They Look Like They're Waiting For A Treat

special attention pt. 3

dottore x m!reader

Request : HI- I noticed you have your requests open so I'm super excited! I love your writing sm. If possible, can I request like a continuation of your Dottore and fatui! Reader? Maybe one where the reader (sub & bottom) is assigned under another harbinger so all of his attention has been on this other harbinger instead of on Dottore (dom & top)? If not then that's okay! - Anonymous

Synopsis: Dottore has enough of his subpar Agents and decides to take you back.

part 1 | part 2

a/n -> i did it omg. super sorry ive been gone again! life was a bit busy but now that summer is coming up i might be able to write these a bit faster. im not super proud of this one since im kinda rusty rn but i hope this is at least decent! also, sorry for the sudden change in appearance!

wc -> 3.4k

cw -> anal fingering, anal sex, spit as lube, desk/office sex, choking, slight overstim, pretty vanilla overall ig, he's kinda possessive so there's that, not beta read

"Stupid, incompetent—" The Harbinger before the cowering Fatui subordinate cut himself off with an agitated sigh. It was quiet for a few moments, save for the agent's nervous breaths. Dottore wasn't one to get irritated very often, let alone angry. Perhaps the results produced by his previous agent skyrocketed his standards – or maybe this one was just dumber than an idiot.

"Please, help me comprehend how you lost not one," The Agent looked just about ready to sink into the floor. "not two, but six bases?"

The subordinate struggled to answer, mouth gaping open and closed as their hands shook in ill-concealed fear. Maybe in different circumstances, he would've given an amused quirk of his lips, though this was the last thing he needed right now. Instead, his lips curled into a scowl.

"W-We were... Overwhelmed..." they stammered pathetically.

"Clearly," Dottore said, impatiently tapping his finger on his knuckle. "I'm certain you're capable of speaking properly."

"We were ambushed by a horde of Mitachurls..." There was a beat of silence.

"And?"

They did not answer. "Don't tell me you lost all six because of mere Mitachurls."

Dottore's frown deepened. "That seems a bit coincidental, don't you think? If you're going to lie, do it well." He sighed. "Dismissed. I'll see to it you're placed back under basic training."

His voice held a monotonous tone to it that made the Agent fidget in place.

"It was a mistake—"

"Dismissed. I've already given you a chance to explain yourself. I have no need for your negligent incompetency."

He watched as the Agent hurried out of his office, and he had half the mind to yank them back inside when they slammed the door shut. He ground his teeth, irritated with the turn of events. He was going to need a new subordinate. Again.

He sighed. Not one of them managed to regain lost fortresses within a week, and he's been losing more than he thought possible. He, number 2 of the Harbingers, lost more than number 11. He was angry, above all else, but there was also the undeniable burn of humiliation at that fact.

It nearly surprised him how weak the soldiers sent to him were. Or perhaps they were always this way, and having you raised his expectations tenfold. He knew your strength and self-control were, by far, your best virtues, and it so happened to be what others were lacking. You were sent away to another Harbinger to keep the other Agents in check, and while he may have been the slightest bit proud to have managed to acquire an Agent that proved to be what everyone else needed, he was growing tired of having to wait for your return.

He shoved the articles that struck irritation through his chest into a drawer and stood from his chair. Quickly striding out of his office, he set out to search for you.

It didn't take him long to find you, though it was purely an accident. You were swiftly walking down the echoing hallways with a few papers and a relic that he didn't care to identify before he called your name.

"Agent [L.Name]," he spoke, his voice even.

"Yes, Lord Harbinger?" You paused in front of him after offering a slight bow. You fidgeted. "I apologize for the urgency, but Lady Arlecchino requests that I hurry with submitting my report."

"I am rescinding my permission to allow you to work under someone else." Even with your mask on, he was easily able to discern your surprise. The slight curl of your fingers was a dead giveaway, though, to any other person, it might've come off as idle shifting.

You were at a loss for what to do. You couldn't go against your current superior, but you also couldn't defy the words of one of the highest-ranking Harbingers that was still technically your boss.

"Lady Arlecchino said that I must hurry in delivering this item, and I'd rather not break her trust..." you trailed off as you observed him under your mask, something he was no doubt doing to you under his.

You nervously ground your teeth at the frown that crossed his face but remained steadfast with your words.

"Your loyalty is a virtue, but I'm afraid you've placed it upon the wrong person." He positioned his hands behind his back. "I will handle her when the time comes. Now, you respond to me."

"Yes, sir," you said after a moment. While you felt a tinge of relief at finally being able to work under him again, you felt a bit uncomfortable with leaving an assignment just as you were about to finish. But you knew you were going to have to set aside what you felt at the moment - you had a feeling something was off.

You thought about asking him what was wrong but decided against it with hopes that he'll bring it up himself. He wasn't the type to search for someone unless he needed them.

Your shoes tapped against the cold marble floors as you walked silently, following behind at a respectful distance. It didn't take long for you to reach his office, neither of you wasting time to get in.

"During your absence, many others have arrived to take your place. None of them have managed to produce quality or successful reports." He handed you a few papers for you to skim through. Without missing a beat, you did what was wordlessly told and blinked slowly underneath your mask. How could someone possibly fuck up this bad?

You startled a bit when you felt a hand rest on your hip, but maintained your usual demeanor.

"Would you like me to train the new recruits? Starting from there prevents more of this from happening," you questioned, curiously peering at him over your shoulder. "Or do you suggest otherwise?"

Dottore hummed. "I suggest that you assist me in relieving some of the irritation the others have caused."

You swallowed as anticipation bubbled in your chest. "Of course, my Lord."

"Mask." Was all he said, voice demanding and stern.

You wordlessly nodded, raising your hand to remove your mask and hood. There was a prickling sensation on the side of your face where his gaze bore into you, studying every twitch of your muscles. You could feel your skin grow hot, and with the way the corners of his lips slightly raised, he could see it, too.

Your nerves were abuzz with excitement, pooling in your gut that spread outwards towards your fingertips. You resisted the urge to rub your thighs together for some semblance of relief, clenching your jaw tightly.

"Already? Were you anticipating this from the start?" he mused, dragging his fingertips across your crotch. "How needy."

He squeezed lightly before abandoning the area, placing a hand on your chest to slip it underneath your thick coat, silently urging you to take it off. You did without complaint, finding the fur inside overbearing. You tried to toss it on the floor as neatly as you could before his hands found themselves beneath your shirt, gliding his cold, gloved palms over your scalding skin.

As quickly as they came, they left, only to push you down onto his desk. Your breath was caught in your throat, curling your fingers into a fist as you reveled in how he dragged his hands down your body to curl his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants. He wasted no time in sliding your pants off, swiftly pressing a palm against your aching cock.

You sighed at the touch, shifting your hips forward in search of relief. He gently squeezed and stroked you through your boxers with a quiet, condescending laugh.

He pinned you to the desk by the top of your back and began grinding against your ass, leisurely thrusting while observing the way your hands twitched to stimulate yourself even further.

With an amused smile, he suddenly pulled away completely. You shivered at the absence of his body heat, peering over your shoulder to send him a questioning look.

"I must thank you for your assistance," he said, rounding the corner of his desk. "I feel quite relaxed, now."

"I-Wh..." you stammered, trying to peer through his mask despite the lack of eyes.

"What's the matter? I'm afraid you need to speak up if you want me to understand you." He crossed his arms in a faux contemplative manner. Your face burned, unable to properly look at him.

"Oh, don't get shy on me now," he spoke with a mocking tone in his voice, standing directly across from you as he grabbed you by your chin. It was a firm hold, and you were unlikely to be able to free yourself from him - not that you wanted to, anyway. "It's a simple request. Tell me what you want."

Your mouth opened and closed pitifully before you finally responded, "I want you to keep touching me."

"See? That wasn't so difficult, now was it?" His grin widened a fraction and he returned to his place behind you. He enjoyed the way you were so easily reduced into a sheepish mess by just a few of his touches that you were sure were laced with some type of drug.

He removed his gloves and snaked one of his hands up your throat to your mouth, wordlessly commanding you to suck on his fingers. You readily complied and swirled your tongue around his skin which tasted faintly of chemicals and salt. Your heart pounded in your chest when he pushed them deeper, chest rising and falling in shallow intervals. You wrapped your lips around them and sucked, treating them as if they were his cock (which you secretly craved, but you supposed it wasn't much of a secret anymore).

Dottore could feel heat rising in his abdomen the longer he held them in your mouth, pleased with your eagerness.

A string of saliva connected you to him when he pulled away, his free hand sliding your underwear down your legs. He prodded your hole for a few agonizing moments just to listen to your hitching breaths before he finally inserted them inside you. His thick fingers provided a slight burn, but it quickly morphed into arousal.

He moved at a leisurely pace, enjoying your increasing impatience as you tried dutifully to keep your desperation at bay. He made sure to avoid your prostate to leave you needy for more, pressing against areas close to where you wanted him. You let out frustrated sighs but refused to voice out your complaints, letting him follow his own pace.

It was amusing to see you try hard to maintain your slipping composure, but he knew that soon enough, it would collapse completely.

You tensed when he removed his fingers from you, anticipating the familiar feeling of his cockhead against your hole, but it never came.

"You know, I think I may have had a change of heart," he said with a thoughtful tone. "Perhaps you should report to Arlecchino after all."

"Wait-" you pleaded, voice high and frantic. "S-surely you're not serious?"

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

You swallowed hard. Dottore is unpredictable - that much you learned. For all you know, he could be entirely sincere and you'd look like a fool, but a part of you believes that he's only messing with you. Getting you flustered was often a part of his intentions when he was around you, so it wasn't impossible.

"Because you do not back away from your plans when they're already set, regardless of how you think it may turn out."

"And might you enlighten me in what you think said plans are?"

You swallowed nervously as quiet words spilled from your lips. "To fuck me..."

There was a moment of agonizing silence (for you, at least) before a smile overtook his features. "I'm flattered you know me so well."

You bit your lip in anticipation when you heard the rustle of fabric behind you. You could hardly repress a shudder when you listened to him spit on his cock before pressing himself against your hole, holding your waist tightly with one hand while the other guided him inside.

You groaned at the burning sensation from the lack of preparation he provided you. Your dick ached to be touched, but you resisted and relished in the pain of having to wait.

"Fuck," Dottore hissed, fighting valiantly to keep himself from shoving his cock inside you. "You're tighter than the last time I fucked you."

"Just for you," your words were breathy, your rigid Agent persona slipping away by the minute. It almost made him laugh at how easy it was to break you down like this.

"For me?" he cooed, cock throbbing. "You poor thing. You had to wait so long just to finally have me fuck you, didn't you?"

You nodded, heavy pants exiting your lips. You peered at him from over your shoulder, eyes wide and watery; there was no calm Fatuus to be seen, and he found that he adored this side of you. He could hardly suppress a smile, instead focusing on how you tightened so pleasurably around him.

"It's almost hard to believe you haven't been whoring yourself out this entire time," he muttered, partially to you. "But I know that only I am able to satisfy you like this. Or am I wrong?"

He didn't expect an answer from you - not when you could hardly keep yourself standing. He curled his fingers in your hair and yanked, forcing you to look at him. Your incoherence wasn't going to stop him from trying.

"Well?"

"N-No... only you." Your cock throbbed.

"Thought so."

He let you go in favor of holding your hips firmly, pulling out briefly to slam himself back in. The sting of him stretching you out paired deliciously with the pleasure of his cockhead against your prostate, gradually speeding up until you had to cover your mouth to prevent your moans from escaping the office.

"None of that," Dottore muttered, pulling your arm away from your face. "Let them hear. Let them know you're not for the taking any longer."

Skin slapping skin echoed in the dimly lit room, accompanied by your noises that left no room for imagination. He pulled you by the waist and wrist, tugging you onto his cock as he thrusted forward.

Your dick produced precum that dripped into the cold, marble floor, aching to be touched. The need for release burned hotter in your abdomen, and you couldn't stop yourself from subconsciously moving your hips to fuck yourself onto him.

He paused for a moment to allow you to take a brief moment of control. A condescending smile overtook his features before he regained his previous pace, driving himself forward hard enough to sting. The pain only served to enhance the ecstasy that was brought upon you, lust pooling in the pit of your stomach.

It took a great deal of restraint to prevent yourself from reaching down and jerking yourself off, your nails creating thin indents on the firm wood of the desk. He could feel you tighten around him considerably and he nearly groaned, but let out a heavy sigh through his nose instead.

Snaking one hand up your throat, he pulled you to his chest and squeezed. You instinctively wrapped your fingers around his wrist but made no attempt to pull him away. He used his other hand to tightly grasp the base of your cock, interrupting your incoming orgasm.

You let your eyes flutter shut as drool escaped the corners of your lips, too hazy-minded to remember to swallow. Raspy breaths left your throat as your ears gradually began to ring, chest tightening with a need for air, but the deprivation only sent an addicting heat through your body.

You nearly choked on your saliva when his grip went lax, not entirely moving away, but enough to let you breathe. It was hard to inhale properly when he fucked the breath out of you, but you knew that that was the best part.

"Oh, fuck, pl-please," you babble, voice raspy.

"Please what?" Dottore spoke beside your ear. "I'm not a mind reader."

He subtly angled himself and targeted your prostate to hinder your words, a faint smile lifting his face at every stutter and cry you produced. You weakly tugged on his wrist in a vain attempt to tell him what you wanted, but he remained steadfast on hearing it from your lips.

"You can use your words, can't you?" He moved his hand from your neck to begin stroking your cock, the tip flushing an angry red.

"G-God, please-" you stammered before crying out, "Please let me cum!"

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He relished in your pained groan when he briefly tightened his grip before releasing you, quickly guiding you to your orgasm with every flick of his wrist.

Electricity shot down your spine and pooled in your stomach as soon as he let go, catching you off guard. Your fingernails dug into his glove as you nearly curled into yourself, legs trembling so intensely it was a miracle you managed to hold yourself up thus far.

Your chest quickly heaved up and down. "W-Wait-"

"Quiet," Dottore shushed you. "You wanted this. Don't go back on your word."

You focused on his voice, noticing how steady and calm he sounded compared to your desperate pleas for release. A feeling of chagrin filled your chest, making an effort to control your noises, but your struggle was futile.

Tears dotted your lashes when the coil within your abdomen tightened until it finally snapped, the heat of your orgasm washing over you in powerful surges. You arched your back as your jaw went slack in a silent scream. Your cum spurt out of your cock and landed on the marble floor in a small puddle.

"I should do that more, shouldn't I?" Dottore said with a sharp-toothed grin. He wrapped his free arm around your waist when your quivering legs were unable to support your weight any longer, leaning your top half back on the desk.

You'd nod along with him if you were capable of comprehending his words, but the rhythmic pulses of burning ecstasy prevented you from replying - not that he minded. His dick pressed against your prostate despite you having just orgasmed, his relentless pace not once slowing down. The only sign of exertion he offered you was his labored breaths and occasional grunt, but even those were quiet.

You could feel his cock throb in a way that let you know he was close. You managed to strengthen your legs and started fucking yourself onto him, prompting him to straighten himself and watch.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" he teased, hands resting on your hips. He leaned his head back and let out a satisfied groan that sent electricity shooting down your spine.

His fingertips gradually began to dig into your skin until he held you hard enough to bruise. He allowed you this semblance of control for a few more moments before yanking your hips to him with a few final thrusts, stilling as you shuddered at the feel of his cum coating your insides.

Your legs nearly went limp again, but you managed to keep yourself standing - albeit with an embarrassing amount of effort. You could hear his deep breaths behind you as both of you steeped in the silent afterglow. You suppressed a flinch when he decided to pull out, sighing at the uncomfortable emptiness it left.

You swiftly dressed yourself when you heard quiet shuffling, pulling out a handkerchief to clean your cum off the floor.

"Now, then," Dottore said as soon as you stood upright. "You have much to do since your absence. It'd be best if you began right away."

You nodded, slipping your mask back on your face.

"I don't care how you do it, I only want the results. Understood?"

"Of course." Your voice was back to its neutral tone, making the corner of the Harbinger's lips twitch upwards. It amused him how you responded so professionally despite him having fucked you not moments before. With a final nod, you left his office.

He turned to his desk once more, remembering the papers that he unceremoniously shoved inside the drawers. He sighed. It was back to work.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU TALENTED BEAUTIFUL MAN!

Happy Birthday to this sweetheart of a man and the most talented actor. You deserve all the success coming your way! All of us fans love you!! 🎂🎈🎁🥳🎉❤️

holy fweaking fweak, that body of yours is absurd

Hobie x deadpool reader or spider reader

Hobie Brown x Deadpool male reader

Headcanons

I love Deadpool, who doesn’t love Deadpool? I tried to think of what Deadpool would be like in Hobies’ earth, and I just feel like he would kinda just be the same as always, except maybe with a metal aesthetic. And any chance to work my favorite music into stuff? I’m taking it.

You were Deadpool, and had been Deadpool for a long time. In the beginning it had just been your musician and artist name. Much of your music was different types of metal, with lyrics focused on judging the system and pointing fingers at its corruption.

Of course, a lot of people hated your music, but there was also those who loved it. One of them being Hobie Brown. Even before he became spiderman, hed always been a very righteous person with strong opinions about corruption and capitalism, so finding an artist who shared his views was great.

That was until you got a little too popular and stepped on the wrong people’s toes with your music and art. When you started pointing fingers at Osborn and his wild corruption, those against you grew more and more violent.

And at one of your biggest concerts to date, one that offered all the proceeds to those in need, you were assassinated right on stage. Theories would go around saying it was Osborn wanting to get rid of you, and telling everyone what would happen if they crossed him.

Panic consumed the arena after you were shot right on stage, and in the panic your body was whisked away. Deadpool became an icon in the anarchist circle, as one of the first to stand up against suppression and never back down no matter what.

Time would pass, Hobie would become Spiderman, and he would fight people like Osborn, even killing the guy with his guitar in the end.

But even after killing Osborn, the world was still in disarray, meaning a lot of work had to be done. So, when someone who went by Deadpool started popping up in stories and rumors, it caught people’s attention.

It was assumed you were just a fan, who wanted to use the legendary name of Deadpool to spread your message, or maybe the honor the original Deadpool. That was until people met you though.

You had the same clothes, only now wearing a mask. Your boots, your jacket, your spikes, and patches, even your guitar, you had it all. And on closer inspection, true fans could see it was the real thing.

You were almost like a ghost of the past, stories would go around that you were the angered spirit of the musician Deadpool, having crawled out of hell to wreak havoc on the upper class and tear out the roots of capitalism.

Hobie would want to meet you of course, you were like his hero and biggest inspiration. The first time you two would meet would be during a fight of some sort, and you’d chuck your guitar across the battlefield to nail a corrupt cop in the head before they could get a lucky shot at Hobie.

After that you two became close like two peas in a pod. Hobie would never treat you like you were someone above him, even though he had admired you for years, because he doesn’t believe in treating celebrities like gods.

Soon Deadpool and Spiderman being spotted together was a common sight, and so was seeing spiderman swing around with Deadpool in his arms or hanging on his back like a koala.

You never really take off your mask in the beginning, but when you do Hobie learns why you keep it on. You have a large scar taking up part of your head where the bullet had blown your head apart all that time ago.

You had apparently always been a mutant with a light healing factor, which had kept you alive, but you had been whisked away from Osborn researchers who wanted to use your healing factor. But in the end, they’d simply boosted your powers and you became pretty much unkillable.

This leads to you taking most of the hits during battle, since you can easily take it, anything you lose will just grow back. That doesn’t stop Hobie from worrying though, because seeing someone get their arm sliced off is pretty extreme.

Your first kiss is something you’d only have with a version of Deadpool. Hobie would be carrying your head after it’s been sliced off, and you would be asking him for a kiss and blowing him kisses from where hes carrying your head.

Now, anyone normal wouldn’t do what Hobie does, but Hobie doesn’t like to fit the mold. So, he would lift your severed but still living head and kiss you on the lips. Cue a make out until your body stumbles over and you can get your head back on.

You two never actually put a label to what you are, because that’s not the type of person you two are. But you two are pretty much dating now. You move into an apartment together, and sleep in the same bed at night, and kiss whenever you want.

Spiderman and Deadpool pretty much become icons in your community, for standing up towards oppression, and also being two hot guys who hold concerts after fights.

The Jackal and The Bird | 2

chapter summary: Somehow, Y/n's husband having DID makes a lot more sense than jumping out windows in Austria. Also Steven really shouldn't be seeing any of this.

a/n: let me know how yall feel about the long chapters

(t/w): m/m, cursing

for m/nblm, no fem aligned

masterlist

Your Husband Switches Nationalities

Steven had texted Dylan the moment he got into your penthouse. No, he had no idea if this was a date, but he wanted it to be. And that was enough for him to send an apologetic text about how he was pretty sure he liked men.

Dylan didn’t seem thrilled, but at least she didn’t hate him.

The second the interaction was over, he shoved his phone in his pocket, eager to focus on spending time with you.

All the while, you were eager to question Anubis.

You’d slipped out of the room under the guise of changing out of your suit, walking into your room upstairs.

You slid off your suit pants and stuffy button-up shirt, sliding on a much more comfortable t-shirt.

Only a moment after, you felt Anubis enter the room, lounging on your bed that was far too small for him.

“Who is he?”

You asked the question swarming your head, even though you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“Marc,” Anubis answered swiftly. He seemed unamused with your question, but it’s not like he was being very helpful either.

“Yes, I can see that,” you complained. “But you said I wasn’t speaking to Marc.”

“You weren’t.”

You glared at Anubis, hating how smug he seemed. “You aren’t helpful.”

After a momentary staring contest, the god sighed. “I sense a fracture within his mind. He is Marc, but not as you know him. I do not know more, I’m sorry my friend.”

As annoying as it was, you were sure Anubis was telling the truth.

You stepped out of your room, joining Marc again in your living room. He was looking around, seemingly fascinated with the place.

Your apartment (more like penthouse) was on the fancy side, you knew that much. A few, less expensive, artifacts were housed in glass cases, all of which Ma-Steven was staring at with wide eyes.

You knew it was Marc. It had to be Marc. But at the same time, he was so different.

Now that you stood within your apartment, you had to ask. You just had to.

“You really don’t remember me?”

Steven’s head snapped up, meeting your eyes. He studied your face for a moment before a guilty expression covered it.

“No… I’m sorry. Have we met before this? I think I’d remember someone like you,” He tried joking.

“We’re married.”

That froze him completely. He struggled to get a word out for a bit, sounding like he was choking on his own words.

“We used to live in America together. We met years ago. We’ve been married a good while, actually. Spent most of the past months hunting down the scarab with a friend of ours,” You tried explaining, looking for any sense of familiarity.

None came.

“You don’t remember any of that?”

Steven stared at you blankly before shaking his head sadly.

“...I’m sorry,” he offered. “I’d like to remember you, I really would. But I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

You knew you didn’t. No matter what Anubis said, if this really was Marc, your husband had to be in there somewhere… right?

“Do you… do you still want a divorce?”

Steven’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You never really gave me the papers, but I found them after you left.” You watched his expression fall further, as he stared at you, almost sympathetic. “Is… is this your way of forcing me out? If you don’t want me anymore you can say so. There’s no need to put this act up.”

“I’d never divorce you.”

The accent had stayed. It wasn’t Marc. But the way he said it… he was so sure of himself. It brought a bubble to your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Then why are you doing this, Marc?”

He looked distressed. More distressed than you’d seen him, even when fighting for his life.

“I… I’m so sorry, I’m really not Marc. Never even heard of him.”

This really wasn’t your husband.

“You don’t know me at all? You really don’t?”

You stepped closer to him until you were face to face, his breath mixing with yours. He seemed a bit alarmed, even blushing a bit.

“No… I’m awfully sorry.”

You placed a hand on his face, not missing how he leaned into your touch slightly.

“If you’re not him, if you’re really not him,” You took a deep breath, looking deep into the eyes that you were certain belonged to your husband. “Tell me about you.”

“Me?” He questioned, as if he couldn’t fathom why someone would think about him. Your only question was how someone could not think about him.

“Yes, Steven,” You chuckled, memorizing the way a smile spread across his face. “You.”

The smile fell suddenly before he spoke. “Didn’t you say you’ve got a husband though?” Your brows furrowed and his mouth gaped. “I mean, if you wanted this to be a date. I didn’t even ask about that, I’m sorry. I just kind of assumed, but y’know, I don-”

“Obviously, my husband has other life plans. Especially considering the divorce papers,” He looked a bit less distressed at your calm response. “I have to figure out my emotions, I suppose. Confusing day. But I do still want to know you, Steven. Even if it’s not a date yet.”

You saw the way his eyes lit up at the word ‘yet’. Honestly, it was adorable.

Would you like to date the man that looked exactly like Marc (and most definitely was)? Maybe. But if you agreed to a date now, you knew you’d feel strange the whole time.

So, you and Steven spent the night doing exactly what you’d suggested, dinner and talking.

Steven had rambled on about his favorite myths. Though you’d heard all of them, you didn’t stop him once. Even the sound of his voice was nice.

He’d asked about your collection, spitting out question after question, all of which you answered happily.

Eventually, you realized it was far later than you wanted it to be. Steven wanted to go home, but you insisted on him staying. You were exhausted, and it was obvious neither of you should be driving at 3am (thank god you both had tomorrow off… well, you had emailed in and given Steven the day off, but that hardly mattered).

Even after he explained he was a sleep walker, nervously saying he usually had a much more ‘secure’ set up, whatever that meant. But you’d persisted nonetheless. He gave in after a bit, and, very reluctantly, slept in your bed with you.

It was nothing more than that, of course, but the blush on Steven’s face would say otherwise.

You’d offered to take the couch plenty of times, but Steven was far too nice for that. And when he offered to do so, you insisted it was fine. Besides, you were comfortable with him. Maybe more comfortable than you should be, considering he swore he didn’t remember being married and was suddenly British.

But still, you’d fallen asleep just fine that night.

Marc woke up in a t-shirt and boxers in a rather comfortable bed.

Though the plush pillows were a bit suspicious, nothing was weirder than the fact that it was most definitely not his t-shirt.

He sat up with a bit of a start, looking around the room. It was larger, much bigger than the flat he was used to waking up in. The covers were soft and dark, even with the sun rising.

But he felt a pang of sadness when he saw you sleeping next to him.

It was a sight he didn’t realize he missed so much.

Whenever he got to wake up in the body, a part of him reached out to his side, expecting to feel you there. But you never were. You hadn’t been the past few months.

Slowly, he’d grown used to his bed being cold and having no chest to sleep against. But the second he saw you, he was reminded just how much he missed seeing your calm face, still fast asleep and curled into your covers.

Steven, naturally, hadn’t listened to him at all. He’d be upset, but Steven didn’t even know he existed, it was hard for him to blame the guy.

Besides, it was hardly the first time someone else had attempted to hit on you.

Part of him was jealous of how fast you were drawn to Steven. He knew it was just because they shared a body, but part of him was worried you’d like Steven more.

Steven was nice. Steven was kind, and driven, and passionate. Steven wanted to love you with a burning innocence Marc hadn’t had since he was a young child. And Steven wasn’t a murderer.

Even when you’d eventually find out about Marc still being there, would you even want him? Or would you rather spend time with the nice British gift-shopist who was thrilled that you were even looking in his direction.

“Hurry up, I cannot wait all day.”

Khonshu’s voice broke Marc out of his borderline trance, drawing his attention to the tall bird sitting in your plush desk chair.

“You can, it’ll be a while before we even arrive. And then we have to worry about actually finding the right place. We have time,” Marc assured. Khonshu knew he was right of course, though he didn’t look happy about it. Instead, the bird simply vanished, not uttering a response.

Marc sighed, running a rough hand down his face and slumping backward.

Unfortunately, the action disturbed you, his hand hitting your side.

Before he could think of a way out, your eyes opened, landing on him. He could see the gears turning in your mind for a moment before you worked out last night.

“Steven,” You said, smiling in a way Marc had dearly missed. “I hope you weren’t worried about work, I may have switched your shifts around.” You chuckled a bit, expecting the man to let out a sigh of relief, maybe go back to sleep. But he looked just as tense as before.

Your brow furrowed, watching the man’s actions. His body language was different. It felt like he was trying not to trip up an alarm, arms tense and body ready to take off running. He watched you as if your were some kind of predator, waiting for a slip up. It was more rigid than you remembered, his posture straighter and expression more sure of himself.

“Oh, right. That’s fine. Gotta head home though,” He said, trying to speak as quickly as possible.

Now, you weren’t the best with accents. Occasionally you’d get your countries mixed up (why did the US and Canada sound so similar?!), but you knew damn well that is not a British accent. Honestly, you didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t Steven.

The voice was a bit deeper than his, less… free. Steven still sounded like he had yet to witness the world. Like he was a child who’d only read storybooks about what life was like. This voice belonged to someone who’d seen far more than they wanted to.

“...Marc?”

For some reason, the man in front of you looked surprised.

“What do you mean?” He said, trying the accent once again. You were still rather unimpressed. You were pretty sure Steven couldn’t do a phony accent this bad if he tried to.

“Don’t patronize me,” You said, expression flat.

“I really can’t do accents, huh?”

“No, you really can’t.”

…

The room was silent for far too long.

…

“Why?”

The simple question was all you really needed to ask. There were so many ‘whys’.

Why leave, why London, why a museum, why Steven. And Marc seemed hesitant to answer any of them.

“He’s me. I mean, he’s not me. He’s his own person. He lives his life, and I keep up with whatever Khonshu wants.”

You’d heard of situations like that before, though it usually went by the term ‘DID’. It was rare, though far from impossible.

And, uh, you had a giant jackal who hung out in your shower sometimes. Having multiple personalities was far from the most ridiculous thing you’d seen. Hell, you didn’t even think it was the most ridiculous thing you’ve seen this week.

“For your whole life?” you asked. He only nodded and a small part of you broke. He didn’t tell you?

Was he afraid you’d leave? Why would you ever leave someone like Marc?!

You didn’t say anything else, just pulled him into the embrace you’d wanted to for so long now.

It was a lot to process. It felt like a lie. Like you’d been spending your marriage with a man you barely knew.

But you did know Marc. You knew everything about him. His past, and hopefully his future.

You’d learned his favorite foods, favorite colors. Which songs he’d hum and which ones he hated to hear. You’d learned the way he liked his toast made and exactly where how hot he wanted his showers. You knew which of your shirts he’d steal and which movies he’d watch on repeat.

You just didn’t know Steven yet.

And with everything you knew about Marc, you knew one thing for certain.

“I love you.”

And those words seemed to be enough for him.

Marc wasn’t one to cry. He didn’t ‘do’ emotional break downs or sobbing (at least he pretended like he didn’t). But you’d seen him emotional. You’d seen him in every state you could think of.

And this time, he buried his head in the crook of your neck and took a few shaky breaths.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed there. You felt a few warm drops on your shoulder, but you didn’t mention them. You simply held him closer, like you’d done so many nights before. You knew you’d let him stay as long as he wanted.

When he eventually pulled away, he couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You offered, watching as you drew a confused look from him.

Your first assumption was that he’d found out you were… far less human than he thought. Even your mother was only half human, leaving you with very little in common with the standard people on Earth.

If you were him, you’d have left too.

“I should’ve explained,” You said, looking away from him. “I owed you that much.”

Marc hadn’t exactly told you the truth about him and Steven, but you hadn’t told him the truth either, had you?

“I didn’t leave ‘cause of you,” He said, scoffing. “You weren’t safe.”

Now that was ridiculous. Granted, Marc didn’t really know how ridiculous it was, but he knew you could hold your own.

“I can handle myself, Marc.”

“You don’t have healing armor.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to explain that now. It was better Marc didn’t know. He was already so involved in the god’s messy issues, the last thing you needed was him knowing he was married to a demigod.

“Isn’t that my decision?” You questioned, your voice soft. “Whether I feel like putting myself in danger, shouldn’t I get to decide?”

He was quiet for a moment, but you interrupted him before he could speak. “You do it every night. You don’t get a choice anymore. But I have one. And I’d choose you every time instead of living some safe cushy life.”

You hated the way he looked ashamed of himself, but you couldn’t let him abandon you again. He didn’t have to be ashamed. You meant it. You’d chose him every time if it meant keeping him just a little bit safer.

“Whatever the hell you’re doing, I’m in, Marc. I’m not leaving you.”

Okay, when you insisted on coming with him, you really didn’t think you’d end up jumping out a fucking window in Austria.

To take it from the beginning, you and Marc had managed to locate the scarab, which he’d been doing for the past several months. The entire way he told you to go home, which you ignored every time.

Taking out Harrow’s guards was fairly simple. Considering that Marc had the suit and you were a demigod (who had to keep Marc from seeing bullets bounce off you), it was pretty easy to power through them.

The only real issue was lacking an escape and having to dive bomb through a lovely glass window at the edge of a strangely fancy room.

Marc landed face first, as if he passed out mid-jump. You’d landed on your feet, the significant drop barely affecting you.

“Well, not our best exit,” you joked, hoping Marc wasn’t questioning your lack of injuries too much. But when you looked back, he was face down, a few drops of blood falling down his face.

The blood was almost certainly not his, especially since Khonshu healed all his wounds, but you still walked up to him, reaching out to check if he was alright.

Not even a second later, his eyes shot open. A let out a series of alarmed-sounding moans, not able to form words correctly.

“Hey, hey,” You said, noting the way his jaw tilted way too much to one side. “You’re alright, love.”

You reached out, cupping his face and snapping the dislocated bone into place. It was sure to be sore, but it’d fix the moment he summoned his suit again.

“You alright there?” You asked, meeting his confused eyeline.

“Y/n? Where are we?”

His voice had changed. Now that you looked closely, so had his body language. It was like he was smaller, hunching over slightly. He looked a bit nervous, though he calmed down a touch when he met your eye.

“Bit of a trip, maybe not our best call,” You said jokingly, hoping he wouldn’t question too much.

You saw Steven jump, startled seemingly by nothing. You squinted, sensing a presence. It came as soon as it went through, vanishing in the wind. You suspected it was Khonshu, who likely attempted to instruct his avatar.

The sound of voices drew your attention to the window above you, a man’s head sticking out. Alarm rose in you, mostly for Steven. Despite you trying to get him out of the way, he only waved at the man… who waved back.

Wow, that guy was bad at his job.

“What are you doing?!” A coworker questioned, saying the same question you had, before aiming a rifle down at you.

Steven seemed to understand the danger then. Though he tried to run in behind you, you switched it around at the last minute, making sure any possible bullets would hit you instead.

Thankfully they were worse than stormtroopers and hadn’t hit you. Honestly, not a single shot? Really?

The people in town didn’t seem too alarmed as they likely hadn’t heard the shots. You and Steven had carried on, both of you flipping up hoods and dodging guards looking around for you.

“What the bloody hell is happening?!” Steven questioned, harshly whispering. There wasn’t really a need to whisper, but it was obvious that Steven was just scared.

“It’s a long story,” You said, noting how Steven looked nervous from your raised voice. “I’m going to need you to trust me, okay?” You said, now whispering to appease the anxiety he clearly felt.

You both landed in the center of town, cut off at almost every turn by Harrow’s guards. They weren’t very intelligent (or vigilant) but it was enough to direct you toward the crowd now gathering.

Steven had paused after you spoke, only saying something when you landed in the crowd.

“I trust you”

You could tell he was a bit scared saying that, not that you blamed him.

“Thank you,” You offered. “I know this is confusing, but just stick by me and don’t talk to anyone, okay?”

He nodded, looking around the town square as if everyone would try to attack him at any second. Honestly, it was a well-placed fear.

A few moments later you heard mumbling in multiple languages and the distant crack of glass.

Steven turned around, squinting at the small crowd that had gathered. He took a few steps closer, but you grabbed his arm, dragging him to the back of the group.

“Don’t get close to him, okay? Avoid that man.”

Steven looked alarmed by the urgency in your voice, staying close to your side. Harrow walked through, not spotting either of you yet.

He addressed the crowd, rambling on about how they should all be judged. Frankly, you didn’t care much about what he had to say.

Sure, in some cases, maybe pre-judgment was better. Wars, genocides, basically all man-made disasters could’ve been stopped if someone was pre-judged.

But Harrow wanted to pre-judge everyone.

Technically, that would’ve included Marc. A boy who was never at fault, forced into a life of blood because of a mistake that wasn’t even his. A mistake that was his mother’s.

You couldn’t imagine condemning Marc. He was kind, and determined, even if he was scarred. Him, and all the other children forced into dark situations would never exist.

…you supposed his mother wouldn’t exist either. But the thought of not having Marc was far too much for you. Mortals weren’t always your favorite, but Marc stuck around in your mind. He just wouldn’t leave it.

And why would you want him to?

Steven clung to your arm, watching as a man was congratulated for his “balanced scales”. You didn’t even think he realized how tight he was grabbing or how confused he looked.

“We should go, Steven,” you said, trying to drag him away. But he was insistent on staying, watching as a woman was invited up.

After a few exchanged words, Harrow uttered the same words he’d said to the previous man. “Will you accept your scales, regardless of the outcome?” The woman nodded a yes, watching as the scales on Harrow’s forearm turned blood red.

Despite how she begged, how she assured that she’d been good, Harrow still clutched onto her hand.

You watched as the life drained from her, Steven’s jaw dropping as the color drained for her face. Her skin was lightly tinted purple as she was carried away by two other men, the crowd never blinking at the act.

You cringed at the expression on Steven’s face. He was so similar to Marc, yet had so many differences. He was mortified, looking on with horror at the death he had witnessed. Though mortal death had never bothered you, sometimes you forgot who awful it could be for humans to witness the death of others.

If  what Marc had said about Steven was true, then Steven was never meant to see any of this. Steven was made to be innocent, to have a normal life with normal people. Never seeing the bloody world Marc was so used to.

Regardless of whether it was Marc or Steven, you still didn’t want him seeing any of this. He may be numb to the death of the world, but you still hoped he wouldn’t have to see it.

A shout dragged you out of your thoughts, drawing your attention back to Harrow. You recognized the language, one you’d hear a few times from the gods and their avatars. You kneeled immediately, following Harrow’s instructions. You tried to drag Steven with you, but it seemed he didn’t get the message.

“Oh, bollocks.” He tried kneeling a moment after, but it was clear Harrow had already seen.

“You… I know you,” Harrow squinted at Steven.

Steven stood back up slowly, smiling awkwardly at the man. You nearly facepalmed but remembered where you were.

“Me?” He questioned, lifting a hand to wave. “Hi, uh,” he clearly didn’t know Harrow’s name but tried not to say so.

“Mercenary.” Harrow’s words were true, of course. Marc was most certainly a mercenary. But Steven… Steven was different.

“Mercenary?  No, no, I’m no mercenary,” He reassured, looking around the group nervously. “I’m a gift-shopist, I work at a gift shop. My name’s Steven Grant.”

The entire town seemed unamused by him, each giving lazy glares at him. You were just wondering why the hell he’d give them his name.

“Uh, I’m trying to get back to London. Lon-done?” He froze a bit at the lack of response. “Don’t know why I’m saying it like that.”

You found Steven rather adorable. Since he made himself an easy target, Harrow stepped forward, watching as the group’s eyes fell in his presence.

“Well, Steven Grant,” Steven uttered a small ‘yeah?’, wondering why anyone could be addressing him. It was almost adorable. Almost. “Will you return the scarab?”

Now that made you a bit nervous.

“The… the what?” He questioned, brow furrowed. It’s possible he would refuse outright, having no idea what the scarab even was. But if he gave it up, you and Marc would be in more trouble than you wanted to be.

“Oh, all right.” He patted down his pockets, searching for the small gold artifact. “Oh you mean…” He trailed off, staring at it in fascination.

You didn’t understand, but in fairness, it was the closest he’d come to a piece of ancient Egypt, especially since your collection was all in glass cases.

“You will give him nothing!”

Khonshu’s booming voice rang through Steven’s head, though you didn’t react to it. You could only feel the god’s presence, noting when he showed up. You managed to resist rolling your eyes at Khonshu’s dramatics, but it was difficult.

“Here!” Steven said, holding out the scarab only to close his hand around it. He looked extremely confused trying to hand it over.

“I strongly encourage you to return that,” Harrow insisted, stepping closer to the man.

“I’m not… I’m… I’m trying,” Steven assured, slowly prying open his own fingers. You were a moment from interrupting, but Steven was focused on his fingers and fingers and  Harrow was focused on Steven. “C’mon now,” He muttered, speaking more to himself than the crowd. “It’s like my fingers froze.”

Steven mumbled, trying to hand over the scarab and failing horribly. Frankly, he was making a fool of himself.

Marc wasn’t perfect. Not by any means. But he certainly didn’t do this. In fact, Marc never drew attention to himself if he could help it, preferring to blend into the background. And yet, here he was, stomping around holding out a scarab while rambling about how he really was trying to give it over.

Whatever was happening, you decided to interfere, finally standing up from your position as Steven marched several steps backwards, seemingly not in control of his limbs.

You could see the way Harrow froze up when you stood. No, you weren't a full god like Khonshu or Anubis, but thanks to your father’s god status and your mothers… interesting genetics, you were more than a threat.

Demigod was a poor word to describe you, no?

You could take forms like Khonshu and Anubis, though (in your opinion) your animal symbol was much more to your liking.

Set, the god of chaos and everything all around evil, wasn’t the best father. But he’d given you more than a few abilities.

And your mother, though not very helpful, was only half human herself.

That made you… quite a threat. One that Harrow didn’t like dealing with.

Most people (the logical ones) would rather not fight with you. But Harrow had a knack for tangling with the gods. He usually just did it through manipulation.

But with a demigod avatar ready to kick the shit out of him, he was left with minimal options.

“An unexpected visit,” Harrow offered, keeping his calm demeanor. “I take it you’re with the mercenary.”

“Not a mercenary!” Steven’s voice interrupted from behind you, but he was still fighting with his own arm, so you didn’t have to worry much.

“You’re not one to get involved with mortal fights.”

He was right, yes. But you also weren’t a fan of rude crocodiles trying to kill everyone.

“True, but I haven’t abandoned humans. Nor has Anubis. And currently, you’re about to make his job significantly harder.”

Harrow huffed. “Take them.”

You were a bit impressed with him, honestly. Hats off to the man who fights gods.

Steven’s demeanor changed almost immediately after that, punching a man who ran at him directly across the face.

Despite the many questions you had, you instead decided to fight off the men as well.

You and Steven moved well through the group, Steven stabbing two of them with a pocket knife, shoving away the scarab. You did the same. Originally you hadn’t seen much need for a knife, but now you were a bit thankful you had it.

The town's crowd had all split up, watching the fight but not getting involved. Harrow himself had stepped back as well, though there were plenty of armed people, slowly closing in around you.

You simply gave Steven a small nod as you both ran, powering through a few of the men in front of you. As the group slowly started to close around you, you got closer to Steven, watching as his eyes darted around the town.

“Didn’t think you had that one in you,” You mumbled.

“He doesn’t.”

Now that voice you recognized. “I’ll be honest, I really don’t think you should let Steven handle this one,” You suggested, watching behind Marc.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Marc’s voice was a bit more serious. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”

You nodded, not needing him to explain any further. “We’ll figure it out later. Now, try not to die.”

You’d each gotten through a few men before Marc stumbled, nearly falling over. You’d caught him before he hit the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head.

A second later, he bolted straight up, looking at his surroundings rapidly. With the change in body language, you guessed this was Steven.

“Hey, Steven, hey,” You got his attention, having him turn to you completely. “Eyes on me, okay?” He didn’t need to see how red his hands were right now.

“What’s going on?!” He questioned frantically, his eyes tearing from you to look around the town with a terrified expression. “I don’t know what the hell is happening, honest!”

As if he had to convince you of that.

You grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to focus on you only.

“Steven, I need you to close your eyes.”

“Now?! Why would I do that?!” He asked frantically. You could sense some of Harrow’s men making their way to you, but this was more important.

“You trust me, right?”

Steven paused a minute, blinking slowly before finally shutting his eyes.

“Don’t open them until I say.” He nodded once more as you stalked toward the nearest man, grabbing him by the throat and launching him into one of his friends.

The others immediately shifted their focus from Steven, deeming you the more obvious threat.

You fought them all off fairly easily, managing to throw a few and cut others enough to keep them down. You weren’t a fan of the whole ‘murder’ thing, but considering that these were basically genocidal cult followers, you weren’t feeling too guilty.

With the rush of fighting and your inability to be injured, you were rather reckless. You usually tried to be more careful in front of Marc, but with Steven’s eyes closed, you weren’t too bothered when you felt the cold barrel of a gun against the back of your head.

It vanished quicker than it came though, accompanied by a thud.

Turning around, you spotted Steven, gun in hand as he used it to pistol whip the last man, breaking his nose and splattering a few drops of blood on his face.

“Well shit, that wasn’t half bad” you mumbled. “Pretty sure your eyes should be closed though.”

“We gotta get the hell out of here.”

Ah, that made sense. Not Steven.

“I’ll admit, this’ll take me a second to get used to,” You told him, watching as he froze momentarily, stopping in the small circle of men around you.

You stepped in front of him, watching as his eyes rolled down from inside his head the frantic expression of Steven returned.

“What the hell…”

You didn’t give him time to finish, dragging him through the crowds of people. He whispered sorry to most of them, which would’ve been adorable if you weren't about to die.

Backed into a bit of a corner, he slid his way into the driver's seat of a van, you sitting shotgun.

He drove away quickly, apologizing profusely to the men behind him.

“Bit of a tip, Steven,” You said, leaning over. “Don’t apologize to men who want to kill you, yeah?”

“Well I did just steal their truck,” He said, frowning. You shook your head at the response, chuckling lightly.

“Well, drive us out of here then.”

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