’m not supposed to be here?”, you scoff, advancing toward him, “You’ve been gone for weeks. No text, no call, nothing—and all I get is ‘You’re not supposed to be here’, what the fuck is wrong with you?”.

You’re less than a few feet away from him, and yet, you’ve never felt more alone.

Steven sighs, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry”, he says, his eyes fixed on the bathroom mirror like he’s not even speaking to you.

“That’s not good enough, Steven”, you cry out, tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’ve got to do better than that, especially after what I just saw”.

His eyes reflect against the dim light of the room, shining with regret and sadness, “I’m so sorry, love”, his british accent returns, hands wringing together, “I can explain everything—if you just give me a chance”.

You exhale shakily, looking away from him, “I don’t know if I can do that”, I don’t know if I can let you break my heart again.

“Please”, he begs, staring at you with tear filled eyes, “If you still hate me afterwards, fine, but at least let me explain”.

I could never hate you.

You nod slowly, taking a seat on the couch.

He joins you, hand instinctively reaching for yours, before dropping back to his side.

“Who is she?”, you ask, voice so soft, he almost misses it.

Steven inhales sharply, taking a second to think of a reply, “Her name is Layla… she’s a friend”.

“A friend”, you scoff, standing up. The floorboards creak underneath your weight as you begin to pace back and forth, “You’re a liar”.

“I’m not lying, dove.”

Steven explains everything from the start. His sleeping disorder, how he’d always stay awake because he was scared he would wake up somewhere completely different.

He tells you about Marc, about Harrow, about his life—from the day he was fired to now, “I get it if you don’t believe me. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe me either. I thought I was going bonkers at first”, his heart races as he studies your reaction, trying to gauge how you’re feeling.

Eyes filled with tears, you stare at him for a long moment.

“Please, don’t leave me”, Steven says in a quiet voice, “I didn’t mean to upset you—”.

“I believe you”, you cut him off, your vision blurring as you shake your head.

Wrapping you in his embrace, he looks at you with frantic eyes, continuously begging you not to leave him.

“Stevie!”, you bring his attention to you, “You haven’t done anything wrong, I believe you”. Lifting his hands to your lips, you leave soft kisses on his knuckles, “I won't leave you, I promise”.

Steven sighs in content, enjoying the way your body feels against him, eyes catching Marc’s disapproving glare in the mirror, you’re a liar.

So what?

If Steven held back a few important details, like how Layla was Marc’s wife and in the short period of time he’d been gone, he fell in love with her too.

No, he’ll let himself be selfish just this once.

Keep you blissfully unaware.

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged or un-tagged down below <3

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#Steven Grant x Reader #Steven Grant x Gender Neutral Reader #Marc Spector x Reader #Moonknight #Moonknight x Reader #Steven Grant x Layla El Faouly #Marc Spector x Layla El Faouly #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Layla El Faouly #Angst #Dark!Steven Grant #Marvel #Fluff

[imasimpforstevengrant]

THRICE

Summary: Layla needs Marc to tell her the truth about the months he went missing. Steven convinces Marc that this will heal their relationship but the ghosts of unworthiness and guilt still haunt his mind.

Warnings: (past) trauma, (past) abusive parenting/child abuse, death, mentions of death, loss, mental illness, violent behaviour, sensitive topics, angst and comfort, swearing, protectiveness, DID, fluff, sexual tension, sexual themes, unsafe sex, absolute, self indulgent smut with feelings.

WC: 8.929

Note¹: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. I hope this makes up for the time I didn't post anything. Some of the lines and scenes, much like in previous and future chapters, are taken from:

• Moon Knight vol 1, issues #1, #3, #5, #7, #10, #35

Note²: I had to rewrite, correct and post this three times, since I didn't like the first draft. I read a theory that states Layla didn't know Steven because she was the only person who made Marc happy, so I wrote this to explore the idea. I love the idea of Layla knowing (and eventually falling in love with) Steven, as a healthy way to love Marc in his wholeness.

Note³: This chapter is absolute self indulgent, filth... but I couldn't help it. Marc/Steven deserve so much after all they went through. I hope you enjoy this just as I did writing it. Sorry for any typos. English is not my native language. Thank you for the kudos!

---

SECOND PART

A Beacon of Hope (Steven)

For most people, the sun would be a solace against the coldness of rain. For Marc Spector, however, the cold means freshness after the searing heat of Egypt. But everything seems perfect when he's not conscious. Marc would think about it as another little tragedy in the long list of misfortunes in his life. It's something Steven Grant would agree with him without a doubt.

The alarm clock has been turned off. The calming sound of rain pouring engulfed him in a profound state of relaxation. This is the best part of redemption. And freedom too. A slight frown forms when a soft, humming sound vibrates through his skin. It's impactful enough for Marc to open his eyes to see the origin of this rare moment of poise and comfort. Thick, curly locks tickled his face-

The sweat gluing their skins together was arousing enough to set his heart on a crazed gallop, shortening his breath. Layla lies in front of him, sleeping with a serenity that Marc loved to watch during sleepless nights. Though he longed for  warmth, he resists the impulse to claim her body again, but he's too afraid to disturb her sleep. Layla understood the need to remind himself that he wasn't a tool, but a human. 

That was the only good part after bathing himself in blood. He could remember the first time they made love. It wasn't too long after Layla had offered herself to go undercover as am exotic dancer in a secret group of dangerous assassins. She played her part perfectly, even letting herself touch by an old creep that happened to be the leader of the murderous committee. 

Marc was watching them from afar, furiously. They weren't even a thing at that point, though he could see her shy smiles whenever he flirted with her as much as she tried to hide it.  Having known isolation and lovelessness so close, the moment when that man dared to lay his hands on her, awoke in his chest a burning jealousy. He would never let anyone take her away from him, but he needed to think coldly now. 

To earn the trust of the leader, Layla performs a sensual, elegant dance before him and the results are splendid. The leader reveals all the info they needed to get rid of every member of the criminal committee. But it has its costs, as Layla had become the object of his impudent manners. He tries to lay her down the blue, opulent couch to quench his desires as she stares at him from the window, claiming for help. 

The man catches a glimpse of her looking outside, and lands a painful, loud slap on her face at her betrayal. But his harsh, tough manners crumble when an inhuman, ghastly howl that appalled not only him, but her too. Marc doesn't think twice to attack him with enraged fists, which soon became reddish, gushing with blood. Layla stays away, observing with amazement how that man, that presence, who seemed so cold and inhuman, protects her with such choleric fury. 

Suddenly a feeling of desire fires up her chest, unleashing a wild gallop in her heart. Marc just attacks, roaring like a beast… until Layla begs him to stop, that he's not a murderer. Marc suddenly comes back to his senses, with a blooded moon dart still in hand. Layla gathered enough information to keep assisting Marc, who took her away from the place, securing her in a room where she could change her clothes. The committee had been responsible for many crimes in Egypt, one of them being stealing relics in the black market after raiding tombs. All of them were American, though that was the least of his concerns. 

They had a reunion with the other members in an abandoned warehouse. Many noticed the leader's absence, which immediately set suspicion. That was the best part of it. 

With the rest of the committee on guard, Marc emerged from the dark. Everyone thought it was a madman in a disguise… until they realized bullets didn't stop him. Convinced they were before the presence of a ghost, many of them give in to panic. Marc was grateful that Layla wasn't there to behold the bloodshed. For his part, Khonshu was delighted. The deity praises Marc, who does not feel proud at all. There's one agonizing bastard staring up to him, with his face contorted by the most tenebrous expression of horror Marc had seen in his whole life.

As he reaches the place where Layla was hiding, he takes her and flies with her to a quieter place: her home. 

The armor soon vanishes, leaving him with his usual outfit: a brown jacket, gray pants and a blue sweatshirt. Only the blood serves as a vestige of his deed, making Layla worried about him. She takes a few rags, cleaning the blood, though Marc reassures her that he's fine. A cold shower would do. Once in the bath, Marc takes off his clothes. The sound of water falling suddenly triggers the memory of that fatal day. Spector shuts his eyelids, stopping the flow of water. The shower is short, and trying to forget the faces of those he murdered, Spector looks for slumber. 

"Marc?" 

Before he finds the bed, he finds something more alluring. Once he turns around, his eyes behold a seductive, sultry Layla from the door sill. Marc is bewitched by her nakedness, those curves, that expression in her face. Awestruck, Marc feels incapable of speaking. Layla giggles. She steps forward but the vigilante is faster: the sexual act demanded for no other clothes except their bare skins. In seconds, both become a mess of entangled limbs on the wall. Layla whispers her gratitude for saving her, while Marc quickly works his way to pleasure her. 

How he wished to freeze that moment, specially when her gentle arms cradle his figure as both drift to slumber after their act. The sweet memory of their first night together blurs with the present, as he feels her soft breathing against his face. Fascinated by the fact he was being desired and loved even in the quietest silence, Marc caressed her face. He marvels at her freckles, that flawless skin under his fingers, mouth agape and disheveled hair falling down her face… he had to repress the impulse to wake her up, seduce her, making her come over and over with his mouth just to make her full of himself again. 

The stillness is no impediment to feel her naked form lost in his limbs. Her arms latch to his neck, as if her life depends on it. The same occurs with one leg tangling on his thigh. In a passionate outburst, the former mercenary takes Layla much closer to him, lustfully smelling her neck. It made him forget the horrors of the world, finally tasting how a normal life with Layla would be if he wasn't under the servitude of an obscure deity. 

“Marc.” Spector opens his eyes, frowning. 

“Steven?” he croaks with a thick voice, trying not to wake Layla up. By mere instinct, he looks for a reflection to glare at. But the room lacks any nearby mirrors.

"What… What happened last night?" Steven asked with a shaky voice, seemingly more fearful to wake her up than Spector himself, "why did you…"

"Not now, Steven," Marc tried to dissuade his alter, "we will discuss this later." His dry order just causes a low whine from the mild mannered man.

"Why?" Steven insists, irritating the former mercenary even more. He just sighed, undoing the embrace with Layla to get up off the bed. He put his navy blue boxers on and went to the three mirrored-dresser, facing his alter. He supports in his arms, closing his eyes before facing his reflection.

"Ease down, Steven. You're not gonna make the anxiety easier if you keep losing it," Marc finally said. The British man just let out a scoff. 

"You always said that there was a wall between us… that it takes all your willpower to be a fly on the wall… but you… you blacked out." A castdown Marc listens to what Steven has to say about the incident.  

"Why did you let me touch her? Why did you let me front when for less you threw me off a hole?" Marc can't help but let a soft chuckle out. 

"Things are different now," the former mercenary replied. Steven frowns, his glare reveals a great confusion. Marc scoffs, "you saved my marriage, Steven. With your insufferable need to tell the truth,” he finally replied. The alter waved his hands, for his tone to lower. 

"I felt she deserved to know it," Steven muttered, "she's just… she's just an awesome woman to be around…" Marc giggles, raising an eyebrow. 

"Is she?" His cheeky expression makes Steven realize the double entendre of it. 

"Hey!" He shrieks, blistering.

"Come on, Steven. Don't play innocent. I know the way you look at her, I know you couldn’t stop ogling her since you kissed her."

Steven felt like a depraved creep. 

"I don't ogle her, Marc!" He replied from the mirror, outrageous, "I never intended to be a creep around her. She wanted to kiss me because I have the face of her husband… you, but she made the first move and I wasn't going to deny her just because she's your wife."

Marc raised an eyebrow.

"If the Gods gave you a blessing, you don't reject it. Leaving Layla there, after you blacked out, would have been rude to… you know… leave the job unfinished, yeah?" 

Marc chuckles after staring at the mirror, surprising Steven with a calmness so atypical from his usual ways. Grant was smart, but he failed to notice that Spector laughed at his own, surprising sassiness. 

"It would have been a crime to leave Layla alone at that moment," Steven whispered, more to avoid those long, awkward seconds of silence between them, "I never thought that Layla… would feel like that about me, to let me touch her. I still don't believe it–" 

"Well, you better start believing it." Steven widened his eyes, mouth agape. 

"What–?"

"You wanna know something, Steven?" Marc muttered, leaning his weight on his arm, supporting himself against the door, "The walls between us have crumbled, and I didn't want to accept that." Marc took a deep breath, as Steven encouraged him to go on.  

"At first, I refused to see it but now I know that it was that same wall that prevented me from quieting the chaos in my mind." Steven nodded.

"I was jealous of her looking at you with that tenderness so typical of her, when all I got was hostility and anger from her."

"I can't blame her, mate. You lied to her and went missing. I still think you're a twit for that." Steven commented. 

"You know my reasons on why I did that and as for us, that matter is solved" Marc replied. The British nerd sighed.

"All right, go on." 

"Well, it happens that… I hadn't seen that look in her eyes since we…"

"Yes?" Steven inquires, eager to know. 

"Since she shared a poem before we became a thing."

"Wow!" Steven Grant is genuinely impressed, and comments on how he never expected Marc to be a man of poetry. Both were in the library in her home, checking a few archeological objects. Marc saw she diverted her attention to a book by a French author. His mind couldn't keep fantasizing with her lips when she was so close to him, speaking about two lovers forced to be apart. 

"She read me that poem, from Desbordes-Valmore," Steven can notice that this is something very important for Marc, as he turns to stare at a serene, sleeping Layla.

"We had our first kiss after she patiently explained to me what it was about. And I started panicking because of the way she looked at me then." Marc feels his eyes tearing up. 

"Why?" 

"I was afraid of her going to smack my face when she got up from the chair," his voice broke, "stepped closer to me and… held my head to put it on her chest.

Marc stood silent for nearly a minute, the vivid memory kept him too thoughtful in a sepulchral muteness. By instinct, he had prepared himself for what he thought was another unsparing punch, but all he does is to succumb to her gentleness. Layla is patient, and so she awaits for this breathing to ease down, softly cooing in his ear. Marc likes to hear her heartbeat, and shamelessly nuzzles her breast when Layla asks him what's going on. He doesn't say anything, delighted to glide his hands over her hips, and waist. 

"I want the same for you, Steven," Marc whispered, "Why should I keep fighting you when both of us feel the same way about Layla? The key to solving the chaos is that we coexist, Steven." The mild mannered man was flabbergasted.

"What?" He could barely manage to croak. Marc crossed his arms, to emphasize the seriousness. 

"Oy, mate…" Steven made a gesture to the former fortune soldier to go easier on him with this new idea of living in a shared marriage, "I think we need some time to think about this before taking it further."

"I made up my mind not too long ago and yet you fail to see it. My wife won't love me fully if she doesn't get to know you better, Steven!"

"Mate, mate, quiet. You'll wake her –!" Spector rolls his eyes, groaning at his stubbornness. 

"We were dead in the Duat, and the first thing you asked me was if she was going to be okay."

"But mate, you were the one who took the shot."

"And even in death, you didn't stop loving her, Steven! That proves you deserve her more than I would ever do! That's why you exist!"

Grant remembers the moment where their lives bled together. He lowered his head, saddened. Marc got away from the mirror, ashamed to reduce his alter to a mere tool to cope with his feelings. He covered his face, incapable of looking Steven in the eyes when passing by the aquarium. Spector took a bottle of whiskey and a small glass, just a few feet away from the door. 

"I'm sorry, Steven" Marc muttered, shaking his head while holding the drink, "I didn't mean–"

"Alright," Steven interrupts him, "Alright. You want me to be with Layla? Fine, I will if she also wants me… but I have one condition." Marc awaits as the reflection leans half body. 

"Tell. Her. The truth."

Marc frowned, confused. 

"What truth?" 

"About us. About me. Tell Layla about our trauma, our mother–" The last word makes Spector jump like a feline taken by surprise, glass fell, drink all poured on the wooden floor. 

"What?!" 

"The truth, Marc. I know it's hurtful for both of us, but Layla must know it," the panic starts taking over his composure, "She deserves to know it! You should be the one telling her the truth, more than me! She met you first, she loved you first–" the situation worsens when a feminine voice ceases their conversation. 

"Marc?" From his seat, he can see Layla getting up, "is everything okay?" She puts on one of Steven's sweaters, her expression is nothing but worry as she leads her steps to her troubled husband.

"No, no, baby, don't – please!" he begged, moving his hands so she could stay away from him, as if he was a leper, "I'm sorry- I don't want you to see me like this." 

"What–? 

He got up, turning to the door, though with no intentions of leaving. But Layla takes it all the wrong way. 

"I didn't want to do this in front of you," he finally says something after the tense lack of words between them. But it only creates more confusion. 

"It's okay, Marc… you can tell me." 

His eyes are stuck on the door, futilely sealed with blue adhesive tape. The excessive protection made it look cartoonish, but even like that, Layla attempts to calm him down. 

"You can trust me! Just please stop running away from me!" Her voice broke down in sobs. Marc hated that sound so much. The guilt of seeing those red, watery eyes was almost as if had made her bleed when all she did was offer compassion, patience and love to him. He gripped his hair, tightening his eyelids. Marc would never forgive himself for her deeply hurt expression in her face. How different their situation was just a few hours ago: drowning in ecstasy, screaming each other's names. Why was it that Spector never had long moments of stability or happiness? 

"Mate, I swear…" Steven hissed, furious at his passiveness, "if you run now, we lose her! Do you understand that?!" 

Marc takes a deep breath. 

"Layla isn't like our mother!" Steven screamed inside his skull, "tell her the truth and she will understand."

"Marc, please tell me something! You don't get to fuck me and leave as if nothing happened!" Layla yelled, unaware of Grant's own feud with Spector. 

"She's gonna run, Steven. She's gonna realize she married an insane, murderous bastard who can barely keep it together!" He shrieked, violently palming his head. 

Layla gasps, stepping back.

"Honey, you're scaring me…" Layla sobs, horrified. She tries again to connect, but the former mercenary refuses to give in to any display of affection, trying the best to smother the pain, leaving him unable to enjoy her adorable habit of extending her hands to hold his face or arms, whenever he felt he lost control of his emotions.

"Don't leave me…" he pleaded, voice barely audible, looking at the aquarium for Steven to help him contain him. 

"Why are you saying all those horrible things to yourself?" Layla touched his face and the result frightened her: She couldn't distinguish between her husband and her newfound British nerd, which made her hand recoil. Layla couldn't believe that this soulless, broken man was the same ghastly apparition which had inspired so much horror in criminals.

Whoever is in the body, doesn't make a move. There's no mercenary, no vigilante, not even a sad, meek loner. Just a disheveled, disoriented individual who can't stop staring at the beautiful woman, as if refusing to believe she's real. Layla extends her hand and caresses his cheek once again. 

The helplessness in Spector's face manages to be so moving, so devastating for her kind heart, that Layla cannot help but to plant a kiss in his mouth. He does consent to the caress, though he doesn't kiss her back. 

She tasted the flavor of early whiskey on him and Marc finally seemed to snap out of his trance. His lips trembled while a few shaky words left his mouth. Layla waits for it, with bated breath. As much as he hated Arthur Harrow, he can't help but agree with him about comprehension: there can't be no progress without it. 

"Please… please say something…" Layla begged, after breaking the kiss. 

"Steven…" he whispered, with eyes closed. Before Marc could say anything else in response, Layla remembers what happened between the British nerd and her in bed. 

"Oh my God, are you upset because… because I slept with him?" but Marc frowned, waving his hands.

"No, no–" he whispered.

"I didn't mean to betray you or make you feel jealous… I'm sorry… I should have stopped when he fronted," Layla covered her face, regretful. 

"I'm not upset about that," Marc held her hands with his to calm her down.  Layla sobbed, drying her tears with the back of her hand. Knowing him, it was hard to believe he wasn't jealous of his alter's affections for her, as absurd as it sounded. 

"We need to talk about… Steven," Marc muttered, "He has been nagging me to…" he cleared his throat, nervousness taking over his mind, "Steven, for fuck's sake, say something! Help me!" He hissed with a low voice. 

"I'm with you, mate…"

Layla feels her heart soar as she hears Marc mentioning his alter. 

"Nagging you to do what?"

Marc looked back at her.

"To tell you… the truth."

"What truth, Marc?" He inhaled deeply. 

"About myself… my disorder… and what caused it." The last sentence sounded ominous, but it didn't stop her compassive ways to keep flourishing. Layla sits down with him at the table. Marc slides his hands down his face in despair, just after following Layla. He grabbed the whiskey and drank the remaining liquid, placing the empty bottle at his side. Alcohol helped to disconnect the physical and mental pain. 

"He chose me because he knew I have a weak mind. That's why I hated Khonshu. I hated him with every fiber of my body, because that vulture ripped my corpse to hold me under his servitude!" 

Layla nodded, remembering how Khonshu had pointed her as the responsible for Marc's crisis. The former mercenary lowers his head. The feeling of vulnerability becomes unbearable. It had been easier to reveal the truth to Steven while in the Duat. He wishes to have the door, and show her everything, with no need of speaking. 

Marc cannot help but feel that there's something inexplicably evil with words. Words hold an unspoken, powerful effect on one's soul, and no amount of love could erase the scars left by a mother's hatred and a father's indifference. Broken bones could heal, bruises could fade away but the livid memory of Wendy Spector striking him and blaming him for her dead son would haunt him until the day he'd die. 

"Dissociative Identity Disorder," Marc finally spoke. Layla stares at him but her husband just adds:

"I was twelve when I was diagnosed," the expressions on his face were shaded by a profound sadness. His mirthless eyes cause an immense sorrow on her. Marc covered his face, as if trying to peel off the shame. Layla intertwined her fingers with his, nodding so he would continue.

"Dissociative Identity?" She asked, tilting her head. 

"The doctor said it is a psychological response to trauma. It involves an identity disturbance, where two or more identities can control your behavior," Marc explained, monotonously, "It feels like being a ghost of your own body." Layla covered her mouth, dimensioning the bodeful definition. 

A psychological response to trauma.

"I had a family once," Marc suddenly added, "when… When I was a boy, my brother Randall and I loved to enact an adventure film we were fans of, so we crossed a forest and went to a cave on a rainy day–" he interrupted himself, gulping and gathering strength to keep opening up. Layla takes his hands and brushes distractingly her thumbs on them, giving him the confidence he needed. Marc squeezed his eyelids, holding back the tears. 

"We got into the cave… and he drowned when the rain flooded it," he breathed, as if saying it louder would conjure another tragedy. His words reconstruct the fatidical day and its consequences. Layla listens carefully, granting him space. But once Marc broke down in rattling sobs, she immediately got up from the chair to wrap his trembling form in her arms. 

Layla didn't oppose when Marc trapped her form in his arms with heartbreaking despair, sitting her on his lap. It helped to maintain their stillness, which contrasted so much with the torment in their minds. 

The chaos within prevented him from deciding where to start. Where pain and death caused suffering, lies began to sprout and so does the desire to become someone else. Someone whose life was better.

Marc leaned his forehead to her shoulder.

"It's just a memory..." he repeated himself constantly, like a mantra. Suddenly he remembered those birthdays on company of his father. The absence of his mother only poisoned Marc's mind with delusional notions, which bordered on jealousy and his premeditation for what happened. Locking himself in the room was always the solution to run away from Wendy Spector's anger, but Steven…

(When the danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear)

Layla stared at him, trying to understand what was going on in her head. But Spector suddenly understands something greater: Mother is the danger. 

"She never forgave me for that, beating the fuck out of me whenever she had the chance. I lied to Steven, so he could have the life I always wanted," Marc hides his face in her chest, "I survived because I knew I wasn't alone. Steven was there, always so full of life, hope… things that Marc Spector isn't."

The former mercenary ached for tenderness, understanding, to be loved. To be protected and not the protector, for once. To let his defenses fall, to breathe, just for once. Layla feels his fingers clutching at her back, and hears him sobbing.

"I wanted to put Spector to sleep! I was just a boy!" Marc exclaimed. More than ever, he wishes to throw into oblivion those horrifying epithets his mother yelled at him, accusing him of deliberately leading his brother to his demise out of jealousy.  

"Of course you were!" Layla tries to heal this regretful war criminal whose soul had been rebuilt through suffering and selflessness. As much as Layla gave him peace, her love is powerless against the painful words still echoing in his head. 

"She… she died more than two months ago," Marc whispered, once he overcame his sobs, "my father called me after so long, for her Shiva and I just… I just couldn't do it."

"It's all right, you don't have to forgive her either," Layla held his face in her hands, peppering his forehead with kisses. There's so much love in her tone of voice, and the former mercenary can be happier to hear it again. 

"I'm so, so sorry…" she gently rocked him, trying to repress the image of Marc as a child being brutally beaten by the one person who was supposed to protect him when he needed her the most. 

The inevitable contrast between her loving father and his hateful mother worsened her dismay. Abdallah El-Faouly had been such an attentive, indulgent parent with her, that she couldn't bring herself that a mother could abhor and resent her own child for such an unfortunate accident. 

Marc has tightened his grip on her waist, hiding his face and whispering something unintelligible. Layla feels a strong uneasiness when his breath shortens. He had always dwelled in thoughts on how his life would be without Khonshu, without the violence, without waking up covered in someone else's blood, without the worry of Khonshu's clutches trying to reach his wife. 

"You alright, Marc?" Steven asks at his sudden silence, not knowing his internal feud. A fiery, deathly glare is all he can threaten Khonshu with as he catches a glimpse of him, partially merged with the darkness of the right corner near the aquarium, holding his typical moon staff.  Layla keeps still, cradling his form, ignoring the danger. Marc shakes his head, squeezing his eyelids shut. 

(Organizing principle) 

He pictures himself inside a psych ward. As if the asylum was the physical manifestation of an evil entity, Marc feels that wearing clothes of the same, unpleasant whitish served as an extension of it. All he now sees is a calm Khonshu sitting in a red chair, hands crossed in a polite, almost welcoming manner. He remembers his words before becoming his legionary. But the vulture speaks. 

"Do you want death or do you want life?"

He opened his eyes, slowly lifting his head. His reality is another: Her face is all he sees when the last words ring in his ear. Layla under those purple lights, with that playful smile she gave him, is the first thing he can envision after returning among the living. He then sees Khonshu placidly sitting just a few inches away from her.  

"Life."

Layla tilted her head, trying to understand what he just said. Marc was looking at her as if he had realized something of great importance. A chance to spend his years with a loving wife. A hope to start all over again. That was the promise of that one, precious word. Hope. Understanding. Love. 

Three things he hadn't experienced. 

"Honey?" She caressed his hair. 

"I said…" Spector croaked, "I. Want. Life!" Marc's breath shortened. 

The panic doesn't take long to return, but Marc frantically latches at her neck, whispering things that she couldn't comprehend at first. The vehement display of (tormented) love causes Layla to grasp on his shoulders, instead of running away after the startling fear. 

"Marc, chill the fuck down, you're scaring her!" Steven yelled but it fell on deaf ears. It wasn't a hug. It was as if Marc was snatching her from something, protecting Layla with a possessive, vice-like grip. His raspy voice vibrates through her skin. 

"I anxiously awaited every bloodshed to end to engulf myself in you so I could forget just for a brief moment that my life wasn't a nightmare, that not everything could be against me!" Marc spat, confessing from his guts, looking up to her. 

Layla was so moved, realizing she meant more for him than she initially thought. She had always taken his rampant sexual desire as a way to relieve the fervour of violence when executing his sacred duty. The heartbreaking truth demolished the façade of invincibility. Now she could fully see that there was always more than just mere lust or physical need.

She remembers the countless times she had been with him, coming to realize that what he couldn't express in words, his body could. Sex served as a way to protect Marc. Hearing the words that bared his soul, his innate humanity demanded vulnerability, beyond his condition as the Knight and High Priest of Khonshu.  

"I never told you about Steven because being with you made me happy!" Marc suddenly continued, "I didn't need Steven to absorb any pain! There wasn't anything painful or something to shield me from whenever I was with you."

He had never been the weak one. His tenderness, his clumsy, sweet ways were the shield that saved Marc from a greater insanity. The beautiful, everyday things, the wonderful family he had, all of it had died with RoRo that dreadful day. Being aware of the wrong, evil things happening around him was already hard but being the one who failed his promise to his mother to watch over his brother made it harder and worse to tolerate.

At that moment he cursed everything. He cursed Harrow for the two bullets that ended his life, thus obliging him to face his traumas, for abandoning Layla when she needed him the most, for lying to her and for not saving Steven from the dead, claiming him to doom his eternity in the dunes. The golden sun that shone in an eternal dusk wasn't too different from being locked up in an asylum. There was nothing calm without him and Layla understands it perfectly, since Steven is a fraction of the same man. 

Marc then mentions his time as a teenager. After being locked up in an asylum for three years, Spector decides to leave. Tired of the abuse, the indifference and seeing love as something he was unworthy of, Marc chooses violence. It has its roots in boxing, much to Elias' chagrin. If his mother largely ignored him during his teen years, his father smothered him with the idea to become a rabbi. 

How could he? At this point, he was convinced that he was good at one thing: hurting people. Because the people dear to him, those who loved him suffered or died. Love had never done good for him, reaffirming his (wrong) choice to never want to be loved. For many years, Marc thought that's why he always won. His harsh ways were just a façade to hide the immense pain he carried. 

"I went AWOL and got discharged. They discovered that I falsified my documents, finding out I was interned in a psych ward. I didn't have too many options. Clandestine fights helped me to live decently for a while, before Bushman hired me as his second in command. The rest is history. I became a war criminal. A fucked up, soldier of fortune capable of inhumane acts for money. Until the raid in Egypt." 

Layla nodded, though not agreeing with the self deprecating epithet. 

"Whenever I think about all the things I did, I always wondered what made you fall in love with me. I always felt I was nothing but an innate, demented killer, a failure, a lie–" he cut himself, since being aware that Layla deserved better was the most painful part. 

"Because you're no longer that person. You don't live in the past anymore," She immediately refused to hear any other negative word. Marc felt one hand gently scratching his nape, while the other held his back. He was totally ecstatic at the gesture, treating him with such care, immersing himself in the warmth he had yearned so much since his innocence was mauled, "please believe me when I tell you that no disorder will prevent me from loving you!"

She now holds his face, kissing him. But Layla doesn't move an inch away after ceasing the caress. 

"You're exactly what you've chosen to be– a strong man determined to make up for the evil you once did, a believer and a fighter who has put himself on the good side– a new man that emerged from the ruins of what you were before."

Layla whispers so many beautiful things about why she is so in love with him. Marc is delighted to hear her: It was so haunting to think that this mysterious, yet immensely alluring crusader was lovesick for her. 

There was something so wonderful and thrilling to experience the softer side of this force of nature, intrigued to see his face while making love, to see him subdued by the promise of love, of moments without violence. She understands the tremendous pressure Marc has put on his mind, trying to live the lives of two different men during a critical moment in his life. 

"I know who and what you are, Marc! You are the strongest human I ever met! You're not mad! You're the man I love! Do you understand that?!" Layla brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, "Your own suffering diminished other's misery, you protected me, you died for me and you still think you're unworthy of love?" 

Marc doesn't answer. For a moment, the sweet sound of her voice made him forget to talk. Now, Spector only has strength to listen to these beautiful words and comprehend their effect on his psyche. 

"I'm proud of you, mate. You're so brave!" Steven's voice cheered from within, soothing his heart. Marc smiles, as Layla softly and patently caresses his hair, "You're so lucky to have her, Marc. She's so kind, so loving…" 

"She is, she is," Marc hums, pressing his forehead on her shoulder.

"Huh?" She asked. 

"Oh, I'm sorry– It's… it's Steven," he whispered, then he softly adds, "he's saying wonderful things about you." 

"Can he see us? Can he feel me when I touch you?" Layla hummed, pressing her lips on Marc's. The caresses now go up and down his face, neck, his broad shoulders.

"He can see, yes" The former mercenary says with a faint voice, too focused on kissing her breast, even with the sweater on. He remembers how beautiful she looked as Taweret's avatar. Those golden wings made her look like a celestial being. 

Marc remembered what Steven had said about the goddess in the Duat. The goddess of women and children… and also childbirth. 

It unchained a memory from many years ago. It was in a market, days before the raid that changed his life. He was having a drink, when he heard a couple of archeologists talking about local mythology and temples. Marc found the conversation quite interesting. They talked about one deity in particular, associated with the moon and protection of night travelers. It was said that whenever Khonshu caused the crescent moon to shine, fertility blessed the cattle, nostrils became full of pure air… and women conceived. 

The last sentence caused a dull, yet significant shiver between his legs. Marc leads his hands underneath the sweater, slowly kneading her way up to her waist.  

"What is it?" Layla asked, eyeing the curious and aching hands fondling her sinuosities.

"I want to sleep with you," Marc hummed against her skin. Layla rolled her eyes, giggling. 

"So what's new?"

"It just so happens that we don't have to prevent a global catastrophe nor I don't have to punish evildoers anymore," Marc chuckled but his smile soon morphed into a pleased grimace when he lifted the cloth, making Layla gasp when he drools at the sight of her bare breasts, carefully fondling them after tossing the sweater aside. He's about to say something to praise her splendid nudity but a long, loud -and straight-out hilarious- gasp is everything he can hear for now. 

"Oh my God– Marc, she– she looks gorgeous! " Steven is breathless. Spector can't help but laugh at his fascination, though he totally understood it. He had seen her body in the dark, but having the privilege to behold her body in broad daylight made his brain lose the capacity to think clearly. Layla looks down but Marc rushes to clarify things.  

"It's… it's Steven," his name suddenly draws a happy expression on her face, "he really likes what he's seeing…" 

"Well, he can see us before we get to fuck again" Layla states, rubbing his shoulders and arms, "so he knows what's gonna be like from here."

"He is the kind of man that can make you happy." Steven can love you in ways I can't…" he whispered but Layla cut his doubts with a kiss.

"Both of you make me happy, I'll have you both. He's a part of you that you can't ignore. I can't ignore him."

Marc brushes her nipple with his fingers distractingly before kissing it. Layla's breathy moan is instantaneous. He smirks. He adores her reactions, just as if it was the first time they had been together. 

"You are the reason why I'm still sane, why I'm still alive…" he breathed against the orbed part, making Layla shudder… To then give a quick lick to the areola. All he obtains is a soft, pitiful whine which doesn't take too long to make him hard. Without neglecting the part, he looked down at their privates so closely pressed. 

Marc is drooling over the sight. A thin, black thong is the only thing preventing her full nudity but an atypical, impatient echo from Steven startles the calm silence. 

"Bloody hell, Marc–! Do something!" 

Layla feels a ferrous grip on her hips and she realizes his intentions: Marc tugs the thong with urgency, tossing it to the floor to make his wife rub herself on his covered length. 

"I can't stand being without you," Spector pronounced, unconscious. He only has energy to focus on the beautiful image of Layla straddling him but a sharp scratch on his shoulders manages him to regain his strength. The interruption was followed by an awkward silence that Layla soon avoids, despite how weak his touches left her. 

"Honey?"

He suddenly remembers why he loves when Layla goes rough on him: This is the only pain he loves, for it is through that same pain that Marc knows he's alive. Their bodies wouldn't stop lusting for each other and Marc Spector's unbridled desire longs for something serving as a reminder of this rare moment of euphoria. He loves to see the scars left all over his back, and he's dying to feel that pleasurable pain all over again. 

"Again," Spector orders. 

Layla bites her lip and looks down impishly. Marc chuckles when he senses her hand pressing his nape, so his face was buried between her breasts.

"Be gentle," she asks in return and greatly rejoices when Spector puts his tongue to work on her nipple. Layla smiles when Marc cannot take it anymore, holding her while getting up. Both bodies slammed against the wall once Marc cornered Layla. 

"What do you want your good girl to do, husband?" She whispered sensually.

The small furniture helped his eager hands to spread her legs, so he could see the effect he had on her body. Layla feels so vulnerable by offering her drenched sex so openly, with an starving husband impeding any escape. His hands caressed the inner thighs, lining softly her folds and her wet, warm intimacy. 

Marc got rid of his boxers, hypnotized by her pink, glistening intimacy he so eagerly wanted to invade. He leads his hands to his mouth, oiling his fingers just before he teased her femininity, right on her fleshy bud. Layla jolted violently, everything is becoming blurry and all Marc can do is to gather enough strength to insert himself inside her.

"I want you to come around me, baby," he muttered against Layla's mouth. She holds his face with avid tenderness, loving those rebellious curls falling on his forehead. His exhausted yet completely ecstatic expression ignited her to taste his lips, setting aside a few locks. 

"Fuck- I only–" Layla doesn't allow him to talk with her voracious kisses, "wanna–wanna feel you on me," Marc circles perfectly her swollen bud and Layla just ceases the passionate kisses to writhe and moan for him, crying his name when she feels her moistened depths fluttering, yearning to be invaded, to receive Marc in the ways he deserved, so he can feel the exquisite captivity imprisoning his flesh even more. 

Marc needs more of her sounds, smiling at her urged, needful calling ring in his ears. He knows his life is made of contradictions, as being a war criminal while being the only living son of a rabbi. He was joyful and exultant to be a fearful force of nature and a touch starved man subdued by love. She calls him, wishing her man to claim her body and soul. Just then, Marc howls, desperate for humanity:

"JUST FUCK ME UNTIL I LOVE MYSELF!" he exclaims, out of his mind. 

Marc holds her closer to him, to bind her very soul with his. He slowly opened his eyes, staring at her blurred face but her voice echoes in his mind: 

"Habibi…" she lovingly lulled into his ear, knowing the effect the endearing name had on him. Once his vision is clear, he becomes lost in her loving glare, far from those harsh looks he had received during his whole fucking life. How can he not love her, if Layla is the living opposite to every abusive person that had crossed paths with him? As with Steven, Marc is maddened by the fact that someone tried to understand him from a loving perspective, instead of being examined and observed as a mentally ill lunatic.

"Habibi…" she murmured again, shuddering at the touch of his fingers down her body, tangling some curls from the abundant mane that barely managed to cover that lovely bosom of hers. His hand sneaks between her legs and he smiles when he hears Layla claiming his name, begging for more. Though he intends a more profound exploration of her body, his long, lost gaze suggests confusion as to where to start touching. 

Fascination takes over Layla when she feels an atypical gentleness in his touches, as if she was made of glass. Layla perceived that this kindness was not like him, but rather from…

"We both need you," Marc said as he slid his fingertips over her chest before pouncing like a hungry animal, sliding his tongue to reach the part previously pampered, tasting it more hungrily now. His hand drew impatient circles all over the swollen bud, making her lose the little composure she had left. 

His mouth gently nibbled at the hardened nipple and then looked up at her mischievously. Layla never felt so aroused in her life by just a gaze. Although Marc didn't believe it when she mentioned it, Layla just melted before the manly beauty of her husband. His eyes, his black hair, his intense gaze… soon Layla feels Marc is everything she needs now. 

Marc is still doing his wonders with his hands, but they cease once he decides to close the wounds of both of them, left behind by so many lies and so much foolishness when answering the call of his flesh, which ardently cries out to abandon the solitude that individuality meant.

Layla sobs and whimpers as she is invaded, relieved to receive him inside her. Marc wasted no time in thrusting into her desperately, panting heavily as pleasure made him lose his mind.

"You like that, don't you?" and Layla nods with a cute, playful expression in her face, prompting Marc to continue. He was blissfully overwhelmed by the warm, living constriction that adjusted to his length each time he slammed inside.   

Layla arched her back several times against the wall, fighting against the pleasurable pain cramps spread all over her thighs, her belly. Her labored breathing turns into scandalous moans. 

"That's it... Moan, moan for me" Marc pays more attention to her heated intimacy, getting exactly what he wanted. These were whispered words, sometimes incoherent, but beautiful. Her moans are interspersed with her native Arabic, whose sound helps to heal his heart. Marc played with the fleshy pearl hidden in his privacy, causing his wife to stir with pleasure.

The former mercenary feels the rapture reaching unimaginable dimensions when her twitching depths brutally contract around him. His voice rumbles with ecstatic moans as he pours himself inside her. Marc felt it was as if her soul begged in every (humanly) way for him to stay there, with her… wanting his rigid sex melted with hers for good, something he happily conceded. 

"Looks like someone wants to be a father," she jokingly said, but another animalistic thrust from Marc seemed to confirm what she suspected. 

"I could be one, you know…" Marc hums against her mouth. Both laughed it off.

It is a mad, sweet addiction. 

This is the only madness that Marc wants: this love, the one a man feels towards a woman, the love that reduces a man to a slave, to a madman. He is proud to recognize himself addicted to her body, to her love, to her good heart, to the fact that their bodies could not stop once they united. Layla glides her hands over his neck, feeling the skin vibrate as he speaks. 

"Save me…" She saw how lost his expression was, still basking in the elation of being one, "save us…"  

That blissful glare was rare and gorgeous to gaze at. His forehead touched her shoulder, repeating the plea over and over. He probably didn't even know what he was saying at this point. She caresses his hair but Marc keeps his vicious, downright desperate grip around her waist, hiding his face. 

"She's a goddess, Marc!" An enraptured Steven Grant exclaims from within. Marc groans at the strident joy of his alter and it catches Layla's attention. 

"Sweetie?" She asks. It takes a few seconds for Marc to react. He breaks their physical bond, without getting away from her. 

"Steven wants to hug you," Marc murmured. Layla tilted her head, softly laughing at the tender request. 

"Did he enjoy our little show?" She playfully asked. 

"I think he did," Marc giggled, looking right at her, "it means a lot to him, you know?" He steps away from her, looking at the mirror's reflection, which showed an impatient Steven, "alright, you're in."

Layla closely pays attention to the moment her husband keeps mute for a moment. He turned around, quickly glancing at her. Layla's face beams with happiness as Steven gasps at the sight of her, completely exposed. She got down from the furniture, walking towards him. 

"Oh, dear!" Steven almost stumbled, seeing her and himself with no clothes on. He doesn't move an inch, incapable of taking his eyes off her. Layla finally comes close to him, extending her hand to caress his face. 

"Steven." His breath shortened as her hands reached his lips, brushing her thumb over it. His fearful, innocent attitude, so distant from Marc's rough ways, makes her feel guilty for how angry she was at him when they met. 

"Steven Grant… from the gift shop," she lovingly hummed, while slowly wrapping his neck with her arms. She can feel his body tensing, especially when his chest is pressed against hers, "don't be afraid…" 

She starts leaving a line of kisses all over his neck, to let him know it was real. He groans softly, sliding his hands down her waist as a sensual compensation for her embrace. 

"Layla…" he muttered, bewitched by her beauty, "look–look I–" nervousness makes him clear his throat, trying to hide the panic. Layla undoes the hug, causing a low whine from Steven. Layla pays full attention to him. She has that look in her eyes, full of love, of understanding. 

Everything changed all of a sudden. Not too long ago, Steven had been dwelling in depression for a missed date, sick of his usual bad luck. Layla's gentle heart makes him forget that angry call, the shame… he still has trouble thinking something or someone this good couldn't be true. 

"Last night… last night was amazing," Steven Grant stutters, but it doesn't scare her off. She keeps listening carefully, "I never thought you wanted me in that way… I just freaked out because I didn't know what was happening."

A cute smile on Layla's lips encourages him to continue.  

"You…" he says, feeling the typical lightheadedness of love brought with it, "you looked absolutely lovely. I feel… I feel I've been waiting for this moment my whole life." 

She nods, smiling as she remembers the kiss in the desert. Layla also remembers she had been the one starting the affections. But the memory itself doesn't prompt her to properly resume what Steven had interrupted (even if it was with a noble reason). It was the rapture that made his eyes shine. That same love he looked at her with back before finding Ammit's tomb. Layla's face came closer to his, searching to lock their mouths. 

Steven gladly consents and responds to her hungry kiss, praising her each time their mouths broke the caress. The sound of their lips colliding sent shivers through his nerves, thinking this could be the beginning to more touches. 

"I absolutely loved you fucking me so hard, Steven with a V," Layla whispered between kisses, stopping for a few seconds to bathe in the tender praise. The nerd chuckles happily. After all, she remembers that silly rhyme. 

"When I came here, I wanted my husband and I ended up with two instead." 

"I thought that if I was under the service of an evil, stupid pigeon, I was also married to you.” The mild mannered man pants against her mouth, loving the feel of her breath on his face.

Layla sneaks her tongue inside his mouth, parting his lips. Steven allows her to, leading his restless hands towards her chest, squeezing her soft forms. Layla broke the kiss, eyes open in surprise at his daring boldness. The long and awkward silence scares Steven, ashamed of his impulsivity: 

"I'm sorry, I don't want you to think I'm a creep or something–"

"No!" Layla calmed him down but Steven's insecurity keeps speaking for him:

"I'm sorry, it's just… just before I met you, I missed a date. All because Marc had to retrieve that golden beetle. I don't remember kissing anyone until you," Steven places his hands over her shoulders, "I don't remember anyone until you. Please tell me this isn't the last time we do it." 

Layla rolls her eyes, taking his hands to place them all over her chest, so he could squeeze and fondle them. 

"Didn't you hear me? I said–" she pulled him closer to her to then purr, "you can see us before we get to fuck again." Steven moans when his fingers get to touch the nascent line to the full, round part. 

"That's it… touch them if you're not convinced," Layla approves his touches, putting her hands over Steven's and he's there again, consumed by desire. His eyes reflect an incommensurable gratitude and profound relief.

"That is the best part of all this adventure," Steven whispered, amorously holding her hands on his, "I got to meet the wife I didn't know I had. How was I supposed to live the simple, normal, peaceful life Marc intended if you're not in it?" The line is powerful enough to make a tear fall from her eye. 

"You can now, Steven" she held him close, "because you're alive and I can touch you and love you." Steven wraps his arms around her waist once both lay down. He holds her with passion, gratefulness, free of any thought concerning his solitude. 

Layla means 'night' in both Hebrew and Arabic, and for the first time in his life, Marc Spector could succumb to rest, feasting his eyes on the beautiful stars that saved his existence from complete darkness.

#marvel moon knight #moon knight 2022 #moon knight imagine #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight smut #marc spector #marc spector x layla el faouly #marc spector smut #marc spector fic #steven grant fic #steven grant x layla el faouly #steven grant imagine #steven x layla #marc x layla #marc spector imagine #layla el faouly imagine #layla el faouly #Layla El-Faouly smut #steven grant #Layla El-Faouly #may calamawy scarlet scarab #may calamawy #oscar isaac #oscar isaac moon knight

[deardarlingthings]

I've come to the conclusion that for Moon Knight, the ship name for Marc/Steven/Jake and Layla should be Moon Scarab. We've been waiting for a ship name for far too long.

#moon knight #moonknight #marc x layla #layla x marc #layla x steven #steven x layla #marc spector #layla el faouly #steven grant #steven grant x layla el faouly #marc spector x layla el faouly #marvel #marvel mcu #moon knight disney+ #scarlet scarab #jake x layla #layla x jake #moonscarab #moon scarab

[loud-mouth-loser]

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 &lt;3

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

[gebstargeb]

Day eleven prompt 🌙 "Chanukah food"

bro's the baker

Click the read more for some sketches and doodles for today's prompt

12/14: turns out Hamantaschen is a Purim dish, not Hanukkah, mb 🙏🙏

theyre so cute i lorbe them. im gonna put the both of them in a jar and shake it so hard they turn to mush

#comissionsopen #mkcember2023 #moon knight #marvel #art #digital art #steven grant #mcu #moonknight art #marvel moon knight #my art #artists on tumblr #drawing challenge #layla el faouly x steven grant #steven grant x layla el faouly #layla el faouly #steven x layla #scarlet scarab #moonscarab #mkcember

[traveller-of-the-knight]

I would literally drop anything to go explore the catacombs with Steven! Well I would drop anything for Steven anyway but still-

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight meme #moon knight memes #incorrect moon knight quotes #incorrect moon knight #incorrect moon knight quote #moon knight funny #oscar isaac funny #moon knight text posts #moon knight text post #funny moon knight #moon boys #moon knight system #marc spector #steven grant #steven grand #steven grant x layla el faouly #marc spector x layla el faouly #steven grant fluff #layla el faouly #moon knight show #moon knight disney+ #moon knight tv #moon knight series #moon knight mcu #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #oscar hernandez #oscar isaac #oscar isaac memes

[guruan]

Congratulations!

Can you draw our moon bois and their sweetheart Layla at Disneyland 🥹🤍? or they visit a greenhouse full of flower 🥹🤍?

Just Steven and Marc in this case 😚

Hope you like it!

Guruan's 1k followers celebration (requests closed)

#moon knight #moonknight #marc spector #steven grant #layla el faouly #marc spector x layla el faouly #steven grant x layla el faouly #moonscarab #fanart #sketch #guruan's 1k followers celebration

[virtie333]

WIP Wednesday

*shrugs* For me.

We need to talk

There was no response right away, and Layla wondered if she had been too blunt. She didn’t want to scare Steven, but she really needed to talk to him about what Marc had done. If there was anyone who knew Marc better than her it was Steven. When no response seemed forthcoming, she decided he had probably just put his phone away to go back to work; the staff of the museum were not allowed to carry their phones on them while on the clock.

Taking a deep breath, Layla stripped the bed she and Marc had shared so she could wash the sheets, then set out to clean the kitchen. It wasn’t really that dirty, but she needed to keep busy so she wouldn’t think too much. She played music on her phone. American Country music. Because Marc hated it.

Finally, shortly after 6pm, she heard the door to the flat open and watched as Steven slipped in, his messenger bag over his shoulder and a large pizza box in his hands. He looked at her warily, and she knew he had read her last text, but the genuine smile she gave him must have comforted him somewhat, and he smiled back, closing the door behind him with his foot.

#wip wednesday #fanfiction #marc spector x layla el faouly #steven grant x layla el faouly