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ashthemadwriter-archived · 11 months

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Baby Boy Darling!

—Your boyfriend turning into a little baby? What are you going to do with him?

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Nikolai, Ranpo, Jouno X Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Format: Drabble

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8K

A/n: Mildly rushed but acceptable ig!

↳Osamu Dazai

"You know... I don't think this is a good choice for a bedtime story"

The little infant in your arms looked at you curiously. He wasn't old enough to make any sounds other than crying, but the martyred expression he was wearing and his firm grip on your thumb displayed his intention with no complicacy. Nevertheless, that didn't stop you from putting the suicide manual on the nightstand.

"Now now, don't look at me like that. I'm a good babysitter, and a good babysitter doesn't teach babies ways to kill themselves"

You gently caressed his puffy cheeks. "I'm also a generous babysitter, which is why I don't slap your hand away when you grab my boobs"

His gaze fell on his small chubby hand that was trying to get a hold of your breast. It was a good thing you had a T-shirt on, or with the way he was trying to cup them they would've been bleeding by now.

"I'm sorry honey, I don't think you can hold them anymore. Your hands are just too tiny!"

He whined and pouted in response.

"I know! I'm sad too. C'mon, smile a little for me will you? Smile for your mommy"

If he was still an adult, he would have rolled his eyes and smiled, but he wasn't. He was just a cranky baby who was probably planning your murder in his cute little head.

"Get it? Mommy? I'm your mommy! God you didn't have a sense of humor when you were a child did you? I miss my kind, loving boyfriend"

He looked at you unfazedly.

"Alright, how about I sing you a song? Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you aaaaaaaa— ah!?"

Dazed, you looked down at your baby boyfriend with widened eyes, only to find him staring back at you while his mouth was on your right breast. He was trying to suck on it, but that wasn't easy when it was covered with two layers of clothes, your bra and your T-shirt. Your eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Wow, you still like the right one better?"

↳Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"So this is the power imbalance they were talking about huh?"

The violet eyed infant stares at you blankly, having a "it won't be this way for long" look in his eyes. You're holding him in front of you while sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the cheekiest grin you could ever wear.

"No wonder you were so crazy about it. Having somebody wrapped around your finger... feels awesome!"

Still the same bored look.

"giving me the cold shoulder now? I'm just using simple logic to prove my point-which is also what you used to do. I'm saying that from this moment, you're totally and completely dependant on me"

Fyodor tilts his head to the side and gives you a weird look, tempting you to imitate his gesture. A strong feeling is causing you to brag about the current situation and tease him, and you're willingly giving into it.

"Alright. Since I'm the one in charge now, I'm setting a few ground rules. No more acting all workaholicly and staying up until late. No more skipping meals, mister. Im gonna feed you with my special milk, hehehe~ Also, I've got some confessions to make"

It's probably a bad decision to bring these up right now, but you're too captured in the heat of the moment to realize that.

"Ok. I've been trying to tell you this for quite a while. The truth is... I'm pregnant"

The unfazed look is still on.

"Yeah, that was a lie. The real truth is... I was the one who ate all your snacks"

Still no change in his expression.

"...But I assume you already know that. Ugh, keeping secrets from you is such a pain... could you not figure me out for just once?"

Fyodor doesn't seem very eager to respond. He's already very annoyed with how things have turned out and is not really in the mood to joke around. You come to that conclusion when he touches your forearm with his chubby little hand.

"You're gonna activate your ability and kill me, aren't you?"

↳Nikolai Gogol

"Quiz time!!"

Your baby boyfriend whines in annoyance.

"Who's gonna get paid one in his own coin and suffer like I did every time he teased me?"

You flash him a cocky smirk, matched with the way you're looking at him from above as he's lying on the bed. You're standing next to the bed, happier than you could ever be, planning all the steps of your revenge as you trash talk to him.

"That's right. It's no one but youuuuu! Hahahahaha!!"

Nikolai wants to prove to you that he's still strong and nobody can defeat him, but he realizes there's noway he can imply that other by a sulky attitude, which he reluctantly suffices to.

You hold his favorite snack in front of him and shake it, smiling wildly. "Come on darling! Have some! Eh? What are you waiting for? Awwwww! You can't? Then I'll help myself!"

You shoved the entire thing in your mouth and laughed hysterically.

"Nom nom* tastes nom* heavenly! No wonder you never let me have a bite!"

Nikolai is starting to feel a little guilty now. He didn't know that his teasings have made you a spiteful whore.

"You hate babies so much, and now you are one! That's the scariest punishment itself! Can you feel the power of karma? It's a bitch, ain't it? Well, now that you can't talk anymore, I have something to say to you!"

You bend over until there's a small gap between you, pointing at his tiny figure. The bullying attitude is all gone and instead, there's soft glare lying in your eyes.

"I want one of these. Give me one when you get back, Kolya"

You're wrong. This is the scariest punishment.

↳Saigiku Jouno

"Thank you for the meal!"

Jouno is upset. There are many unfortunate things happening for him at the moment. He doesn't like to be a baby. He doesn't want to be unable to do anything other than crying, pooping, eating and sleeping. More importantly, he doesn't want to feel your teeth on his cheeks.

"Mhm, so soft and squishy!" You smile sweetly and look at his puffy cheeks, stained with your bite marks in crimson. "I could just eat you up now, 'giku. You tatse so sweet!"

Anyone who hears this would be happy and blush slightly, but Jouno wasn't one of them, as he tilts his head and looks away, having the most adorable pout on his lips.

Grumpy as always.

"C'mon now, it's not that bad! Look on the bright side! Everyone will have to do everything for you since you can't do it yourself"

Jouno tilts his head back, his eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Right, that wasn't a really good example of the bright side"

Sighing, you lay next to him on the matress, hands traveling through his white locks. His muscles relax a little bit as he gives into your warmth, nuzzling his head in your chest. You hum with a soft beam, inhaling his baby scent.

"You smell very nicely too, 'giku. Don't be too depressed about this. It's not the end of the world. We'll find a way to turn you back eventually. Plus..."

You lightly pat his back, pressing a lingering kiss on his forehead. "I can have you all to myself, since you can't go on any missions and leave me here all alone anymore"

Yeah, Jouno thinks, maybe it's not that awful after all.

↳Ranpo Adogawa

"Ouch! Why you- let go of my hair you aggressive baby!"

Ranpo cries a whine out and pulls your hair harder, leading you to scream back even louder.

"Stop it! What is wrong with you? I dont care how upset you are, I'm not gonna give you any sweets- ow ow ow!! Ranpo- I said let go of my fucking hair you dumbass!"

Your angry shout startles the dark haired baby. It's not just that he's little, you'd never talked like this to him before. Slowly loosening his grip on your hair, he starts sobbing quietly, covering his face with his chubby hands. This breaks your heart.

"Nooo... I'm sorry sweetie! Mommy- Aunty- god I dont even know what I am to you anymore! Whatever- I'm sorry ok? But you can't eat sweets baby boy, you're smart enough to know that, right?"

Smart enough to know that?? Huh!

Ranpo sees right through your little plan. He knows all these little tricks inside out- hell he was the one who taught you all of them; but what pisses him off is how it's working on him even though he knows your true intention.

The smirk you've been holding back shamelessly appears on your face when he wears a serious expression, nodding like someone who's given an important task and is determined to do it carefully and correctly, then points at your boobs.

Your smile instantly fades away.

"Shit. I'm not doing that"

↳Chuuya Nakahara

"Your struggle is hilarious to me"

Baby Chuuya watched you with a threatening glare. He was clearly unhappy about this situation, and you enjoying his frustration was not going to help him at all.

"I know you really need it right now, but honestly, I don't think your little tummy can digest that"

Merely ignoring you, he tried to open the bottle of wine he was struggling to hold with his chubby feet; but every time he pulled, the bottle would slip out of his not so tight grasp. He couldn't use his ability on it, since the bottle would sink into his little body. He couldn't even roll over on the bed, and his so called nanny was laughing instead of helping him.

Forget about all the things he'd been through. This was the true misery.

"Alright. Give me the bottle"

He didn't seem to agree, because he immediately hugged the bottle with all the strength he had, like it was his dearest thing. Your serious expression showed that you weren't going to give up either.

"You give me that bottle mister or you won't get extra milk tonight"

Reluctantly, he opened his arms and you snatched the bottle, putting it somewhere high. When you turned around, you saw him sulking.

"Don't be like that baby, you know you can't drink that right now. I thought you were a reasonable person hmm?"

The cute pout resting on his lips made you giggle and bend down to kiss his cheek. He was still pretty upset, so he looked away from you. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything about the little blush on his face.

You carefully held him up and looked at his tiny figure. His long hair was gone and instead, there were short ginger locks on his head. His bluebell eyes however, hadn't changed one bit, still as gorgeous as ever.

You smiled at him. "You want me to throw you up?"

He looked oblivious. He probably knew what you were talking about, but hadn't figured out whether you were serious or not.

Shaking your head to the side, you tightened your grip on his waist before throwing him up in the air, and catching him before he fell on the ground. He got so excited that he started laughing, letting out adorable baby noises.

"Aww, you like that huh? want me to do it again?"

He blinked.

"Ok! Three, two, one! Whoa!"

Chuuya had jumped higher than this before, but not once did he feel the thrill he was experiencing now. He was having the time of his life, flying in the air with no effort. Every time you threw him up, his mouth got opened wider, wider, and wider,

until vomit came out of it, landing on your chest.

There weren't any throwing and catching after that, since you were too busy looking at the vomit, shocked. But it wasn't him vomiting that caught you off guard, it was the vomit. It wasn't milk, it was wine.

"Ok, we need to talk about your drinking problem when you turn back to an adult"

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canyourfavesurvivecastledracula · 25 days

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How would Jo Grant (classic Doctor Who) do, do you think?

Jo Grant my absolute beloved. To know her is to love her, in universe and out. If you don't know her, or if you just want to love her more, read Why I Like Jo Grant.

Jo Grant is incredibly Good and incredibly Kind. She's made elder gods implode with her radical self-sacrificial compassion more than once. (...sadly that is unlikely to work on Dracula). She has more upright decent gentlemen vying for her hand than Lucy Westenra, and outclasses them all.

It's actually very tempting read Jo as a Lucy Westenra type - embodiment of Purity and Goodness, Sweetness and Light, beloved by all, to be protected at all costs, too good for this sinful earth, etc etc etc. But Jo has two things poor Lucy lacks: Women's Liberation and a degree in Escapology.

Jo would never refuse the kindness of strangers. "Sorry, but I really must" is as core a part of her vocabulary as it is of Mr Harker's. She is reasonably scared of things that are scary - again, just like in the book, the wolves will terrify her but she'll try to save Dracula from them anyway. She'll be fun for Dracula to mess with, but she's too cheerful and hopeful to break. He'll have to settle for making her cry, or the occasional well-timed scream. She will definitely give Dracula a piece of her mind when he earns it, but she's like 5 feet tall and blonde, she'll never read as a threat to him so he'll find her empty defiance funny.

She can befriend anybody. Anybody. She's just that nice. She maintains a surprisingly healthy friendship with an Evil Supervillain who also has a beard Satan in Hell would be proud of and she tells him she hates him every day. Unfortunately she's in the Girls Are Food Not Friends castle. So the overwhelming affection she inspires in anyone withing a 30 foot radius will manifest in Dracula as "well, a girl like that you don't eat all at once" and in the Girlies as "It's Free Sister." They are eager to welcome vampire!Jo to their number with open arms. (Jo is, of course, very firm on the fact that she no more wants to be a permanent resident of Castle Dracula any more than she wants to be Queen of Peladon or Skaro or Llanfairfach). She can't talk them out of Being Vampires, but I think it's enough to keep her from being outright murdered for a good long time.

Jo has been held prisoner in Castles before. She's a very good prisoner, with the right balance of compliance and escape attempts to keep it interesting. She would absolutely try to get the help of Dracula's movers, and when the Hetman turned over her letters she would give him Disappointed Jo Face that wouldn't change anything right now, but would make him feel bad enough about himself and his life choices that maybe he doesn't help Dracula back into the country six months later and just lets the pursuing troupe of Really Very Angry Englishpeople have him. Jo's well-placed moral censure may not get her out of the Castle, but it might still save a Gallant Gentleman a couple of fatal stab wounds down the line. (She still won't marry him, but he'll recover from that too).

Jo has also climbed down walls and up cliffs before. In a princess dress and inappropriate shoes! She's the best dressed human on the whole show (sorry Polly...) and fashion does not restrain her. The real tragedy is that when Dracula steals her wardrobe it suits neither him nor the season. That said I would LOVE to see the Girlies in any three of Jo's outfits. Shuffling along a narrow ledge on the outside of a Castle above a sheer cliff (in ballet flats!) to climb in someone else's window is in fact a thing she has done. So yes Jo can make it down the wall and through the wilderness (she's a bit unstoppable when she gets an idea in her head) and collapse somewhere and win the hearts of a whole lot of nuns with her gentle sweetness. She can also pick locks. I don't think she would hit Dracula in the face with a shovel, but she would absolutely go through his pockets looking for a nonexistent key.

It's worth noting that Jo also taught herself to resist hypnosis and uses her self-training to best the guy whose whole deal is Hypnotizing People. After her first taste of the vampiric trance on May 16th this girl would take steps. Brain Fever is no match for Mary Had a Little Lamb.

Goddd Jo and Lucy would be such good friends. Jo and Mina would be such good friends - Jo could actually convince her to lighten up a bit. And both of these vampire-ridden young ladies could really really use a friend like Jo. Improve the number of female characters in every novel by adding Jo Grant and giving these poor ladies a break and a sympathetic ear.

Jo Grant is extremely victim coded and, in all honestly, she makes a very good victim (though she does end up getting strapped to fewer things and sacrificed to fewer entities than, say, Sarah Jane Smith). Jo Grant makes an excellent prisoner. Jo Grant is a perfectly ordinary human being from contemporary London. And Jo Grant can survive Castle Dracula.

#Jo Grant #Doctor Who #Classic Who #spies #(sort of)#Jo Grant is such a splendid thing to be

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ghostieyanyan · 3 months

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Is it ok if I can ask for a yandere Rollo Flamme? I like the idea of Rollo because he’s already based off a yandere villain so it makes sense. And I think Rolli would like to get close to Yuu cuz they don’t have any magic so they’re seen as ‘pure’ in Rollo’s eyes. Maybe Rollo can be seen trying hard to control his urges at the fireplace or he captured MC and tried to burn them at the stake like in the movie? Your choice.

hehehe... why not just add salt to injure? what if mc has pyrophobia, a fear of fire?

~Let the fire purify you~

Yan!Rollo x Pyrophobia!Mc

Warnings: Fire, burning, kidnapping, anxiety attack, chains, gag, breakdown,

~~~

Rollo hated magic... with a passion. A passion that burned so bright that hurricanes, rainstorms, floods, and tsunami together couldn't extinguish this flame of pure hatred.

How does no one sees the danger of magic? How many lives have to be taken in the hand of magic for people to understand this is a problem? He guesses that its one of humanities sin, playing dumb, playing ignorant, until it becomes someone they care about that gets hurt. its always like that... why could people just see things through his lenses BEFORE someone got hurt...

But for now, he just has to do gods work for everyone else, until they see things his ways...

He had a plan. a plan that will solve this problem before it could get worst. The plan to get rid of magic, from one of the most powerful mages in twisted wonderland, to the student "prodigies" of that sick, sinful school, to the townsfolks of Fleur city, to every inch of Twisted wonderland.

With this crazy plan, he'll make, no, he'll force everyone to see how he sees life should be. he didnt care on who got hurt-

until-

he met Night Raven College's gem in the rock, their Perfect. When all the students were introducing themselves, when it was your turn. He swore the world stopped and he would have swore on his life that he saw wings and a halo on you. You looked, spoke, and acted like an angel. you even allow these sinful... beasts... breathe the same air as you. then you have an ACTUAL beast as a familiar. don't tell grim that.

your heart and soul must be made out of pure gold. he has to protect it at all cost. he will use his own body to shield you from magical blast and then some to keep your purity in tact. he will move mountains and redivert lakes, rivers, seas, and oceans for you. Rollo Flamme will make you into his deity that he worships.

All the students decided to split into groups and explore Fleur City, after they got changed.

to say Rollo thought you looked breathe taking in your glorious masquerade outfit was an understatement. he was about to come up to you and compliment you, maybe even starting small talk with you but a certain lizard decided to be the first to do so...

Of course that monster would be charmed by an angel like you. Evil loves to tempt with good.

no matter, he'll just have to see you another time but if he gets too busy..? He'll make time for you.

Rollo lead you into his office, you didn't mind too much because he was telling you all about the school's history and art. it is a really pretty school, it gives very romantic feelings.

when you finally made it into his office, you froze at the doorway at seeing the fire place. Rollo quickly notices and puts out the flame with a very helpful near by bucket. You were grateful that Rollo was very accommodating to your fears.

you thanked him and sat down across from him while Rollo sat in his chair.

"I'm very sorry for asking you to meet me at this ungodly hour but i just needed your input on something and if i didn't ask you, i would have had a sleepless night tossing and turning." Rollo said as he got everything on his desk organized.

"hehe, its alright. I just happen to have a restless night myself.. but i don't mind the company."

"oh my that sounds awful. what seems to be troubling you?"

"w-well.."

It was really hard to tell someone you only just recently met that you had a "bad feeling" about something and how so far, in twisted wonderland, its always comes true...

"well.. i think... maybe, its just the 'sleeping at a new place' feeling and I'm just not getting use to it. but I'm sure its fine. heh.."

"hmm.."

Rollo seemed satisfied with that answer and continues, by leaning towards you on the desk.

"i know i asked you about this before, but id like to discuss it with you more in depth... hmm?"

since Rollo put out the fire place, there was only a small lamp on the desk to shine light in the room. you kind of wished that the fire place was still lit... cause everything in this scenario was telling you to run and never look back..

"o-okay..? what would you like to know..?"

Rollo smiled and leaned back into his chair.

"as a magicless student in a full school of magical.. mages, aren't you scared they might... turn and hurt you..?"

the way he worded that made you feel more unnerved.. you trusted your friends in Night Raven College. Even the ones that did try to hurt you, they still came to your defense and help and protected you when you needed them.. you trusted them with your life and having this man tell you "you shouldn't because they can use magic" was... laughable...

"no.. because they've earn my trust and I've earn theirs..!"

"Earned..?"

Rollo's face darkened as you stood up from the chair you were sitting in.

"I'm sorry Rollo. Thank you for your hospitality but i have to go."

you start walking to the door but stopped.

"with however you feel about magic, i wont sit down and let you disrespect them just because they possess a special ability and i don't. It doesn't make them less of a person. Magic or no magic."

you walked to the door but before you could even touch the doorknob, you feel a body press against your back, pinning you against the door. you couldn't even move, much less move the door.

"I'm sorry my sweet angel~... i guess.. I'll just have to show you myself then~"

you see a quick purple blur and then tightness around your throat. Rollo was using his signature purple and gold handkerchief to strangle you! you tried to struggle. you tired to jab your elbow into his chest but his uniform was too thick for it to do any good.

You started to feel light headed then everything you saw was slowly turning black. the last thing you saw was Rollo, and the insanity in his eyes.

you had so many questions...

why you? was it because you don't have magic so you were "easy"? aren't there other people in twisted wonderland without magic? you just happened to go to a school "for" magic users so of course you'll see it a lot.

what's so bad about magic? ya it almost killed you here and there but it also almost killed either the user or other people around you.. but afterwards everything would have been fine. Plus you didn't blame the magic for those situations. you couldn't even say you blamed the user. some deserved the blame.. but not everyone..

how did you get here..? probably from your big mouth, you should have been smart when you were talking to Rollo. he was already giving you weird vibes and you just had to make it worst

you had more questions but you knew none of them would get answered..

you started to slowly open your eyes..

where are you..? what's this sound..? why cant you move..?

you slowly looked around, you remember this place... Rollo showed you, with your friends. the big bell, the bell of Solace. you noticed that you were alone though..

you looked around some more, you looked out from where you sat on the floor. it was dark out but with an orange hue... was the sun rising..? what's going on?

you went to take a step, to look out but something stopped you. a cold hand..? no..? a chain?!

if you weren't fully awake then, now you are! the chain was short, at least 2 feet long from the floor, it was attached to both your ankles. you could only go so far out.

what happened?! what's going on?!?

you started breathing heavily, tears started to form. you felt so confused, so lost. someone, anyone, please hel-

"oh my dear! you're awake."

your blood became ice, you looked up to see an uncomfortably happy Rollo.. he had a basket of breads and fruits.

"i was so worried that you'll never wake up. I'm very happy you did~"

with a heavy chest, you spoke.

"what's going on, Rollo!? Why are we here? why am i-?"

"oh within time my dear angel~ we just have to wait for those flowers to do their miracles. in the meantime, eat. you've been sleeping for a while and-"

"flowers..? what are you-...? Rollo...."

you took a deep breathe to try to settle your nerves.

"Please, Rollo... I'm scared. please tell me what's going on."

he looks at you and sighed, placing the basket down on a near by table. He then walked over to you and sat beside you, motioning you to come closer to him.

You did. you don't really have a choice right now..

"I'm making our perfect little world my love~ our paradise~"

you looked at the man like he was crazy. he was, at this point. But he continues.

"the Crimson flowers, the one that looks like fire, the flowers i shown you when you toured the city, they have the ability to take a mage's magic until they are just magicless people.. like you."

you stared at him but he kept smiling.

"magicless.. like me..?"

"yes my dear, then everyone in this world would have to understand magic is like a poisonous weed that has to be pulled out. or it'll spread to the other crops."

you just stared. you couldn't bare to keep looking at him so you turned to look at anything else..

magicless like you... no.. this isn't right. this cant happened!

Rollo thought the conversation was over and sat up to get the basket.

"Before this started, i made sure to get some food. i thought you'll be hungry so-"

"...mon...ster..."

Rollo froze. he was facing the backet and didn't turn around.

"excuse me..?"

you stood up, leaning against the wall, as best as you could. You knew your big mouth was gonna put you in a tough situation again but- what were you suppose to do?

"you, Rollo Flamme, are a monster."

he slowly turned to you, his eyes screamed murder. even if your body is shaking, from fear, from anxiety, from anger, maybe all of them at once's, but you kept your eye contact with Rollo.

You knew a comment like that will hurt him. you knew you couldn't physically harm him but you just wanted to hurt him like he planned to do the same to everyone you cared for..

the silence was deafening.

Rollo took some slow steps to you and leaned down to your level.

"take. that. back."

"no. cause i didn't say anything wrong.."

you hear Rollo take a deep breath and he quickly snaked his hand to grab the nape of your neck. you let out a gasp, from the sudden movement. he straighten his posture and brought you to his eye level.

"it's seems that those... mages.. have filled you with their poison. I'll just have to purify you myself. don't say i didn't warn you, my angel.."

he dragged you to a window and made you look outside. the entire city was filled with those flowers but... the looks of those flowers... made it look like you were in the middle of a raging firestorm. you felt your stomach drop. you felt cold shivers, and you didn't even realized that tears were falling. when you looked more, you noticed that the "fire" was slowly climbing the tower you were in.

you were about to let out a blood curdling scream but you were stopped by Rollo tying that purple handkerchief into a makeshift gag for you.

After that, he threw you, face down into the ground. Your body was shivering from fear so intensely, to the point that it feels like you lost complete control over your body. you couldn't even fight back when Rollo tied your hands together.

"i, really, am sorry for this my sweet angel~ but i have to get rid of the poison that those mages put in you... you have to be purified."

Rollo walked off and came back holding a fireplace poker. it was glowing red and you could see smoke coming off of it. where he got that, you didn't know but your attempt to get away from him was met with a wall against your back.

you felt your head spin, you were trembling to no return, the hot tears wouldn't stop, and the makeshift gag he put on you was now soak with tears, saliva, and snot.

Rollo kept walking towards you, in an agonizing slow pace.

"don't worry, my angel love~ after this, all will be forgiven~"

when he went to grab your face, he-

"MC!!"

those are.. familiar voices.. you know those voices..

"tch.. i suppose your punishment will have to wait my love. apparently, ill have to finish these pesky mages off myself."

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julesthequirky · 5 months

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The Choice: Chapter One

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn't be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there's a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: You, Antiques salesman, mother, cute black cat.

Chapter Warnings: Pain in the ass mother, language.

W/C: 1,220

A/N: Soley thought of this idea just for that Spiderman meme.

The bell to the antiques store tinkled as you opened the door. As you stepped in, the proprietor of the store moved away from behind the counter. The place was cluttered, and everything in sight was for sale.

“Hi there, interested in purchasing something today?”

He was a kindly-looking older gent, who reminded you of your pops, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly at him.

“Potentially. Just browsing, for now.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” He enquired as you started to browse.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

He smiled then. “Ah. You won’t know what you’re looking for until it finds you.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

You chuckled and nodded. Yeah, you could agree with that.

It didn’t take long for you to find something. Your eye had landed on a trifold oval picture frame. And for the price tag, you were tempted. Very tempted.

“Ah a lovely set. Baroque features in the detailing. Could do with a possible restoration, but a proper clean would also suffice.”

You fingered the tag again, it was a hundred dollars.

“Tell ya what. I’ll knock off ten bucks. How does that sound?”

You looked at him then.

“You don’t think I don’t know the look of someone finding an item they can’t walk away from? Darlin’ you got that look. You got it bad.”

It was just a picture frame. A dumb little picture frame, but why did it give you so much joy to look at? You weren’t much of a haggler and it would seem rude to haggle the price after he had already generously knocked off ten percent.

“Alright, you got yourself a deal.”

He shook your hand. “Excellent.”

He picked up the item and very carefully began meandering his way back to the counter with you following him. He set the item down gently and rung up the purchase.

“Such a pretty little find. And it was a shame that it had been hiding in a box, before coming here.”

You gave him a quizzical look and he held up a hand before disappearing into the back for a few moments and coming back with a small wooden box. He placed it on the counter in front of you. Your hands reached out towards it. The wooden box looked plain compared to the delicate and intricate detailing on the frame. It was finished with a dark varnish and what was with the strange script etched into the grain? Was it Elvish, or Sanskrit, or even Latin? You had no idea. A simple clasp locked the box. Easy to use. Either way, now you had a keepsake box also.

“It’s my understanding that the original owner had passed away and his living relatives didn’t want it and, well here it is.”

“Well, it’s their loss.”

“Of course, of course. If they hadn’t, then you never would have found it.”

He took your cash and then handed you the receipt. He bid you a good rest of your day as you lifted the box and the picture frame and made your way out of the store.

You placed the final photo in the frame. Slid the locks, and placed the frame on your sideboard, angling it so you could appreciate it all that little bit more. You sighed in contentment as three of your favourite fictional men smiled seemingly at you from beside your TV.

The door knocked and by the light raps you knew who it was. This time, you sighed heavily and muttered “God, give me strength” before going to open the door. You’d only opened it a crack before she started to barge her way in.

“Y/N, honestly, what are you wearing? Pyjama’s during daytime? I don’t know. Go put on some proper clothes.”

You looked down. Now you were annoyed. It was loungewear for God’s sake. Perfectly acceptable.

“Mother, what I’m wearing should be of no concern to you and its just gone five, and it’s a Saturday.”

She sniffed and made her way into your lounge. She tutted at the clutter.

“Don’t you ever tidy up?”

You rolled your eyes and sat down. “What did you come here for? To pick faults or was there an actual reason?”

“Your father—”

“Not my father.” You stated.

Your mother had married her partner not long after your father’s passing and now, she acted as though he had been in your life since birth.

She continued, like you hadn’t interrupted her.

“—and I have been talking. You know that nice young man that started last year, Cole—"

“Wait, you’re not seriously trying to set me up?”

Your mother looked a little put out.

“Well, it can’t hurt to get back out there. Get back on the horse or so to speak.”

You sat there shocked. Then it turned to anger.

“Are you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed that your one and only daughter is a divorcee!”

“Ashamed, no. Disappointed, yes.”

It was like a punch to the gut and the hurt stabbed at your heart. You’d suspected your mother had opinions on your divorce but to voice her disappointment a year and a half after finalization felt like a kick in the teeth. It left you speechless.

“Is that new? I have to say I don’t think it goes with the room. Who are those men? Are they from your shows? Honestly Y/N. I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

Your mother had continued to ramble on whilst you were still reeling from her comment. At that moment your all black cat slinked in, jumping up and made her way over to your mother’s lap.

“If you’re not careful, this is your future.” She said nodding to the cat.

You looked at her then.

“I think you should leave, mother.”

She turned her head, facing you. She looked like a goldfish with the way her mouth kept opening and closing. Then her lips pursed together, and she stood, with the cat leaping from her. She made a disgusted sound, discovering the amount of cat hair had malted on her. You handed her a nearby lint brush, and she furiously started scrubbing at the hair on her skirt. She then stood and bid you a good evening and purposefully walked to the door. Your mother didn’t wait, slamming the door on her way out. You scrubbed your hand down your face muttering about her audacity.

You plonked yourself on the sofa, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The cat had been fed and was currently God knows where, doing its own thing.

Halfway through Family Feud, a loud crash from what sounded like your kitchen alerted you. Your laugh cut short and Steve Harvey poked fun at a contestant's absurd answer, laughing on the screen. You jumped up, abandoning the snacks and ran to see the destruction, cussing your cat out along the way.

You stormed into the room ready to reem your pesky feline, grabbing a broom, threatening the extinction of treats for the rest of his life. But what you saw had you stopping in your tracks. Words died on your tongue. And what you saw, there was no rhyme or reason to it. In fact, it should have been physically impossible.

Dean Winchester stood in your kitchen, holding a case of pie.

#The Choice #julesthequirky's fics #spn fanfic #reader insert #beau arlen #big sky #dean winchester #soldier boy

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anisespice · 11 months

Text

“ hate your boyfriend ” || tokyo rev. pt. 2

one

synopsis: " you can pick me or your little boy. "

pairing: college!toman x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, sexual themes, MDI. toxic!toman, cheater!reader (pumpkin eater!!), enabling behavior, mild violence, vague descriptions of sex (cause i’m lazy), vulgar language, corny marvel joke, dirty-talk, moral compass is a roulette wheel in this one lol and i think that’s it :P

notes: did a little continuation of the first one before doing more characters lol i’m happy you guys liked the concept, lemme know who you’d like to see next :))) i don’t hate this one, but i don’t love it either (except maybe mikey’s) buuuut hope yall enjoy! <333

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05

A week had passed since the whole kick-back fiasco, and MIKEY had gone awol. Aki was over the moon about it, for obvious reasons; as far as he was concerned, he scared him off. Besides, the less you hung around the delinquent, the better for both of you.

“That guy’s just a nuisance, babe. Good riddance.”

Little did he know, this was a regular occurrence. Mikey always did this—Disappeared for days on end, only to pop right back up like he never left. Whether it be due to gang related issues, or because he felt like it, this frustrating habit was one of the reasons you invited him that night, despite knowing he’d pick a fight with Aki. You had missed him…in more ways than one. You knew it was only a matter of time before he came back to you.

And in the wee hours of the night, not far after said boyfriend left your place, you received a lone message from the former blonde himself.

from : bad influence ♡ 11:03pm “ omw. ”

Short, but effective. His timing was impeccable, how he always managed to text the second you were alone was beyond you, but it made your heart race all the same. It was wrong, you knew that, Aki deserved better than someone who snuck around. You didn’t mean for it to get this far, but that was a guilt you’d deal with later. Mikey was your drug of choice, and tonight you craved another fix.

to : bad influence ♡ 11:07pm “ okay. but just for a little while. ”

Even if you tried to play coy, to salvage whatever weak moral you had left, it didn’t matter—The only one you were fooling tonight was Aki.

from : bad influence ♡ 11:08pm “ mhm. sure, angel. ”

It was a wonder how you didn’t draw blood with how harshly you clawed at his shoulders, fighting between wanting him closer or wanting to push him away. Mikey didn’t mind, though. On the contrary, he encouraged you to leave marks. As tempted as he was to leave his own, he figured beating up your insides would suffice.

Knowing you’ll struggle to walk tomorrow was all the reward he needed.

“God—fuuck,” he slurred, after a particularly hard thrust made you arch off the bed, forcing him to sink deeper. He gazed down at you with an all too pleased grin as you begged him for more. How could he deny you when you sounded so desperate? “Taking me so well, angel…always so good f’me…”

“J-Jiro..! Ahplease!” You sobbed, your knees practically knocking upside your temples as he increased momentum. Mikey snickered, angling his hips to continue ramming the spot that made your eyes cross, moans reaching octaves you didn’t even know you could hit.

“Mm, been feening for this dick, huh? Yeah? Maybe we should call up that smug bastard, let ‘em see how such good friends we are, right [______]? Bet he was real proud thinkin’ he got me to fuck off…but we both know who you really belong to. Don’t we?”

He wasn’t sorry. That’s the short end of it.

The moment Takeru decided to act all big and bad, breaking stuff in a place where he paid no bills, it was in DRAKEN’s right to set him straight; mama may not have raised him, but he still ain’t no bitch.

It took some coaxing on your end, but you were able to reel Draken back from turning your boyfriend inside out. But, after he forced him to pick up every broken piece of the lamp, he told Takeru to choose a number between one and ten.

“…Why?” Was his response. Draken raised a brow.

“That’s how many shards I’m gonna shove up your nose.”

“Ken!”

The look on the shorter male’s face was worth it, earning a threatening smirk from the mechanic as he slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Ahh, y’look like you were about to shit yourself, man! Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

For a moment, there’s relief in your boyfriend’s eyes. It was short-lived, of course. Especially once Draken’s grip tightened around his shoulder. “But I will. Don’t ever let me catch you pop off on [_____] like that again. Would hate for you to have to pick yourself up off the floor next time. You feel me?”

With a gulp, he gave a shaky nod; now he really looked like he shat himself. “Y-Yes…”

“Hah? Yes, what?”

“Y-Yes, Draken, sir?”

He rewarded the poor sucker’s obedience with a couple taps to the cheek just to spite him before sending him on his way. It was met with little protest, Takeru scurrying out of the room with lamp pieces still in his palms, not even sparing you a passing glance.

“Text you later?” You called at his retreating form. When all you got was the sound of your front door slamming shut in response, you swiftly turned on your heel to aim a dejected frown at your other houseguest. Draken sardonically pouted back at you, reaching over to pinch your cheek until you swatted his hand away. “Why’d you do that, you totally freaked him out!”

He wasn’t sorry. Draken shrugged. “Good.”

Merely rolling your eyes, you headed for the small broom and dustpan in your closet to gather what little pieces Takeru left behind–Might as well busy yourself to delay addressing the elephant still in the room. Unfortunately, said elephant wasn’t about to let that happen. Before you could even think of sweeping anything, Draken gently grabbed your elbow, those same eyes that stared death into your boyfriend’s soul now filled with something else as they appraised you, melting through whatever cold exterior you tried to aim at him.

He leaned down closer, sporting a slanted grin that sent signals straight down to your core. Sometimes, you despised how easily he made your insides flutter by just existing.

“How much longer y’gonna entertain that fucking loser, huh? He wouldn’t know the first thing about handling someone like you.”

You hummed, fighting the giddy tremble in your body at the challenging air that surrounded you both. With the inkling of boldness you had, you took the bait. “What, like you would?”

He wasn’t sorry; you’d be though.

The way Draken split you in half would make Lucifer himself bite the pillow. Hovering over his gigantic frame, chest bare with your hands perched on each pec, he manhandled you to take every unforgiving inch of his dick, having you feeling downright discombobulated as your hips struggled to keep momentum.

Forget about seeing stars, at some point, you were certain you saw into the quantum realm; say hi to Ant-Man for me.

“K-Kenny...I can’t...t’s too much!”

He cooed up at you, though there wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in his tone. If anything, Draken enjoyed himself thoroughly, tongue-in-cheek as he watched you fall apart in his lap, just like he knew you would. With the way you tightened up around him like a vice, as if your own body was against the thought of him stopping, the former blonde chuckled breathlessly.

“Use the safe word then, doll.”

You glared down at him, to the best of your ability. With him practically jabbing you in the lung, it was more than difficult to say the rebuttal as smartly as you wanted to. “Y-you think…you’re so-oh! So f-funny…”

He did. Absolutely he did. By making your boyfriend’s name the safe word, nothing would soften his dick quicker. Plus, he knew you didn’t need it; just like you didn’t need Takeru.

“What? It’d be the only way you’d ever scream it anyways.”

“Welcome back.”

You paused mid-step upon entering your apartment, not expecting the ravenette to still be there. With a deep exhale, you paid him no mind as you kicked off your shoes, irritated after a tiresome process of checking your boyfriend into the hospital.

To say BAJI did a number on him would be an understatement…Man’s fucked him up. Sure, maybe Makoto could’ve watched his tone when talking to someone with such a short fuse, but Baji could’ve at least exercised a little restraint.

…Oh, who were you kidding? It’s Baji.

“What, ya not talkin’ to me?” Barely sparing him a glance, you set your bag on the coffee table before heading for the bedroom for a much-needed shower. Baji didn’t take kindly to being ignored. He huffed, standing to meet you halfway as he trailed behind you. Even when you attempted to close the door in his face, he shouldered his way in anyway; it was gonna take more than that to deter him.

“Quit being mad…said I was sorry, damn.”

“No you didn’t,” you replied, incredulously. You really tried it with the silent treatment, but knowing him, it was only a matter of seconds before he'd get you talking again. Taking off the sweats you threw on in haste earlier, you continued. “You said, and I quote, ‘Talk shit, get hit,’ then fell asleep on the couch while I had to haul Makoto to the emergency room!”

Baji shuffled his feet, “…Well, I meant to say it. Jus' forgot.”

You scoffed, walking into your bathroom. "What are you even still doing here? Don't you have someone else's day to shit on?”

“Y’kicking me out now?” He teased, raising a brow. What he didn't expect was for you to start throwing your toiletries at him. Although his reflexes saved him for the most part, Baji still got hit a few times as he attempted to dodge between a shampoo bottle and mouthwash. "Whoa! Hey-!"

“Maybe I should! Do you have any idea how hard it was to get him in and out of my car with all that dead weight, let alone into the building? Not to mention, his emergency contacts were his uppity-ass parents, so after they chewed me out, I had to lie and say he saved me from getting mugged.”

“...They buy it?”

You tilted your head, exasperated. "Wow. And here I thought the next thing out of your mouth would be that apology you 'forgot' to say earlier…[Sigh] Whatever. You just better hope when Makoto wakes up he doesn't remember anything, or else we're both in deep shit."

“Tsk. The fuck’s he gonna do?”

“He could literally sue us.” You deadpanned.

“He’s a pussy, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try me again. And if he gives you any shit for it, you let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, you mean like how you did today? Pass.”

He groaned, “I said sorry!”

“No you didn’t! And still haven’t!”

At the moment, it felt like the conversation would just continue in circles. With Baji stubbornly claiming he was in the right, and you combating his warped logic with colorful language and more stuff thrown at him, it's a wonder how things ended up here–With your face pressed against the cold shower wall as he gave you his fucking apology.

Over, and over, and over again.

While one hand wrapped around the column of your throat, fingers shoved knuckle-deep into your mouth to pacify the excessive whines tumbling out, the other made use of gripping the meat of your thigh, giving you no chance of running from the punishing thwap of his hips ramming against your wet ass-cheeks. The water cascading over your bodies had long turned cold as Baji chased after orgasm number five, his muscles ached from the strain, but he'd be damned to stop until he was certain all was forgiven.

Even if it meant missing every single one of Makoto's phone calls.

“God, I am so, so sorry, Takashi. Can’t believe he just…I-I’ve never seen him act like that before. Does it hurt?”

MITSUYA, despite the sting in his split lip, gave you an easy grin. “Nah, y’know I’ve been through worse. Fucker hits like one of my younger sisters.”

You had brought him back to your place to ice the bruise forming on his jaw, still frazzled over what occurred in the last half hour. Back at the restaurant, everything seemed fine when you excused yourself to the bathroom, having a blast knowing that your two favorite people were actually getting along. Unbeknownst to you, there was a storm brewing in Hajime. And the second you were out of sight, he used this opportunity to set a record straight with Mitsuya.

Evidently, he allowed his fists to do the talking.

You groaned, rubbing down your face in distress. “We’ll probably never get to set foot in that restaurant again...’m so embarrassed.”

“Hey,” he softly reprimanded, “Don’t sweat it, t’s not your fault-”

“I’m the one who begged you to let him come with us in the first place. I mean, I know you two butt heads from time to time, but I didn’t think it’d ever turn that serious. Please, Taka, just tell me what happened.”

Mitsuya shook his head, about to lower the ice pack until you shot him a pointed look. With a small exhale through his nose, he kept it on his jaw while he spoke. “I told you, he was probably pissed he couldn’t get a free meal outta me-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Haji wouldn’t explode like that over a fucking chicken sandwich.” You huffed, frustrated at his evasive behavior. He was holding back information on purpose, you were certain. Ever since the fitting, he'd been acting weird all evening. And that fight only solidified your suspicions. “Just tell me what started it!”

"Doesn’t matter."

"Taka-"

"Let it go, [______]." He laid back on your couch and made himself comfortable, even so much as turning on your tv to fill over the dead conversation. Mitsuya trained his eyes on the lit-up screen, still icing his jaw as he subtly avoided eye contact.

You could just scream.

Childishly, you snatched the remote from his hand and switched it back off. The lavender haired threw his head back in defeat, the hand holding the ice pack slowly coming down as Mitsuya eyed you from his peripheral; so stubborn.

“Be honest. It was about me again, wasn’t it?” His silence spoke volumes. “So it was then. Ugh, okay listen, I get that you’re both really protective of me, I do, but that doesn’t excuse-”

“I’m in love with you.”

You choked. Though, only on your words.

With that now hanging up in the air, you gaped like a damn goldfish, the remote slipping out your grasp and clambering to the floor with a clack. Mitsuya exhaled; no turning back now. “You…huh?”

“Yep. Have been for a while, actually.” He placed his arms behind the couch, wry smirk on his face. “Planned to tell you over dinner tonight, but that backfired fast, no thanks to that walking steroid you call a boyfriend.”

“Y-…You’re messing with me. Right?” The designer offered a humorless laugh, gesturing to his split lip and bruised jaw.

“Didn’t get hit for saying what a great pal you were, [______].”

Now it was your turn to be silent. A lump began to form in your throat, overwhelmed with the newfound information, borderline confession.

“So then…what did you say to Haji to make him so angry?”

For a split second, you saw a glint within his pools of amethyst as they slowly rendered to a deep violet. Staring at you from beneath his pretty lashes, Mitsuya resembled that of a starved animal on the verge of cornering its prey, causing a sudden warmth to envelop you as you squirmed under his heady gaze.

Sitting up a little, he merely beckoned you to his empty lap. You blinked widely at him, sputtering as you tried to protest the idea. But, what he said next played into your curiosity.

“C’mere, and I’ll show you.”

You blinked at him, uncertain; he made no move to rush you. If you were against the idea, you were more than welcome to decline and tell him to shove it. However, when you eventually crawled into the awaiting throne, settling all your weight on top of him to the point he couldn’t keep from groaning shamelessly, Mitsuya was fucking elated.

You gripped his shirt at the shoulders, sporting that signature pout you’d do whenever you wanted something from him—The designer was more than ready to give it to you. All you had to do was say so.

“Hajime’s gonna kill you if he finds out, though. Don’t want you getting hurt again because of me…”

Mitsuya chuckled, hands slowly rubbing up your thighs until they settled on your hips. “Don’t worry about it, sweet thing. He may have gotten two hits on me today, but all I need is one tomorrow.”

#🍁wasabi #COME GET YOUR FOOD #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyorev smut #tr smut #tokyorev scenarios #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #mikey #baji #mitsuya #draken

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ttoddii · 3 months

Text

"Interested"

Bada Lee x f!reader

warnings: bad grammar, might not be the best tbh, FLUFF, maybe a bit of angst?(please do tell me if i need to add something)

word counts: 1,7k

summary: you're worried and bada decided to make you feel better.

a/n: i'm new with posting on tumblr so please be nice to me ;-; i am also looking forward to making friends and knowing you guys (please i have no friends) anyway, have fun reading it, and i hope you enjoy my story as much as i have fun writing it.

Bada has always attracted women and men, she’s like a magnet, her charisma is undeniable. As much as you try to soothe yourself about it, telling yourself that your girlfriend is just doing her job and it’s a good thing she’s attractive.

You know out of all the choices she could have made, she chose you, and that thought alone makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. but yet again, just seeing how she dances and how everyone swoons over her makes your possessiveness acting up. As much as you want to be a reasonable girlfriend, a nice one that is not overly controlling, sometimes it’s hard to just accept the fact that there are much more people “better” than you out there who would quite literally beg bada to date them.

You sigh just at the thought of it until you heard your apartment’s door open. Your head perks up and you smile brightly. You and Bada shared an apartment together, and if you’re already home, that could only mean that Bada is home from work.

“Hey baby”, bada walked in, wearing her blue jersey and beige cargo pants. God, why does she always have to look that good?

You smile brightly and walk to the door so you can put your arms over her shoulder and give bada a kiss to say welcome home. You basically jump onto her and hug her tightly.

“I made dinner, we could drink some soju tonight if you’re up to it?”, you offer, in which she gladly nods and puts her arm over your waist to guide you to the dinner table.

Bada had been practicing a lot with bebe, after Street Women Fighters 2 her schedule got a lot more busy. Bada feels bad about it, knowing that you always wait for her at home, so patiently, waiting for her to make time to hang out, even if it just means a game night. So when you offer to drink with her, who is she to say no?

Offering to drink with Bada goes horribly wrong as you have a low alcohol tolerance. Well, obviously you know that, but you just want to drink with bada tonight. Sadly, you drank around 1 bottle of soju and is already drunk. Your arm being the only support as you put your elbow on the table and one side of your cheek on top of your hand.

Bada chuckles, her hands decide to hold your face up by the cheeks to look at your face. Making your arm drop and you smile silly while looking at Bada.

“So pretty”, she whispered softly. Your cheeks are bright pink, squished up from how Bada is holding your face up. You breath out so softly. It would be a shame if Bada doesn’t kiss you right then and there, so she stands up and walks over to give you a kiss on your lips. Just a small one, like a quick peck, she intends to do that, but your lip is so soft, and it looks even more tempting now that you’re drunk.

Bada cupped your cheek, she kissed you softly and gradually harder, sloppier, until she picked you up and carried you over to your shared bedroom.

You mumbles a lot of things when you’re drunk, Bada sometimes laughs at your remark of how good the chicken tastes today, or how you furrow your brows and just suddenly open your eyes to count your fingers.

When she put you down to the bed, she didn’t expect you to suddenly cry out loud. Your upper body shoots up and bada holds it immediately.

“Baby?” she said softly, not knowing why you suddenly cried, she look at you closely and try to comfort you by hugging you tightly. You sulk like a baby, your head finds its way to Bada’s chest, and you throw your arms over her waist to hug her while you cry your eyes out.

“Why do you have to always look so good?” you shout while crying, your head shaking into bada’s chest. It was a silly question, it really is, it’s not like Bada can decide how she looks, especially now when she’s a public figure. But at that time when you’re drunk, you just want to say it all out, basically go on a rant about how she looks too good.

“I look good?” Bada asks you again, and you nod at her, head still at Bada’s chest while you cry. She laughs at your action, pat your back lightly in an attempt to calm you down, she hugs you in her arms and gently lets her hand travel through the locks of your hair. “I'm sorry” she said softly.

You shake your head “No, you’re beautiful, and if you’re THAT beautiful, many people will just…just jump at any chance to have you” you cry even louder now at the thought. You know that it’s not her fault that she looks good, and you take pride in how talented and good looking your girlfriend is too. But sometimes you’re also jealous about it, your mind will wander about how people could just snatch her away from you. Bada pat your back while she explains that she won’t leave you.

“Baby, I love you” she said repeatedly, her hands cupping your cheeks so that she can hold your face to look up at her. “I love you” she said again. and you cry even harder at that, tears keep clouding your vision even when you want to look at Bada so bad right now.

“Sh sh, I love you baby” she hush, holding you in her arms, she must have been neglecting you so much for you to be so insecure about losing her. And because of that she feels bad, she hugs you even tighter as you cry into her chest.

Bada is in no way a “bad” girlfriend. She was just busy working so she can pay for your expenses. She was more than enough, the best you could ever ask for. And you know that, that’s why you’re scared of losing her.

At some point, you cried yourself to sleep while Bada still held you in her arms. Sighing, bada slowly let your upper body down to the bed. She walks outside to clean up the dinner table while her thoughts are still in a trance.

Is she a bad girlfriend? She was so focused on work that she didn’t even realize how you felt. Bada softly walks into the shower, making sure to not wake you up. Her two colored hair wet from the dripping water, bada slowly massage her scalp, slowly relax from the tension.

She doesn’t want you to worry over anything, especially your relationship with her. She loves you wholeheartedly, and she never even thinks about choosing someone else. You’re a nice girl, always try so hard to please Bada with what you can do.

You supported Bada with everything you have. Always attend her dance classes if you could, you try to get close to her dance crew, and you are just so adorable when you try hard to be in her life.

Bada was a hard person, she always had that cool demeanor, she acted all fun and happy around people. But in reality, she rarely truly opens up her heart for others, her members are some people that she trusts. So when you come up and slowly slide your way into her heart, it was truly something she never expected. And before she knew it, she had fallen head over heel for you. She can never imagine anyone else but you by her side.

Bada turns off the water, stepping into your shared bedroom and cuddles you, her mind wandering off to how to resolve the problem while she hugs you tightly from behind. You nudge yourself closer to her, feeling warm and secure from her touch.

Bada smile, you’re so gentle, always a soft bunny for her to hold and protect. “Little bunny”, she whispers, fingers gently stroking through your hair until eventually her eyes slowly close and she goes to sleep.

When you wake up the next morning, Bada has already left the house. Your head hurt from drinking last night so you decide to stay in bed. You do not remember how you got in bed last night, but you assume that Bada brought you in.

Remembering that Bada has an interview today, it’s just a casual one and it will be live on national television. It's a program to celebrate KBS’s birthday. And that’s probably why she left early in the morning, you turn on the tv so you can watch it, while you slowly stand up and stretch, letting the tv do its work.

“Now, to the question everyone had been waiting for,” the interviewer said, smiling and talking to Bada “we all know that you have a lot of fans, you attract quite a handful of men that like you don't you?”

You scoff, yea right, of course the national television would not even let a bit of same sex relationship get onto their precious live.

You roll your eyes, “as if she doesn’t have more girl fans than boy fans” you mumble.

Bada smile and nod her head “yes, indeed” she said politely, knowing that if they ask something she should just answer, without trying to provoke something else.

“Well, the big question is, what is your type in men?” the interviewer said, smiling and gesturing for bada to answer.

Your blood boiling just from hearing the question “yah! What type of question is that?” you mumble “and on the national channel too!” you said louder now. As if they could hear you through the screen.

Bada furrowed her brows “hm, i don’t really have a taste in men. I think that people who are interested in that question and want to ask me about it must be out of their mind” she laughed. "After all, I think they should be more curious and interested in who my girlfriend is right now.” Bada smiles after saying that, her eyes look straight to the camera lens and wink knowingly.

She knows, she knows you’re watching.

And listening to that makes your heart drop, your mouth gasped and your eyes fill with tears once again.

#bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #bada lee #swf2 x reader #bada fluff #fluff #⟢ tod's chaos

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aziraphales-library · 1 month

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Hey :) thanks for all you do for the fandom!

I was wondering, can you recommend any good (canon-verse) fics that have Crowley and/or Aziraphale being temporarily human or loosing their powers (and having to deal with what that entails)? I'm asking specifically for temporarily because I've found plenty that have them turn human for good but somehow couldn't figure out a way to search for ones where it's temporary.

Thank you already and I hope you have a lovely day!

We have a #turned human tag, and some of the summaries specify "temporarily", so look for those. There's not really a way to search for fics where there's not permanently human, other than skipping to the end to check. So that's what I spent ages doing...

Damned to Humanity by Justanothernerdsstuff (T)

“I thought,” Aziraphale said, his smile starting to shift. “That I was already excused from heavenly duties. Seeing how my last visit upstairs went,” He noted, silently thanking Crowley for stepping into that fire for him. “You were. But this,” He flicked the card towards Aziraphale and it swayed through the air until it rested at his feet. “Is much more than being excused. You’ve fallen,” Gabriel clarified. *** Aziraphale falls, but Hell doesn't want him any more than Heaven does. As a result, he is turned human. Trigger warning: the possibility of death is briefly mentioned.

human nature by attheborder (T)

When you’re talking about bodies locked in orbit, forever circling each other, it takes two to tango. Forces opposed; action and reaction. One, and the other. But the blank-slate version of Aziraphale sleeping beside Crowley in this cold little bed had no fear of Heaven, no fear of Falling. Not even a fear of snakes. He only had, as all humans did, the knowledge of good and bad, and the ability to make a choice. *** Crowley must turn Aziraphale human in order to hide him from Heaven. (Inspired by/fusion with Doctor Who’s Human Nature/Family of Blood arc)

Human Incarnate by nikkiRA (M)

“They think I’m immune to demon fire, see,” Aziraphale said, in a slightly airy voice. “So they had to… get creative.” “Aziraphale, what. Did. They. Do?” “Can’t you tell?” Aziraphale gave a little laugh. This must be what shock felt like. “Can’t you sense it?” He grabbed Crowley’s hand and pressed it to his chest, so the demon could feel his rapidly beating, very human heart. “I’m a human now, my dear. Very, very mortal.” Aziraphale is punished. Crowley refuses to accept it. Shenanigans, feelings, and plots ensue.

It's Not the Fall (It's the Landing) by Ginger_Cat (E)

To save each other from Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley become human. Things, predictably, do not go as planned. Crowley thought about what he’d come there to do. He thought about what it meant, in the context of God’s warning. Really thought. There wouldn’t be hopping from restaurant to restaurant with his best friend for the next six thousand years (give or take). There wouldn’t be any more miracles, or tempting. There wouldn’t be any skirting Hell’s wrath for eternity. And when it was over, the deepest, darkest, horriblest pits would be reserved for him. Crowley said, “Will you make me human, too?”

The Human Dilemma by theshoparoundthecorner (G)

“That’s not possible. How could my eyes just change overnight?” Crowley snapped his fingers. The mirror remained stubbornly shattered. He looked up at Aziraphale, face pale. Aziraphale took a step forward. “Like I said, I think something’s happened.” “What’s going on? Why isn’t it working?” Crowley snapped his fingers again, his agitation growing. Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder. “Crowley, let’s leave the mirror be for now and talk this over. I’ll make us some tea, or coffee, or whatever you’d like. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to for either of us be around broken glass at the moment.” Crowley nodded, taking Aziraphale’s hand and stepping over the shards to safety. Aziraphale could feel his hand shaking in his. “Crowley,” he said, “I need you to take a deep breath.” “Why? I don’t need to breathe.” “Yes, I rather think you do. I think we both do.” “Angel, what is going on?” Aziraphale reached forward and placed a hand on Crowley’s chest, feeling a strong heartbeat racing beneath it. Crowley reached forward and did the same. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said after a moment, afraid to speak the truth into being, “I think we may be human.”

And because I know someone will mention it if I don't...

Pray For Us, Icarus by Atalan (Series) (G-T)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #turned human #mod d

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thesith · 1 month

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Can I request a Hunter x fem!reader where the Batch are undercover a criminal party for a mission and he asks her for a dance and they tear up the dance floor with their moves and undeniable chemistry? (Can be spicy or SFW, your choice)

If you need music to set the mood for the party, I got you:

— Dancing with a Stranger

hunter x f!reader

this is a requested one shot (1k)

warnings: 18+, sexual topics & implication of sex, alcohol usage

notes: neither hunter or reader are drunk/intoxicated - neither have finished their first drinks.

summary: hunter sees reader from across the room while he (and tech) are undercover at a pirate party for intel.

A/N: thank you so much for the request, @kombatkid ! this is my first request for tbb & i hope i did it justice. also, i’ve wanted to write a fic like this for so long - thank you for giving me reason to xd <3

requests are open!

“Hunter,” Tech started, eyeing the girl across the room, “If you do not initiate a conversation with her, I will.”

Hunter looked at his brother, wide-eyed, “What has gotten into you, Tech?” When the mentioned didn’t offer an answer, Hunter continued, “We have a mission - best we stick to it.”

“What better way to gather intel than from the source?” Tech’s eyes wandered to the girl clad in a dark red dress, hugging her form in all the right places. “It is not a bad thing to ‘let go’ once in a while. I am sure Echo would agree with me if he were here.”

Hunter’s mind wandered to his brothers stuck on the Marauder, wishing he didn’t have one of the less attention grabbing appearances in the group - face tattoo and all. The tattoo did help him fit in with the pirates surrounding him, though. At the change of the song, Hunter was brought back to reality - back to you.

“Am I allowed to say no?” Hunter rhetorically asked, already knowing what Tech’s answer would be. Before his brother could even reply, a sigh left Hunter’s lips, “If you record this, you’re on cleaning duty.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Tech spoke, a mischievous glint in his eye. Once Hunter was far enough away from him, Tech started the recording for his brothers. Force, they were going to love this.

You leaned on a high table and observed the scene around you - loud music, dancing people, drinks. God, the drinks were incredible - they were the only reason you were there to begin with. Partying with people like you was definitely not your idea of fun, but people watching was. You took a sip of your drink, hardly having touched it. Your crew seemed to be having the time of their lives on the dance floor, leaving you by yourself. That was how all of these outings went - they coerce you that “it will be fun!” and “you’ll have a great time!”, but these parties have yet to live up to either expectation.

You were disturbed from your thoughts when a man with a half-skull tattooed on his face walked up to you - he looked to be having as much fun as you were. He stood beside you, holding a drink of his own and sipping from it. You’d be the first to admit he’s attractive - more attractive than anybody else in the crowded room. You turned to face him fully, placing your elbows on the table.

After a few moments of pounding music in the background, the man spoke.

“Do you wanna…” He awkwardly started, motioning with his head toward the pit of people, “with me?”

You thought for a moment. Anyone who’d asked before you declined immediately, yet this was tempting. You weren’t sure if it was the alluring presence of the man or if the liquor was hitting, but you ultimately decided to accept the invitation, taking the hand he offered.

The man led you to an open space between people before grabbing hold of your waist and giving you a look, asking if his hand placement was okay. You nodded, letting a smile grace your lips. A polite and handsome man? That’s a first at parties like these.

A familiar song came on, to which your eyes lit up - you love this song. You’d always wanted to dance to it at parties like these, but you’d never had a partner to. You felt yourself let go of whatever front you were putting up and allowed your hips to sway, the hands on your waist gripping you tighter.

You’d found yourself with your back turned to the stranger after the first verse, his hands now on your stomach. You bent over and brought your hands up your legs, leaving his hands to trail to your hips. Your ass brushed against his crotch, something almost bursting at the seams of his trousers. As you came back up, your back was flush against his chest and he breathed heavily in your ear, head slightly tilted downward.

The two of you continued the sensual dance to the song - two strangers in sync. The chemistry between you only strengthened with each song played, the last song ending with both of you out of breath and leaning against each other - your hands on the nape of his neck, tangled in his hair and his hands gripping your waist. Sweat was now dripping from your faces as you looked at the man you didn’t even know the name of - he was perfect.

For the first time, you didn’t want the night to end. Usually you were anticipating the time to leave - not this time. You were with the perfect man, who somehow single-handedly made the experience one of the best you’ve ever had.

“All of that and I didn’t even catch your name,” he whispered into your ear, the music finally having been turned off. You refused to move, as did he - you were both enjoying it too much.

“You know, everyone has to pass the dance test before earning that right,” You joked with him. You leaned back far enough to see the smile on his lips - along with the blush on his cheeks.

A laugh fell from his lips, “Surely I got a passing grade.”

“Just barely,” You offered your name with a smile, and learned his name - Hunter. “Well, Hunter. Thank you,” You combed your fingers through his hair, “I had a good time. Too bad it’s over.”

Hunter thought for a minute before boldly speaking, hoping he didn’t read the room wrong - “Who says it’s over?”

The next morning (after getting your comm channel), Hunter returned to his brothers on the Marauder. They all greeted him with knowing looks - looks that said ‘you got laid’ in not as many words.

“I am impressed by your ability to ‘connect’ with people,” Tech said, eyes trained on his datapad. “I would not be surprised if you returned with no information - thank the Force I was there too.”

“Didn’t know you could move like that, Hunter!” Wrecker laughed with a clap to Hunter’s upper-back, “Ya gotta teach me sometime!”

“Cleaning duty for the next month, Tech.” Hunter winced, knowing his brothers have all seen his less-than PG dancing with a stranger. He walked to the bunks, ready to get some much needed sleep before hearing someone’s muttering.

“Worth it.”

tags: @skellymom @burningfieldof-clover @dangraccoon

if you’d like to be tagged, fill out my taglist form through the word “agree” in my bio or at the bottom of my masterlist! <3

thank you for reading! check out my masterlist!

#star wars #the bad batch #bad batch #sw tbb #tbb #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter #star wars fanfiction #hunter x reader #tbb hunter #xena’s fics

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januaryembrs · 10 months

Text

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

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

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

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes- Sorry-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did I say about-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed.

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which technically he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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