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talanashta · 4 months ago

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Codependent

For Day 12 of @sept-stobin-extravaganza

Rating: T | No CWs | Word Count: 2,183 | Pairings: QPR Steve/Robin Additional Tags: Outsider POV

A/N: A lot of this story is inspired by this post and some of it's comments/reblogs/etc

The kids hadn’t noticed how close Steve and Robin were at first after Starcourt. Sure, the two were glued together constantly, but Dustin was fairly certain they were dating, and couples spent a lot of time together, right?

And he thought he was being proven correct in his assumptions about their relationship status when he headed over to Steve’s one Saturday in October. He didn’t bother knocking on the front door, just headed straight inside. “Steve?” he called out.

He didn’t hear a response, but he had seen the BMW in the driveway, so he took a look around. The ground floor was empty, and he didn’t see Steve in the backyard, so he headed upstairs. Once he reached the landing, he heard water running from the direction of Steve’s bedroom and ensuite. Honestly, maybe Dustin should have knocked or waited for Steve to come out, but he and his friends didn’t have a lot of boundaries, and also, Steve was like his big brother, so he didn’t think before opening the bathroom door a little (he didn’t look! He knew better than that!) and calling in.

“Steve! I need a ride! Hurry up your shower!” Dustin said.

The voice he heard back was… decidedly not Steve. “What the hell, mini-dingus?” Robin’s voice replied. He heard the curtain rustle, so he peeked his head around the door and met her eyes.

Her hair was all soapy, and she had the most disgruntled look on her face.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped.

Steve’s head popped up over top Robin’s in the gap. “Dude, just go wait in the living room. I’ll be down in, like, twenty, and I can give you a ride then.”

Dustin nodded frantically and hurried out of the room and downstairs.

He waited twenty-two minutes exactly (he kept checking his watch) while wearing a hole in the living room rug before Steve came downstairs, dried and dressed, followed closely behind by Robin.

“I thought you weren’t dating!” Dustin accused them.

Steve had the audacity to look fed up with Dustin. “We’re not.”

Dustin sputtered for a second before saying, “Then what were you doing showering together?”

Both of them just shrugged and didn’t answer his question. And they kept not, for the entire ride to the arcade, where he met up with the others.

Of course, when Dustin told the rest of the Party, none of them took it as seriously as he thought they should.

“So what?” Lucas said. “They’re dating but saying they’re not. What’s it matter?”

“What’s it matter?!” Dustin said, flabbergasted.

Of course, they didn’t realize that wasn’t the end of Steve and Robin being a lot. There were all sorts of things that they started to notice that indicated something more.

Like, one day Mike went into the Family Video to rent a movie to watch that weekend, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, when he went to check out, he saw Robin was wearing Steve’s name-tag. He didn’t say anything about it to her, but a couple days later, Dustin brought it up at lunch.

“I went to get a movie after school yesterday, and I get there, and Steve’s wearing Robin’s name-tag!” he told them.

“Yeah, I saw Robin wearing his name-tag on Saturday,” Mike replied.

“Really?” Dustin asked. “I asked Steve why, and he said Robin was sick. Like, I get it; he’s covering her shift or whatever, but why is he wearing her name-tag?”

“Was Steve sick on Saturday?” Lucas asked, thoughtfully.

Dustin thought it over for a minute. “I think so? When I called his house, Robin answered the phone and said something about him having a stomach bug.”

“Hm,” was all Lucas said in response.

Another time, when Lucas called Steve’s house, Robin was the one to answer again.

“Hey, Robin,” he said. “I was calling to ask Steve a question.”

She didn’t even pause before saying, “Sure, what’s up?”

“Um… Well, I wanted to know if he’d help me practice for basketball tryouts, but if he’s not free, I can call back.”

Robin hummed in thought for a moment. “He’ll be by to pick up up on Saturday just after lunch. Like 2-ish. Does that work for you?”

“I… guess?” he told her. “Are you sure that’s fine with him?”

“Yep!” she said, popping the P.

The two sat in awkward silence for a few moments too long. “Okay, bye,” he said quickly and hung up the phone.

Well, Steve showed up at 2PM on the dot Saturday, so Lucas just rolled with it. His mom agreed to stuff for his dad all the time, so this must’ve just been like that.

Now, Max wasn’t around Steve and Robin as much as the boys so she hadn’t been having as many weird experiences as they were, but she definitely had one that stuck out so much that she broke her month-long avoidance to tell them.

It happened when she’d been about to skate home from school and she passed Steve’s car in the parking lot. He raised one hand to her as she approached, Robin at his side.

Max just gave him a tight smile, so Steve let her be and turned back to Robin.

But when he did, Robin just opened her mouth, and he reached in and pulled out her gum and stuck it in his own mouth. What the actual fuck?

Max just straight-up stopped and did a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and headed back to the entrance of the school where she waited for the boys to come out.

“Max!” Dustin cheered upon seeing her. “What’s up?”

“Have they been super weird around you guys too?” she asked them.

“Who?” Mike asked, brows furrowed.

“Steve and Robin.”

Lucas looked at her carefully. “What’d they do now?”

She paused before telling him. “I just saw Steve pull gum out of Robin’s mouth and put it in his own to chew.”

All three boys chorused, “Ew!”

“Why?” Dustin cried out.

Lucas told her, “We’ve been keeping track. They’ve been insanely weird lately. Dustin thought they were just dating, but this goes way beyond that.”

“Yeah,” Mike chimed in. “Like, we’re not sure if it’s a new thing or if they’ve been like this the whole time, and we just didn’t notice.”

Max hummed, “Hm. Keep me looped in. I wanna know what’s up too.”

Lucas gave her a bright smile. “Sure!”

And the boys did. Every couple days, Max joined them at lunch to compare notes of whatever weirdness Steve and Robin had gotten up to lately. Most of the discoveries were from Dustin, who saw Steve way more than the rest of them, but they all had something. So far, they’d discovered that the two would only ever eat sharing a plate, Robin seemingly never left Steve’s house, and they apparently shared a toothbrush (they all found that one even nastier than the gum thing). One time, Dustin even got traumatized walking in on Steve shirtless with Robin popping a huge pimple on his back.

A few weeks after the gum incident, the four kids were gathered in Steve’s living room for a movie night. It’d been a while since they’d all hung out together outside of school, and technically they still weren’t. The absence of two of their Party members was sorely felt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dustin saw Steve watch them mope for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and suggesting, “Okay, you know what, why don’t you guys call Will? I’m sure he misses you.”

“Really?” Mike asked, incredulously.

“Yes, really, Mike. It’s not like I pay the phone bill. I’m sure my parents can afford the long distance charge,” he informed the boys.

Then it was a scramble as the three hurried to the phone. Max hung back, though.

“Don’t want to talk to Will?” Robin asked her.

“No,” she told her. “If I could, I’d talk to El, but you know she can’t come on the phone.”

Robin sighed. “Yeah. That sucks, kiddo. Want to get your nails painted while we wait? I did ours earlier.” She patted the cushion next where they were practically glued together on the couch.

Max thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” she agreed and sat on the couch. “Wait.” She went back over what Robin said. “Our nails?”

“Oh yeah!” Steve said cheerfully. “Robs painted our toes earlier.” He wiggled them on the rug, and they were indeed painted; they were even in the same shade as Robin’s toes.

“Yeah! We don’t like polish on our hands, so toes only!” she said. “But I can paint your fingers.”

“… Okay.” Max picked a color from the bag Steve offered her and sat patiently while Robin painted, Steve holding the bottle for her.

When Robin had finished the first coat, she capped the bottle and said to Max, “I need to take a pee break! Let that dry, and we’ll finish it when we get back.”

Max raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s Steve going?” she asked, since Steve got up too.

“… The bathroom?” he said, confused.

“Together?” Max asked them.

Robin just shrugged, and the two headed into the guest bathroom off the living room.

Whatever. If the two wanted to sneak off to make-out and lie very obviously about it, she wasn’t going to say anything.

Eventually, after her second coat was dried and the three of them had started watching TV, the boys came out of the kitchen, finished with their call to Will.

“How’s baby Byers?” Steve asked.

The boys told him all about what was going on in Will’s life, while Steve and Robin just nodded along and listened.

“Cool,” Robin said when they were all done. “Sounds like you had a good chat.”

“Mhm,” Steve added. “Now, what do you all want for dinner?”

All four of them looked at each other before saying in unison, “Pizza!”

Of course, getting all of them to agree on pizza toppings was a nightmare. It took almost 30 minutes of haggling with Steve over what he was willing to pay for. Mike only wanted pepperoni, Lucas didn’t really care but didn’t want too many ‘wet’ toppings, and Max wanted anything but pepperoni to be contrary to Mike.

“I want supreme,” Dustin told him.

“Okay, but no mushrooms. We’re allergic,” Steve told him.

Dustin stared at him for almost a full minute before saying slowly, “You’re not allergic to mushrooms, Steve. I’ve seen you eat them at my house before.”

“Well, Robin’s allergic,” he said matter-of-factly with his hands on his hips. “So no mushrooms.”

“Robin can just have a different pizza, Steve! The mushrooms are important to the balance of the supreme pizza. Without them, both the taste and texture are altered.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s either no mushrooms or no supreme pizza, Henderson. You’re the only one who wanted it, and I’m not about to order a specialty pizza just for you.”

“But-!”

“Nuh-uh. Those are your two options,” he said firmly.

Dustin rolled his eyes so hard they almost rolled out of his head. “Fine. No mushrooms. God!”

When he stomped back over to the Party, he complained to them about what just happened.

“So because Robin can’t eat mushrooms, he can’t either?” Max asked.

The four looked over to where the two were standing at the landline, Steve dialing to order the pizza.

“Maybe it’s a serious enough allergy that they can’t kiss if he’s eaten any?” Lucas suggested.

“Maybe,” Dustin conceded. “But you know, I’ve never seen them kiss… Like even once.”

The rest of the group thought over all the past interactions they’ve observed and agreed.

“They might not like PDA,” Mike said.

Max chimed in, “Maybe they’re really not dating. Maybe they’re just weird.”

“They were showering together,” Dustin said to her.

“True…” she conceded. “And I saw them go to the bathroom together earlier tonight. Pretty sure that was to have a secret make-out session,” Max added.

“Really?” Lucas asked her.

“Mhm.”

“They’re like my grandparents,” Lucas said to them all.

Mike frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like, they’re so in-tune, as if they’d been together forever. But then sometimes they’re so weird it’s not like my grandparents at all,” he explained.

“Like with the name-tags thing?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah!”

“Who even knows with those two,” Max said. “Maybe they’re just trauma-bonded or whatever. And it messed them up along the way.”

“No way!” Dustin insisted. “Steve’s not like that.”

“Gum, Dustin,” she said. “I saw him pull it right out of her mouth.”

“Ew, yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

Mike added, “Too bad El’s not here. She’d be able to figure out whatever was going on.”

The group saw as Robin poked Steve in the chest as he was hanging up the phone, and Steve said, “That was right in the nipple!” and clutched his chest.

“Score!” she cheered, laughing. He started chuckling too, leaning in and resting his head on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Max agreed. “They’re too weird to figure out without superpowers.”

#september stobin extravaganza #prompt fill #platonic stobin #talanashta writes #outsider pov #stranger things

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backwzzds · 2 years ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ car guy, roronoa zoro (nsfw)

you loved your man and his pretty piece of shit truck <33.

dating car guy!zoro who's very into cars but can only afford his shitty pickup truck that he uses as a daily. you'd accompanied him to a show as part of a date' (he really did try he bought you feed after and everything) and now you were stuffed in his truck, bottoms of your feet practically touching the base of his thighs.

“fuck," the puerto rican would groan with an aggressive toss of his head back. "ride that dick baby. milk me f'everyrhing i got," he encouraged you. the space in his truck was pretty tight, but you still made it work as you rode him crazy. your back was facing him, giving the tinted windshield a great view of your heavy tits that his hands had fun finding home in.

"baby, can't last," you cried, trying your hardest not to slow down. your knees were surely giving up, so zoro aided you by grabbing your hips and rutting upward into you, to meet the pace of your bounces.

"f-feel like 'm gonna, 'm gonna—“

zoro wraps his free hand around your neck and gives it a light squeeze as he brings his other down to rub at your puffy clit. "been such a good girl for me. so patient. cum for me mama.”

your eyes would open and squint in and out if consciousness as the only thing in your line of view of was the mini fabric puerto rican flag hanging up with your caribbean flag from the rear view mirror. zoro secretly thought it'd be cute to hang up your own flag with his the moment you became his passenger princess.

he didn't always tell you, but he did appreciate you. he knew you could have found someone much better than him and worthy of your time; but you constantly reassured him that he was better. he knew you liked car guys and it bugged him how you were with him because he'd rather you be with a bmw or even a scat pack dude.

but you'd been with him from the start. you'd watched him build his own truck practically from the ground up and even helped him with it too. so you knew first hand how much cooler his 1987 fj60 landcruiser was than a widebody v6. he didn't always have the money to upgrade the coolest mods, but zoro took pride in his little piece of shit, and has been since he was sixteen years old.

you knew he didn't have money to drive you around in a big bodied car or on expensive dates, you enjoyed nights like this. going to takeovers with him, sharing some sake, getting whatever island food was open so late at night, and ending the date with a much needed fuck-this was your perfect date.

as much as it bothered zoro, you always showed him you were down for only him because vou were hardly impressed with any of the dudes who tried to show of their builds to you at takeovers. your boyfriend's truck was cooler anyway.

your vision starts to fade in and out as you experience the most life changing orgasm ever. you're practically spasming all over zoro's body, but he successfully holds you up with the strength of one arm all while continuing to flick your clit with the other. the fatty pudge of your stomach cutely spilled out from his grip as you leaned forward into the steering wheel, legs finally giving out.

with heavy breaths, zoro pumps into you a few more times before letting out the nastiest groan, and shooting his hot loads into you. "fuck. you fuck me so good, mama." you two slow your movements in attempt to catch your breathing, his hand movements now stopping as he felt your body ease into his touch.

steam coated all eight windows of the truck, making the outside world completely invisible behind his five percent of tint. with a heavy sigh, you lean back against him, turning the bottom half of your body to the door. zoro gave you a loving kiss to the base of your sweaty cheek, running his hand through your braids and moving them out your face. "had fun t'day?"

you let out a satisfied hum and peck his lips before resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes. "the best."

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 9 months ago

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What kind of vehicles do you think the Baldur’s Gate companions would drive? Here’s my list:

Karlach: either a Harley Davidson motorcycle or a lifted black dodge Ram

Wyll: Honda civic

Astarion: BMW (with extreme tinted windows)

Halsin: Why have a vehicle when you can gracefully stroll through the lands like nature intended?

Jaheira: Mercedes

Gale: smart car

Minthara: Porsche

Minsc: A jeep wrangler

Lae’Zel: 1969 Camaro

Shar-embrace Shadowheart: a hearse

Selune-embrace Shadowheart: Volkswagen bug

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #spawn astarion #ascended astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #shadowheart #halsin #karlach #karlach cliffgate #minsc and boo #minsc #jaheira #lae'zel

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robthegoodfellow · 4 months ago

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3DPC4EVA

@harringrovezine submission! Billy and Steve take a backseat while their cars get busy. Crack taken seriously. Brace for puns.

Summary: When the Camaro rumbles into the Hawkins High parking lot, she catches the attention of a certain luxury vehicle.

Harringrove, Camaro/Beamer (or Bimmer/Beemer whatever you prefer)

Rated G | ~2.2k (slightly expanded version) | Alternating Car POV

thank you @adelacreations and the rest of the zine team for all your hard work!

~🛞~

A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.

He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.

Exultation.

They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple.

The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn.

PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.

~🛞~

3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.

But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.

Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh.

3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.

Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences—early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?

Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.

Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.

Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.

~🛞~

The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.

Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.

Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.

That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.

The plate read 3Ds46T2.

Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?

PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?

She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.

Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued.

At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.

Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.

~🛞~

A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.

It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.

Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.

3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—

—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.

An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator.

If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.

Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.

3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—

Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.

—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed.

Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?

Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…

Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.

PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.

Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.

The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.

Billy was.

“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.

It would see PC that night.

Perhaps all night.

~🛞~

Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.

He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.

They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.

She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.

A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—

She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.

Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.

“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”

She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.

“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”

An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.

But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?

Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—

Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast.

Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.

A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”

The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?”

Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.

“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”

Bratty snort. “Or what.”

“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”

Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”

PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.

“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.

3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.

~🛞~

At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.

3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.

It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.

“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”

“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.

“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.

He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door.

A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.

No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.

No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.

Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air.

Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it.

What was it humans liked to say?

My way or the highway.

~🛞~

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#CARS IN LOVE #CARS BRINGING BOYS TOGETHER #harringrove #harringrove zine #there's a follow up idea where the camaro saves billy from the mindflayer #maybe one day #billy hargrove #steve harrington

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megxplryxb · 2 years ago

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More Than This

*Notes* Gif is not mine..

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

cw: Friends to lovers, angst, hurt, romance, eventual smut (probably), no use of y/n, Steve being a bit of an ass

Author's note: My first proper fic in a while so please be gentle on me. <3 There will be 2 Parts to this fic if the demand is there.

"Are we there yet?" Robin whined from the back of Steve's car, repeating the same question she'd asked ten minutes earlier. Frustration having set in about an hour ago when Eddie had fallen asleep and decided to use her shoulder as a pillow. You couldn't exactly blame her for being pissed off, the journey had felt long and drawn out and the current heat wave definitely wasn’t helping the current situation, with irritated sighs and huffs being echoed over Eddie’s loud snoring.

"Relax, Robs, we're almost there." Steve promised his friend through the rear view mirror. "Right?" He asked, squeezing your thigh for reassurance in the passenger seat beside him, begging you to say yes either way so Robin would quit bugging him. You flinched at the sudden feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your skin, shifting just enough so that his hand fell from your leg. Your uncomfortable body language hadn't gone unnoticed by him, looking at you in utter confusion before turning his focus back to the open road again.

"Oh yeah, about a half hour and we should be at the motel." You muffled, scanning the map as your friend breathed a sigh of relief behind you. You had navigated the majority of the journey, swapping with Robin forty minutes in when it became clear she couldn't understand the directions, meaning you were left with no choice but to sit up front with Steve because Eddie had already smoked a joint by himself and couldn't be trusted to guide you to your required destination safely or on time.

He had won four Metallica tickets on some radio show contest a few days prior, pleading with his friend to drive you all to Ohio in his BMW so he could see his favourite band play live for the first time. It wasn't really Steve's kind of music but who was he to turn down a night away from Hawkins?

You had been friends with Steve and the others ever since he called to Dustin's a couple of years ago while you were babysitting at the Henderson household, blissfully unaware of the danger that surrounded Hawkins at the time. Their friendship had taken you a little bit by surprise at first but you had to admit, you found their bond totally adorable. Especially, when Steve would give Dustin advice about girls and how to do his hair and how they'd protect each other and now you too, every time the world went to shit. You really didn't expect to get mixed up in a world involving supernatural creatures when you said yes to a babysitting job, that was definitely not on the advertisement but now you'd do anything for that kid and the rest of the group to keep them safe.

Steve had been drawn to you from the very beginning, not at all prepared for a pretty girl to answer the door to him while he waited for the younger boy. He immediately recognised you from high school, knowing it definitely wasn't the first time you had caught his attention.

"Oh hey, sorry, I didn't know Henderson had a sister." He muttered innocently, sliding his hands in to his pockets as you leaned against the doorframe wearing a plaid skirt and woolen cardigan.

"Pfft he wishes...I'm just his favourite babysitter or at least I'm the only one crazy enough to look after him.” You joked as Steve let out a small chuckle. “So, what are you doing here anyway ‘King Steve’? Mrs Henderson didn’t mention Dustin having a play date tonight.” You teased, folding your arms as Steve pressed his tongue to his cheek, a little taken aback by your wit. "Well, if Mrs Henderson had told me Dustin had such a pretty babysitter, I might have come play more often." He flirted, enjoying the back and forth between you, completely forgetting the reason he had called to Dustin's in the first place.

“Dude, that's my babysitter and she's awesome so don't even think about trying any shit with her!" Dustin had warned his older friend, seeing the lust in Steve's eyes as you walked away to let them talk.

Of course you liked Steve, he was gorgeous and sweet and he wasn't the stuck up asshole you'd remembered from high school. But, you knew that he was still getting over Nancy and you wouldn't be anyones rebound girl. So, you started occupying your time with Billy Hargrove to get over your little crush on Steve and it wasn't long until he became your boyfriend. You actually liked Billy, saw parts of him that no one else had but your friendship with Steve complicated things between you from the beginning. Cause, every time Billy did something to hurt you or piss you off, it was Steve you turned to for comfort, leading to fist fights between the two boys and you caught in the middle.

Billy hated that you were so close with his biggest rival, he hated that the other boy knew so much about you and your relationship and he hated knowing that your feelings for Steve went way past platonic, even if you hadn't realised it yet. So, when he eventually made you choose between your friendship with Steve and your relationship with him, Billy wasn't all that surprised when you chose Steve. Not that you ever told your friend he was the reason for the break up.

Over the next few years, you and Steve had gotten even closer, spending more time in his house than your own because he hated being there by himself and you didn't want to go home either. Your Mother had long passed away and your Father was a drunk. It was one of the many things you had in common, both of you having shitty parents and it was nice to have someone who understood how you were feeling. But lately, you had taken a step back from him, deciding to stay at Robin's house instead until you had enough money for a place of your own, because Billy Hargrove had been right all along, you were in love with your best friend and you were fucking terrified of him finding out.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, you certainly didn't want it to happen, it was so cliche that it made you physically nauseous, but thinking you had lost Steve when he disappeared under the water that night on the lake was all it took for you to realise just how much he really meant to you. Now you didn't know to act around your friend, not wanting to give him the slightest inkling of your current feelings towards him. You hated the way your stomach would flip when he'd smile at you, cheeks heating when he’d compliment you and the way you'd almost forget to breathe when he leaned in to kiss your cheek after picking you up from work, it was truly tragic. But to make matters worse, Robin had let slip that Steve was back on the dating scene again and you were just a tiny bit jealous and a little pissed off that he had failed to mention that detail to you personally when you spent so much time with him.

The sun was bright, high in the sky, heat taking over the BMW before you rolled the window down, welcoming the instant breeze as you pulled your sunglasses from the top of your head back over your eyes. Steve was immediately hypnotised by the scent of your shampoo and perfume as your hair blew in the wind. He tried to stay focused on the road in front of him but you were making it incredibly difficult in your low cut crop top and tiny denim shorts, hanging the top half of your body out the window for air. He was sure he almost drooled at the small sight of your laced bra that threatened to unveil itself if you shuffled in your seat much more.

Steve silently wondered what had been going on with you lately, you had become so distant and he was worried that he'd done something to upset you, said something stupid, but he couldn't think of anything. You didn't stay with him anymore, you flinched when he'd touch you and now, you barely even looked at him. Whatever was going on with you, he needed to find out soon, because it was driving him crazy.

"You ok over there, Dingus?" Robin teased, elbow leaning on the back of the drivers seat, catching Steve gazing at you. She was sure that you and Steve belonged together but you refused to let her know the full extent of your feelings because as much as you loved Robin, you didn't trust her not accidentally spill the beans to Steve.

“Uh yeah, m’fine.” He swallowed, relieved you hadn’t caught him staring as you rolled the window up again. He knew he shouldn't have been looking at you like that, you were his best friend for christ sake and he was sort of dating someone now, but he just couldn't help himself, not when it came to you. He never could.

“Eyes on the road, Romeo.” Robin whispered, pinching his cheek as he swotted her hand away, focusing back on the road again.

Thirty minutes later and you had arrived at the motel you’d be spending the night in, climbing in to the backseat, shaking Eddie to wake him from his slumber as Robin and Steve went to check in.

“Wake up sleeping beauty, we’re here.” You announced as he stretched out, yawning loudly.

“Oh man, why’d you wake me up, I was having such a good dream. You and Nance were giving me a—"

“I’m begging you not to finish that sentence, Munson.” You pleaded, placing a hand over his mouth.

“Hey, I’m a guy. I can’t help that I dream about my hot friends.” He defended as you got back out of the car while he followed suit.

“That doesn’t mean you have to tell me about it though.” You shuddered as he let out a laugh. “So, you finally gonna bunk up with Harrington tonight, put the rest of us out of our misery?” He grinned, pulling a little worn box out of his pocket, lighting up a cigarette.

“Nope. I’m sharing with Robin, you’re bunking with Steve.” You replied, rummaging in the trunk for your duffel bag, not really wanting to talk about Steve.

"We could swap if you wa-"

"I’m good with Robin." You interrupted, as he picked up on the irritated tone in your voice. "What's going on with you two lately?" Eddie questioned.

"Nothing." You shrugged, swinging your bag over your shoulder, Eddie looking at you, completely unconvinced by the answer you had given him. "Total bullshit."

"There's nothing going on, Eddie." You repeated.

"Did you guys finally do it or something? Is that why you aren't staying at his house anymore?" He asked as you let out a sarcastic laugh.

"No, we didn't 'do it'..….how did you even know I haven't been staying at Steve's?” You quizzed, Eddie offering you a drag of his cigarette, leaning against the Beamer. “He told me. Asked me if I knew what was going on with you, told him if he didn't know, there was no way I would."

“Rob said he’s been going on a couple of dates recently, I figured me sleeping in the next bedroom might be a bit of a mood killer." You revealed, exhaling the cigarette smoke as Eddie grinned at you. “Ah, so the issue is he's not doing you?" He joked as you rolled your eyes.

"That's not the issue, Eddie, there is no issue!" You lied, handing Eddie back what was left of his cigarette as he chuckled at your frustration.

“If you say so princess."

—

"So are you ever going to tell that girl how you feel or are you happy drooling at her from her a distance for the rest of your life?" Robin questioned Steve at the check in desk while he tried to shush her.

"Jesus Robin, will you stop with that shit? We're just friends, alright?" Steve declared, leaning heavily on the counter.

"No dingus, we're just friends, you don't look at your friends the way you look at her, there's a difference." She stated as Steve looked out the window, back to where you and Eddie were still talking outside in the parking lot. Seeing you two laughing outside stirred up a hint of jealousy in him because it should have been him you were laughing with, not Eddie. Steve was supposed to be your best friend and it was killing him that you were treating him like a total stranger.

"I don't even know why you're dating other chicks, you've got the perfect girl right out there." Robin pointed, as Steve let out a frustrated breath.

"m'not dating ‘other chicks’ Robin, just one ch...girl, Tracy, remember?" He asked as Robin laughed. "Oh I remember, do you? Beause it didn't seem like you did when you were mentally undressing your best friend back in the car."

"I wasn't "mentally undressing" her!"

"You totally were though." She muttered under her breath.

"Robin, I swear to god, just drop it. I'm seeing Tracy now, please, just let it go." He begged as she finally decided to ease up on her friend, seeing the annoyance on his face. "Fine, but she was a real bitch in high school, y'know?"

"You thought everyone was a bitch in high school." Steve replied unamused at her response. "Not everyone." She argued, turning her head to where you were walking in with Eddie.

"Ok, here we go, we have one room reserved under a Miss Buckley and one reserved under a Mr. Munson is that correct?" The receptionist asked.

"Yes, Ma'am." Eddie replied with a cheesy grin, winking at the girl behind the desk.

"Great, your rooms are ready now. Here's your key Mr. Munson you're in room fourteen and Miss Buckley, you're in room sixteen, enjoy your stay." She smiled as you all gathered your things to head to your residence for the night.

"Fuck, there was something really hot about the way she kept calling me Mr. Munson." Eddie smirked as you walked towards the rooms.

"She was just being polite, you pervert." You muttered, shoving your friend playfully.

"Aww don't be jealous sweetheart, you're still my number one girl." He said throwing an arm around you.

"In your dreams, Munson." You fought back.

"You were." He teased, sticking his tongue out playfully. Steve walked ahead, finally finding the room he'd be sharing with Eddie, swiping the room key, pushing the old creaky door in with his shoulder.

"Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me!" Steve cursed, opening the door as you all entered to see what he was referring to.

“What’s the prob….oh.” Eddie sighed, finally noticing the lack of a second double bed.

"Aww, this is so romantic. All you need is some candles and rose petals and you’re all set.” Robin teased, earning a glare from both guys.

"S'not funny Robin, we’re not sharing a bed, go check your room and see what you’ve got.” He requested as Robin wandered off to see if your room had the same issue.

"Shit, I'm sure I asked for two beds dude." Eddie stated rubbing his neck as the other let out an irritated breath. "You had one job Munson..."

"We've got one double bed too." Robin revealed, swinging from the doorframe unbothered. Sharing a bed wasn’t an issue for either of you, you'd done it most weekends at Steve's anyway when Robin was too drunk to go home or when you stayed at hers.

"Alright I'll go back to the front desk and see if that hot little receptionist can help us out." Eddie grinned, heading for the door but you placed a hand on his chest to hold him back.

"Easy there lover boy, the sign said "No Vacancies", it's totally sold out." You explained, hearing Steve curse behind you.

"Looks like you guys are roomies then." Robin laughed as they both shook their heads in defiance.

"No, absolutely not." Steve refused.

"Agreed." The other boy reiterated.

"Are you guys really that immature? It's just one night." You explained, taking a seat on the end of the bed.

"Have you seen the size of Harrington's dick? I don't want that thing poking at me all night!" Eddie shrieked as Steve smirked smugly. Your eyes widened at the mention of your friends package, sending them straight to his dick. Your movement hadn’t gone unnoticed by Steve who was looking at you confidently, almost enjoying the fact he had caught you staring at him.

"So what do you suggest then?" Robin quizzed, getting bored of standing around, wanting to freshen up before the concert.

"Easy, I go with one of you lovely ladies and one of you stays here with ol' big dick." He proposed, nudging his head towards Steve who seemed more than happy with that arrangement.

"No way." You refused knowing you’d end up getting stuck with Steve.

"Why not?" Steve quizzed, folding his strong arms, almost looking insulted by how quick you shot down the suggested arrangement.

Because you're sleeping with someone that's not me...

"Why should Robin and I have to switch because you two aren't man enough to share a bed for a couple of hours?" You spat, directing the question towards your best friend.

"Because we're guys! It's different for girls..." Eddie interrupted before Steve had the chance to speak.

"Afraid you'll like it?" Robin teased.

"If it's that much of a problem, why don't one of you just sleep in the car." You suggest, earning a glare from Steve. "I fucking drove us here, m'not sleepin' in the damn car!" Steve answered back as you noticed him glaring at you, quickly picking up on his pissed off tone.

"Sleep on the floor then." You muttered.

"This is ridiculous, why are we still arguing?” Steve groaned, not understanding why you were so against sharing a bed with him. You had done it before so why was now such a big deal?

“You’re the one being ridiculous! It’s just somewhere to sleep for a few hours.” You replied getting more agitated each time Steve spoke.

“Guys please…” Robin begged, sensing the tension between you both starting to boil over.

“Oh I’m the one being ridiculous? That's rich...” Steve fired back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Harrington?” You questioned, raising a brow at him, completely forgetting that Robin and Eddie were watching this encounter unfold between you.

“You know exactly what it means, sweetheart.” He challenged and suddenly, you knew he wasn't talking about the sleeping arrangements anymore.

"Ok children, let's just cut the shit shall we? Robin, you and I will take the other room and leave these lovebirds alone to fuck out this sexual tension before we all lose the will to live.” Eddie grinned, grabbing his bags, leading Robin out of the room as she whispered a "sorry" to you.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson.” Steve replied, glaring at the other boy as you took a mental note to murder the metal head at a later time.

"Hey, it's not like I'm saying anything you guys don’t already know. Why don’t you just save us all some time and get it over with huh? We'll meet you in the lobby in an hour.” Eddie replied, closing the door behind him, leaving you all alone with your best friend for the first time in a long time.

“Idiot.” Steve muttered, throwing his car keys on the nightstand, throwing himself on to the bed. "This is just fucking great..." You muttered under your breath, the awkward tension between you already suffocating the room along with the smell of stale cigarette smoke that seemed to be attached to all of the soft furnishings. You could feel Steve's eyes on you while you grabbed your bag and headed for the bathroom, knowing you needed to get away from him and give each other some much needed space after the heated exchange.

"Need to use the bathroom before I get ready?" You questioned, a hand resting on your hip as Steve barely acknowledged you, grabbing the remote to turn on the tv.

"Nope."

"Cool." You whispered, closing the door behind you, quickly turning on the shower so you could finally let out the tears you'd been trying desperately to hold back for so long.

You didn't know how to make things right with Steve. You thought you were protecting your friendship with him by keeping him at a distance until your feelings disappeared, but it seemed all you were really doing was making things much worse between you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve the hair harrington #king steve #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve stranger things #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things smut #stranger things

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larytello · 2 years ago

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Friendly reminder that KITT and Herbie totally adopted Dee. They're like two proud parents attending to their daughter's first performance on stage and I just can't

#THEY'RE A FAMILY IN MY HEART OK #Dee you got two brothers btw #VIN and KITT Jr from the 2008 series lmao #BMW i Vision Dee #Herbie The Love Bug #Herbie #Knight Rider #KITT #KI2T

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januaryembrs · 2 years ago

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

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

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

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes- Sorry-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did I say about-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed.

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which technically he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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