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tom-whore-dleston · 1 year

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A Royal Longing

Pairing ▹ princess! Layla El Faouly x princess! f. reader

Genre ▹ angst with some fluff

This fic contains ▹ fairytale (Snow White) AU, forbidden love, wlw, heartbreak, dark magic, death by poison, revival

Word Count ▹ 2,746

Summary ▹ I wish that it could be like that | Why can't we be like that? | Cause I'm yours

Notes ▹ Here is my very late submission for @the-slumberparty's I Spy (week 1) challenge. After a whole month of overthinking this piece, I finally just allowed myself to write it without being hard on myself. This is unbeta'ed so I take full responsibility if it's meh. Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed!

You watched from the top of the grand staircase as Princess Layla waltzed across the dance floor with your older brother, Prince Marc. A tear fell from your eye as they closed the space between them, lips sealing together like the promise to marry one another.

Your kingdom was threatened by a magical but evil force. Driven by fear, the king and queen of the neighboring land formed an alliance with your parents against the evil force they call Agatha Harkness. Part of that alliance was arranging a marriage between their only child with your brother, Marc.

The day you met Princess Layla was the day your life began. Your parents threw a ball in honor of Marc’s birthday, which turned out to be an excuse to discuss diplomacy with Layla’s parents. You were never one for dancing until the curly haired princess pulled you onto the dance floor and spun you around in circles. Dancing with her felt like floating on a cloud, and you were basking in the sunshine of her laughter.

The two of you eventually stepped out for fresh air, strolling side by side to the garden. You shared your life stories, your hopes and dreams, and everything in between. She even taught you more dance steps, claiming that dancing would impress a suitor when the time comes. However, this hypothetical suitor meant nothing to you as she caressed your frame, guiding you with each step in the middle of the garden. This moment under the moonlight stirred emotions you couldn’t explain to a single soul for numerous reasons. That night, before you succumbed to slumber, you thanked the stars and heavens that they held your secret with care.

After the ball, Layla visited the castle often, sharing her time between Marc and you. Your brother made many attempts to win her affection, however, he was not all that successful. Understanding how close you were to Layla, Marc sought advice from you on how to woo her. Even after explaining in full detail everything to know about the princess, he was oblivious to your affections towards her.

You were close to Marc. In fact, you looked up to him. While you were growing up, Marc was obviously the preferred child. He was a boy; a boy who already carried the kingdom in the palm of his hand at birth. Because the king and queen neglected you in favor of Marc, he was the one that always looked out for you. He taught you everything you needed to know. It was only fair you returned the favor, even if it meant hiding your true feelings for Layla and helping your brother win her hand in marriage.

The day finally came when Marc and Layla announced their engagement to one another. You congratulated them with open arms, but your heart shattered to a million pieces as they embraced you back. Later that evening after supper, you sat in your chamber painting Layla wearing the diamond necklace gifted by Marc. Her image was ingrained in your memory that you didn’t need her posing in front of you to create the masterpiece on your canvas. You were so entranced by your painting, you were unaware of Layla’s presence in your room.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, grasping your attention.

You stuttered, “Oh, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“No, my apologies. I should have announced my presence.” Layla paused for a moment before tucking a chunk of her curls behind her hair. “I’ll come back-”

“Wait, please stay!” You interjected. She took a seat beside you, studying the portrait of herself.

“I love how you painted my eyes.” The princess smiled like a flickering light in the darkness. “They look so full of joy. As if the innocence never died in them.” Although her voice faded, her smile never did. You turned to her, gazing into the brown orbs she spoke of.

“Something Marc taught me is that the world that I see through my own eyes is what I perceive as reality. As an artist, my goal is to be able to paint my reality, and show people the world I see.” You chuckled before continuing. “My paintings used to be so gloomy and dull. That was until I met you. I have had the absolute privilege of seeing the beauty and joy in you and putting my reality of you into color.”

You didn’t realize you had started crying until Layla wiped away your tears with her gloved hand. She stroked your cheek, holding it tenderly.

“I don’t want to marry Marc.”

Your eyes widened and your heart skipped a beat. “W-why? But my brother is-”

“Your brother is kind, handsome, and noble,” Layla sighed, “but he doesn’t see me. In fact, nobody sees me the way you do.”

You were in disbelief. Was this a dream? Or a nightmare? Why couldn’t you wake up from it? You kept stumbling over your words until Layla cut in again.

“I don’t love Marc. I love you, Princess!” Her words slipped from her quivering mouth, but you couldn’t stop them from bursting into shards on the floor.

“I-” You shook your head. “Layla, Marc loves you. He’s counting on you to protect our kingdom. Our parents are counting on you. Even the people.” You began to pace the room with the princess following behind you.

“I don’t care about them. I mean, yes, I do. But none of them matter to me the way you do.” Layla tugged on your arm, forcing you to face her with hot tears bleeding into your makeup. “You mean to tell me that after that painting of me, you don’t love me, too?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then, why won’t you say yes to me?”

“You know exactly why!” You shouted louder than you wanted. Layla jumped in fear, sniffling as the tears stained her cheeks. As if an arrow pierced through your heart, you collapsed to your knees, muffling your sobs with your hand. Your body trembled as the gleeful illusion you became familiar with disappeared amongst your bleak reality. Layla stooped down to your level, unclasping the diamond necklace to put around your neck. She tilted your chin up so you could lock eyes with her one more time.

“If you can’t fully embrace my love, then I hope you can accept this token of it. You don’t have to keep putting your brother before yourself. You, too, deserve the kind of love Marc receives.” With that, she walked out of your room, leaving you with a crack in your heart that no painting or necklace can mend for you.

A week went by since you turned Layla away. You were bedridden with no interest in any form of outside interaction. Not even Marc bribing you with a horseback riding session could lure you out of your room. He was secretly hurting, not knowing what was eating his younger sister. But no one felt the pain that Layla was experiencing every time she’d pass by your chambers, fighting the urge to knock on the door and wait for your voice on the other side.

Your parents, along with Layla’s, hosted another ball for Marc and Layla’s engagement. As much as you wanted to hide away in your chambers and paint until your hands cramped, you couldn’t miss this tremendous celebration for your brother. You changed into a pastel dress, complimented by the diamond necklace from the woman you yearned for. Once you arrived to the ball, your gaze landed on the couple to be, wrapped around one another, preparing for the waltz.

And so, you were left to watch them dance their way towards their marriage. Tears glossed over the gut-wrenching reality that was displayed for you. You could no longer stand to let your happiness slip from you so you quickly escaped to your chamber.

Suddenly, a cloaked figure with dark tinted hands stopped you in your tracks. You gasped, almost stumbling to the floor.

“Oh, my dear child, what seems to trouble you?” The figure croaked that sounded like an out of tune violin.

“I’m sorry, you just startled me.” You tried to pass her but she stood in your way.

“Never mind that. Now, tell me, what seems to trouble you?” You glanced over at Layla, who was still in the arms of your brother. The person under the cloak followed your gaze, nodding in understandment.

“A forbidden love. I should have known by the way you looked at her.” Even though their face was hidden by their hood, you could still sense their grin. “Lucky for you, I can help with that.”

Before you could question them, a dark violet cloud swallowed you whole, blocking your vision of the outside world. The purple substance diffused and you found yourself in your chambers. The door slammed shut on its own, causing your heart to race and your breathing to increase. The tinted hands pulled down the hood to reveal the witch, Agatha Harkness. You gasped again, this time, your fear at an all time high.

“I-it’s y-you!” You stammered. “You’re the witch! I’ve heard stories about you and how you want to destroy us.”

Agatha cackled, doubling back with her hand on her chest. Her laugh was even more frightening than you had imagined.

“Wow!” Agatha sarcastically exclaimed. “That’s the narrative your mommy and daddy are shoving down your throat. You royals always have a way of twisting my words!” She paced the room, speculating every crevice of the room as if she was an architect ready to rebuild your room with her magic. “I don’t want to destroy the kingdom.” Her piercing eyes glared at the painting of Layla, angry purple flames scorching through her hands. “I want to destroy that wretched little brat! Princess Layla El Faouly.” She aimed one of her hands at the portrait, and shot a purple flame at it, causing it to disintegrate. You rushed towards the pile of ash on the floor, your heart sinking as rage and sadness filled the beating muscle inside you.

“How dare you-” You were silenced as Agatha waved a finger in the air, zipping your lips tightly together. The witch smiled in satisfaction.

“As I was saying. Once upon a time, I was the fairest of the land. Everyone, even the mighty king himself, thought I was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. That was until the queen came along and they gave birth to your beloved princess.” Agatha found the mirror that stood tall against the wall. She walked towards it, staring at her reflection with melancholy.

“Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Her reflection swirled like a storm until the image of Layla dancing with Marc appeared before her. Another flame hit the mirror, causing it to crack in the middle. You tried to scream for help but Agatha’s spell prevented you from opening your mouth.

“I’m sure you are wondering how you fall into this, my dear.” Agatha paused before conjuring a crisp, red apple out of thin air. “This is no ordinary apple. It contains magic!” She whispered the last sentence as if it were its own spell. “With just one bite, all your dreams can come true, my dear.” All of a sudden, you twisted your eyebrows in interest with your head tilted. “You and your princess can live the happily ever after you both want. No need to worry about your brother, Marc, or your parents, or the kingdom. Heck, you don’t even have to worry about me bothering you two. Just you and Layla. And that’s it.”

Agatha handed you the apple. You studied the fruit with your fingers, making sure it was real and not a trick. The longer you held it in your hand, the more you believed that it was real. And the more you wanted to take a bite of the apple.

“What do you say, my dear?” the witch inquired. You looked at her, pointing to her mouth. Agatha chuckled, forgetting that she sealed your lips shut, and withdrew her spell on you.

“I really can have whatever I want?”

“Yes. The future is in the palm of your hands, my dear.” The dark haired woman stared back at you impatiently. You nodded, cupping the ripe fruit in your hands. The apple was so bright you could see your reflection in it. And so, you brought it to your mouth, taking a generous bite out of it.

As you swallowed, your body instantly grew weak. The room turned into a fuzzy picture and the sound of Agatha’s evil laughter faded in your ears. You tumbled to the floor, your whole body turning numb and your eyes closed heavily. The bitten apple rolled out of your hand and the red turned to the darkest shade of black. As you succumbed to your tragic fate, images of you and Layla dancing in the garden to an unfamiliar, but soothing song played in your head. Then, everything went black.

A sense of loneliness overcame Layla at the end of the night. Marc broke off the engagement with her upon learning her obvious feelings for you. He was surprisingly calm about the whole thing. What mattered to him was that she was truthful to him and loyal to you. Plus, it was about time you had found someone worth living for.

Layla passed by your chamber, noticing the door slightly open. She called out for your name but heard no response. After calling out for you a few more times, Layla pushed the door open to find you lying on the ground unconscious. A distressed scream echoed through the hallway, alarming Marc and your parents.

“Please! I need help now!” She cried loudly, rushing to your side. Layla held your limp body in her arms, sobbing violently as she rocked you in hopes to wake you up. Marc comforted Layla while your parents immediately ran to find a doctor for you. He, then, found the rotten apple off to the side, inspecting it before shouting angrily.

“That witch, Agatha, got to her! She poisoned my beloved sister.” Marc began crying in rage, realizing there was nothing he could do to save you. This was no use to Layla either as she continued to cry against your cold body. She looked down at your lifeless face, caressing it like the first time she held you.

“My love, I am sorry I could not save you.” Her voice shook with melancholy as more tears streamed down her face. Layla ran her thumb over your cheek before hovering her lips over yours. She took a deep breath before pressing her soft lips against your chapped ones. They lingered there while she cried over your mouth.

Layla pulls away in defeat. As she held you longingly, heat radiated your face, and slowly, to the rest of your body. Once Layla noticed this slight temperature change in you, she peered down at you in utter confusion. An abrupt gasp for air filled your lungs, causing you to aggressively cough out the bitten piece of apple from the back of your throat. Your upper body shot up and your eyes flew open.

Once your breathing became steady again, you frantically searched the room for the witch that poisoned you. You were babbling nonsense until the feeling of Layla’s soft touch against your hand brought you back to your senses.

“Agatha…she-”

“We know, kiddo, we know,” Marc responded calmly, leaning down next to you. He leaned his head against your shoulder, relieved that you were alive and well. Meanwhile, Layla beamed with joy and shock.

“We can worry about Agatha later,” Layla started. “We are just happy you are okay.” You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Marc and then back at Layla. As if reading your mind about them, Marc nodded in reassurance that your thoughts were correct.

You looked back at Layla. “I just wanted to be with you.” Your voice descended along with your head. “I still want you.”

The princess lifted your head with a sweet smile on her beautiful face. “We can be together, my love. Just say yes, and I am all yours.” Your smile matched hers and warm tears filled your eyes.

“Yes, Layla, I do!” Like a pair of magnets, you and Layla kissed as if it would be the last time your lips would ever meet again.

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#navy and roo's sleepover #navy and roo sleepover #i spy challenge #layla el faouly #scarlet scarab #may calamawy #layla el faouly moodboard #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly fanfiction #layla el faouly fanfic #layla el faouly fic #layla el faouly fluff #layla el faouly angst #royalcore #princesscore #snow white au #royalty au #wlw

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peterparkersnose · 2 years

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Chapstick

Layla El-Faouly x gn!reader

word count: 326

warnings: none! just fluff. morning piece. no moonknight spoilers!

a/n this is my first gn story! i am so excited. i hope you guys like it, its kind of short but its sweet.

summary Layla and Y/N spend a morning together

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read time: 1 min 11 seconds

Maybe putting chapstick on in the middle of the night when you woke up to go to the bathroom was a bad idea. Your lips were still sticky, moist with the humid air. Layla turned in bed, and so did the fan oscillating in the corner. Her beautiful brown hair got stuck in your lips, waking you out of your deep slumber.

A quick pfft from you and the pulling of her hair was enough to wake Layla up. “Y/N?” she asked, turning over with a confused look. “Were you just eating my hair?” she questioned, a slight confused smile emerged on her face.

“No- the fan blew your hair, I have chapstick on-” “Ohh okay. I get it now.” she sighed, scooting back into your embrace. “What time is it?” you asked her. Layla scooted to the edge of the bed and looked at the alarm clock.

“Fifteen minutes before the alarm goes off,”

She moved back into her position, her hair attacking you once again. You attempted to move it out of the way.

“Is it really that bad?” she asked you, turning over in bed. “No, it is just deciding to disturb my personal space this morning,” you smirked. “You think I should cut it?” Layla asked, grabbing it with her hand and throwing her hair behind her shoulder.

“No, I love your hair.” you said, shocked. “Hmm,” Layla hummed. “What else do you love about me?” she asked.

You chuckled a bit. “Everything.” “I need specifics,”

You studied her face intently. “Your passion.” you began. “Your eyes, your freckles, your nose, my god I love your nose.” you said, giving her a tiny boop on the face. “Seriously Layla, I love everything about you. I would be a fool not to.” you said, holding her closer in your embrace.

Layla extended her neck and gave you a tiny kiss. After she pulled away, she rubbed her lips together.

“Was that chapstick cherry?”

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0

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brainrotcharacters · 2 years

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The Blue

ship: Layla x period sufferer!painter!reader

a/n: was considering this idea before shark week slapped me. no wonder I've been uncharacteristically sociable recently.

summary: you descend into emotions and a clouded thought process just in time for layla to catch you.

tags: reader uses painting as an outlet, reader's period doesn't sync with Layla's, established relationship, metaphorical dialogue, angst/fluff

The paintbrush was rigid between your fingers as you drag it across the canvas. Stubborn and immovable, even as the trajectory of your piece kept devolving into something quite unhinged.

Another cramp twisted your insides, and you doubled over in your seat with a pained groan. Glared at the red in your palette before taking a massive amount of the stupid thing. Breathe. Focus up.

You braced your feet and swung your brush in one wide arc.

The scraping noise it caused had hidden the sound of the door. Layla's eyebrows furrowed at your anger, mind growing more alert and sensitive to your cues.

Your painting actually looked better with the red line over it. In fact, it could be understood as blue instead, therefore underplaying the theme of anger of the piece as a whole. Or, it could exaggerate the emotion.

An audible sob escaped your lips as you rubbed your temple. You can't fucking decide, and it doesn't match the image you had in mind. Hell, you can't completely remember the full visualization!

Layla's eyes sharpened at the sound. She deliberately, slowly strode into your peripheral vision, so as to not startle you. "Hi there."

"Layla." you sighed, softening. "I didn't hear you come in."

Her brown gaze swept over the apartment exactly once: drafts and sketches, spilled paint mixing into each other, dried paint on the strands of your hair, snacks and water pushed against one corner of the room as far away from you as possible.

"Well, you're trying to focus." she amended. "Can I know about what you're working on?"

Your girlfriend, in all her power and goodness, caring about this infuriating thing you're failing to make? "No, I'm done. I give up."

You all but tossed your palette and paintbrush to your nearby worktable as you stood up. Too quickly, so you lifted your hands to cover your face when suddenly, Layla stood at your side bringing a wet cloth.

She wiped the dried paint from your fingers, and didn't meet your gaze as she asks. "Why?"

"Because..." because if I don't match with the mental image, I can't completely release my anger: my anger can't completely release me. Because I shouldn't have started if I won't finish it perfectly. I shouldn't have committed while on my period because my butt hurts and my back is aching. There's knots in my shoulders and I stopped smelling the paint thinner 30 minutes ago.

Layla's callouses pulled you back into the present, her touch gentle and loving as she cleaned your knuckles. Finally, she met your eyes.

"You used a lot of blue."

You gulped down the growing lump in your throat, nuzzling into her neck. It was not lost on either of you that it was an attempt to hide how your expression crumbled, even as your tears started to fall warm and unbidden against her skin. The familiar scent of amber and driftwood, of her, settled deep into you and through you.

"I hate it," you managed through shuddering breaths. Layla had one hand on the back of your head, the other across your shoulders. "Blue is a more subdued type of anger. As soon as I could focus despite my irritation, I sat down and started. I don't know where the purple came from. There was red everywhere."

You felt her shaking her head, tightening her grip around you. "The purple came from the blue, too."

As her words settled, you forced yourself to feel it later. Carefully, you pull away. A recovered part of the mental image was almost as powerful as missing her touch.

"I have to finish this, Layla. I can do it; it's all I've ever been good at." she wasn't letting go of one of your hands. "Anyone who feels the way I do right now will look at this completed piece and feel at ease. I have to help them get there."

Something broke in Layla's eyes as she tugged you back towards her, and away from your canvas. "You're allowed to breathe, habibti."

"Stop." your pleading shone through your face, and the first tear fell down Layla's cheek.

"No." Layla closed the distance between you, cradling your face in her hands. For eyes so brown, she glared at you with such a fire. "We draw the line if it puts you in danger. That's our deal, remember? If you don't feel well, nothing you create right now will ever satisfy you."

The moment she saw you agree with her, Layla's hands rested on your shoulders. "Take a break, please? With me. Let's have lunch, take a nap. What about a warm bath for your cramps?"

Returning into her open arms was just as painful as how eagerly she embraced you again. "I suddenly remembered how we first met."

Layla chuckled. "Your commissions, the black market, and a necklace shaped like crescent moons. Yes, I remember."

You lifted your head from her shoulder. Layla stared at your face for a moment before kissing the tip of your nose. "So quick to save other people without thinking of yourself. It's a running gag among my lovers."

You laugh against the side of her face, letting her herd you away from the work in progress. "In my defense, you're incredibly endearing."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

#layla el faouly #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly fluff #layla el faouly comfort #layla el faouly angst #moon knight x reader #moon knight layla #moon knight fic

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lokisfirecracker · 2 years

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layla el faouly tags

#layla el faouly #layla #layla el faouly x reader #layla x reader #layla el faouly x y/n #layla x y/n #layla el faouly x you #layla x you #layla el faouly fluff #layla el faouly smut #layla el faouly angst #layla el faouly x reader smut #layla el faouly x reader fluff #layla el faouly x reader angst

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

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Worthy Distraction (Marc Spector x reader)

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A/N: I just wanted to write some Marc Spector fluff to calm my brain. Also Marc Spector’s unruly curls are the love of my fucking life ugh

Word Count: 913 words

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Marc groans again, running his hand through his curls. This was the fifth or sixth time he had run his hands through his curls in pure frustration as they flopped hopelessly down onto his face.

You glare at him, the action of him constantly running his hands through his hair has been a worthy distraction, pulling you away from the work that you were doing and sending you staring straight at your best friend.

His handsome face was contorted into a look of concentration, eyebrows pulled down low and his mouth set into a magnificent frown that made him extra adorable. He was hunching over the book he was reading, finger skimming over the words as he gripped the pencil he was holding with determination.

You had invited him to the library so that you could spend some time with him as well as get your thesis done. The table that the both of you were using had snacks, papers, cups of coffee and books scattered all over it and you were sitting across from him.

The reality with this whole situation was that you were in love with Marc. You knew a little about his past and you knew about Steven and Jake, but even so, you had found every reason to still let yourself fall in love with him. He trusted you and when he began to open up, you felt him being vulnerable to you and that opened a whole new can of beans in your head.

Besides, you couldn’t deny that your best friend had a face worthy of the gods. He was hot and all you wanted to do was to kiss his nose and the frown line between his eyebrows.

He raised his hand up to his hair again and you stood up in frustration, slamming your hands down onto the table, scaring him and making him jump out of his seat.

“WHAT?!” he whisper-shouted, staring at you.

“Stop doing whatever you’re doing, it’s distracting me!” you whisper-shouted back, pointing at his hair. “You and your stupid hair, it’s just so…”

Your trail of, as Marc blinks up at you, a boyish smile gracing his face.

“What are you smiling at?” You questioned, folding your arms across your chest.

“At the fact that you’re looking at me instead of doing your work?” He answered, the smile somehow turning smug.

“That’s- That’s the whole point Marc, you’re really just distracting! Why can’t you stop fidgeting?” you said, groaning and rubbing your face with your hands.

“I can’t help it, my hair is too long and Steven won’t let me cut our hair.” he muttered, doing it again as his curls flopped back down onto his forehead.

“Well, think of something!” you warned giving him a stern look.

“You have to stop being so mean to me, you know? Or, I swear to god…” he trailed off, closing his book.

“You swear to god what, huh?” you push, putting your hands on your hips.

Marc stood up and walked to where you were standing, tipping his chin down slightly to look at you, making your breath hitch slightly and your glare wavered for a second. He was too close. You could see every detail on his face from this angle, every curve, every stubble and every inch of skin that you’d want your lips on. His lashes were long and his eyebags were prominent but it only made him look more beautiful and rugged. One of his hands cradled your face and the other reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair that curved down from your head.

“As if touching his own hair wasn’t enough, now he’s touching mine.” you thought as you gazed into his eyes.

“I swear to god, I will fall in love with you.” he breathed.

Your eyes widened and your gaze dropped to his lips, wondering if the both of you had the same thoughts. Your theory had been proven correct when Marc took a single step closer and let his lips fall onto yours, tilting his head slightly so that his nose didn’t bump yours. He kissed your lips softly and unhurriedly, ensuring you that he’d give you all the time in this world.

The both of you pull away slowly and you bite your lip and watch Marc from under your lashes. He was smiling, a light pink tinge covering the bridge of his nose, making him look so kiss-drunk.

“Damn Marc,” you said, a little lost for words.

“I had to do it, you just look so fuckin’ hot when you’re frustrated.” he chuckled, kissing your cheek.

You laugh softly, kissing his forehead, his nose and then his lips for one final assurance.

“Wait, let me fix your hair.” you mutter, curling a finger under his chin and tipping it up so that you can adjust the mane on his head.

You pulled out a few pins from your own hair and flattened his curls, pinning them in place before holding out your phone for him to see. Marc grins at your masterpiece and you hold out your hand for him to take, leading him back to the bench and tucking his hand and your hand into your hoodie pocket while you get back to work.

Marc fell asleep after a while, his arms around you and his face slotted into your neck, the soft whoosh of his breath on your skin providing you solace as you typed away.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Reblogs are appreciated <3 love you all so so much *muah*

Tagging my babies: @mintpurplemnm @lia275 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @brekkers-desigirl @romanarose @melodygatesauthor @welcometostayingawake @campingwiththecharmings (also this fic doubles as a present for surviving the MK foot anon)

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januaryembrs · 10 months

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [3]

description: With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward. word count: 9.4k trigger warnings: GORE, blood, Dove absolutely wrecks the jackals I won't lie. Very explicit imagery used for their deaths. Swearing. Layla thinks Dove is the mistress and is angry, talks of dove not owning her body anymore, talks of having bodily autonomy taken away. Quick hint at Dove's dark past. main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: I hate writing action scenes so if this seems rushed or bad I'm sorry, action is not my strongest point!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

She watched as Steven was led in cuffs to the black BMW that gave away no hint at being a real police car, eager to scramble back into his apartment from off the moss covered rooftop that had her second death of the week written all over it.

Layla was quick to hop back inside behind her, nearly shoving her out the way to get to her backpack.

“They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Marc said-” The younger woman started, trailing after Layla like a lost dog. This was way out of her depth. The way Marc had described it made it seem like he had it under control. About as under control as Egyptian Gods and resurrecting dead people goes, that is. He had said nothing about his ex-wife showing up or Steven being taken hostage by police impersonators.

Layla stopped at the sound of her husband’s name leaving the girl’s lips.

“Mention Marc one more time and you are walking to wherever Harrow is taking him, you hear me?” Layla seethed, looking at her with eyes cold as ice despite being a beautiful, warm brown.

Dove choked on her words for a moment, swallowing whatever she was going to come back with and instead choosing to nod once.

“Yes- Sorry-”

“Good,” The woman hissed, turning on her heel and heading for the front door. “And remember what I said about talking,”

“Gotcha- right,” She stammered in reply. Layla was more intimidating than Marc had been, more than Donna even. He was annoyed when they’d spoken, sure. Cold? Absolutely. But to Layla, she was actively a pest. A bug. A rodent that had crawled into her marriage bed and weaselled her way into her husband’s life. Which wasn’t true of course. But she understood that Layla had more than enough reason to be upset with her.

Heading after the woman, hot on her heels, she bit her tongue the entire minute they spent in the elevator, neither of them willing to start a conversation with the other. Whether it be pride (Layla) or sheer wanting to avoid getting punched in the stomach (Dove), the two women stayed silent until the metal box dinged and released them from the horribly tense atmosphere.

Layla set off for her moped that she’d parked on the road, unlatching the red leather seat upwards to reveal a spare helmet in the cubby. Shoving the smooth, maroon hard hat into the younger woman’s arms, Layla strapped her own onto her head and swung a leg over the caboose.

Dove followed suit, hopping onto the back, her arms faltering slightly as she looked for some kind of handle to hold onto.

“What now?” The driver’s annoyed voice snapped as she caught on to the fussing from behind her.

“Where do I put my arms?” Said a quiet tone, hating the helplessness in her voice yet the embarrassment was too much for her to have asked otherwise. Layla rolled her eyes, grabbing the woman’s hands and bringing them around her waist.

“Just hold on,” She ordered, a hum of energy blasting into the engine as she kicked off the curb and set off. The motor jumped to life, and the two women were speeding after the fraudulent fed car in no time. She clutched onto the front woman for dear life; she had always hated amusement park rides, and she was sure Layla was at least somewhat tempted to stage an accident with the way their morning had gone.

“I’m really not sleeping with Marc, you know,” She braved to speak, gripping tighter in fear the single comment would tip her counterpart over the edge.

“What did I say about-”

“I know! I know!” She called, loud enough for Layla to hear her over the bustle of London traffic, “I just wanted you to believe me. You’re more than right to be unhappy with him. Truth be told, the one time I’ve met him, he’s not exactly been a charmer.”

That seemed to perk up his ex wife’s ears. “You’ve only met once?”

“Yes. Like I said, I work with Steven at the museum. I only met Marc this morning when he told me-” She cut herself off, unsure of just how much he would want Layla knowing. How much she already knew. She didn’t even know he had a dissociative disorder, it wouldn’t be wrong for her to assume his wife wasn’t privy to other things too.

Maybe that was why they were divorcing? But that was none of her business.

“Told you what?” Layla pushed, which only caused the girl at the rear to sigh heavily. Layla didn’t need to know much. And besides, it was her burden to bear now, not Marc’s. She could tell her if she wished. Hell, perhaps Layla could even help her seeing as she already knew so much about the scarab.

“He told me,” She paused, coming to terms with how insane she was about to sound if Layla didn’t know much about her husband’s second, well third, life. “He said I died being chased by one of Harrow’s jackals, and the only way for him to save me was to give my body up to Setekh in exchange for becoming his avatar,”

Layla was quiet for a moment, the car Steven was in not too far ahead of them as she hung back to avoid suspicion.

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed.

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless.

“I just told you I fucking died, and you’re laughing?” Her passenger asked, aghast, which only made Layla laugh again. “Well, fuck you too,”

“No, sorry, it’s just,” The woman shook her head, taking a semi sharp right in order to stay on their tail, “Trust Marc to meddle in someone’s life and end up keeping her around because he feels guilty,”

Her face warmed. So Layla really did know her husband then.

“His meddling saved my life,” She tried to protest, the image of Marc’s eyes softening slightly when she’d grabbed his hand that same morning flashing in her mind. Without Marc, she wouldn’t be here. She tried to pretend the idea he was only keeping her around because he felt responsible for her now didn’t sting.

At least Steven wanted her around. For now, that is.

“Did it?” Layla asked, all remnants of humour gone, replaced with a cold seriousness. Not mean like she had been all day, moreso a sobering tone of reality, “My father told me every story there was about Seth.”

“He’s a historian?” Dove asked, curiosity winning over her bitterness that the woman had laughed at her. She thought now maybe it was out of disbelief, maybe even pessimism at hearing the nefarious god’s name.

“No, an archeologist,” Layla replied, “He said Setekh was once worshipped as a way of protecting crops and villages from the storms he created. He said it was thought because he was the god of foreigners he was responsible for all the oppressors attacking the people. He became the one who caused all the bloodshed, the evil, the barbarity. Every bit of chaos and violence was down to his hand,” The woman said, speaking with a passion for her country it was clear she had lived, slept and breathed everything her father taught her, “It was said while Anubis was the first God of the Dead, Osiris took the role during the later centuries. And when his brother, Seth, slaughtered him and scattered him in pieces around the world, he took on the title of God of the Dead,”

“Glad I’m not invited to that family reunion, then,” The other girl muttered from her place at the rear of the bike. Layla smirked to herself, not willing to let the younger woman know she’d drawn a small smile from her.

“They were always at each other's throats. And when they weren’t, they were usually marrying their sisters.” To which Dove recoiled in horror. The BMW started slowing down ahead of them, which they were both quick to notice as it took a right hand turn into a less populated area. The sky had been quick to overcast shadows, the April air turning cold and darker fast. As if someone up there knew what was coming.

“Lovely,” She mused, “Well, my family doesn’t talk to me anymore so I’m sure we’ll be okay as far as incest marriages go,”

Layla’s expression faltered. She hadn’t expected the quiet mouse of a girl to drop something so heavy, yet it was clear from her widened gaze she didn’t quite mean to say that so bluntly. To set off such a bomb on their already awkward ride. The striking woman wheeled up onto a curb around the corner from the narrow street the car had pulled into, trying to avoid the gazes of the few people they saw communing there.

Cutting the engine and hopping off the seat, Layla held the bike steady as the other woman did the same, all but falling off the back of the moped with a newborn fawn-like grace.

The two women looked at one another, the younger one handing the helmet over sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Dove murmured, unable to quite meet the beautiful woman’s eyes, Layla’s lips neither drawn into a sneer nor a smile. More a mix between pity and as if she were still weighing up the girl who picked at the loose skin around her nails anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Layla said with a long huff, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “Marc tends to leave people to deal with the shit he gets them into,”

The girl bit her tongue, pleased that she didn’t seem to be on Layla’s hit list anymore. They had bigger things to worry about now, like the fact Steven was essentially kidnapped or that they had yet to find somewhere to keep the scarab hidden.

She felt it burning in her pocket, as if it were buzzing with the glory of being what everyone had their sights set on; of being such a harbinger of trouble.

“Maybe so,” She said, handing the jewelled bug over to Layla to keep it safe, “But trusting him is the only hope I’ve got right now. Marc said Seth will be coming for me any day now,”

Layla looked at her for a moment, dark eyes raking over her forlorn figure some few years younger than her. The girl's eyes were soft, new to the world and the shit storm that was about to hit her, but her hands were what gave away her condition. The slightest touch of her fingers to her own where she handed her the scarab and Layla was able to feel just how cold her skin had become. Dead. Corpse like. As if the life truly had been drained out of her ten times over.

She wondered how her younger accomplice would fare as an avatar. Though Layla had swore that once those papers were signed this was not her fight anymore, she couldn’t help worrying just how badly her ex had seemed to mess up this young girl’s life in the space of one evening.

Seth was not a god you wanted to upset. Nor was he one you wanted to be of interest to. If everything that Abdallah El-Faouly had told his sweet daughter was correct, then that girl, barely mid twenties as she was, was in for a lifetime of torment and pain.

“Well, if that’s true, I hate to be the one to tell you to run and hide as soon as you can,” Layla said, her voice empty of emotion but her eyes genuine, “If Seth is the one looking for you, I can guarantee you’ll wish Marc had left you for the jackals,”

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow and his followers cornered Steven, still as lost and dazed as he had been all day. He just hoped that wherever Dove was, she was safe and far away from this mess that his other self had dragged her into.

“We have it.” Steven’s head whipped around at the sound of Layla’s voice, clear and commanding and filling the abandoned building.

And sure enough, his sweet friend stood next to her, eyes wide and clearly thrown off by the El-Faouly woman’s plan to draw attention to them.

“What the hell are you doing?” She whisper-yelled as the two women trailed through the crowd of Ammit’s followers, both of them watching carefully for anyone getting ready to attack them.

“I’m drawing their attention, Marc will deal with them easily,” Layla replied under her breath as they neared the two men in the centre of the room. It seemed Harrow and his followers had renovated some kind of church or antique building to become a communal hall. Community food lay out on tables around, a projector playing an old documentary on the dusty wall.

Harrow’s followers didn’t seem to have anything particularly off about them. In fact, they seemed like regular citizens you would see around the streets of London. Nothing about them screamed evil, yet that only served to make them more menacing. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Dove knew all too well villains and monsters didn’t look like Ancient Egyptian mummies or jackals. They looked like regular people, like the man sitting next to you on the train. Like your family friend. Like your milkman. Or your school teacher. Or the shop clerk. Or young, female gift-shoppists that had a hopeless crush on their seemingly married co-worker.

It didn’t matter who they were, what they looked like, they were tainted to their core.

“That’s a great plan, except he’s not Marc, he’s Steven,” The young girl hissed, as Harrow stared at her with a smug twinkle in his eye, holding out his rough hand to Layla.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe,” Harrow asked calmly, though it was clear with the way his focus trained on the jewel that he wasn’t quite so relaxed as he was making believe.

He was clever with his words, manipulative. Making himself seem honest and responsible to anyone who didn’t understand the scarab. But Layla did. She wasn’t like the ordinary woman Harrow took her for. She was smart beyond belief, and knew more about the legends than Arthur could ever learn from seeing into people’s souls.

“Summon the suit,” Layla ordered under her breath as they reached Steven’s shaken figure. Her almond eyes scoured around the building for the nearest way out as her younger accomplice shook her head in despair and picked at her nails with furrowed brows.

“Sorry what?” Steven asked, just as Dove had suspected. He had no clue what any of this meant.

Layla’s brown gaze cut to his, chagrin mixed with a hint of fear boiling up in her expression. “Summon the suit,” She said again, stepping closer to the man who gawked at her with a lost look.

“‘Summon the soup’? What are you saying?”

“The suit,” She said again, shoving the scarab into his chest, before turning to where Harrow was reaching for his staff. “And keep this safe,”

“So be it,” Harrow said tiredly. Deciding they were in too thick to continue this little joke of Marc’s, she reached behind her for the younger woman, dragging her towards the only available exit she saw.

Layla’s frantic brain caught sight of a flight of stairs that led to the first floor: a wide ledge that overlooked the rest of the room and had tiny archways where passageways wove into the sandstone walls, scaffolding and more of the plastic tarp scattered over and around the steps.

A quick loop around the top of the stairs took them to a second set of steps that led only to an upper ledge and a large arched hallway with natural light coming from the end of it. A fire escape maybe? An open window? Bingo.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Layla hurried, grabbing Steven on the way as one of the men lunged at her. She was quick to rip his hand off her arm, shoving him into a table so hard he went tumbling over the edge and knocking into another of his men.

Forcing Dove ahead of her, Layla directed the young girl towards the first flight of stairs, ducking around the scaffolding that lead to the first floor seemingly still mid-renovation. Steven trailed behind them quickly with a gasp as he dodged another of Harrow’s men.

Practically swinging around the railing on one hand, Dove felt her tired legs ache as she ascended quickly, the only thing keeping her from stopping being the two people behind her breathing down her neck, relying on her to keep going. The temporary staircase wobbled for a moment as the floor shook, small chunks of brick crumbling free from the delicate wall at the movement. A flash of amethyst purple light reflected around the building, filling the space with something odd; something tense that crawled up her spine, like a foreboding that cut her right through her gut.

Reaching the first level, she was quick to stop in her tracks as a man ducked out from one of the tiny corridors woven into the stone walls, and lunged for her. She felt Layla dart behind her and start scaling the second flight of stairs to the open door that hopefully spelled freedom. The man was quick enough to grab her wrists, but Steven's arm was swiftly wrapped around her waist, holding her from being thrown off the edge of the barrierless ledge.

She kicked at the man a few times, desperate for him to let her go. That is until she got one of her hands free and was able to grab him by the collar of his coat.

Remembering how tightly she had been able to grip Marc’s arm that morning, she found it unnaturally easy enough to lift the man a solid few inches off the ground, the stitches of his clothes ready to give way at his body weight. The menacing look on his face dropped when he realised with a cold slap to the face that no amount of holding onto her arms could do anything seeing as she had him scruffed and held like a little dog that was misbehaving.

He let out a sharp squeal as she threw him with ease over the edge and down the ten foot drop, not enough to kill but enough to hear a loud crack from his ribs and legs.

“How on earth did you do that?” Steven asked, his baffled breath rolling over her neck in a way that had her stomach churning up a storm. His arm still held her tight to him as he guided her the way Layla had taken off to, the warmth of his hand alone seeping through her top and onto her bare skin underneath that was still as cold as a cadaver.

His touch gave her a taste of life again, of humanity. Like she didn’t exist again in this world until he touched her. As if his hand alone could find her in the afterlife and pluck her back to mortality.

Which technically he had.

“Come on,” She brushed off his question, urging him towards where Layla was now pummeling the shit out of another assailant that had tried to make a grab for her. She made equally quick work of the attacker, shoving him off the same way the other woman had and sending him flying off the building frame and into a pile of wood that cracked easily with his weight.

Grabbing both their arms, Layla led the two stunned watchers through the open archway that luckily expanded into a long corridor. Tarp lay around the bottom of the huge windows, moonlight filtering in through the surprisingly clear glass panes being the only thing allowing them to see their way.

The three sets of footsteps pounded down the stone hallway, Harrow’s chants chasing them through an echo, spoken in Coptic the younger woman had surmised. It seemed her degree in Ancient Languages wasn’t entirely a waste. She was able to grasp at bits and pieces of what he was saying despite the rushing of blood in her ears from her running.

Something about Ammit’s wrath, eradicating enemies. Calling on the ancient goddess to help him carry out her justice.

Then came the shriek. Familiar at this point, the vengeful growl that reverberated down the hall and harmonising with Harrow’s hex.

Summoning pure evil. She caught that part easily as they skidded around the corner awaiting them at the end of the hallway, coming to a set of huge, varnished wood doors. She threw her shoulder into the left one, hearing it give a small creak of protest before it gave way and slowly swung open.

Her heart dropped as she quickly realised they were at a dead end. It felt almost de ja vu like as they entered the room, her eyes frantic to take in any way out as Layla and Steven rushed to block the entrance off. A thick, brick wall complete with an old fireplace on the right, and two huge windows in front and to her left. By all means it was a beautiful room, but it was an enclosure. A trap. A casket.

“Here. Bolt the door,” Layla ordered, heaving a metal bar through the handles to give them some sort of protection of whatever it was Harrow was conjuring.

More tarp over the floors and piles of bricks, dust and building tools, the windows reaching higher than even the ceiling to the museum. Sarcophaguses piled around the room, some fake but most seeming authentic, as ancient as the exhibits she walked past regularly at work, yet they were just thrown to the sides of the abandoned room as if they were not priceless objects.

A dirty mirror lay to her right leaning against the fireplace, white plastic wrap draped over half of the looking glass, ridden with dust and a deep crack that made it unusable, no doubt why it was dumped here with the rest of the pieces of history they deemed rubbish.

Layla and her rushed to the windows, Layla taking the one on the left and her heading for the one opposite the door, each attempting to jiggle the bottom of the panes, looking for a latch they could flick open to give them an escape. But the glass was thick. Taking up an entire wall, meant only to let light in and keep air firmly out. Meaning there was no movement from any of the panes. The lit up buildings across the street laughed at her attempts in a silent mocking, the block of flats watching the desperate women struggle.

“Oh my god,” Steven said with a tone of utter despair, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave,”

She would have laughed. Any other day and his words would have cracked her up. But she barely heard him over the desperate way she tugged at the white, chipped frames, urging the damn thing to come loose, her nails splinting painfully at the force she used to try peel the rusted metal from their seals.

It would be no use anyway, she realised. Looking down she realised they were up high, on the third floor to be exact, and the only way down was a long fall onto solid concrete. Seeing Layla turn away from the other window, she guessed she had no luck with that either, and cursed under her breath.

Layla stalked towards Steven’s piteous frame, grabbing him roughly by the arms. “No-no. Hey, listen to me,” She started in a panicked voice, though it was clear she was attempting to be kind to him. The three of them turned to the door as the sound of scratching signalled that something big was out there, waiting for them. Long, sharp knife-like claws raked down the old wood, carving out channels in the barrier, the pieces of timber creaking with the weight of it, like a dog begging to come into the sitting room.

A moment of silence, before the doors began shaking in their hinges with loud thumps. The animal threw itself against the doors, the metal bar jittering in its place at the sheer weight of it.

“Your name is Marc,” Layla said calmly, holding onto his shoulders to keep his attention on her, “There’s a suit, I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out,” Her dark eyes pierced him with something cold and scared hidden in them, as his face flustered and his breathing picked up.

“No,” He mumbled, shaking his head that dripped with sweat, feeling his chest constricting as she grabbed him harder.

“Where are you? We need you to fight!” She yelled, shaking him now as if to hope to snap him back into his senses.

“Let me in, Steven!” Marc’s voice came from the abandoned mirror, his reflection twisted into a cruel sneer as Marc watched him freeze in place, Steven’s bright eyes lost and scared.

It was too much for Steven. He was expected to be something, someone, that he had no idea existed until a few days ago. This was no longer about waking up late or funny dreams, or sand around his bed and tape on his door. This was real. Real consequences. Two very real women depending on him to become this hero and save the day.

They needed him to be Marc. But he wasn’t. He was Steven Grant. And that was all he’d ever be.

“No, I can’t please. Stop it both of you,” Steven’s voice snapped Dove out of her focus on the outside, her fingers sore with where they gripped the window frames distraughtly.

She saw his overwhelmed figure. The way Layla held him in an iron grip, her voice raising in distress as she kept asking him to snap out of it, to bring out ‘the suit’. She saw the way Steven’s eyes flicked between the woman and the mirror, his voice clogging up with unshed tears.

Finally giving up on the windows as an option, she stormed over to where the two of them stood, grabbing Steven by the shoulder and pulling his arms away from Layla’s desperate grip.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” She growled, feeling Steven make a grab for her hand as she confronted the woman.

“He should be scared! If he doesn’t get the suit the three of us are going to die, do you not get that?” Layla’s voice raised, but even the younger woman could see her face was rigid with fear. It was fear causing her to be so harsh, not malice. Layla was only human after all. The memory of that thing that had chased her through the museum resurfaced painfully, a phantom stab blooming over her stomach that seemed entirely healed, as if it hadn’t practically ripped her guts through her soft flesh and spilled them onto the marble floor.

“Shouting at him isn’t going to fix that, it’s not his fault. We just find another way out, okay?” Dove snipped, shutting down any other argument Layla could give her, and turned to Steven with a soft expression, “Okay?” She asked gently.

Steven stayed quiet, but he nodded, tears welled in his eyes, his face just as scared as she felt inside. She was shitting herself, her muscles tensing up with every grunt that came from the creature on the other side of the door. But cornering Steven and asking so much of him when neither of them truly understood what was happening was only doing harm.

“Alright,” Layla mumbled in defeat, her lush brows drawn into a frown, despair lingering in her hazelnut eyes as she headed back to the smaller, side window and peered out to the building below, “I can see a fire escape on this roof-”

But no sooner had the woman come to terms with the fact there was no hero coming to save them from this mess, the barricade had given way with a loud pop as the metal bar split clean in two.

A single breath, a moment of pure silence where Layla’s head whipped from her fraught attempt at seeking an escape route, where Steven and Dove clutched onto each other just that bit tighter. The doors swung wide on their hinges, smacking into the walls with the force and crumbling the bricks into piles of red dust on the already dirty floors.

A figure stood in the entrance. She could only think to describe it as a tall man trying to wear a dog’s body. Its limbs were gangly, skinny, mottled and rotted skin stretching thinly over them. Four feet at the end of boney elbows carried dagger like claws, thin wisps of white hairs poking from its spine. Its face was that of a possessed wolf, skeletal and gaunt, its mouth opening into a roaring snarl with two yellow-green eyes staring back at them with a haunting glow.

The air escaped Dove’s lungs the second it let out a familiar hum of hunger. This was the thing that had attacked her. That had killed her last night. This was the thing that had plunged its hand into her stomach with no remorse, tearing her organs to shreds in a single swipe.

The creature, the jackal, looked ahead at the two of them, holding onto each other for damn near life, her nails digging into his toned arm at her sheer trepidation. Its jaws fell open, saliva dripping from its dead lips as it gathered its legs up and prepared to lunge.

“Jackal, J-JACKAL” Steven yelled, his hands beginning to shake as he pointed at the creature.

“Oh my god- Oh my-” His friend could barely get out her words, panic constricting around her heart that thudded through her ribs hard enough to have her choking on her sentence and stay quiet, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight of the thing.

She much preferred when she couldn’t see the damn thing.

The Jackal took a breath, and the girl set in its sights could have sworn she heard it laugh, before it bolted at them.

The two of them screamed, Steven shoving her to the floor as its lithe body made contact and sent both their bodies flying through the glass, falling, falling, falling down all three levels and onto the hard concrete.

“Oh my GOD!” Layla shrieked, her eyes trained on the huge gap in the wall where her ex-husband had been thrown through by some invisible force, before they lowered to where his not-mistress was cowering on the floor after being manhandled away from the danger. She caressed her scraped elbow silently, her gaze also locked on the broken glass.

Realising the girl was in shock, Layla leaned down to a pile of bricks, grabbing one and promptly raising it above her head, bringing it down onto the side window harshly. The glass cracked slightly, before she hit it again a few more times and it gave way completely, scattering across the tiled roof on the other side. Throwing her jacket over the broken glass, she hopped over the window ledge and onto the slanted roof, careful not to skid on the smooth stone. Whipping back to the girl that had seemed to come to her senses and was now looking at her bewildered, Layla yelled a single “Come on!” through the gap in the window, before turning and heading towards the fire escape alone.

Steven. Not Steven, please not him. Steven’s gone. Steven’s dead, or at least he will be soon, no doubt his body crumpled on the floor, practically laid out as a buffet for that monster.

He’d thrown her out of the way, given his own life for one so undeserving as her own.

A man so kind and gentle, good, shouldn’t have rescued her, someone entirely not that.

Being dragged out of her daze at Layla’s yell, her head snapped to where she’d managed to create an escape, the woman looking at her expectantly before she turned and headed towards the edge of the roof.

Steven could still be alive, she told herself, he could be okay.

Holding that hope close to her chest, she pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the exit Layla had taken.

Please be okay. Please be okay. I’ll give every life I have to give if it means you’re safe.

Her hand was seconds from gracing Layla’s jacket when she heard it. Another growl.

No, not a growl. A chuckle. Dark, deep and rolling, an amused laugh from a thick chest that was loud enough to fill the entire room with its timbre.

And she knew. She didn’t understand how, but she knew. She knew who waited for her to turn around. To meet his black, inky gaze with fright.

But she was frozen. Despite her body being cold for the past day, the chill that ran through her spine was enough to have every single one of her hairs stand on end. Her voice was gone, her chest tight, her throat closed up.

“I know you’ve been waiting for me, my little monster,”

His voice was a rumble, though a smile laced his words. His every syllable sent a thrum of horror through her veins, her body going numb. As if she weren’t here. She was watching a movie through her eyes, and the villain was coming, the story was ending. The credits were about to start rolling.

She said nothing. Didn’t dare move an inch, praying to anyone listening that she could become as invisible as that jackal had been. Yet she felt him getting closer. His feet made no sound, but she felt him draw near. The same way a person feels they’re not alone in a haunted house. Like seeing shadows in the corner of your eye. Like feeling something watching you from the darkness when you wake from a nightmare.

A hand trailed down her loose hair, running long, slim fingers through her locks, he gave a growl of praise. “I’ve been waiting for you too,”

She started crying. Her face got hot, her eyes stinging as she tried to hold the tears back, only for them to scorch her cheeks as they rolled down, her expression pulling into an ugly whimper.

Closing her eyes, she told herself if she couldn’t see him he was just a voice in her head. If she didn’t look him in the eye he had no control over her. It was just a bad dream. A side effect of the stress. An auditory halluc-

“Oh, don’t cry,” A cold knuckle dragged over her cheek, swiping away a tear. His finger alone took up half her jaw. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to save you, little beasty,” His voice was dark, but gentle. As if he cared. As if he didn’t want her afraid. “Think of what we could do to Harrow, together,”

She didn’t doubt he had ideas for what torture he wanted to rain down on the man. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be feared, or to hurt people, or to kill. She didn’t want to be bad. Or to feel even more so that there was something crawling out of her soul, a demon that showed everyone just who she really was. What she really was.

“No,” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a small step away from him.

“No?” He asked, a deadly calm washing over his voice. “People have taken from you your whole life. Taken and taken for their own selfish needs,” Seth cooed, circling her with his behemoth frame as more tears flowed over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut with a frown, “I see your anger, your need for vengeance. To make them hurt the way they hurt you-”

“NO,” She yelled this time, her hands coming up to grab at her hair, her body giving in to his words. He knew her. He knew her like an old friend, like he knew himself. Like she knew him. Like he’d been there for every bad thing that had happened to her. Like he was there for the whole of that time, he was there that day.

That day. That body. What she’d done to him.

“You hurt, little beasty,” Seth said, coming to stand in front of her. She felt his two huge hands hold onto her shoulders, one coming to her chin to tip it up to his face.

If she opened her eyes now she’d see his sable black eyes looking down at her in an aching hunger. As if he revelled in the fact she was so pliant to his touch, that he could snap her neck within a flick of his finger and she could do nothing about it. She clamped her eyes shut harder, desperate to not fall for his gentle words, or the familiarity that came with his touch. No, he wanted this, he wanted her to concede, to trust him. To give into him.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I see the way you hurt. I see the fear in you that came long before I did. That they’ll all see you as I do,” He said, caressing her jaw with his sharp claws, a single ounce of pressure too much and her skin would be slashed open.

“Stop,” She begged, her face wet with tears, her throat closing with a sob that drew out her request like a child.

“Stop?” Seth’s voice was different now. The semblance of kindness that had been there in a fleeting moment was gone, replaced again with a thunderclap of a laugh, “You poor sweet morning lamb. We’ve not even begun,”

Her eyes opened for a split second when she felt her body tense up, the feeling as close to rigour mortis as she could imagine, as a dark flash of movement, a row of sharp teeth, and insidious black eyes were all she saw as he took over every part of her body.

Death took her body for the second time, though this time she felt everything.

Layla watched its jaws open as its head flicked to her, its deep grunt of annoyance echoing through the empty street, before it's long, slim arms were thrust outwards and grabbed the two of them by the jugular, boney, rough fingers wrapping around their throats and squeezing.

Steven was lifted off the ground, Layla suffering the same fate after she had thrown an empty beer bottle at the demon’s head, the tiny shards of refracted light bouncing off the glass like a mirrorball and outlining the head of a monstrous creature.

Layla felt the brick smack harshly against her spine as the thing threw her to the wall, the same way Steven was tossed against a parked car, the passenger window cracking from the pressure and the alarm wailing in protest.

They both stood up again immediately, Layla’s eyes scanning the floor for anything to use as a weapon, before her almond eyes fell on the neck of the bottle she’d thrown, the jagged edge of broken glass sharp and fatal. Diving for the shiv, she swiped at the area she thought the creature could be stood, though her attempt only proved futile as her wrist was grabbed almost too easily and the weapon was ripped out of her hands.

The woman made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cry as she was tossed to the hard ground like a ragdoll, Steven being thrown next to her as he made a move to grab the monster as well.

The two of them gasped as the hands seemed to swipe them to the ground harshly, like a cat toying with its meal, dragging the torture out as long as possible before they gave up and submitted to being ravaged. The two of them looked at each other in alarm, Steven’s eyes a bright white behind the suit, as they felt the jackal grab their ankles and drag. Their bodies scraped against the pavement, the two of them kicking and squealing, writhing to get out of the monster's grip, only to be yanked into the air once more, the blood rushing to their skulls the second they were pulled from the concrete earth.

“Steven, do something!” Layla wailed, her cheeks pooling a purple colour the longer they were held, though she never relented in her hits, her arms and free leg waving around for any soft tissue she could get at.

“Marc’s the one who fights these shits, not me!” Steven called back, trying desperately to reach for his batons to inflict any damage he could.

Layla felt her head building with pressure, her eyes becoming painful to shut as she blinked slowly, the darkened streets turned upside down in her mind. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, her eyes locking in on a figure standing at the other end of the wide street, unrecognisable to her dazed eyesight.

“Steven?” Layla murmured drunkenly, her hand coming up to grab his arm that was still flailing around.

“What?”

“Who is that?” The woman asked, pointing to the dark silhouette that stood and watched them.

Steven’s illuminated eyes followed her finger to see the figure still with statue-like grace, silent yet never relenting their dark stare.

His eyes trailed from their body, muscled and in a wide, casual stance, their arms resting at their sides. Their entire body seemed to be in some kind of black, chestplated one piece suit, pads of armour on their vulnerable parts, thin spindles of gold wrapping around the suit in a skeletal fashion. The armour spread over the backs of their hands, opening out into golden claw-like razors at the tips of their fingers that didn’t so much as twitch with fright at the sight of two strangers suspended in the mid air.

A black muzzle wound its way over their mouth just above where the suit ended at their jaw, their hair falling over the back of their shoulders to reveal more of the golden weaves that fell around their neck and over their breastplate, accentuating the woman’s curves whilst also giving off the look they were wearing a set of bones on their armour.

Two six-inch shells of armour protruded from their headpiece, curved yet in lithe points, like long dog ears, like a Whippet’s, high and alert.

“I-I don’t know,” Steven murmured, though he found himself unable to take his eyes off the shadowed figure. He wasn’t even sure they were breathing at the way they were frozen solid, their head tilted slightly as if intrigued by the scene in front of them.

It was then that it seemed the Jackal realised they had company. But this jackal wasn’t alone. It had brought friends too.

The figure seemed to cut out of their daze as another of the behemoth beasts came stalking out of the darkness, as if to have been waiting for the scraps of the kill. But it had prey of its own now. This mystery woman.

Steven’s heart fell into his mouth, which wasn’t too hard seeing as he was still being held upside down by the creature.

“Run!” Steven called to her, though she seemed to take no notice of his cries, “Get out of here!”

But the woman stood still, head snapping to where the jackal walked forward, slowly and with a hungry grin on its face as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its chest. This thing was going to rip her to pieces, Steven thought numbly. And it was going to be all his fault for not giving the body back to Marc.

“Marc,” Steven said with a panic as the thing stepped closer to her still, her head tilting more at the sound of its approach, though that was the only inch she moved, “Marc- take the body- Marc- MARC-”

But he was too late. Steven winced as the jackal lunged towards her, jaws wide open and large enough to swallow her entire skull with one bite. He wanted to look away but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves off the scene, though he knew a blood bath was coming. He felt the bile rise already at the idea of it, though maybe that was the gravity talking.

But Steven’s heart practically stopped when his eyes caught another slight flicker of movement from the woman and he realised exactly what he was seeing.

The Jackal’s jaws were pried open, stuck in the moment the creature had leapt forward. It took Steven a second to realise the woman’s hands were the ones holding them ajar, her sharp nails latching into its snout and chin, blood already running down her hands at the sheer vigour at which she held onto the dead flesh. The beast gave a whine, its body jolting forward as it tried to overpower her, only to have no luck. She didn’t budge a single hair's width.

Steven’s eyes widened, the beams of light engrossed with the scene before his eyes. Who on earth was that? How could she see the jackals like he could, let alone wrestle one?

“Steven, give me the body,” Marc demanded from inside his head, though Steven caught the trace of nerves that rang at his voice like a church bell on a silent morning.

“Who is that, Marc?” Steven asked, his eyes widening when he saw the figure forcing the jackal to back down a step as she forced herself towards the creature, clearly stronger than the monster twice her size.

“Steven, I will explain everything later, just please give me the body or she’s gonna get hurt,” Marc said with the same edge to his voice that he had before. The way Marc dodged his question had sirens wailing in Steven’s chest, louder than anything else the American man inside him had said.

Steven’s voice cut out when he watched the figure grab the beast's jaws even tighter, yanking them apart with a sickening crunch as the joints popped out of their place. She didn’t stop there, not even as the creature gagged and squirmed, a yawp of pain echoing around the street as it scrambled to get out of her grip. But she was relentless. She tugged apart the lower mandible even wider, wider than could ever be natural, and a gut wrenching rip came next.

The creature stopped moving. Stopped crying. Stopped everything. It slumped to the ground in defeat, the woman standing over its body with no mercy as she held the wad of flesh in her hand, blood running from her fingertips as smooth as water.

The creature's lower jaw was thrown to the ground, its face a mush of exposed muscle, its throat torn cleanly open. It was then her gaze set onto the other jackal with a slow turn of her head and a low growl echoed through Steven’s bones.

It took him a second to realise it wasn’t the creature that held him that was making the sound. It was coming from her.

Layla and Steven were dropped to the ground as she approached the creature, the two of them gasping for air, their heads spinning with the blood crashing around their brains.

The jackal set its sights on her too, eager to avenge its fallen companion, the two of them circling one another for a moment. She made the first move, her black boots near silent against the cobbled street as she leapt with cat-like grace to tackle it to the ground.

She was able to get her arms around its neck as it met her in the air, her muscled arms quick to begin choking the thing, squeezing until they heard the sound of its shoulder popping out of place. The jackal gave a yelp similar to the other one, only it dragged out into an angry snarl as its huge clawed hand grabbed onto her by the scruff of her neck.

It threw her away from itself, desperate to get her strong hands off its body, and tossed her a good ten feet away, into the middle of a busy road where she bounced over the bonnet of a car and smashed its left headlight in.

Steven was quick to jump to his feet as the monster’s head flicked away from the woman, back to where he and Layla stood.

“Steven, you’re being dumb. Don’t do this, you can’t do this-” Marc protested, though Steven felt whatever bravery he had left collecting together as he clenched his hand together in a tight fist.

“I think- I think I can,” He replied, the Jackal stalking closer to him with its three good legs. It stepped forward, its confidence shaken by the woman that was now getting back up and pacing her way over to the two of them much too calmly for someone who had been thrown so harshly. “You want some more do you, you mangy, Macedonian mutt?” Steven tried to taunt, though he could feel the tinge of fear still quelling at his chest at the sheer brute size of the thing even when wounded.

The creature roared in response, gathering its hind legs up to lunge again, as Steven drew back his arm to swing.

But he was too late. The woman had returned with a silent agility. Steven saw nothing but a flash of black and gold as she dived for the jackal’s throat, clawing and snarling at its chest as she took the thing down with her in one swoop. Steven watched with an agape jaw as she lifted the creature up as if it were nothing more than a sack of grain, and threw the jackal into the same parked car already cracked from where Steven had hit it, the opposite window getting the brunt of the attack as it smashed and the door caved easily.

The creature lay still for a while, giving Steven time to confront the woman who had helped him, and hopefully answer the questions that Marc had dodged.

“Oh my god,” Steven started, approaching the woman from behind where she was stood, barely out of breath for what had just occurred, “Excuse me, who exactly are you, you’re just bloody amazing-”

Raising his hand to touch the woman's shoulder gently, Steven practically had the wind knocked out of him as she turned on her heel in less than a blink of his two white eyes, and threw him to the ground as easily as she had the creature. Kneeling over him, his body mushy underneath her sadistic strength, he felt his knees go weak as she grabbed him by his collar and brought him to her face where her eyes trailed over his own face, a horrifically deep snarl emanated from her chest, shaking his lungs with its power.

“WOAH, Woah wait. I’m not going to hurt you, though I supposed I should be more worried about you hurting me-” It was then that he actually took in what he could see of her face.

The colour of the hair that fell around her face as she leant over him, the shape of her face that wasn’t covered by the black muzzle that wrapped around her mouth and over her nose, thin and metallic and yet making her sounds all the more terrifying. Her eyes, the iris gone and replaced by inky black pits of darkness that blinked down at him with famine.

But that face. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in the thickest of fogs, the darkest of Winters. He could find her in any crowd, in any life. And if he was to go blind by morning, he’d know her by the way she breathed alone.

And he did. Despite the fact her breath was laden with grunts, he knew her. He knew her.

“Dove?” Steven muttered, hands coming to hold her face gently, his brows furrowed with confusion, “Dove, what happened to you-”

His hand had all but brushed her cheek, a gentle action that normally would have had her preening to his touch, had her snapping at the bit, and Steven was sure she would have taken his hand clean off had she not been muzzled like a rabid dog.

Steven jumped back as she came closer to him, an even louder rumble of fury damn near bursting his ear drums as she warned him off of touching her. She was not his dove. Not the girl he knew. Not the girl he loved. She was a feral beast untamed and wild, eager to hurt him as much as she had attacked the jackal were he to get too close.

“Dove?” Steven asked one more time, though he kept his hands in surrender as she manhandled him, pushing him to the floor more as she pinned him down, her black eyes empty and raw as she stared at him, “It’s me, Steven. Your Steven,”

Nothing. He gained no reaction from her, not so much as a blink. This was not her. This was a savage creature that knew no such thing as gentle touches and loving words.

She did nothing but stare at him, waiting for him to make a move out of line so she could tear him to shreds. And yet, Steven lay there as if to submit his body to her if she wanted to do such a thing. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t fight back. Could never lay an unkind hand on her even if it came to his last moments on the earth. He could die by her hands and he would still consider himself lucky to have been touched by such a creature.

She raised a clawed hand up to bring down on his masked face, a strength in the hit strong enough to tear clean through the ceremonial armour and likely leave him disfigured, if not cleave his skull in two on the spot. But she didn’t get a chance to strike. No sooner had she raised herself up to end it all, the Jackal launched its beaten body at her crouching form, the two of them tumbling away from Steven’s shaking body and rolling amongst one another in a flurry of wails and growls.

She flew off him spitting and yowling like a feral street cat, a sound no normal human should make as the creature bit down on her arm hard.

Steven felt two arms dragging him upwards and away from the scene, Layla could only imagine what was going on as the mystery woman’s arm sprayed her own blood over the concrete with every swipe of her claws.

“What is that?” Layla asked breathlessly, practically yanking Steven away as he trembled under her hands. She froze when Steven said her name, her name, the name of the girl she had left in that room to make her own way out. “What? Is this Harrow’s doing? Turning her into some crazy dog-woman?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said with a defeated tone, his chest aching at the way she had looked at him with no recognition of who he was. “I think…” Steven thought for a moment, “I think Marc will know how to help her,”

Layla nodded at him, her eyes taking in his broken expression, patting him on the arm gently, “Okay. Okay, bring him out,”

Steven turned away from her, sparing a small glance to the woman who held his life so closely in her hands, who had been seconds away from ending it, who he gave himself to entirely were it to be that he saw her in his last few moments of living. She scrapped with the jackal, two wild beasts gaining on eachother, drawing blood whenever and wherever they could.

“Marc,” Steven said, his eyes never leaving her blank face, spots of blood now sprayed over her nose like freckles. He felt his alter perk up at the name, his body already tensing up as Marc clawed at the reigns to take over now.

“Yeah, buddy?” Marc asked, though he could see everything Steven was seeing, and his heart already sunk at the unrecognisable thousand mile stare she had.

This was it. Seth had her now. “Save her,”

authors note: I used an AI to create what I think Dove looks like in her suit and-

These are the vibes we’re going for! Please feel free to imagine her as ANY shape, ANY ethnicity and ANY height however, these were just what the AI generated!

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#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #marc spector #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #moonknight x reader #moon knight imagine #moonknight imagine #moon knight x reader #khonshu #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely fanfiction #jake lockely x you #angst #fluff #layla el faouly

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winniethewife · 7 months

Text

It's undeniably real (Layla El-Faouly x The Moonknight system x Reader)

Chapter 1: Then, it's the best feeling I've even known

Words: 1282

Warning: sex mentioned not described.

Three months ago when my best friend, and childhood crush, Layla El-Faouly reached out asking if I would like to possibly be in a threesome with her and her Husband Marc I was surprised. One they never seemed the type for Non-Monogamy, and Two I was pretty sure Layla was over her Bi-curious phase a long time ago. It was a pretty amazing night. I was pretty sure I would never have sex that good again, but I was very wrong. I have sex like that all the time. About a week after that night they had invited me over again, this time, I found out a lot more. About Marc’s DID, About Steven and Jake, about Moon-knight, and their adventures around the world. I felt like I could probably take that all into stride as their friend, then came the next surprise.

They asked me out.

They wanted me to be in a relationship with them, all of them. I had felt like my heart stopped that second. It took me sometime to process it and decide.

It had been a long day at work, I had just managed to get in the door and get out of my work clothes when there was a knock at the door. I went to take a look though my peephole It was Marc. I opened the door with a half smile on my face.

“Hey, Marc. Come on in.” I smiled and gestured for him to come inside.

“Hey, I’m sorry to not call or something before coming over I...I needed to see you.” He says in his usual gruff voice. He needed to see me? This was something else.

“Oh, um Okay.” I closed the door after he walked in. “Is something wrong?”

“Look, I thought it would be a good idea if, I asked you on a date, and they Want to ask you on a date as well, Especially Jake, He and Layla, don’t exactly get along…It’s a long story.” He seemed anxious about it, about asking me out.

“Does Layla also want a date? Is this some kinda trail period? First four dates free?” I try to lighten the mood with a joke. Marc smirks and chuckles.

“Yeah, something like that. I’m sure Layla would enjoy that. Sorry…this is still new to me…to us.” He rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze.

“And not to me.” Admittedly my last triad hadn’t ended well but I had more experience in this than they did. “Anyway you feel about it is totally normal. Its how you act on those feelings that matters.” We sat in the living room for hours after that. Talking about how he felt, talking about how the others felt, and talking about how we all felt about Layla. I put my hand on his knee at one point and he after thinking for a second put his hand on mine, and that’s when I think I knew, no matter how those first dates went, I was saying yes.

Now three months later I’m grocery shopping with Layla, trying to figure out what one of the boys wrote on the shared grocery list, her arm around my waist as I’m holding the list.

“I can’t read Jake’s handwriting, what the hell does this say?” She points at it.

“Horchata Mix.” I laugh

“How can you read that?”

“He leaves me little love notes, like in the book I’m reading or on my bathroom mirror. I had to figure out what they said. So I made a cipher.”

“Well Jeeze, For all the times I managed to get him to talk to me all he could do was cuss me out.” Layla chuckles. Layla and Jake had a rough start of it, when He first showed up he brought chaos into their lives again and after they had just managed to settle down again. Layla had every right to feel like she did, but Jake also had a right to live a life, and for some reason, He really liked living his life with me. Which made me think of our first “free date”

“Dress for dancing. Can’t wait to see you. -J” That’s all the text said. The text made me laugh. The short black dress that hugs every curve of my body, the comfortable dance heels from my days in dance class, delicate makeup, hair done nicely. I thought I did well. I was surprised when Marc and Layla had said Jake wanted to take me out first. Apparently he had practically begged. I thought they were kidding at first, until I had gotten the text from Jake. Once I was ready I checked my phone to see a text from Jake.

“Outside. –J”

I felt my heart start to race as I left the building. He was standing outside his car, a flirtatious smirk on his face, It was a little odd to see Marc’s body but know it wasn’t him, how he held himself, the way he dressed, it was all very different. I walked up to him. I looked him over for the first time, he was dressed very nice, dress pants, white button up, dark tie, and the pageboy cap pulled over his dark curls was a good touch.

“It’s good to finally meet you Hermosa. You look stunning.” His Spanish accent was a bit of a surprise.

“Thank you Jake, It’s really nice to meet you too.” I smile and lean in to kiss his cheek, a soft chuckle leaves his lip before returning the favor.

“Tu eres muy dulce…” His Honeyed words hit my ear and a shiver goes down my back. He opened the car door for her and she sat down in the car. As we drove to the dance hall we made some simple conversation. We pull into the parking lot of the dance hall and Jake is a gentleman the whole way in, opening doors, taking my hand, ordering my drink, it was quite sweet. But I had no idea what I was in for when we hit the dance floor.

He takes one of my hands in his and his other wraps around my waist, and he gives me a warm smile. It was my turn to surprise him by knowing where to hold myself in a starting dance position, a small smirk on my face as he chuckles and we start to dance together. I feel my heart thumping in my chest as His dark brown eyes met mine, something in the quality behind them, was different then when Marc looked at me. Everything about him was sensual, every touch, every turn, every second I felt like I was dancing on air. At some point we took a break and sat down to talk.

“Where did you learn to dance Muñeca?” He asks

“I took a bunch of classes in college, and some more recently with my ex. ” I answered honestly “And you?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” He says with a chuckle. I laughed.

“Alright keep you’re secrets Lockley.”

“How else am I gonna keep you on your toes? Hm?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I couldn’t help but laugh again.

I put the blue bag of Horchata Mix in the cart with a smile then looked up at Layla. Her coffee eyes looked at me with an affection I had learned to enjoy over the last three months. I was thankful every single second I had with them. I had learned many times over the years that love like this is rare and fleeting, I just hope this time it lasts.

Masterlist

Chapter 2

#moon knight #marc spector #x reader #jake lockley #layla el faouly x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moonknight x reader #fluff #steven grant x reader #polyamory #poly representation #moon knight system #moon boys #layla el faouly #Spotify #steven grant

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 11 months

Text

Florence

Summary: You and Layla enjoy your honeymoon the way honeymoons are meant to be enjoyed.

Pairing: Layla El-Faouly x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: wlw, smut 18+ only, fingering (Layla receiving), porn with like a sprinkle of plot, bad smut most likely you've been warned

A/N: Had this in the works for a few months but here it is! If you enjoyed it you have @pennyserenade to thank for it because she gave me the final push to finish this.

Ever since you’d slipped your ring onto Layla’s hand, you’ve gone a little feral. There’s barely been a moment you’ve spent outside your room, though Florence glitters in the hot sun like a jewelled labyrinth, waiting to be explored.

You suppose that honeymoons were never really meant for tourism anyways.

You can’t really look at Layla without a primal little sprout growing in your chest, a curl of possessiveness that shuts off all other thoughts except for ‘mine’.

Mine.

Gods, you want to bite her, to swallow her whole. You have bitten her, the evidence clear on her skin, and she has done the same to you in turn.

Though this is anything but the first time you’ve had her in bed, screaming until her voice is hoarse, it’s the first time that it’s felt like this. Each brush of her skin against yours, the fan of the sounds spilling from her plush lips raise wave after wave of desire in you in ways you’ve never experienced before.

One look, one kiss, one glance at her ring and you find yourself pressing her down into the sheets, and wrapping your hand around her throat, determined to see what kind of noises you can coax out of her this time.

She seems to only egg you further, asking for more, more, harder and faster, until she’s quivering. Until her legs are gooey and mushy and there’s a sheen of sweat on her chest that you’ll be depraved enough to lick it away, bite down and make her whine from the overstimulation and the pain.

This time had started innocently.

In the bathtub, her back pressed to your chest, you found your hand wandering, trying to clean away the traces of sex from her skin with the tepid, sudsy water. You had worked at her shoulders, tried to loosen the tension knotted into them.

It really had been innocent, a well-needed break for the both of you to rest and eat before the next rounds.

It would have been innocent had you been with anyone else but Layla.

And then she had to go and moan in that delightful way that she did.

The water only came about halfway up to her stomach, her chest bare and exposed, golden skin even more golden in the low light of the washroom.

Her pussy shimmered for you from underneath the bubbles on the surface of the water.

You’d abruptly changed course, fingers on her nipples, playing with them until they hardened over for you. Her body always responded to your touch as easily as if it was the only thing she knew how to do.

Layla had asked you what you thought you were doing and you’d shushed, pressing your lips against her neck and taking in the smell of her. On instinct you’d nipped at the skin, soothed the spot over seconds later with your mouth.

When she hadn’t complained and only moaned in earnest this time, her back arching sharply for you, you’d gotten out of the water to lay down a towel on the ground and all you’d seen after that was the red hot colour of the ember of lust.

You’re manhandling her, her body soaking the towel underneath her, the cold grip of her ring against your hip driving you up the walls.

In seconds you have yourself hovering over her cunt. You press down and the softness of her wet flesh against yours makes you cry out, dizzy and disoriented for a couple of seconds.

The hardened nub of her clit brushes yours, and you come to. There’s a fucked out look in her eyes and that makes you want to bite her.

With another press of your hips, you lean forward, follow the line of her throat with your nose and decide where you want to sink your teeth in now.

There are no other thoughts running inside your head except for mine, mine, mine.

Building up a steady rhythm, you choose the soft skin about her collarbone, before biting her just on the other side of harsh. The sound she makes goes straight to your head, a heady combination of a cry and a moan. Letting go, you soothe the spot over with your tongue, though a depraved piece of you wanted to keep on the grip you had on her skin and tear off a piece for yourself.

Your hand goes underneath her lower thigh and you hike her leg up, moving her around the way you please. The angle switch for her seems to do it all. She moans and cries out for you, a gentle tremble starting to grow in the muscles of her leg like the beginnings of an earthquake.

Her reaction to such a small change is so intense and natural that it makes you laugh gently, “You like that, Layla?”

She groans. “Fuck, baby.”

You start to arch your back further before each time you grind down onto her pussy to get better leverage. The mixture of your arousals drips everywhere and gets stirred in with the bathwater on your bodies. Yours and Layla’s thighs are wet and soaked. There’s the faint, wet click each time your hips meet hers and it’s music to the sounds she’s making underneath you.

The humidity in Italy has done wonders to her hair, and it splays out underneath her and makes her look like an angel.

Moving your hips in circles, you raise an eyebrow at her teasingly, “You want a finger, baby?”

Her eyes open only to see if you’re in earnest or only teasing her in the way you’re often fond of at home, keeping her tethering on the edge for hours at a time, coming up behind her and kissing her neck and making her soak through her jeans. She nods frantically, her hips coming up to meet yours with each thrust of yours.

Pressing two of your fingers in her mouth, she starts to suck at them. You circle her tongue with your fingers and she moans again, muffled, and you can feel the vibrations of it through your hand. You continue your rhythm against her cunt and her chest arches up for you. You move her leg to rest on your waist before you take her breast in your hand and just hold it for now.

Taking your fingers out of her mouth, you reach behind you and run them through her folds. Lust is so strong with you that you marvel at the control you have over yourself to be able to play her body so well and leave her at a loss for words.

You press inside her easily, and her pussy sucks you in almost instantly, barely letting you move your hand and fuck her.

You slow down your hips to move measured and deep presses against her cunt, in time with your fingers as you move them slowly in and out of her.

You remember the first time you slept with Layla. The olive slip dress she’d worn through the dinner all through the night, the way she was so clearly not wearing a bra underneath. The way her legs went on for miles with the heels she was wearing.

She had walked you back to her place and you’d invited her in for another drink, which she never did get, but she did get to be pressed up against the wall with the wine rack against it. She had sighed and moaned and wrapped her leg around your waist because her dress also had a delightful little slit in it that you could slip into and trace up her inner thigh to run through the dark curls between her legs.

Right there against the wall, you had rubbed her clit over and over in a teasing, come-and-go pattern that her shaking as she gripped onto you for dear life as she came.

That was when you knew how much fun you could have with Layla.

Then she’d pressed you back onto bed and licked at your core until she made you come three times and then she’d moved you into much the same position you have her in now and rubbed her cunt against yours until she was crying out in pleasure and gripping onto your forearm for dear life.

The next morning, you’d woken her up and repaid the favour and didn’t let her leave your bed until well-past noon, rolling around until the sheets had fallen onto the floor. You’d pressed her up against the door to your apartment and only let her go after she made you promise that you would come over the next evening and let her make you dinner.

Right now, she’s starting to cry out in the way that lets you know that she’s close. Your thoughts have aroused you so much that you know that simply seeing her release will push you over yours.

You push in a third finger and her pussy squelches for you. The sound makes you break out into a trilling laugh, you want to touch the towel underneath her and see how wet it’s gotten from just her arousal, “Gods, Layla.”

Building up a quicker pace with your hand and hips, you roll the pebble of her nipple between her fingers until she’s breaking out into short pulses of moans and cries. She comes with a scream of your name and a sharp arch of her back.

As you had expected, the marvellous sight in front of you of a goddess drowned in pleasure, pleasure you’ve given her, pleasure you only will give her from now on because she’s your wife, sends you into a white hot release, your palm on her breast, your grip firm.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

#layla el faouly #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly x y/n #layla el faouly x female!reader #layla el faouly fluff #layla el faouly angst #layla el faouly fanfiction #layla el faouly fanfic #layla el faouly fic #layla el faouly x f!reader #layla el faouly imagine #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight fic #may calamawy #Spotify

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fluffyprettykitty · 2 years

Note

congrats on 1800 Selene!! that’s so crazy but you are so deserving of that! 💗 for the sleepover, can i request a botanical garden situation/florist au with ms. layla el faouly please?

Pairing: Layla El Faouly x female reader (no other specifications!)

Word Count: 300 words

Summary: Layla takes you on a tour of the city's botanical gardens.

Author’s Note: thank you so much baby for this request, I do hd Layla as someone who likes all the pretty natural things in life so I'm sure she'd make a wonderful florist :) sending you love, hope you'll enjoy!

Main Masterlist ・❥・Layla El Faouly Masterlist

"Hold my hand," Layla tells you, offering her hand. "I know all the best things about this place. I can show you the whole lot."

"Kinda hoping you will, considering it's your job."

"Nu-huh. This is plants, I'm good with flowers but regardless-"

"It's all the same, beautiful green things, come on."

"It's really not."

"Green stuff."

"I have the colorful stuff."

"Hm, rainbow kid. I knew it."

She scoffs at you and pulls you by your hand leading you down to a pathway. It was a sunny day so your eyes were carefully covered by thick sunglasses and your heads but some pretty crochet hats Layla had made some time ago which might not have fully covered your heads but were good enough for what they did.

"There is a section with very pretty fountains and then right up ahead there is a section with statues."

"Do the statues contain souls?'

"Not from what I'm aware of. Could be though. It's eerily quiet here at night. We used to come here when I was in college for studying and exploring."

"Oh, interesting."

"Yeah, look right here." She drags you right by the hand in front of some weirdly looking plants. "These are quite rare. The only place you'd find is right there, they need some kind of special soil."

"Well, isn't that lovely?"

"And you haven't seen the best parts yet!"

Layla takes you to every single section, showcasing her extraordinary florist skills and telling you tales and tidbits from pretty much every single different plant.

The way her face shines and her eyes glow every time she sees you absorb all the information she's delivering to you has her heart falling in love with you once more.

And it was the same for you as well, you could have fallen in love with her a thousand times more.

And again.

for updates please follow my library blog @fluffyprettykittylibrary

#selenewrites #selene answers prompts #1.8 wlw sleepover #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly #layla moon knight #layla x reader #layla el faouly imagine #layla el faouly fluff #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly fanfiction #moon knight layla

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messrmoonyy · 2 years

Text

Moonboys reacting to your baby’s first kick

Prompt- could you please write what the boys would react like to feeling your baby kick for the first time?

A/n- I had to delete the ask prompt as this uploaded funny before, and everytime I add in a ‘read more’ cut it starts duplicating my paragraphs so 😃🔫 So. Let’s repost and see how it goes now lmao. Baby’s and pregnancy are not my forte so I hope this okay. Enjoy these little drabbles.

Warnings- none. Fluff

Masterlist- requests open for hcs, drabbles and one shots

Reblogs and comments appreciated <3

Steven

It was late. Well. Early. The clock beside the bed showing 1:34am in a practically mocking way. He had thought that once Khonshu was no longer leering over him that sleep would come easier. But it had been years now and yet he still struggled from time to time.

You were next to him, curled up on your side, his arm draped over your belly as he read in some attempt to fall tired. But sleep still evaded him, even though the book wasn’t particularly exciting. He had read practically every baby book known to man he was certain, he wanted to be prepared after all. And the entire thing was just… exciting. He took great joy in telling you all about the interesting things currently cooking up inside your womb, informing you the size of the baby every week. It was carrot sized now. Or telling you the best baby bottles he thought you should get because tiredtwinmum95 online said they were just brilliant.

He couldn’t be more excited. Yes it was a terrifying thing, especially in your situation. Three dads, one body. But it was exciting none the less. You were 21 weeks gone, not that he was counting down the days or anything. You’d pushed past that stage of just kind of looking bloated all the time, to actually looking pregnant now. Your bump still small but rounded out, clearly pregnant when you weren’t wearing baggy shirts. It was all starting to feel a bit more real.

He looked down at you with a warm smile, fast asleep. He’d spent the hour before bed massaging your achy shoulders and back, and you’d been dead to the world ever since. You deserved the rest. He thought it was a miracle how you still were able to go to work and do day to day things, when you carrying such precious cargo. Doing such an incredible and important job of growing and protecting his daughter.

He turned back to his book but after only another paragraph he froze. His eyes darted over to you, wondering if what he had felt was real or his imagination.

But then… again.

A small movement under the hand that was resting on your belly, gentle but definitely there. His face lit up, tossing the book to the end of the bed and placing his other hand there too. It was a little more prominent when it happened again, almost as if his daughter could sense he was there. He almost wanted to cry.

“ Heyyyy little one “ he said softly, leaning his face closer and gently pulling you over onto your back. Not wanting to disturb you but overwhelmed by the excitement of some actual movement “ can you hear me yeah? “ You stirred at the movement and opened a bleary eye, looking at your husband with nothing but confusion “ that’s right you can can’t you? “

“ Steven? “ he did look a little mad, beaming smile and wild eyes, holding onto your bump gently.

“ she moved “ he said in amazement “ y/n she moved. There’s an actual baby in there “ he said with a stunned laugh, shaking his head. A smile made its way onto your own face as you watched him and the utter joy on his face.

“ Right a baby of course. I was beginning to wonder what it was “ he dropped his cheek to your stomach, the smile never leaving him for even a second.

“ can you hear me little one? Yeah? I’m your daddy. Well. I’m one of them “

“ babe I don’t think she can he- “ your baby moved again in response and Steven gave you a slight smug look at that.

“ see. She can hear me. I read about it, they can hear music and everything. Gods don’t let Jake play her any music she’ll come out speaking Spanish “ your daughter moved again and he raised an eyebrow “ I think she technically just kicked me in the face “

“ feisty one “

“ like her mum “ he shuffled back up to lay beside you and wrapped his arms around you, a gentle kiss falling on your cheek “ it’s just mad, innit? “ he sighed dreamily “ we made a baby love. Like. An actual real baby. Mental “ you laughed and pulled him in for a soft kiss before shifting back onto your side, Steven cradling your bump as you fell back into sleep

Marc

Marc wasn’t a morning person. At all. He always woke up with a grudge against the world no matter how much sleep he’d had. So his usual morning ritual was roll over, pull you into his arms, bury his face into your neck and grumble about how much he hated mornings. But how much he loved you. But when he rolled over the bed was empty. His face fell against a cold pillow instead of your hair, hands grabbing at cool sheets instead of your warm skin. It simply made his morning mood worse.

He sat up with a frown etched into his face, angry at the world and everyone on it. But his brow soon relaxed, his scowl easing from his features, when he saw you stood in the kitchen. He got out of bed as quietly as his still sleepy limbs would allow him, covering the distance between the bed and the kitchen in quick time. Anxious to get his hands on you and resume his regular way of easing himself into the world.

“ hi “ he grumbled as his arms wrapped around you from behind, not as easy as it once had been with your ever growing bump in the way.

“ hey sleepy head “ you said, leaning your head to accept the kiss he dropped onto your cheek, as you continued to wash the dishes that had been left in the sink from the night before.

“ why are you up so early washing damn dishes and not in bed? “ he closed his eyes, breathing you in as his senses finally started to come around and wake up.

“ for one, it’s not early. It’s 9:30. And two, I woke up at 7 to pee again and I just got this mad urge to clean. Steven says it’s nesting or something. Like wanting things to be perfect and ready. I don’t know I just really wanted to clean “ he smiled against your skin, unable to control his inner joy anytime the baby was mentioned.

He’d been absolutely terrified at first. He’d literally refused to deal with it, not fronting for an entire week no matter how much Steven and Jake tried to convince him too. A baby was far too much pressure. A tiny life in his and your hands when he barely knew how to take care of himself properly? It was terrifying. He’d come around though.

“ great. Already got your mom wrapped around your finger havent you? Got her running around like a mad woman when she should be cuddling with me? “ he said, patting your stomach gently which made you giggle.

“ sorry you and the boys are in second place now. This little princess is number one, isn’t that right? “ you cooed as your dried off your hands, placing a hand over Marcs. It was then that Marc felt it, the little prod under his hands.

“ what was- “

“ oh someones awake “ you cooed and gently moved Marc’s hand to the left slightly “ feel there “ he felt it again then, movement under your skin. It was ever so slightly weird but also incredible. He’d never felt the baby move. You’d called him from work the first time, crying in a mix of joy and fear. Then spent the entire evening trying to make her move again so he could feel it too.

Then any other time she’d moved Marc simply hadn’t been fronting. But now he finally was.

“ made me wait for that one didn’t you baby girl. Damn “ you laughed and held his hand in place as she continued to wiggle around.

“ you feel it yeah? “ he nodded, awestruck at the feeling “ she’s getting more active. I think she knows eviction time is getting closer “ you still had a while to go but it truly couldn’t come quick enough “ now you’ve met all your daddy’s haven’t you? “ he smiled and turned you around in his arms, looking at you with every ounce of adoration he could muster.

“ I love you “ he said quietly and you beamed a smile, leaning forward to kiss him “ and you. Even if you did make me wait “ he said with a light pat to your bump.

“ you soppy sod “

Jake

“ Jake! Jake! “ Jake startled as you screeched for him from the bathroom, almost throwing the tv remote at the screen in his shock “ Jake! Get in here quick! “ he assumed it was probably a spider in the tub or another bee had snuck in through the window.

But then again. What if it was something worse… a person. An old enemy seeking revenge. Someone having somehow slipped past him and ready to tear away his family. He charged for the bathroom, skidding into the room ready to deck whoever dared to lay a hand on his wife and child.

“ No la toques. te mataré, puta madré! “ Jake yelled as he frantically looked around for whoever had you. But stopped in confusion to find you alone, stood half undressed as you got ready for your bath “ mi amor? “

“ come here! Quick “ you were beaming at him, beckoning him over to you “ quick jake! “ he made his way over and you grabbed his hands, placing them on to your baby bump

“ what are you- “

“ just wait. Hang on “ you held his hands in place “ come on love don’t be shy now it’s your daddy “ you said softly, looking down at your stomach. Jakes brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else but then he felt it, as if something was poking him under his hands.

“ dios mío is that-“

“ yeah. Been wiggling around for the last few minutes “ he dropped to his knees in front of you and let you move his hands around to follow your daughters movements “ see. She knows it’s you “ the baby wiggled around again “ talk to her the doctors said she can hear us. Talk to her “ he did feel a little silly to even think about talking to your stomach. But you had become the only person alive he’d ever let him self be soft and silly with. So he indulged you.

“ hola Princessa “ he said quietly “ Steven tells me you’re a carrot now “ you snorted a laugh at that and shook your head.

“ wonderful first impression there, calling her a carrot “

“ ¿qué? Blame steven. He tells us every week the new vegetable “ you shook your head again with a smile and Jake pressed a gentle kiss to your bump before rising to his feet again. He looked at your glowing face, how happy you looked and he couldn’t help but look at you as if you were placed on the earth simply just for him.

Learning you were pregnant had been a tough pill to swallow at first. What was he supposed to do with a baby? His hands were made for taking life. Not cradling a tiny precious one. He took. He didn’t make. It felt wrong to even think of holding such a delicate little person in his hands that were so bloodstained.

“ you’re cute you know that? “ you said with a grin, squishing his cheeks between your fingers and making his lips pout. He looked like a rather unamused cat that was being forced to play.

“ sure “ he deadpanned and twisted his himself out of your grasp and placed a kiss to your lips.

Translations ( apologies if wrong. Google translate is all I have 😞)

No la toques - don’t touch her

te mataré, puta madré - I’ll kill you mother fucker

Mi amor - my love

Hola Princessa - hello princess

Dios mio - oh my god

¿qué? - what

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tom-whore-dleston · 1 year

Text

I wish that it could be like that

Why can't we be like that?

Cause I'm yours

A Royal Longing - Layla El Faouly x f. reader (Snow White AU) Coming Soon!

Created for @the-slumberparty's test your palette challenge. I tried to stick to the color palette but I like how it came out anyway. Hope y'all are excited for the fic!

#navy and roo's sleepover #test your palette challenge #tom-whore-dleston moodboards #layla el faouly #scarlet scarab #layla el faouly moodboard #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly fanfiction #layla el faouly fanfic #layla el faouly fic #layla el faouly fluff #layla el faouly angst #royalcore #princesscore #snow white au #royalty au #wlw

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minigirl87 · 1 year

Text

Sugar & Spice with Layla El-Faouly

This is my first dip into female character x freader! So please be gentle, I have used my own experience in this piece. May Calamay is a beautiful, amazing, talented actress. I hope you enjoy it again. Feed back and reblogs, welcome 💜

Summary:

You and Layla have a cosy date in a quirky café. Sweet and fully. Marc, Steven, and Jake are mentioned. D.I.D/ system mentioned( I have gone with how the show represents it, I have limited knowledge outside the show).

Warnings:

NSFW, mature situations, detailed kissing.

Word count: 387

You sat in the cosy little nook your book resting on the rustic wood table. The fairy lights behind you sparkling against the dull backdrop of a grey wet London street. Other patrons chatter dances with the easy listening music, enticed with the various strong coffee’s and sweet fresh baked goods.

You're about to check your watch, as the shop door rings knowingly. The shrill brass of the bell signalling you to look up.

With the sweetest smile “Hi sweetheart” the words leave Layla's sweet lips like a melody.

You stand up to kiss her “Hello Honey” Layla giggles at the pet name, reminding herself of when you told her it was because she tasted like warm honey.

“Another book, Y/N?”. Layla quirks her beautiful lips, furrowed brows and sparkling eyes questioning you.

“one of Steven’s recommendations” you laugh as she takes the book from you. Looking at the cover, treasured, and placing it gently on the table.

Steven, who you worked with at the museum, and the reason you're here now with Layla, the love of your life. You knew and understood about Steven being an alter along with Jake to Marc and their system. How Marc has D.I.D. and how Marc and Layla were married and now divorced.

But despite everything, you were connected to the boys. They were like the brothers you always wanted. And their happiness for you and Layla was hear warming.

The waitress comes over “ two lattes with soy milk and two carrot cakes, please.” She says, placing the vintage crockery down on the rustic table. You both thank her. You fall into a comfortable silence as you eat.

Glancing at the book “Hmmm, is the book about you? My treasure.” Layla says, taking your hand in hers. The fairy lights glitter through her gorgeous chocolatey curls. You move a stray one behind her ear.“

I should be saying that to you. My treasure.” Passionately kissing her, feeling her plump, soft lips, you gently nip them as she allows you entrance tongues entwining. Her hand squeezed yours tighter as the other cupped your jaw.

“so sweet.” You both at the same time pulling away from each other. Gazing into each other's eyes, both knowing that this is happiness and its yours.

@melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @my-secret-shame @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @jake-g-lockley @steven-grants-world @romanarose @campingwiththecharmings @writingforcurrentobsessions2 @welcometostayingawake @novanitee @micheleamidalajedi @annautumnsoul

#Spotify #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly x reader #layla moon knight #layla el faouly fluff #fluff #layla el faouly #f reader

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bubuslutty · 1 month

Text

40-something Moon Man ROCKS the Dancefloor! (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT!)

pairing: Marc Spector & Female Reader

word count: 4026

warnings: none

summary:

Marc Spector accidentally goes viral on TikTok after his uni student neighbour/friend drags him to the club with her.

a/n: i wrote this in a silly goofy mood and i love marc sooo much <3 Also I used Darling instead of Y/n cuz im funky like that.

“Please, Marc.” Darling begged the 40-something man while he tried to clean his flat.

“No.” Marc answered flatly, wearing a very washed-out and loose t-shirt and a pair of dark blue shorts. His hair, now longer was tied at the back of his head in a tiny man bun.

“Why??? We’ll have so much fun and you need a night out to dislodge the stick up your ass.” Darling groaned and fell on her knees in the kitchen, ready to hold onto his legs and beg if need be. Marc sighed and ignored the 19-year-old teenager on his kitchen floor as he cracked another window open and increased the volume of the radio on the window ledge, BBC Radio 1 playing a Central Cee song in the flat as he picked up stray books, papers, food wrappers, socks and random junk, a bin bag clutched in one hand and a laundry basket clutched in his other arm.

Marc finally got himself to start cleaning his flat, he read that it would help his mental health to live in a cleaner space. That’s why she was over, she was meant to help him clean so it wouldn’t be too overwhelming on his own, and motivate him to get on with cleaning so he finished faster and could escape her non-ending yapping sessions. But now, it seemed like she was more interested in annoying him, which is literally second nature now, a natural reaction she had to him, annoying the shit out of Marc.

I mean, he could literally kick her out, and scare her enough that she’ll leave him alone for good, he’s done it before, to other people. He’s tried, but she’s Steven’s friend and he can’t do that to him. And he knows deep down he actually enjoys her presence and would kill anyone that hurts her then himself. He cannot lie, the kid had a big heart and was incredibly kind and patient. He was a little jealous that her parents were able to make a girl like that because Marc knew he could never produce that level of goodness into the world. He can never come close. She was too good.

Marc dropped the basket on a chair and the trash bag on top of it, letting out a long sigh and putting his hands on his hips. “Why do you want me to go with you?”

Darling’s miserable puppy eyes immediately vanished and she got up from the floor, walking up to him with a huge grin on her face. “Well, first of all, you’re my friend, and I like hanging out with you.” Marc raised one brow and didn’t say anything.

“I found this club with great music and I really want to try it out,” Darling said shrugging.

“Why don’t you go with your friends? People your own age.” Marc asked, his arms now crossed over his chest. “People from my uni are… I never really enjoyed going out with them, sure, nothing terrible happened cuz we always stuck together but uh-” Darling tried to explain and Marc failed to understand why the hell she wanted him to go with her out of all people.

“I’ll just be in the way if I go with you. And I can always pick you up at the end of the night, you know?” Marc said and Darling frowned in confusion, “In the way of what?”

Marc almost laughed in disbelief but held it together, “Don’t you want a boyfriend? No one will get close to you if I’m with you.”

Darling looked unimpressed, “What boyfriend? You mean drunk finance bros with an Andrew Tate mentality? Plus, I don’t do hookups, I have anxiety, mate.” Marc was confused and Darling remembered he wasn’t as chronically online as she was, so he probably had no idea who the abomination of a man was.

“I just want the experience. I just want to dress up and dance all night without men I don’t know breathing down my neck.” Darling explained, picking lint up from her way too big t-shirt with a Pikachu plastered on the front, so she wouldn’t have to look at him in the eyes.

Marc understood and thought about it for a second before picking up the trash bag and walking to the area that was his kitchen and putting it on the floor, next to the bin. “You want me to be your bodyguard?”

Darling’s head snapped up, eyes wide, “No! I mean- Yeah, sure..”

Marc pondered over the thought and asked, “When?”

“This Friday.” Darling quickly answered, smiling big and all, excitement radiating off her in waves.

“Alright, but so you know, I don’t dance.” That’s also what Chad from High School Musical said but go off. Darling knew to keep her mouth shut instead of calling him out.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” She squealed, jumping up and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Alright, enough.” He grumbled even though he was smiling, and ripped her away with his hands on her shoulders. “You won’t regret this,” Darling promised and Marc just nodded, he’ll see about that.

“Now, do me a favour,” Marc said, turning around and picking up two trash bags in his hands. “Take out the trash.”

Darling groaned and Marc fixed her with a look and her shoulders slumped, taking the bags out of the door to put them downstairs.

🌙

“How do I look? Be honest.” Darling asked, standing in the corridors as Marc locked his door and shoved the keys in his pockets, his black leather jacket held in his other hand.

Marc straightened his back and analysed her outfit from head to toe. She was wearing a sleeveless, backless sparkly blue top paired with jean shorts and white trainers. Simply put, she looked pretty and it surprised Marc a little, he didn’t know she was capable of wearing anything but washed-out old t-shirts with unhinged slogans on them. It was an addiction at this point, she loved buying the weirdest t-shirts she could find on the internet. She even bought him a t-shirt once that said “I lactate”. And swear to God, Marc almost killed her right then and there. It’s still ranked as one of her “biggest Ws” whatever the fuck that meant.

“Not ugly,” Marc answered flatly and Darling grinned, that was Marc’s way of saying she looked nice.

“And you look great, did Jake pick the clothes?” She asked, looking him over.

“No.” Marc lied and she giggled, because the one who dressed cunty every single time without fail, was Jake, and unfortunately, Marc didn’t possess the level of serve Jake did.

Marc was wearing a black short-sleeved button-up, unbuttoned at the top, where his David’s star necklace glinted against his tan chest, paired with black trousers and black shoes. Simple, clean. His hair was brushed back this time, but still, some curls fell over his forehead no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it.

“Let’s go,” Darling said after checking she had everything she needed in her small handbag.

The two decided to take the underground rather than Jake’s cab because it was faster than being stuck in traffic in central London. It was a bit busy and lots of people looked like they were heading to clubs and pubs for the night, dressed in all sorts of manner. Marc was honestly just looking around and taking everything in, he had never witnessed London’s nightlife like this, maybe saw some things from rooftops while tracking someone, but that didn’t count.

He saw an alarming amount of young men dressed in techs, standing in hoards. And girls wearing matching bodycon dresses. The underground station was hot, extremely loud and stinky. Darling was standing next to him, complaining about the prices that TFL charged. How ridiculously expensive the tube and trains were, even with a student oyster. He just hoped he wouldn’t get a nasty headache by the end of the night.

They hopped on the tube when it came, screeching to a stop, people spilling out of it in crowds. When they got in, they sat across each other as more people sat around them. And if it couldn’t get any louder, a man walked in with a big speaker resting on his shoulder and a cracked iPhone gripped in his other hand. “Bassline Junkie” blasted loudly as he sang along, and soon enough, a group of rowdy teenagers, around Darling’s age, started singing along too. Darling started laughing and Marc watched as the man started approaching them, goading the sitting people to get up and start singing with him. Darling got up and shouted the lyrics at some girls as they sang together. They somehow managed to drag Darling away from her seat, holding each other and singing loudly, multiple phones recording the scene. When they reached their stop, Marc got up and pulled Darling by the hand out of the tube before they missed it.

“BYE!” She shouted over her shoulder, laughing and breathing hard.

Marc let go of her hand and watched her put her hands on her knees, panting and straightening, fixing her hair and looking at Marc with bright eyes, “I’ve never done that before.”

He smiled a little, “Good job.”

“To the club!” Darling pointed in the direction of the gates, pulling Marc by his arm.

When they left the station, Darling let out a shuddering breathing, suddenly feeling very cold in the polluted crisp air of London. Marc noticed and frowned, “Don’t get sick.”

“Wow, thank you, Marc.” Darling rolled her eyes and started walking down the street, Marc following her behind. She turned around, walking backwards, “By the way, I have your jacket so I won’t get sick.”

“I’m not giving you my jacket, dipshit.” Marc said and Darling rolled her eyes, “Yeah, whatever you say.”

They spent 30 minutes trying to figure out where the hell that club was, bickering while following the map on Darling’s phone. At some point, she ended up locking arms with Marc after a rando whistled after her when she walked by and had to physically stop Marc from turning around and bashing the man’s face in.

When they finally reached the club, Darling was so excited and Marc had a hand wrapped around the back of her neck, guiding her through the crowds of people to the bar so they could get a drink in their system first and take in the place. “You’re paying, by the way,” Darling said over the loud music, taking a sip of her cocktail, this drink will probably be her first and last. She didn’t plan on throwing up on the pavement, and she wants to be able to remember tonight.

“You’re the one taking me out, aren’t you supposed to be paying?” Marc asked, leaning in so she could hear him over the music. “I’m paying for kebabs later. 50/50, yeah?” She said and he hummed.

He looked around and noticed how a lot of people were dressed, it faintly reminded him of the early 2000s with twists to fit today’s fashion trends. He could tell that this was the look Darling was going for, then he finally allowed himself to actually hear the music and was surprised when Flo Rida was blasting from the speakers, the floor vibrating under the weight of the bass.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Darling said after she finished her drink and dragged him on the dance floor, drink still in hand. Rihanna was now playing and Marc was a little mortified because he doesn’t remember the last time he danced in a club. Darling gave him encouraging nods while she practised a Just Dance routine without missing a beat as Marc nodded to the music, finishing his drink and trying not to laugh at her and failing miserably.

At some point Darling got rid of his empty glass for him and ran back, almost crashing face-first on his chest if he didn’t catch her. “THAT’S MY SONG!” She shouted over the music and Marc immediately recognised the beat. It was that Usher song that even the aliens from outer space could recognise, the one and only: “Yeah!”. Marc was a little confused because he was sure as hell she wasn’t even born when it came out.

“I WAS BORN TO SERVE CUNT AND SLAY THE CLUB!” She shrieked and Marc knew she must be out of her mind because there’s no way one drink made her say shit like that. He was dragged to the centre of the dance floor and Darling started busting moves he never saw her do, and Marc had to admit, she was a good dancer. But he was a great dancer.

He ran a hand through his curly hair and watched her dance with fire in her eyes. Marc smirked. Alright , if this is how this is going to go, then so be it. He popped another button open from the top of the shirt and rolled his neck, getting his muscles loose, nodding to the beat. Darling watched him as she bounced with the beat and honest to God, Marc started krumping. Krumping in the club.

Darling’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets and she screamed in delight, hyping him up with her whole body, “I knew you could do it!”

He was good. Really good.

So good in fact that the people around them started to notice and the space between them got bigger, creating a clear space where they could see Marc and Darling better. Darling didn’t even notice, her eyes glued to Marc who was absolutely destroying the dance floor. She didn’t even notice the phones pulled out to record the scene. And when it looked like Darling was starting to lose against Marc, a random girl squeezed herself through the crowd, handing Darling her drink and started dancing battling Marc. Darling was losing her mind, laughing and having the time of her life. The crowd hyped both the girl and Marc.

Marc was smiling the whole time, his curls moving this and that way, now falling over his eyes, sticking to his forehead. His face was warm and his necklace kept constantly swinging as he ate up every single person who decided to battle him. In between songs, he kept being offered drinks while Darling kept complimenting his skills. She was proud to get him out of his shell and was genuinely so grateful that everything went as planned. But most importantly, she was proud of him.

Hours later, by the time they left the club, the two were walking down the streets, singing together to a Britney Spears song, arms linked and still warm and sweaty. Darling had Marc’s (Well, it was actually Jake’s) leather jacket draped over her shoulders, keeping her shielded from the cold wind. Meanwhile, Marc may as well unbutton his shirt all the way down and take it off because it was sticking to him and a huge, very generous chunk of his chest could be seen, still shining with drying sweat. His hair was a little crazy because no matter what he tried to do, it refused to stay still and he didn’t have anything to hold it with. But that’s alright, he looked very pretty and he had a great time to care about his hair at the moment.

The two made their way to the first kebab place they saw. “What do you want?” She asked, looking at the old and worn menu above the counter, on the wall. “A number 2.”

“Bossman, let me get two number 2s and two Coke Zero’s.” Darling said and the man nodded, “£22.98, please.” Darling reached for her purse. “I got it,” Marc said, digging in his pocket for notes before she had the chance to protest.

“I was going to pay.” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes, feeling tired.

“You can pay next time.” He said, patting her head.

“You always say that and you never let me.” She complained, leaning her weight against him, cheek squished against his warm arm. “Yeah, yeah.” Marc checked his phone for any notifications and scrolled a bit while waiting for their food to be done. When they got their food, they left the joint because there were literally no seats in there, you just collect your food and leave. Marc held the plastic bag in one hand and wrapped the other around Darling’s shoulder just in case she tripped, she didn’t drink much but she exhausted herself to the bone, and he didn’t want to end up in the ER looking after her.

“Do you want to eat in the tube?” He asked.

“No, I’ll get sick. Aren’t there any chairs anywhere?” She asked.

Marc hummed and looked around, spotting a park? A garden? It was really small and fenced, and in the middle, there was a big statue of a man Marc couldn’t recognise. He walked closer and saw that there was an empty bench inside. Perfect.

They got settled down, Marc unwrapped their food and Darling complained about the cold bench against her thighs. “Sit on the jacket.” He said, opening his Coke and taking a sip.

“But then my back will touch the bench.” She complained and Marc rolled his eyes.

“Just eat your food.” He said and they dug in.

They didn’t speak for a long time, both looking up at the dark sky. There were no stars to be seen due to the city lights, but they could see the moon and the clouds. It was as peaceful as London could get. When they were done, they collected the trash in the plastic bag but didn’t move, still sitting on the bench, looking at the moon together. “Uhm-” Marc spoke and Darling turned to look at him. As soon as she met his eyes, he snapped his mouth shut.

Darling didn’t say anything, just looked at him with an open expression, eyes heavy-lidded due to sleepiness. Marc licked his lower lip and parted his lips to speak but nothing came out. So instead, he opted for squeezing one of her knees in his warm hand, trying to make her understand what he was trying to say with his eyes.

He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say that he appreciated her taking him out with her. He appreciated her patience and kindness. He appreciated how she never judged him for being himself. How she was brave and strong and didn’t get scared easily.

And Darling understood.

🌙

It was around 12 in the afternoon the next day when Darling got a text message from one of her uni friends. She frowned in confusion, she usually never received any messages from them during the weekends. She put her spoon in her cereal bowl as she chewed, and paused the YouTube video she was watching on her laptop.

Darling opened the message. It was two messages actually, one of them read, “Is this you?” And the other was a link.

She suddenly felt scared as her finger hovered over the link, she was sure she had a good digital footprint. I mean, she had profiles where family and friends followed, and she also had separate accounts online where she caused havoc without revealing her identity. And she was sure there was no way anyone she knew in real life could find her accounts and link them to her. She was careful.

Darling opened the link and instead of loading in a browser tab, it opened the TikTok app. Now, what the hell is this?

At first, she didn’t know what she was looking at, but her brain caught on and she felt like screaming. It was a video of the day before, from the club. There she was dancing battling Marc in the middle of the circle. Her jaw was on the floor, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she looked at the likes and screamed because why did it have 2M likes?

Her finger pressed the comment section before she could think and was flooded with comments like “This is what I mean when I say I want to go to the club”, “Okay but why did he eat?”, “Where is this??”, “Get this man in a Step Up movie NOW”, “Goo Goo Ga Ga”.

Darling leapt off the bed laughing and scrambled out of her flat, phone in hand. She didn’t even bother to wear slippers and instead ran over next door, Steven’s door, knocking quickly. When the door didn’t open in a millisecond, she turned the doorknob and walked inside without bothering to shut the door properly behind her, “Marc, you have to see this!”

Marc was in bed, shirtless and wearing a pair of loose PJ bottoms, wearing his reading glasses as he read his book. Well, he wasn’t reading it now . He was looking at Darling with an annoyed expression. She ignored it and ran to him, but not without throwing a quick “Hi, Gus” to the tank. She dived knees first on his bed and he sighed, slamming his book shut and placing it on the bedside table.

“What do you want?”

“Look!” She held her phone in front of his face and he tried to comprehend what he was looking at. Darling saw the moment he realised what it was, he grabbed the phone with both hands, a look of horror plastered on his face. “All of London saw the video. You’re viral, Marc.”

“Delete it.” He said without ripping his eyes from the screen.

“What?” Darling frowned.

“Delete it. Right now.” He repeated.

“It’s not my video. I can’t delete it.” Darling said and Marc dropped the phone in his lap, gathering his head in his hands, groaning. He truly had fun, but he didn’t know how he felt about all of London seeing this video.

Darling picked up her phone again, “I’m going to send it to DuChamp, he’s going to love it.”

Marc screamed and ripped the phone away from her hands, scaring her. She got scared not because he had taken her phone but because she never heard the man scream before. “Give it back!” She said, trying to grab her phone but Marc didn’t let her. It was a struggle because not only Marc was stronger, way stronger, but he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt so she didn’t have any grip on him, except his shoulders and hair. But she knew if she even thought about pulling his hair he’d throw her out of the window. “I’m going to report the video so it can be taken down.” He said and Darling gasped, “You don’t even know how to do that! You never used TikTok in your life, boomer!”

“Watch me,” Marc said through gritted teeth as Darling struggled against him, then she somehow managed to wrap her arms around his free arm and threw herself down on the bed, back first and swung her legs up to wrap them around his head, choking him. Marc let out a surprised shout, his eyes sent 500 million invisible daggers to Darling. He threw the phone down on the floor, out of her reach and lifted her off the bed, her legs still wrapped around his neck and she screamed when he flipped them around and slammed her down on the bed, head first, WWE style.

The two kept wrestling and clawing at each other until Darling ended up in a headlock, Marc squishing her body on the bed with his whole weight, “Help!” She wheezed, clawing at him, trying to get away from him. “Quit it.” He hissed as she tried to kick him with the heel of her foot on his ass.

A cough startled the two out of their fight, both of them looked up and Marc froze.

“What are you…doing?” Layla asked, looking at Marc, then back down at Darling. She had her phone in her hand, and a big Tesco shopping bag in the other. God bless her heart, she brought her disaster of not-technically-divorced husband groceries.

“Oooh, is that the bad bitch you fumbled-”

🌙

Tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @bobastayhigh @weblesstherains @h-leigh @unspokenmoon @ahookedheroespureheart @thursdaywritings @gebstargeb @softieekayy @fem-moony @peachjellypackets @pakhiya @darlinglittledevil @anixluxtt @mrs-cupidd @gebgeb @poeticabomination

this work is part of the "I'm friends with the moon" series. You can read it as a stand-alone or delve deeper into this AU.

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