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imasimpforstevengrant · 2 years ago

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THRICE (Chapter 4)

Summary: Steven Grant was begotten from Marc's need to deal with emotional pain. Being a fraction of the same person and the living shield of a mercenary has its toll on his already frail psyche. Did Steven actually live a happy life as Marc intended him to?

Warnings: angst and comfort, lovesickness, DID, existential crisis, violence, death, fluff, sexual themes and smut (flashback), unsafe sex, breeding kink (kinda)

WC: 10.663 (I know it's too long, I hope you don't get bored!)

Note: This is basically a retelling of the series (chapters one to four). I hope you don't get bored, I wrote it as entertaining as I could.

Note²: Some of the lines and scenes (post-Moon Knight) are taken from:

• Marc Spector: Moon Knight (#27 - #31)

Note³: sorry for any typos. As you know, English is not my native language (Chilean spanish FTW)

Chapter four: Unworthiness

Life had never been easy for Marc Spector.

After his mother's passing, his mind digs through the rubble of his shattered sanity, desperately searching for a sliver of stability. Unable to grieve the woman who made his life a living hell, Marc spawns a new self from the shreds of his soul. One who would live a simple, happy, and peaceful life, far from the problems that gnawed at his mind. One that took all the good things in his life to build a better man than Marc Spector could ever be.

Steven Grant was what Marc Spector wanted so badly to be. He was the innocence that he no longer had, the sweetness that had already turned sour in his heart, the tenderness which he used to see in life before having become the executioner of his brother without wanting it.

Steven is sweet, meek and honest. He is plagued by insomnia when he tries to sleep, he works in a gift shop at the National Gallery of Art. Grant dreams about being a tour guide, even though Donna - that insufferable boss who was always hurtful towards him - always insisted on shattering any illusion of becoming one. He sometimes didn't quite understand why he was ignored or looked at as a freak.

He wakes up in his flat, alone as always, shielded by big pillows, blankets all over him and a restraint around the right ankle. Having sleeping disorders - if he ever managed to have a decent sleep - made him foster a self-care routine: he unties the restraint, steps head toward the door, taking off the blue adhesive and chain lock.

He then feeds his one – finned goldfish, whom he endearingly calls “Gus”, talks to his mom, tries to compensate for the lack of sleep by an even more dulling lethargy that ends up in awkward situations in public. Steven cannot understand the reasons behind the frequent mental and physical fatigue. That week had been so strange and stressful. Almost falling asleep in a bus, arriving late at work and a pretty, smiling woman who just passed by near him.

"Hello," she greets him.

"Hellooo," Steven answers playfully, waving his hand.

"How's the sugar trade going?"

"I don't know what this has to do with Egypt, really… they didn't have that back then, did they? No."

She stares at him.

"They liked figs and dates, and…" but she made a clear sign that something else was on the way, rushing to the end of the chat.

"My next tour's here but just checking. We're still on for seven tomorrow?" She asked.

Something else than perplexed, Steven mumbles:

"Seven… tomorrow?"

"Best steak in town"? Her frisky tone suggests him to stop playing as if he had forgotten it.

"Oh, yeah… yeah, right…" Steven is unsure of the situation. She steps out of the Giftshop, but Steven follows her through the limited space behind the desk and display.

"What?"

"Sorry… but… are you asking me out?" Steven almost whispers, as if such a thing was forbidden.

The mysterious woman just laughs and comments how much of a funny guy he is. Donna walks by, witnessing the scene that had Steven Grant dazzled and confused.

"Stevie, you absolute rascal. I didn't know you had taken a crack."

"I didn't know either."

"Hang on, did she say steak? What in the world's a bloody vegan gonna eat in a steakhouse?"

"I don't know, Donna. Salad? Bread?"

The disgust in her eyes was more insulting than any coarse comment she had darted at him that day.

"Yeah, I can see why she went for it. Real catch you are."

Steven stuck with the good part: at least he had a date!

-----

How many times had he been the object of ridicule in his work for his fascination with ancient Egypt? Steven always found it nice to talk, given his deep loneliness, even though the weirded out looks of people killed any intention of further chatting. Despite this passive mistreatment by people, he always strove to make the environment pleasant and bearable. After spending the week in the inventory, he bids farewell to the guard, who cannot even remember his name.

"It's Steven… with a V," he gasped, a bit exasperated, accelerating the pace to get out of the place as soon as possible.

Steven doesn't know it, but missing that day on a Friday evening would turn out to be much more than just an unfortunate loss. Once he's back in the flat, he proceeds to do the usual: sand in the floor to see if he had been up during night, blue adhesive tape to seal the door, chain lock securing the door and finally, the ankle restraint.

Those nightmares. Those fucking nightmares that lately had been gnawing his mind. Nightmares where he was covered in someone else's blood, where his hands broke bones, smashed skulls with gushing flesh. It always ended with a dreadful Steven jumping off the bed, preventing a further run thanks to the restraint, anchoring him to reality. The initial pain of having his face smashed to the ground relieved his fears of a severe sleepwalking episode.

This is a common theme he talks about with a living, golden statue in the square near his flat, the only company he manages to get.

"Honestly, it's like my body wants to get up and wander about, you know, like it has to get the 10,000 steps in," He takes a bite of the vegan burrito he holds in his hand.

"You know? I don't even know about it until I wake up. That's why I try to stay awake at night. What do you think? Nah, you're right. I mean I guess there are stranger things that people do, but…

"No? Well, I think it's a bit…`` Suddenly, Steven turned around as if he had remembered something very important, taking a few chocolate bars for the time spent.

"Extra pralines for the man himself."

Steven continued the conversation - or more like a monologue -, mentioning the girl from work.

"Anyway, if I am gonna have a girlfriend, at some point, obviously I can't have ankle restraints on my bed, can I? That's like the definition of a red flag, isn't it?"

The man knows what Steven means. Oh, yes he does.

"I better jog on. Nice catching up. All right, laters."

-----

He repeats the routine once home. 'Staying awake' is on the phone, while solving a Rubik's cube, engulfing himself in the messy mountain of books about Egypt over his desk. Many things can be said about Steven.

Being uncultured is not one of them.

Not being in control was something he had come to accept, though he always wondered why such a thing happened to him. His mild mannered ways crashed so much with the adrenaline of near death experiences seen in dreams.

Searching for answers, Steven Grant spends countless hours, and even entire nights with his gaze upon books, filled with pictures illustrating dreams in vivid colors, mostly blue. Rain and hot chocolate were good company, while drifting away in long paragraphs. It all started with a nightmare. One bloody nightmare to make the lines between reality and dreams become blurred. He suddenly wakes up in a vast green field, far away from home.

Perplexity becomes fear as he tastes the iron flavor of blood and the pain of a dislocated jaw. Disoriented and unsettled, Steven gets up to watch the beautiful yet unknown landscape before his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, worm."

Steven turned around, scared.

"You're not supposed to be here," an angry otherworldly voice suddenly rang in his ears.

"Yep. I completely agree… where are you?"

"Surrender the body to Marc!" the voice demanded.

Marc? Who the hell was Marc?

"Sorry, what? 'The body'? Wha—?" Steven answers puzzled, much to the presence's chagrin, "'surrender the body?' What body?"

"Oh, the idiot is in control," there was a profound disappointment in his observation. He realizes there's something in his pocket. A golden scarab, more precisely. A quick move puts the object back safe in his jacket. He sees a castle-like edification behind his back. Two men peek out for Steven to wave his hand at… just to be greeted by a gust of bullets.

"Don't you stand there! Run!" The voice screamed to an startled Steven, who didn't think twice before running for his life. A village was nearby, barely populated. Steven seeks refuge behind the walls of the unpainted facade and later, in a curious diaspora.

People congregate, waiting for something or someone. His doubts are resolved when a man makes his way through the crowd, who admires him with unspoken hope in their expressions. People gather around him. Steven got the impression that he was a preacher, a spiritual guide. The man, leaning on his cane, begins to speak.

"What a beautiful day. It's like we're in Heaven. Only it's not Heaven, is it?"

The group of people grew larger as the man spoke about darkness, and how it hid in the heart sometimes.

"We are here to make the Earth as much like Heaven as possible." Steven tries to go as unnoticed as he can, getting closer to have a better look of the curious scene.

"Who'd like to go first?"

He had a bad feeling about this, but he kept silent. A man steps forward. The leader praises his bravery to submit his soul to judgment on behalf of a dormant goddess.

'What on earth is going on here?' he asks himself.

The stranger and the leader place their hands above the other's.

"I judge you in Ammit's name with but a fraction of her power". The cane starts to oscillate.

Ammit? Like… the first boogeyman? Steven was anxious to know how this situation would turn out, squinting to catch a better sight. The cane stopped balancing and the leader pronounced the verdict:

"This is the face of a good man".

The crowd rejoices silently. A few clap when the first one hugs the judged one. Steven turns around just to see the same two men who previously chased him in the hills near the gathering. He had to be out of there as soon as possible, but another willing individual got his attention again. An old lady pleads with the leader to repeat the process, just with her instead.

"Call me Arthur. Come" he offers his hand generously, "will you accept your scales, regardless of the outcome?" to which the lady gladly agrees. Steven slightly crouched down, fearing the worst when Arthur pronounced the ominous verdict.

"I've been good my entire life" the lady tries to rebuff.

"I believe you. But the scales see everything. Perhaps it's something that lies ahead".

Much to his horror, the body fell with a loud thud. Her skin turned into an unpleasant, pale gray shade that betrayed her death before their eyes. An armed man steps beside Arthur to whisper something he cannot hear clearly, due to his attention being completely drawn to the two people carrying the corpse of the lady away.

He then got up, shouting words in ancient Egyptian. The crowd immediately knelt… except for Steven, who mimicked the action way too late to go unnoticed this time.

"Oh, bollocks," he sighed.

"You…" Arthur hissed, with an accusatory tone, "I know you."

"Me?" He gasped, inaudibly, pointing at himself and seeing no other option than to step up.

"Mercenary." Arthur spits.

"No, no. I'm not a mercenary," Steven chuckles nervously, especially when the whole crowd turns around to see him. He futilely tries to explain his job in a Gift Shop, his name, where he lives. But nothing seems to change the hostile expression in Arthur's face.

Chaos ensues when the cult leader demands the golden scarab to be returned.

"You will give him nothing," The voice growls with an angry threat.

Steven tries to obey Arthur to set himself free from this confusing situation. But it only leads to the cult chasing him to seize the object.

Then he blacks out. And everything goes downhill from there. Steven doesn't know, but once he regains conscience, all of those who tried to corner him are dead.

Horrified by the sight of blood, he drives a muffin van, escaping through the solitary highway with frantic despair. Scene gets more difficult when that voice again threatens to kill them both, displeased at his incompetence.

But how could he succeed when he was nothing more than a gift-shopist? Steven was no mercenary. Then he blacked out once again. The man he had attacked with a muffin fell through the open back doors. But he tried not to panic, especially when he was surrounded by two cars with armed men after dodging a truck.

A third black out ended up with Steven driving in reverse and just when he thought this couldn't get any crazier, the people chasing him were crashed by falling logs from the truck he had avoided earlier. How was he alive? He doesn't know.

Then, chuckling, wakes up in his flat. Steven falls on his back over the bed, unaware of what awaits him that day.

_____

Discovering Gus wasn't Gus anymore - the fish had its two fins - was the beginning of this spiral of insanity. When going to the pet store, the clerk explains that he had gotten another goldfish. When? He doesn't remember it.

He then sees the clock. He had a date he couldn't miss. Though he thinks he looks like a knob, Steven Grant does his best to look acceptable for his date. He rushes to the steakhouse in a dark suit, patiently waiting for her with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses. Minutes pass by and she's nowhere to be seen. Soon Steven finds out that the current day is not Friday, but Sunday. Her tone is angry and resentful when Steven tries to explain himself.

"Come on, no. I think Friday still comes after Thursday, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't change the fact that today is Sunday, which means 'lose my number'. Cheers'. She ended the call. To ascertain this, he asked the waiter. He just confirmed what he feared.

Bloody Sunday.

_____

Steven leaves the steakhouse, broken hearted and ashamed. The failed date would be the least of his problems when he finds a key and a flip phone hidden in an upper corner of his flat. There are dozens of missed calls from the same person.

Layla.

The device starts ringing, startling him. Who was Layla? Why were there so many unanswered calls? He jumps off his seat and revolves to answer the call.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, my God, you're alive!"

"Yeah, all right" is the only thing he can reply.

"That 's it? I've been texting you and calling you for months. You couldn't give me any sign that you were okay? I thought something happened to you. Where are you? Where have you been?" The woman asks, with certain exasperation.

Who was this lady? Why did she call him 'Marc'?

"Steven." A male voice echoes, "Steven… you need to stop."

"Who said that?"

"You're gonna get yourself in trouble."

"Oh, no, no, no, mate… someone's having a laugh." Steven wanders over the flat, looking for the origins of that mysterious voice. He goes to the bathroom and sees his reflection in the small, circular mirror hung on the wall.

"Bloody hell…" he mutters but his reflection shakes his head. Terrified, Steven turns on the lights.

Nothing.

"Steven. Stop. Looking" the same voice hisses. The electricity starts buzzing, a rumbling noise caused by his books falling prompts him to leave the place with phone in hand. He shelters in the elevator, pressing the buttons frantically so the sliding door can shield him from whatever threat may be after him.

Only then, Steven sees an ominous presence at the end of the hallway. It was a beaked, mummified creature. He huddles against the mirrored wall, squirming like a prey being cornered by a predator. The flickering lights just made him more terrifying. It caws and keeps appearing, even on his way to work in the bus, for more shame.

Steven didn't mind the weirded out glares, he just wanted to run away from that ghastly presence. His mind starts questioning his sanity but everything crumbles down to horror when he catches the sight of that man with long, grayish hair and cane.

The same man who judged people in the name of Ammit in his dreams was just a few inches away from him.

What could possibly go worse now?

_____

The air feels heavy that night. The notion of persecution grows stronger. It's harder to focus but Steven tries to protect himself at any costs from this dangerous visitor.

"I'd assumed Steven Grant was an alias. Imagine my surprise to find you here."

He steps back, telling the guard that he has been following him. But he rolls his sleeve, flaunting a tattoo of a scale.

"Praise Ammit." The guard says.

Steven freezes. He then turns to face Arthur.

"Mate, I don't have your bloody beetle. I swear. I…"

Arthur makes him know that the golden scarab doesn't belong to him, but to Ammit. The force that punishes the evildoers to protect the innocent, shaped by the Egyptians as a creature that merges the head of a crocodile, forequarters of a lion and hindquarters of a hippopotamus. These three animals are the ones Egyptians regarded as the largest "man eating" creatures. A beautiful way to combine fierceness and supernatural aspects, Steven thought. But even in beauty lies the horror. He tries to escape but many visitors besiege the entrance.

How many people were part of this crazy cult?

He was convinced he was dead, until he repeated the process of judgment. Steven remembers that woman in the Alps, dead at Harrow's hands. The scales tattooed on his right arm start moving… but they don't offer a clear verdict.

"There's chaos in you" Harrow sentenced. The leader allows him to escape, but just to keep the cat and mouse game, since his uncertainty was a thrilling characteristic.

_____

The waning moon hardly enlightens the night. Almost like a prelude to the horror Steven is about to witness. Once he finishes registering the small gifts and souvenirs, he grabs his bag to lead home when he hears a distant squealing. He mistakes it for a dog, trying to lure the animal out of its hiding place.

"Where are you, little bugger?"

Steven walks by a mirror that reflects not one but two images of himself that just stare at him, perplexed - maybe - for his bravery to face this alone. A shadow behind a statue goes unnoticed for the mild mannered man, who keeps his unfruitful search.

With the lights off, Steven finally sees what lurks within the shadows: a growling, menacing jackal. He hides behind a display containing a golden statue. The loudspeaker rings with a jolly marimba tune before Arthur speaks a warning like an omnipotent being:

"Steven Grant from the gift shop, give me the scarab and you won't be torn apart."

It 's useless. Steven just throws his bag to earn time in his escape but the beast is faster: it hounds him towards the restroom, where there was no escape.

He sees the mirror again, beholding the man whose voice he recognised from earlier:

"Steven… I can save us. But I can't have you fighting me this time."

It was himself, with a more determined expression in his face. His attempt to find another way out was thwarted by the man who insisted on being given the control.

"No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?"

"That thing's about to break through the door, we're out of time!" He exclaimed, pointing at it, "hey, listen to me…"

"Damn it, no!" Steven slaps his face to daunt the nightmare away, "you're not real!"

"This is real. I am real" but Steven refuses, "you gotta give me control, it's the only way".

"I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die…" he repeats out of his mind.

"You're not gonna die," Marc says firmly, "let me save us."

With the monster getting closer, Steven finally allows him to take control of the body. He feels a vertiginous depersonalization that soon flourished with his form summoning a suit.

The hellish creature made its way into the ruined restroom, only to be greeted by the ruthless fist of Spector, dragging it back to finish it when it tried to escape his grasp.

Even if he wasn't Steven, he was glad to finally fight back.

After his first confrontation with Harrow in London, Steven is determined to find answers to his questions. Tracking down the location through the key found with the flip phone, he heads to the cellar.

What he discovers in that place leaves him speechless. There was a stretcher, a bag of guns stuffed with wads of cash, that damn gold beetle… and an American passport with that bloody name on it.

Marc Spector.

He appears in a reflection, finally clearing things up. The revelation of Marc Spector as a servant of Khonshu only leaves him even more confused. Steven disbelieves his situation, attributing his recent instability to having eaten a steak while he was a vegan. Convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, Steven rushes out and does the right thing: report this the authorities and load himself with pills.

But when he flees from the place, he realizes that the existence of that deity is true. It approaches him threateningly, hissing angrily:

“Give it back, you fool.”

But all Steven does is run away, carrying the bag with him. The heaviness of it causes him to trip on the sidewalk. A vespa almost runs over him, but then the most wonderful thing happens:

A woman with a familiar voice tilts her head, looking down at him.

"Marc?"

Amazed, Steven Grant realizes who she is.

"Layla?"

_____

Steven is deeply deprived of touches. This harsh reality hits him like a bus when Layla appears in his life, envisioning his failures to go on simple dates, to hold small talks without being seen as a freak. Her first interaction with Steven is not precisely positive, though. She's angry and frustrated at him, complaining about his British accent and an abrupt disappearance he couldn't explain, much less understand.

Things take another turn when she doesn't oppose nor protest when Steven wraps his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. Steven is so thunderstruck to speak even a word at this sudden closeness. He can have a feel of her body, battling the dichotomy of guilt and enjoyment for holding a feminine figure for the first time… as he could remember.

"Do you see the spiral you put me through?" She asks accusingly… and heartbroken. Steven squints, without Layla noticing.

"It's not okay, yeah? I'm still your wife."

Wait. Steven's mind stopped working, overriding at the last word. He tried to get his thoughts back together as fast as he could to catch a break.

"By the way, this would be a great time for you to say something. Anything. Just in case it's not clear."

"Sorry, sorry… Did you say wife?" Nervousness and amazement got his words correctly articulated, resulting in a disbelieving stammering.

"My… are we married?" Steven voiced, completely taken aback by a revelation that just crowned an insane week. His whole world had turned upside down in just a few days. Several seconds flew by for Steven to dimension the magnitude from being a mentally ill, recluse loner, buried in books to learning that there was a woman who took the time to know him, love him and marry him.

Steven desperately begs her to take them to their flat, so he can explain everything that has been happening lately. It manages for her fury to ease down, though her harsh looks haunt him through the reflection.

_____

Steven cannot take his eyes off her, watching every small thing she does. Who was this mysterious, lovely woman who claimed to be nothing more than his wife?

Layla, ignorant of the stormy thoughts dwelling in his mind, stares at the goldfish. Marc's reflection appears in the diaphanous glass of the aquarium. It doesn't take long for the mercenary to berate Steven for letting her inside the flat, demanding him to get her out.

She wanders over the place, inspecting it. She insists on calling him for that bloody name.

"It's Steven," yet she doesn't listen to his plea.

"Are you living here with someone else?" Layla questions him, frowning at him after seeing the restraint.

"No, this is my mum's flat" he rushes to answer. Layla keeps checking the place, and a book gets her attention.

"Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?"

"Yep" Steven nods, and not caring if he embarrasses himself he starts reciting in perfect french:

"I am sad, I want my lights put out…" but something wonderful happens, relieving the tension between them: Layla joins him, reciting the rest in perfect french and unison.

"Summers in your absence are as dark… as a room."

"Oui, Oui" Steven says, amazed and quickly adds, "she's my favorite poet."

"Um… no," a puzzled Layla stutters after a few silent seconds, "she's my favorite."

Not letting speechlessness overcome his newly found interest.

"That 's mental".

She now leads her steps to the desk, noticing the amount of books. Her anger is still there, but Steven follows her despite it.

"So, you're learning French and hieroglyphics?"

"Yeah, well… that's not that impressive, really" and then again, he needs that awkward need to explain what he has learned in those insomniac nights. She knows about the topic and Steven sees the perfect opportunity to ease down her fire with his poised politeness, "it's not like hieroglyphics are a whole language, it's more like a…"

"Like an alphabet," she finishes. Steven's expression beams with interest. He's so dumbfounded that it takes a couple of seconds to answer.

"Yeah… and… well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it."

"Sure," she nods, coming closer to see the book Steven tries to teach her.

"Like this one here."

"Funeral rites," she asserted.

If Steven wasn't fascinated before, he's now. His impressed eyes stare at Layla, marveling at her intelligence and beauty. He cannot help but let a wide, happy smile enlighten his face.

"Well, someone knows their unilaterals" his playful comment tries to get a smile off her, "you."

He manages to, and he continues.

"That's amazing." She chuckles, hiding her face and the smile on Steven's face fades away, "sorry, I don't mean that in a creepy way–"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not buying this, Marc" she scoffs, exasperated, "use whatever accent you want."

Layla leaves his side.

"Let's just get this over with" she reaches for her bag and takes out a form, "you sent these papers but you never signed them."

"Did I? Uhh…" everything is so confusing. Layla hands him the papers.

"This is what you wanted. After everything, you told me that we needed to move on" He finally had a look at the papers with his reading glasses on.

"Divo… divorce?" He says it, not believing it.

"Yeah, we're doing this or not?" Layla asks him.

Steven eyes the documents to comment, flirting:

"I would never divorce you," Steven is dying to know more about her. He hears a frustrated, stressed out sight from Layla.

"What are you doing?"

Steven Grant takes off his glasses, cherishing her figure with his eyes. He looks utterly lovestruck, too stunned to speak.

"Look…" Layla is appalled by his gaze, staring at her as if she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life, "you seem absolutely lovely," his tender praise tries to soothe the evident pain Marc has put her through. He then turns to the small, circular mirror to face Spector and his abandonment.

Once again, his words widen the abysmal gap between them. He tries to explain everything to Layla, despite his fear to be seen as an insane, desperate man. He doesn't expect her to believe him, since Steven himself cannot believe it. Marc's plea to let her out of his fall on deaf ears. Steven intends to show her what's in the bag, until the mercenary screams in his head to stop it.

"You're gonna get her killed! You hear me?!"

The frustration in Layla grows even more when she sees the golden beetle. She spits at him, calling him out for his lies before the mild mannered man can form a reply.

"This whole one-man who is just what? So you can keep it for yourself?!"

"No, I swear…" Steven tries to explain himself but her anger corners him like a wounded animal.

"Just stop! I'm supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in a gym bag?"

"Take it! Take it! You can have it, I don't want it!" Steven opens his hands, so Layla can trust his words, "I don't want it, I swear… have it!

Layla keeps silent, not missing him out of her sight.

"I am not Marc Spector. I'm Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop… well… I used to work in s gift shop and I think I'm in real danger… and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me!" Steven breaks down, scared.

She looks at the golden scarab, as if looking for rational explanation of that something he cannot understand wholly.

"Please" he whispered, to which she asks him if he really doesn't remember the reason of why they have been looking for the small treasure. Steven shakes his head, completely flabbergasted at the thought of not only being a husband, but having a whole story with her.

"Oh, God, I wish I could" he gasps, lost in her eyes.

_____

Things get crazier after meeting his wife. That night he would know how fucked up the situation was. Starting with a kidnapping, Steven learns about Spector's dark past.

"We've only got ourselves a full-blown international fugitive" were enough to spark panic in him. He wished he was committed to an asylum so he would never harm anyone again.

But it wasn't him.

Then the corpses. Covered corpses of people tied and shot in the back of the head. Steven huddles against the seat, feeling like a deer before a hunter. Being handcuffed just worsened his anxiety. But the horror just begins when he realizes not only was taken to an unknown alley, but it was inhabited by more of Harrow's cultists. Then the fugitive mirrors in the glass of the window.

"You don't need to fight me, Steven. Surrender control."

"N-no, no. I saw what you did to those people."

"It's not what you think–"

"I am never giving you control again. Ever. Do you hear me?" Steven hisses defiantly at the mirror.

But another voice comes out of the radio.

"I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant from the gift shop."

Next, he is finally out of the car. It doesn't take long for Steven to learn that Ammit's avatar had orchestrated this. Harrow welcomes him, stating they needed a chance to better understand his situation. He mentions the scales, his chaos, voices in his head… everything feels so confusing.

"It must be very difficult having all those voices inside one head."

He introduces him to his creed, trying to persuade Steven to embrace it, defending the idea of what was, basically, mass genocide. It was dark and sinister. Harrow strikes back with a powerful argument, also mentioning his former servitude to Khonshu, who doesn't hesitate to manifest his wrath by throwing and pushing objects.

'Cutting evil from the root', is what Ammit intends. Harrow compares her sense of justice to Khonshu's. A comparison Steven knows too well the latter will lose, surprised at Harrow's boldness to mock the deity right in front of him. He then persuades Steven to give the scarab, so Ammit could be free to make humanity face her judgment. With his firm refusal to tell, both wanting to protect Layla, Harrow speaks to Marc but Steven defends his denial by pointing out what could turn into an innocent bloodshed, refusing to give the scarab no matter how much the crowd and the leader himself tried to intimidate him.

Much to his surprise, Layla showed up in the most unexpected moment, object in hand. She doesn't think twice to get him out of that place, though she insists he can fight back by summoning a suit. Layla doesn't hesitate to beat the hell out of the guys trying to prevent their escape. All Steven can do is stare at the man falling down, open-mouthed.

"That was awesome," he gasped, as Layla ran to grab his arm and drag him out of the place. But Harrow sends another hellish jackal to hound him. Steven feels his sanity slipping out, before Layla's insistence on calling him 'Marc', pushing him to fight, her voice echoing with Spector's own to surrender the body manages to break him.

But once the great, ebony door was opened, Layla saw nothing. Steven was panicked for something only he could see.

The beast doesn't have any mercy on him, throwing Steven from the window. Khonshu speaks then, in a last desperate attempt to make Grant abandon his usual passiveness.

"Summon the suit!"

Being a few inches away from becoming a corpse, Steven finally screams. He lands lavishly, now donning a fancy white suit, which frustrates Marc enormously.

"Oy, Steven. What the hell are we wearing?" But he doesn't know Spector meant the ceremonial armor from Khonshu's temple… Though he thinks the suit makes him look pretty sharp.

The jackal, of course, ruins his new appreciation for himself. Steven doesn't think twice to save Layla when it attacks her, even when his stubbornness cannot handle the danger. He lures the creature away from his wife, acting with a defying confidence that caught Layla unprepared.

"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a 'V'!" He exclaimed, stepping back so the jackal would follow him… just to end in the floor again, now with people mistaking him for a drunk man. Marc knows he's right, and his proud, witty remark just convinces Steven to give him the body to finally end this fight.

_____

Steven doesn't like to be outside of his body. He can scarcely move. For his part, Spector is furious. The scarab was probably in Harrow's hands, closer now to doom mankind to Ammit's judgment. The panic can be felt in the air and the tension between the two just increases.

"The one who controls the body has become stronger."

Marc's futile words to appease his anxiety just cause uncertainty in Steven.

"The reflections help but most of the time, it takes all your willpower just to be a fly in the wall."

"You can't do this" Steven pants, horrified as he felt like a ghostly entity, "you have no right." Marc listens to his furious rant, pointing at him as the one to blame for all his misfortunes in his life. It doesn't seem to carve any guilt on him, limiting himself to hear everything he had to complain about.

Marc reassures him with the promise of never being seen or heard again once his debt is repaid with his servitude, the one that leaves him covered in blood.

"Everything you touch, you ruin. You hurt people, you abandoned your wife. You left her stranded!"

This last remark was enough to light the fury on the mercenary, who turns around to clarify the matter.

"I am protecting her. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you did. I saw–"

"Khonshu has his eyes on her. He wants her as my replacement. I'm never gonna let that happen, you hear me?" Marc hissed, upset.

"You're a liar. I don't believe you. I don't trust you. You hurt people!"

"I'm never letting him near her, just shut up!" but Steven's voice overlaps over his, rapping him out.

"I won't let you hurt anyone else ever again, I will never give you a moment of peace, I swear!" He promises, with avid vehemence. A bell tolls, almost as if wanting to go in tune with the mess in his head.

The noise becomes unbearable, sparking a violent reaction from Spector. His foot breaks the mirror where his reflection berates him, obtaining a few seconds of silence before Khonshu appears in the heights of the church nearby. A strong gust of wind serves as an ominous warning of his closeness.

Marc feels trapped. It wasn't wise to awaken the lunar deity's wrath in such a crucial moment, especially knowing that the scarab would point at Ammit's ushabti. The final battle would be unleashed not there, but in the cradle where his crusade had started: under the scorching Egyptian sun, a half naked Marc drank a bottle of whiskey, resigned to another bloodbath while a fearful Steven just beholds from the mirror the mess he had done in the room.

_____

Knowing how to get to the map that would lead to Ammit's ushabti, Marc goes against time. He fears he only has a few days left to avoid it. Harrow is restless and after an useless chase through the streets of Cairo. Marc doesn't remember the killing spree he carried on the top of a roof and near a cliff, away from the city.

How much time happened? He didn't know. He was horrified by the three men who were alive and fighting just seconds ago. Marc cannot bring himself to believe when he is more disgusted by the noise of blood squelching… and the uneasy sight of blood. But the mission is the same: to find Harrow.

His last resource for knowledge comes from a kid who barely made it alive. Despite Khonshu's order to take him to the ledge to scare him away, the kid just ends up killing himself, saying a final praise for Ammit.

Khonshu decides to send a message to the gods. One that they will not ignore. In order to delay Harrow, the deity manipulates the sky, astonishing everyone with an unexpected solar eclipse. Marc knew this was a bad idea, but deep down he had to give him credit for how bold the move was. The vulture is smart. It manages to summon Marc to the council, located in the Giza pyramid. Steven feels like a kid in a candy shop as he is privileged to see it from the inside. Whenever the Ennead should gather the avatars, from all around the world, a portal presents everywhere.

The last time Khonshu had spoken to the gods, it resulted in his banishment. The case against Harrow must be indisputable. Marc was unsettled, for he must respond for what Khonshu had done. The god doesn't even bother to explain how this would work, leaving him to his own devices. The attendance was concurred by Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Hathor and Osiris to hear Khonshu's account.

The open contempt from Osiris just bittered his antipathy for his garishness, threatening him to a petrous imprisonment if he dared to manipulate the sky one more time.

Marc then yells at him, shattering the silence.

"Spare me your self-righteous threats! I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you".

Osiris responds with polite calmness that the abandonment came from humanity's side, letting the avatars carry on with their purposes unnoticed. It wouldn't do, since the whole Ennead needed the might of other gods.

"Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm!" Khonshu furiously demanded, outraged by their indifference that could unchain an apocalipsis.

Just as Marc had finished screaming Khonshu's wrathful words, a tear fell down his cheek. He never thought that being used as a messenger through his body and voice could hurt so much.

"For the last time, Khonshu, the avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man."

The council then asks him to speak about his purpose. Khonshu points out Harrow, mentioning his conspiracy to release Ammit. Arthur then enters the room, already suspecting the nature of the meeting. Khonshu explodes against his former avatar, tired of him playing innocent.

But he goes straight to the point.

"Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?" Khonshu accuses him so violently that Spector's whole form shakes with its choleric roar.

"I was in the desert. But if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the Nile" he then accuses Khonshu of searching said tomb in the times he was his avatar, mentioning jealousy, paranoia and—"

"HE'S A DECEIVER!!!" Marc howls until his vocal cords are torn, but Harrow doesn't let his former master to mortify him.

"Khonshu is unhinged and his servant unwell," to which Hathor asks to explain it.

Harrow calmly replies:

"This is a man who literally does not know his own name."

Marc began to panic. He gulped, trying to fight the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. But he doesn't stop there: Harrow also mentions his marriage certificate as Marc Spector and employment records under the name "Steven Grant"

"Liar!" Khonshu roars, then Marc pleads, "stop!"

"I've seen him speak to himself…"

"Shut up!"

"...threaten himself…" and then he chuckles, trying to deal with how twisted Spector's illness was, "I have no idea how many personalities he must possess. The man is clearly insane."

That last sentence fueled his fury, ready to tackle Harrow but he's immediately reduced by a psychic onslaught coming from Osiris. Marc shuts his mouth, trying to recover the strength.

"It brings me no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man."

Marc cannot defend himself, feeling his vocal cords bleeding at the least effort. Even breathing makes his chest hurt, as Harrow is speaking the truth about his servitude to Khonshu. He is then allowed to speak, being asked personally by Horus.

"I am. I am unwell. I need help… but that doesn't change the fact that this man is–" but he cannot bring himself to verbalize Harrow's intentions.

"This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu." But then Marc bursts out:

"This is not about my feelings! I'm not the one on trial here. He is! This is about how dangerous he is if you would listen for a second".

"He has committed no offense," Osiris sentences, "this matter is concluded."

Marc stays there, defeated, humiliated. But once everyone is out of the hall, Hathor's avatar comes closer to him and tells him another way to get into Ammit's tomb. The location was recorded by a Medjai called Senfu, whose sarcophagus was stolen and sold in the black market. The task was done in case the gods ever changed their minds, if they decided to show mercy.

_____

This was where the real adventure began.

Much to Spector's displeasure, Layla showed up in Egypt just in the moment when he was in the market, asking for Senfu's sarcophagus to merchants. Layla offers help, and both embark to meet Anton Mogart, an antiquities collector. Once Layla went with Marc undercover (using a fake identity), the map was recovered… but it requires an expert insight to decipher the location of the tomb.

However, Harrow has kept watching Spector. His disciples had told him the couple's plan to find the crypt, attempting to turn Mogart against them and if that wasn't bad enough, that maniac dares to reveal his involvement in the raid that killed Abdallah El-Faouly. Once out and with Mogart dead, Layla confronts Marc about Harrow's words about it. The mercenary gets nervous, and pretends he doesn't know. He tries to convince Layla that Harrow just looks to divide them.

"Every time I learn something new about you, I think that's it. There can be any secrets left between us. And then something else pops up and it's like I've not known you at all."

Marc tries to end the conversation bottling up.

"Yeah. You haven't" he looked at her in that cold way that shattered her heart, "you don't." Just as intended, Layla ceases the talk, driving in tense silence. Both leave their differences aside to put the pieces of the starry map back together to know the exact location of Ammit's tomb.

They had been like this for like an hour, and Marc is getting frustrated with the lack of results, slams his open palm violently over the bonnet. Layla pleads with Marc to let Steven front, since he might know how to handle this.

"Marc, we can't wait" she mutters sweetly, but it doesn't soften him a bit, "it's okay… just...let go."

Marc sighs and runs his hands over his hair to cope with the stress and snatches the mirror off the jeep, taking the tape and the pieces of the map. He walks a few feet away from his wife and looks at the reflection.

"All right. Go ahead, you're in."

And in a couple of seconds, Steven is back on his body.

"Cheers, thanks a lot" and sets his hands to solve the problem. Layla sees him, walking towards him with caution. Steven jolts and smiles at her. He has that look of pure love in his eyes. How is it possible for a man she has been married to for years, a man (she thinks) she's known for so long can look so different? Steven's skills finally recompose the map… just to realize the stars drift over time, making it impossible to find the exact location in the present.

But Khonshu doesn't stand there. As the god of the night sky, he had power over the celestial vault. He would do something way bolder than a simple eclipse in broad daylight. Steven wished to be prepared for the wonderful spectacle Khonshu conjured in order to locate the tomb. The deity doesn't take long to ask Steven for help, which causes that white, elegant suit to appear again. With the skies stirring in violent motion to catch the exact alignment of the stars, Layla finally obtains the location while Steven and Khonshu slowly begin to weaken.

He realizes the god is disintegrating, asking him to tell Marc to free him.

But he cannot act fast, since his own energy has been drained with Khonshu disappearing. Layla tries to wake him up with tender impatience. His eyes remain closed and Layla sees no other option than to take matters in her hands.

Or that was what Steven could deduct once he regained consciousness. She never ceases to amaze him. All those people… Layla took them down by herself.

"We can't lose more time. Harrow must be headed back to the tomb. Look, if he is, we're gonna need Marc, yeah?"

"Exactly. See, she gets it," Marc quips from the mirror. A few seconds of silence follow before Steven replies:

"No."

"No?" Layla turns around to look at him.

"No, see… the thing is… we made a deal, Marc and I" he swallows, "that when he was done with Khonshu, he would disappear for good–"

"But that deal didn't involve you getting Layla and us killed, did it? That's not gonna fly with me."

"You guys made a deal? That he would just disappear from my life?" She stared at him, with silent outrage, hot tears filling her eyes, "and you didn't think that maybe I should've been made aware of that?"

"Oh…well, hadn't he disappeared from your life already?"

"Yeah, I mean…" Layla shook her head, not taking her eyes off the road, "Whatever. His suit was his best feature, wasn't it? Didn't have that anymore."

The awkwardness boils Marc's patience.

"Steven. Give me the body right now. This is a suicide mission." Layla keeps complaining about him, and his loner nature.

"It's not happening. We're not gonna do that" she said, determinedly. Maybe expecting to piss off Marc.

"We are not," Steven also said with determination, "it's just you and me and the open road–" but Layla stopped the car abruptly.

"We're gonna go on foot from here."

*Yeah, all right."

It took them a long walk to arrive, but Harrow's men were already there. It was necessary to beat them to get to Ammit's tomb. Descending from the canyon, the couple find an empty camp, with cars left with open doors. Only camels were there to greet them. Both go for supplies, and Steven finds plenty of them in one. Marc insists on fronting, mentioning Steven's inexperience as a liability. He doesn't, though and takes a lantern, rummaging through documents like photos, reports and maps.

"Without Khonshu there is no more suit, no more healing, no more power–"

"Yeah, no more you, I thought. It's what you said, innit? But I guess… believing anything that comes out of your mouth just shows what a plonker I am."

Marc sighs, understanding his discontent.

"Look, I wish I could just disappear. I really do. But unfortunately, I'm still here. If you're gonna go through with this, you gotta be smart, for least for Layla's sake. I've in situations like this before—"

"So have I. It's the same body, innit? It's in there, somewhere. Muscle memory and that."

"I'm not sure it works that way. Just—"

"Whatever," Steven cuts him off, with an uncharacteristic sassiness that surprises Marc.

"I'm here. You're not alone" Marc calms him down. It finally snaps Steven's patient ways with him turning around with defiance against Spector's reflection.

"I know I'm not alone! I know I'm not bloody not alone, I've got Layla! She's got my back!" Steven spits, heading to walk off the place.

Hearing him talking about Layla with such vehemence fueled a choleric jealousy from Marc, who didn't think twice to growl at his alter for his affections:

"Are you in love? You're in love with my wife?!"

Steven turns over once last time.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, mate. I really do… but we've got it from here." He mutters, confidently despite Marc becoming more and more furious.

"You lay one finger on her… I swear to you– Steven!"

"If I need a recipe for a protein shake or something, I'll call you," Steven went out to find Layla, not caring about Marc's growing wrath. It made the situation even more hilarious.

"I'LL THROW US OFF A CLIFF!"

_____

Steven feels the thrill of closeness as Layla puts the harness on him. Having those hands on him, treating him gently had an hypnotizing, euphoric effect. The thoughts of her doing other things while kneeling caused an impish grin tracing his lips, fighting those naughty fantasies of his.

"I have to say, I feel like I've been waiting for this my whole life…" he then looked down at her, adding with a glint of guilt, "the adventure… I mean."

Layla gets up, smiling at the flirty grin Steven gives her. She doesn't keep her hands off him, concealing her wish for a greater closeness through "accidental" nuzzles, talking in breathy whispers. Steven shrugs, not knowing how to handle this heated tension boiling inside his chest. He cannot take his eyes off her lips as she becomes dangerously close to his ear, swearing she made a soft groan, which immediately sparked Steven to ask himself what he could cause Layla to make those sounds… he wonders things. He longs for contact.

For her contact.

From the first moment he had seen her, where he remembers the pleasant embrace riding the Vespa back in London, dark eyes shining like tourmalines.

Her tender expression reminisces of Marc at his warmest.

"You smell like him," she mutters, "I mean… why wouldn't you?" Layla stares at his mouth. Steven feels his heart racing when her lips attempt to crash with his mouth in an impulsive move, desperate to feel Marc, whether it was through Steven's skin… or whoever dwelled in there.

But his nobility is greater and before their mouth make contact, Steven rushes to say:

"Marc's trying to protect you from Khonshu" her warm expression faded, clearly upset.

"What?"

"That's why he's been pushing you away. He thinks Khonshu wants you for his avatar and he won't let that happen" Steven finished. As he sees it has no positive response from Layla, he rushes to explain further:

"It's all right… I just felt like you should know that." Layla grabs a glove, as Steven apologizes for being so imprudent with such delicate information.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know. I.just thought you deserved to know." Layla puts on the glove to distract herself.

"It wasn't his call to make. I don't need protection", she muttered, "What I need is honesty."

"Yeah, I get that."

"That's more of a 'you' thing, isn't it?"

"What? Being honesty?" Layla laughed at his sweet clumsiness.

"Yeah. Being honesty" she nods, instead of laughing at him. It makes the love he feels for her to reach unthinkable dimensions.

Confidently and sure, Steven grabs her shoulders with gentleness, leaning with delicate precision to reach her lips. An astonished Layla shuts her eyes off at his daring gesture, doubtfully keeping up with the famished and impatient kiss Steven insisted to captivate her with. He's too bewitched by the full, warm lips he didn't know he had kissed in another life.

He first caught her upper lip for a few seconds, partially breaking the kiss to catch her lips with his, wishing to devour or at least, have a better taste of them, aroused by the sound of their mouths breaking their caress, which he delayed as much as he could.

Moved by the desire for more touches, Steven refuses to give her personal space after their impulsive kiss, smiling with genuine happiness with his forehead against hers. It warms and breaks her heart how grateful Steven was with a simple gesture. How deprived of touches had (Marc) Steven been? So many questions demanded so many answers that couldn't be solved at this moment.

Layla goes down the excavation, and doesn't get to see an absolutely enamored Steven looking at her completely in love, haunted by her kiss…

…Nor Marc punching Steven, to then throw him down the tomb, accomplishing his threat for touching his wife.

These were the things Steven remembered most fondly, before dying at Harrow's hands with two shots in the chest.

Until that night.

Until that fucking night.

_____

He never imagined that a trip to Egypt would change his life so drastically. He returned to London far from the meek, jumpy man he used to be before these incidents. But not even that prepared him for what fate had in store for him.

Steven didn't want to be impertinent in Marc's relationship. But during that night it was impossible. Steven didn't even remember how upset he was for missing a date because of that mercenary using his body to save the world from a genocidal maniac, knowing he was married to a lovely, intelligent wife. It was as if that failed date with Dylan had never taken place.

Even when Steven had been begotten to be better than Marc Spector, not even he could escape the searing feeling of envy when Spector got to be with Layla in that way.

Seeing her in all her nude glory, first imprisoned in Marc's arms, impaled relentlessly, and then above him, loving how Layla trusted him enough to lock her as if she was his and his only.

He then realizes a sad truth; Layla wanted to kiss him because he had the face of Marc Spector. Layla loved Spector, not Steven.

Steven now looks at her, elevated to a goddess, naked and sweating while her moans delight his ears. He feels like a pervert for spying on her through the aquarium reflection but he's just too marveled seeing Marc's body being ridden with raw, brutal fury. He felt as if he was witnessing a privileged mortal making love to a goddess.

Though he was happy to see them together once again, he cannot stop wondering how his name would sound if she'd screamed it with him beneath her.

As much as he struggles to keep his eyes and ears covered, curiosity overcomes his modesty and what a sight he gets. To Steven, Layla had ascended from crush to a reborn Aphrodite right in the moment he saw her getting up to place herself above him. How he wished to be Marc at that moment.

It wasn't the fact of sex itself, being naked or close to each other… It was the climax and its meaning what mesmerized Steven, the vestiges accusing their union, watching it ooze from her while she moans for more. He may not have the full satisfaction of it, but he's more than glad to see the body being loved and taken care of.

Steven diverted his gaze, ceasing the tortuous illusions of intimacy. He tried to focus on other things but those scandalous moans of hers made it impossible. Those things she was whispering, it was like a mermaid tempting a sailor to follow her. He'd give anything to experience what it was to be buried deep inside her, with nothing except him occupying her mind to cry his name. He had never felt so undesired and miserable in his life, especially when Marc howls his lungs out when the peak hits him. The moment was followed by a dead silence.

Suddenly a dizzy, incorporeal sensation numbed his muscles. His vision became blurred, just like when he regained…

Hearing how her calm breathing changed to a sharp cry aroused him to the point of insanity, not just the wet, tight flesh practically latching around him so abruptly, not just having that beautiful female nude still impaled on him. It wasn't the fact that Marc had surrendered the control to him. He couldn't understand why but he couldn't process everything that happened in that moment, not having time to ask her out loud about their situation. His sobs finally got Layla to look down at him. He felt cornered.

"Steven?" She whispered, just as mesmerized as he was. Steven writhed and shook while pleasure stuns his strength, trying to break the physical bond to avoid any more problems, but Layla insists on retaining his body underneath her. How was it possible to be like this now? When not too long ago he had been admiring her from afar, yearning silently for her body.

Why did Marc feel so vulnerable being with her?

Maybe it was the shock of seeing her, of feeling so helpless when she loved him like this. Steven tries to focus but his body speaks for him: he moans loudly as he watches several, thick threads of himself falling down their sexes, looking to adhere even more tightly to each other.

The explicit image does things to him. It is the physical reminder of how her body stirred under his touch. Wishing to see more of it percolating between her thighs, Steven thrusts up, shaking her whole body again, observing with respectful and immense fascination a pleasure-drunk Layla, who doesn't seem to care that Marc wasn't there to finish what he started.

Steven moans her name and smiles at the sight of her breasts and curls bouncing. They look so lovely, begging to be touched, kneaded, pampered.

He didn't decide what to do next, though he doesn't miss the chance to squeeze them to calm down his aroused enthusiasm. Layla starts straddling his hardened length once again, until Steven has an idea: He obeys his instinct to wrap his arms around her, to then roll over the bed sheets so he was above Layla, who latched at his neck, desirous to obtain more of him, not caring if she was on control. Steven never thought this loss of individuality would be so magnificent. And then, he sees that look in her eyes. Layla stares up at him.

Her gaze is nothing but fire.

His voice undoes itself in praises and desperate claims, melting each other's mouths in heated kisses that left their tongues tangled in a desperate dance.

Steven felt her hands running down his ribs, reaching his hips to scratch his back to then caress it. It made the mild mannered man push as deep as he could as a harsh response, breaking the kiss to moan while genuinely convinced he could feel every vein, every inch of hers melted with his.

He looks down her body by mere instinct, and finds more lustful evidence of their act between her legs, more pearly creeks gushing from their differences. It moves him to gather strength to drag himself out of her just to slam back inside, reviving the sensation of sweet captivity within her depths, feeling those pulsating walls hardly containing him, despite Layla seemingly wishing more of Steven inside of her.

Neither of them would get to see it, but the reflection showed a delirious Steven Grant taking an euphoric Layla with him over the bed, making their bodies move in perfect unison.

"Keep going! Fuck, Steven… just like that" he panted against her ear, groaning when he feels her thighs pressing his hips, "I want it dripping off me, Steven. Will you be good to me and give me that?"

"Yes! I will! I'll be good-- I'll be so good to you!" Steven pushes as deep as he can without thinking, making sure to comply her wish.

Layla liked that, sliding her hands down his chest, heart hammering with war-like fury. Steven was too desperate to repeat that deep feel of wholeness both experienced a few moments ago, too immersed in the pleasure the narrow, hot embrace gave him but also too stunned too form a coherent sentence. Layla tenderly caresses his hair, and Steven gently leans his head to bathe in those kind touches. She kisses his jawline, brushing her lips against his ear.

"Don't hold back," Layla lovingly whispered, knowing their climax was close. Steven looked down and saw that again between their legs, stopping for a moment before the glorious end. Layla reminds him that he was the one who stole a kiss from her back in the desert, enjoying to see Steven Grant turned into a sex crazed mess, so far from his fancy, polite manners, fighting against the constriction that he knew, would overcome him.

He had never been so happy to lose a battle as he did with this one, in particular. He increased the pace, making the bounce of her orbed parts even more intense. Steven weeps of pleasure when he cannot bring himself to resist it anymore, pouring all of his seed inside her, delighting in the falling strands accusing the violence of the orgasm that shuddered Layla's body.

He keeps completely still, loving the intimacy between him and Layla. All he can think about is never letting her go. He loves her. Steven loves her more than he loves his own life. This is how it feels to be seen, cherished, loved. He wishes this precious moment to never end. And there she stays, cradling his tired body. Steven hides his face in her neck, repeating that he could never leave her, much less after what happened between them.

Layla runs her fingers over his hair, caressing his back up and down, grateful to have her husband sleeping in her arms once again, away from danger and blood for good. She lovingly lulls him, despite Steven being asleep (or passed out, who knew?) so he could know in his slumber that she would be there to care for him… and love him.

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rosesanddecay · 1 year ago

Text

Oscar Isaac Characters Eating You Out

Minors DNI

Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Anselm Vogelweide, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia x afab!reader (Pronouns and descriptions aren’t used for the reader)

CW: SMUT (did you look at the title?), pet names, slight size difference, fingering, face riding, mention of periods, slapping, toys, anal, dub-con, sub and dom roles, squirting, overstim/crying, untranslated Spanish, and possibly some other things (All are just brief mentions)

These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best. Not proofread or heavily edited.

(Lmk if you want more in the future)

Miguel O’Hara - Across the Spiderverse

Miguel is a tired man, always overworking himself with the Spider Society. All because he’s extremely thorough, never leaving something to be completed at a later date. Because of this, it’s not often he gets the chance to destress.

So, when it comes time to pleasure, he’s just as thorough. Miguel makes sure you feel just as much pleasure as he does.

Of course, because of his lack of free time, Miguel doesn’t care where or when it happens, he’s eating you out.

You’re in his office? Bend over.

You’re on your period? I guess he’s not beating the vampire allegations.

Pick a time or a place, he’s there, willing to thoroughly please you in whatever way he can.

Miguel is on his knees with your legs over his shoulders. His claws gently pricking at the soft of your thighs as he holds you still.

If you squirm too much, he is glaring at you from overtop your heat, pinning you in place with one of his massive hands.

His tongue runs laps in your cunt, teasing your clit and slurping you up. He’s eating you like a starved man, letting out small growls every now and again.

Miguel will refuse to touch himself until you’ve climaxed multiple times. He has the stamina to keep going for hours, and this is just a warm up for him. Besides, he’d rather see either of your pretty lips wrapped around his length over his hand.

When you’re a trembling, sopping mess underneath him, he’ll finally stop. His lower face is shiny as he licks his lips and hungrily smirks at you.

“Don’t think this is over, mi amor. This is just the beginning…”

Marc Spector / Steven Grant / Jake Lockley - Moon Knight

Marc wants you to feel as much pleasure as possible, because while he denies it, a part of him is a people pleaser. He always puts his partners above himself, including during intimate moments.

Marc is experienced and he will take the time to know what you like. Marc practically memorizes your body and what gets you riled up. But if he has the choice, he has you on your knees as he eats you out from behind.

Marc has you bent over as his tongue hits that perfect spot, causing you to tremble and moan in pleasure.

He loves seeing you grasp the sheets as you bury your face in your pillow, to him it’s a sign of validation, evidence that he’s making you feel good.

His hands grab at your thighs and ass as he goes to town. If he feels you try to pull away, he’ll swat your rear until you stay still.

When his mouth starts to ache, Marc will pull up and insert his fingers instead. He’ll move them in the way that has your toes curling and has muffled screams coming from your pillow.

Of course though, he finishes the job with his mouth back on you, drinking up every ounce you give him. He’ll lick his lips clean and kiss your cunt in praise.

“You did so good for me, darling…”

Steven is the most insecure of the boys. He never had the chance to date before, so he’s always worried about making you feel good. He especially worries when he hears how Marc talks about your guys' time together. Steven wants to make you feel just as good.

But Steven isn’t as affirmative as Marc or Jake.

Steven will keep you on your back, his hands feeling his favorite parts of your body. He loves to caress you.

Steven likes to be thorough but also to go slow. He wants you to feel every little moment he makes.

His tongue hits the spots you love, but it’s methodical, careful.

Steven pleasures you as though you could fall apart if he were to be too rough. But if you grind your hips or grab his hair, he’ll go a bit faster.

He lets you have control, his goal is to make you feel good, so why wouldn’t he listen to you?

Despite being focused on you, Steven won’t hesitate to make himself feel good too. Whether it’s with his hand or just humping at the mattress in front of him.

He definitely gets pussy drunk, babbling as dines on you.

“So pretty… so pretty…”

Jake, on the other hand, prefers to be a bit risky.

As much as he loves private moments with you (like the other boys), the thrill of getting caught makes it more exciting for him.

He’ll absolutely eat you out in his car or in an empty alleyway. All because you dressed up pretty for him or gave him that perfect smile of yours.

Jake likes to be quick but efficient with you, at least in public.

Jake sinks to his knees and pushes you against the brick wall. His hand stays on your stomach, making sure you don’t scramble from his grasp.

He’d start slow, intentionally making you panic about getting caught, but as he gets quicker, you become a moaning mess above him.

Jake will smirk as he makes quick work of you, making you finish quicker than you thought possible.

“Tan perfecta/o, mi vida… tan perfecta/o para mí…”

All of them love you so much, so sometimes after a hard day, they’ll each take turns making you feel good.

Steven most likely starts, being that he’s the most gentle. He’s a good warm up and he’s good for calming down without actually stopping. But with the other guys there too, he definitely is being a bit more aggressive to keep up.

Marc and Jake will take their turns, teasing and riling you up. Just between those two alone, your position is constantly changing, there’s no chance you’re getting sore from being stuck in one place.

Each of the boys will make sure you feel good, prioritizing you above all else. They even monitor each other through the many mirrors littered throughout the apartment. They just want their darling to feel good <3

Each will take their time, only stopping when you’re an overstimulated, crying mess.

Soft kisses and cuddling definitely ensue afterwards.

“Our beautiful darling…”

Basil Stitt - Lightningface

Basil, the pathetic, desperate, possessive loner. He will do anything for your attention. He will follow your every order. You don’t even have to touch him, he’ll cum just from eating you out. He loves you that much.

Basil is aggressive as he eats you out, desperate to make you finish. Because if you finish, you’ll stay, despite his scars.

He moans and whimpers more than you do as you pull him deeper into your cunt. His hands grapple at every curve of your body, desperate to make sure you’re real, that you want him.

Why would anyone want a monster like him? Even his own girlfriend cheated on him before his accident happened.

As he tastes you, he desperately chases your climax.

He needs you to feel good. He needs you.

When your legs tense around his head and you start praising him, he starts crying and finishes as well, his seed staining the floor below him.

His head falls against your inner thigh as his tears fall fast. He grabs at you harshly, his fear causing his chest to ache.

“Imsosorry… staywithmeplease…”

Anselm Vogelweide - Big Gold Brick

Anselm is a weirdo, a big horny weirdo, let’s get that out of the way.

Anselm will touch you and do whatever he wants whenever he wants. This kinky switch of a man will eat you out in any way possible, and it’s never simple.

Per his request, he lies tied up with you over him. His arms are completely restrained as he lets you control the situation.

Your glittering heat flutters as he blows on you, smirking at every little reaction you have. He loves your noises, especially when you’re loud.

Eventually you sit on his face, and groaning happily, he licks up into you.

Your hips rock back and forth on his face, his nose hitting your throbbing clit harshly. You’re breathing heavily as Anselm eats you up, his beard scratching the back of your legs as your hips move.

Despite being such an odd man, he absolutely knows what he’s doing, like— he’s extremely talented with his tongue alone. With every squirm and noise you make, he’s watching you like a hawk.

Your high builds and comes crashing down quickly. But when you start to move off, he harshly demands you get back.

“We aren’t done yet, doll. If you don’t get back on, I’ll kill myself.”

Blue Jones - Sucker Punch

Blue doesn’t eat you out for your pleasure, no- it’s to prove a point.

He owns you, just like he owns all the people working for his club. And because he owns you, he has to make sure you know how good only he can make you.

You were in the dressing room when he approached you, his eyes hungrily scanning your body.

Whether out of fear or attraction, you do everything he asks. So when he asks you to strip bare, you do exactly that.

With his head between your thighs, it’s hard to remember that this man could kill you without a second thought. He’s just too talented with his tongue.

Running a club has its perks, including having lots of practice in making others feel good. With all this practice, this man will do anything to make you squirt. He sees it as a sign of victory, that his toy likes him the best.

Your back is arching as Blue hits your sweet spot. Your hips lightly hump his face and nose, chasing your high. His hands grip your legs, letting you ride his face more and more.

You squirt all over his face, causing him to hum in approval.

When you finish, he licks a stripe through your arousal. Blue’s eyes meet yours.

“Bunny, do you act like such a desperate whore with all the clients?”

Poe Dameron - Star Wars

Lover of the sky, Poe is known for being quite flirty. With the constant travel, Poe has had his share of hookups and romantic partners.

Which is why, of course, Poe would do anything to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.

He’s cocky, sure, but when he brags about how loud he makes you scream, you know it’s the truth.

After a long day of travel, Poe is clinging to your cunt.

As his tongue runs laps through your folds, you tightly grip at his curls.

He’s already made you finish at least twice, and he’s desperate for another.

Your cunt is trembling from overstimulation, broken moans escaping your lips as you lazily try to pull him away.

With every faint tug of his hair, he pulls your body closer towards his mouth, not letting you escape.

His tongue circles your clit like a dehydrated man, wanting you to release and give every drop of yourself to him again and again.

When Poe gets you to release over his tongue once more, he doesn’t back off, speaking as he licks every drop.

“Just one more… Can you handle one more for me, baby?”

Nathan Bateman - Ex Machina

Nathan doesn’t eat you out normally, he much prefers using his fingers if he has to.

This man prefers making himself feel good above all else, he only tolerates making you feel good. Which is why he always makes you finish quickly or sometimes not at all, moving on to make sure he can get his pleasure from this exchange.

The only time he has eaten you out was when he walked in on you having a wet dream, mumbling his name as your legs spread under the blankets.

You wake up moaning loudly, Nathan tucked between your thighs, mouth to your aching core.

As he hits your sweet spot, you instinctively grab his head. His buzzed hair provides nothing to grip to as your hips sleepily grinds his face.

Everything feels extra sensitive and good, the lack of previous priority making you extra needy.

His beard provides a scratchy and satisfying feeling as his tongue laps up your soaked folds.

He doesn’t even acknowledge that you’ve awoken, now on a mission to make you finish on his mouth.

His hands grope at your waist and ass, gripping at all the soft flesh he can.

When you finish with trembling legs, he lifts his head, his beard glistening in your juices. His hand palms over his cock as he sits on his knees and stares down at you.

“Get up. It’s my turn.”

Duke Leto Atreides - Dune

Leto is a very busy man, but he does worship you when he gets the chance.

Constantly being needed by everyone, it feels nice to relax and give himself to the one person he wants to: you.

Sure, sometimes you’re under the table servicing him, but it’s not often he gets the chance to do the same for you.

He’s on his knees, worshiping your pussy like it is a divine god. Leto is praying to you with his tongue.

Leto is so focused on you, he can’t even acknowledge his own pleasure before he knows you’ve had some release.

He has to give his baby some extra care while he has the chance <3

His hands touch every inch that he can, worshiping all of you that he can.

Leto’s nose bumps your clit as he watches you like prey, he just loves your blissed out expression.

When you two make eye contact, he makes his assault that much more pleasurable. Whether that’s adding in his fingers or reaching deep into you with his tongue. Man loves his eye contact.

When you climax, he’s smiling and peppering kisses over your inner thighs.

“I still have time, shall we go for another?”

Prince John - Robin Hood (2010)

John is a man of pleasure, and he will devour you as long as he gets some in return. Just… never mention your ex or past relationships, he gets jealous.

He loves different positions and experimenting with you, as long as you’re both having fun or a good time, then he’s more than happy.

John, the whiny man, is begging into your cunt as you two eat each other up.

Your mouth is wrapped around his length as he laps up your warmth.

With each stroke of your tongue, he moves his in tandem. Every moan you gain from him, wonderfully rumbles your pussy.

His hands grasp and pull your ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh.

John eats you like a starved man, because despite his regal status, you are by far the best meal he’s eaten.

At least that’s what he’d be saying if it weren’t the end to your guys night of pleasure, and John didn’t need an heir.

He probably isn’t the most thrilled to be eating his and your cum out of your pussy, but it's you, so he can’t complain.

Together, you finish and clean each other of every last drop, leaving both of you exhausted.

John pats his shoulder.

“Come, rest your head.”

Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Triple Frontier

Santiago loves to tease you. No matter the situation or place, he will edge you until you’re crying.

He likes seeing you as a whimpering mess, begging for some relief.

You were just on the cusp of finishing when Santiago pulled away, watching as you begged him to let you cum.

He’d chuckle and hold your hands hostage, not letting you get the chance to finish what he started.

As you start to come down from your high, he’d go back in, licking and eating your cunt out.

As you squirm, chasing your release, he’d cage your legs in place with his arms and hands. You’re not allowed to escape him or his constant teasing.

When he finally lets you finish, you’re a trembling mess, your hole clutching at his tongue as he eats every last drop.

“You’re so cute like this… maybe I should go again?”

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Thanks for reading!

Lmk if you want me to add more of his characters or do a different set of characters (like Genshin men for ex.)

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