#but sources say she was still goin insane .

[tetzoro]

i giggle every time i see you use the phrase ‘call disconnects—’ hehe

risu PLS !!! i queued that up at like 2 in the morning so the phone rlly needed to be disconnected before i got tooo delusional …

[coredrill]

perhaps my most insane collection of brvn thots yet

do we think lulu is from the moon. i think this for three reasons. one: when she told superbia she was going to ride him the moon was quite large and prominent in the shot. symbolism. two: when she got her fancy hairdo, she had two little buns that looked like moons. three: “lulu” could come from “luna” the same way it could come from the first syllable of smith’s name. why would she become spanish? don’t worry abt it. also if she’s from there then maybe the “final battle” which obari allegedly said would take place in an unexpected location will indeed be on the moon (pls dont ask for a source on this bc i don’t think i could find it again but it was one of the like. EARLY early interviews iirc. or it was just a rumor. this part of the post is a joke anyways LMAO). however this IS a super robot show so i feel like the moon in general is actually a more expected location for me than like. idk. cleveland

everyone pointing out the animation differences maybe indicating different timelines is so funny to me cause like. if it’s NOT intentional, the fans are putting together a list of fixes to make for the bluray on a silver platter LMAO. also god i hope we get a western bluray release, i honestly am considering getting the jp one if it somehow winds up w eng subs though just cause i know it’s such a long shot for CRUNCHYROLL of all motherfuckers to put one together 🥲 discotek ur our only hope………………

i keep thinking abt the like. pacing of the previous fight scenes being reused in ep9 in such a smart way…………like with smith/lulu v superbia - isami/bravern v cupiridas AND with smith/lulu v knuth - isami/bravern v pessimism/vanitas they kept doing the quick jumps between each of the two fights in a way that made it clear that isami and smith were in conversation even if they were doing completely different shit, and then bringing that completely to the forefront this ep while isami is asking smith why he died and at the same time smith is refusing to die bc of his promise with isami. BLEW MY FUCKIN MIND to see the pattern reused like that, i swear to GOD everyone talks about how fun and hype this show is but it’s so damn GOOD too 😭😭 and then after that the fuckin. symmetrical docking ass cut and then later the gattai which has been held off for SO long bc they are no longer separate conversations. JESUS

called my shots too early tho w smith not melting ppl’s minds in a kaworu manner where they convolute the story x1000 to try to make him seem straight 😭 congrats white boy, your days are numbered until ppl start saying you love isami like he’s your pet dog……….also in a related fashion the giant naked smith fanarts are taking me out LMAO

you can tell idk shit abt fuck when it comes to time travel fuckery cause i rly am just here like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ atp LMAO, the serious theorizing is GONE. i trust the show to finish out in a satisfying manner and also in a way that my pea brain can understand and i’m rly looking forward to savouring these last 3 episodes :] and then rewatching the whole thing from the beginning once the remaining twists have been revealed and i Know :3 like not to get way too sentimental w 3 whole episodes left but we are so lucky to be following this story in real time you guys 😭 like i’m just gonna put the same post i made back after episode ONE here cause it’s true but times a million with what we’ve seen so far, truly this is such a special experience to have and i’m so glad this show waited until i got into mecha to get made so that i could like. Understand it yknow. anyways good for january 14 2024 version of me, you are so excited andyet still have NO idea the kind of treat you are in for 😭

“lewis” jumpscare tho omg. i forgot it took me like a week to figure out what the hell was goin on with all the characters first and last names LMAO. anyways everybody go look at sumiisa sekiha love love tenkyouken right now i am no longer asking

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

If I Go Universe - Is This Our First Date? (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: The morning after their first time together is blissful and sweet and full of breakfast food.

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 1362

Warnings: fairly suggestive language, body kisses, rick flag being so soft it HURTS, flufffff, death mention, a smidge of language

Timeline: September 2016 (takes place the morning after If I Go, I'm Goin' Crazy pt. 1)

if i go masterlist

A/N: Is it Wednesday again? It's Writer Wednesday again! Thank you @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape !

Delphia woke up the next morning to gentle kisses on her abdomen. Warm static, like an old tv freshly turned off, coursed up her spine — making her toes curl. She hummed as she blindly reached for the source of such lovely morning kisses. Her fingers tangled into sandy blonde hair, eliciting a near purr against her flesh.

“Mornin’,” Rick muttered, voice thick and rasping as his lips brushed between her breasts.

“G’morning,” she whispered back, eyes finally slipping open just as he came face to face with her.

A grin, uncontrollable and filled with a happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time, tugged at the corners of her mouth. He looked even more handsome like this. Hair mussed, hazel eyes still blurred with sleep, lips swollen from too many kisses, not to mention shirtless. She put both hands into that messy hair and pushed it back away from his face — pulling a sleepy chuckle from him when she hitched her calf over his lower back to get him as close as humanly possible.

“Wanna go get breakfast?” he asked as he hid in the crook of her neck, “That sound good?”

“What — like a date?” Delphia asked through a giggle.

Rick smiled against her jaw, pressing lazy kisses to it as he replied, “Somethin’ like that.”

“Oh, my God, Colonel Flag.” She leaned in close to his ear. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Rick snorted out a laugh, forehead dropping to her collarbone as his shoulders shook. Her sleepy morning giggles sounded like bells in his ears. Her fingers tracing over the scratch marks she’d left on his spine the night before driving him nearly insane. The playful flick of her tongue against his ear made him laugh even more.

What had he done? What had he done to deserve this? This woman lying beneath him in his bed — laughing with him, holding him, bringing new life to all these parts of himself that he thought were dead. For so long — for so long — he thought this was never meant to be. That all he was ever going to get of Delphia Holman was her smiles in the hallways or her hushed gossip at admin parties. And he had resigned himself to that fate. Because just a little bit of her was better than nothing at all. But this was better than just a little bit. This was always going to be better than those smiles and all those moments where he thought things would go further. This was warm, and yearning, and good, and so much more than he ever thought it could be.

Oh, shit. Did he love her already?

“And what if I did, huh?” Rick asked against her chin, giving it a teasing bite.

“I’d say that’s rather embarrassing for you,” she said with a smile, “What are you — twelve?”

“Well, do you like me back?” His lips dropped back to her chest, voice low and edging on a growl. “Check yes or no.”

“Yes,” Delphia sighed, head thrown back against her pillow, “Most definitely.”

“Mm — who’s embarrassing now?”

“Me. Us. Together. It’s embarrassing how much I like you Rick Flag. Devastating even.”

“Fuck.”

He surged up into her like he was coming up for air. Lips connecting with her own as a starved man finding oasis. Her fingers wove themselves back into his hair. Her other leg wrapped around his waist. Lips caught in a feverish dance, Rick planted his knees and pulled them both up into a seated position. He needed more of her. More of her soft flesh in his hands as he guided her to sit in his lap.

Shit. He did love her already.

“Ten more minutes — then breakfast?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

The diner was quaint. Quiet in the midmorning with only a few elderly stragglers and soft 50s rock playing in the background. Rick got them two seats at the bar and ordered two coffees, remembering the way she liked hers, while they looked over the menu.

“Oh, they have corned beef hash,” Delphia spoke excitedly.

Rick narrowed his eyes at her as she closed her menu. Apparently decided. “You seriously like that stuff?”

“It’s good when it’s not the canned stuff.” She shrugged, flashing the waitress a smile when she set down their cups of coffee. “My dad cures his own meats so…We had it a lot when I was a kid.”

“You two ready to order?” the waitress asked, pen poised above her notepad.

“Yeah, I’ll have the three meat breakfast with a side of toast, Carol. Thank you.” Rick said.

“Wheat or rye?”

“Uh — Rye bread, please.”

The waitress turned to Delphia. “And for you, honey?”

“Corned beef hash, please. Rye toast for me too.”

“This separate checks — ?”

“Just the one, please, ma’am.”

Carol smiled knowingly, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. “Alrighty, then. And, Colonel, how many times do I gotta tell you not to call me ma’am?”

Rick chuckled as Carol walked away. Delphia smiled as she watched out of the corner of her eye. How relaxed and laid back Rick seemed here. He was never like this at Belle Reve. And probably for good reason. There he was Colonel Rick Flag, commanding officer of Task Force X who took no shit and gave orders like he was born to do it. But here, in this little diner, he was more or less just Rick. The hard exterior was peeled back a little and Delphia liked what she saw. Liked the kindness on full display that she knew he was so capable of. Liked the softness of him. Liked him in this big comfy sweatshirt and faded jeans. How did he look more handsome like this than he did naked in bed?

“You come here a lot?” she asked, holding her mug close to her face to feel the warmth of it.

“After most missions, yeah.” He nodded his head. “There’s a uh — group of vets that meet here every week. I like to sit and talk with ‘em.”

Delphia really had to resist the urge to jump out of her seat and start kissing him again. But with a sigh, she controlled herself and said, “That’s sweet.”

“So, uh, why’d’you like corned beef hash so much again?” Rick smirked at her over the lip of his mug.

“You still on that?” she laughed, “I grew up in Baltimore. Way, way, different than Louisiana. Corned beef hash reminds me of home. At least a little bit.”

“I get that. Grew up in DC.”

“Really? Your parents still up there?”

Rick shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Uh, no. Dad died in the Gulf War when I was just a kid and — and my mom lost her battle with cancer ten years ago.”

“Oh, Rick.” She placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry.”

“S’alright. Long time ago.”

“Yeah, but — it still hurts sometimes, doesn’t it?” When she attempted to pull away his much larger one came down to stop her. She smiled at the sight of his fingers curling around her own. “I never even met my biological mom but — but I still think about her sometimes. What it might have been like….To know her. For someone to know, maybe even just a little, what it was like to do what I can. To help me. Ugh, sorry. I know that’s not strictly comparable — “

“No, it’s okay.” He squeezed her hand sharply and comfortingly. “I get it.”

“Food’s here!” Carol announced with a smile as she set down their plates, “Enjoy.”

They ate their food over more conversation. Rick tried the corned beef hash and actually enjoyed it. Delphia marveled over the amount of meat he could pack away. They laughed so hard they cried. And when they were done, they left the diner with his arms wrapped around her waist and big hands in her hoodie pockets. Laughing as they tried to walk back to his apartment like that. Feeling more joyous and free together than they ever did apart.

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings

[phoebehalliwell]

in your alternate next gen headcanons/fics, you've got Penn and the other P's (Piper's daughters), Dency (Phoebe's daughter), and Sheridan and Warren (Prue's son's). have you ever written anything about Paige's kids in any of the alternate universes?

okay so if i'm cataloguing every next gen warren witch that lives in my brain by charmed one, there's:

prue: warren & sheridan, patricia, penelope, & phillipa

piper: wyatt, chris & melinda, penn & (penn's siblings??), (jack the piper/kyle kid???)

phoebe: pj, parker & peyton, dency, (cj??)

paige: tamora, kat & henry jr, (bennie??)

in which um bennie has actually made a couple guest appearances on this blog and is the paige/richard kid and is like. a fat vibe def mentally ill but like. au where richard still binds or strips his powers whatever also he really seems like a tai chi guy and paige and richard are endgame i guess lmaoo so bennie their kid is raise not my you know bonkers batshit insane powers because i stand by my theory that richard was dose with blood of a greater being as a child and that's why magic makes his react the way he does so that does pass on just a little bit to his child. i also once very briefly constructed an au w a paige kyle kid but in a kyle still died world so paige still ends up w henry and has a daughter kyle at some point as a whitelighter finds out he has a daughter bc the elders were really keepin that Top Secret but kyle's quasi-adjacent in his kid's life but idk like. what those kids would be up to. isabel and beatrice maybe? i think they were bel and bea? lemme see if i can find the pöst. nope. well ur just gonna hafta trust me on that ig. yeah i can't say i've thot much about them. i think if i were really to spin a paige progeny solo story i mean well a) henry jr spin off bc like. i think that could be fun. but i think i would want to create a circumstance really separate from the next gen something that warrants a whole ass like Own Story (e.g. warren and sheridan being raises by jack, dency being the source's heir + having the twice blessed, which changes like magical society as a whole) because if it's still like you know there's wcm at the top of the lil next gen pyramid i feel like the worlds all stay too similar and it gets my brain fuzzy. i could do a paige-never-finds-the-power-of-three-au, where she still has her witch powers and figures shit out on her own, but i really don't know what the 411 with her kids would be. i could also have the other parent be some other type of magical being, cupid, warlock, darklighter, etc, bc that fusion would be interesting. i think out of all of paige's love interests, by far my favorite option for a father just from like an interesting character perspective is richard, because like. he has a whole magical bloodline and also a family that is implied practices black magic on occasion. that kid would pack a punch. there's kyle (mortal) and kyle (whitelighter), but like. i feel like if i were to do that again i'd have to spin up some au otherwise it's just the same gen 2 universe but instead of tam and kat it's paigekyle kids. you know what actually You Know What Actually Could Be Fun in a paige-never-finds-the-power-of-three-au-but-is-still-a-witch um fuckin hello?? paige glen. paige glen world travelers witch free spirit those kids would be. those kids would be so weird man just life experience globetrotters especially seeing as they have some magical legacy (the charmed destiny) that the belland family has just someone manage to outrun by like. quite literally like outrunning it. never being in the same place long enough for anything to really happen. i'm feeling two kids here. hmm but with two kids idk if they'd stick together a whole bunch i think they'd be a lot more free not like attached at the hip so either i run two separate plots or i only focus on one. but that could be. interesting to say the least.. esp if something happened where um. where like the charmed ones were wiped out. idk how. maybe prue did bite it in all hell breaks loose. maybe Phoebe dies. in ahbl. they're down to the power of two with piper and prue. piper taps out leo clips his wings and piper binds her powers and they leave the manor. piper then realizes she's pregnant witchlighter baby??? or she just has a normal witch baby. maybe a couple. actually just two i think i need to cap it at two bc no power of three access in this au. omg leo dies in s8 like how he was fated to die..................... prue holds down the homefront at the manor. finds love eventually has kids eventually i could go really out in left field and say fuck it prue x angel of death kids. but that requires

attention on its own part. but i could. i might. hmmm. because piper post leo death hell maybe leo just gets killed by a darklighter in spite of being mortal just because a darklighter recognizes him. piper like. changes her identity and raises her kid separate from the manor and magic. kids. maybe. prue is like. ballz to the wall fuckin intense. i could just make up a guy i could do whitelighter andy i could do. justin?? was his name? there's bane and jack but bane's in jail and jack would die in about five minutes so. i think i'd make up a guy. but i think prue has kids again maybe just two. i mean i could all give them one. but. . do i really want only children here lbr also prue and piper were both raised w siblings i could reasonably seeing prue having only one kid if it was like.. too dangerous to have another kid or something but i think she really wanted to be Mom. so anyways prue's witch kids are trained rigorously from warren lore, piper's kids are raised mortal, and paige's kids are raised with training from paige, who's self taught. anyway.s prue gets murdered and the manor is taken over by dark magic. when prue's kids are. mmm early twenties great age to take on an adventure that you're not like. remotely equipped to handle yet. they know they need to take back the seat of power lest something terrible happens. like it has to be a halliwell right the halliwells have to take back their house. so the halliwells get the bennets (piper's kids) (surprise! you're a witch!) and then somehow Also discover the bellands (surprise! you have a long extensive family tree that fights evil magic!) and then idk we really get the ball rolling we get some plot goin. wallah.

[kazimakuwabara]

A Name (part 4)

Previous chapter can be found HERE

For the next three days after Kuwabara met Hiei, and after he abruptly disapeared, Kuwabara was plagued with nightmares.

Dreams...

Memories?

The first one, Kuwabara had found himself standing alone.

The world was dark shadows, though he could tell there were things around him. Bodies collapsed on the ground, trees bent and broken, their branches rattling as a forceful wind pulled upwards.

Kuwabara walked towards the source of the wind, his clothes pulling and straining. He was injured, he was sure of that, but there were others who were dying. He could stop it, he thought. He had to.

He had to at least try.

Had to die trying.

Laughter was piercing the air and someone was celebrating. A shrill high voice, young and twisted, “It’s over! It’s over! It will end! Never again! Never again!” They choked and coughed, as if struggling to breathe, and then they broke off into more delighted laughed. Even as it was clear they were struggling to breathe.

“This is insane,” Kuwabara had said in the dream, “She’s fucking bonkers!”

The Kuwabara in the dream had been filled with grim determination, and they continued to press against the wind, fighting against it as he walked forwards. Someone else was crying. Or choking. There was a whisper. And then Kuwabara was crying, and his hand was reaching out. He curled it around a sword, and an arrogant slightly accented voice Kuwabara didn’t know, sighed into his head, “Ah, good. Let’s shut up that chick laughin’. It’s pissin’ me the hell off!”

Kuwabara had awoken confused and feeling grim, and slightly confused.

In the next dream, Kuwabara was sitting at a table.

He could not lift his head, but instead stared at his right hand, slowly flexing the fingers.

“She wants to destroy the demon world, and all demons along with it.” a familiar voice was saying. It took Kuwabara a moment, but then he realized it was Koenma.

“Why would she want to do that? She’s a demon too!” A voice Kuwabara didn’t recognize argued. He did know it somehow, but the person he was now didn’t know the voice.

How much did he not know?

He flexed his fingers.

“She...” and Koenma was speaking, but Kuwabara couldn’t hear everything. He couldn’t hear what he was saying. Not all of it. His voice would drift low and become muted, and the come back at full force.

He watched his fingers flex, slowly curling in and out of his palm.

“... After the torture her mind broke... Her trust is no longer in demons...blames them... has all the components she needs... threat!” Were the only few pieces Kuwabara could latch on to.

He really wished he could lift his head.

“And it was really the humans that hurt her...” a breathless upset voice said near Kuwabara’s ear.

Kuwabara felt sick.

“Humans...” someone echoed in a bitter and sickened tone.

He touched his thumb to his index finger.

“Is she so far gone in her madness, we can’t convince her the truth?” and that voice was Hiei.

Kuwabara wanted to turn and look at him.

Instead he touched his thumb to his pinky.

“I don’t know,” Koenma sighed, forlorn and slightly frustrated. “I think it’s too late...saving... but we have to stop her. If we can get to....” Koenma’s words cut out again.

Kuwabara touched his thumb to his ring finger.

“... Before her, so it will do what we ask!” Koenma finished, sounding hopeful.

“So it’s a wishing sword,” Someone laughed, somehow still a bit lighthearted despite the tension in the room.

A warm hand cuffed the back of Kuwabara’s neck. It stayed there and squeezed.

“Maybe you should get the sword then Kuwabara!”

“Oh, please,” Hiei scoffed, “He can barely use the two he has!”

“Didn’t you teach Kazuma some swordsmanship years ago? Are you admitting to your incompetence as a teacher, Hiei?”

Kuwabara touched his thumb to his middle finger. And at last... looked up.

Kuwabara saw himself grabbing a glowing sword. And then, as if his arm was a ball of string, it unwound and fell apart. The Kuwabara before him screamed, and lifted his elbow towards the sky, the sword somehow replacing the missing piece of his arm. Kuwabara’s scream was growing louder, but it was turning into more than pain. It was becoming a battle cry.

After this dream, Kuwabara woke in tears. He wasn’t sure why he was crying, but as he calmed down, trying to keep his gasps down so Shizuru wouldn’t come check in on him, he was left with this vague feeling that he, the person he was now, was not like the Kuwabara in that dream. He was not so brave.

He was not that man.

It was disappointing.

The third dream came the following night, and Kuwabara’s very essence was unraveling.

“You’re being unmade kid! Are you stupid?”

He did not know words. There were none he could say.  Only colors, pain, and brief flashes of the people he wanted to see.

“Put me down kid, I was not made for you!”

it was a shame he did not know the faces any longer. But the person he was before, was clinging to them. These faces. They were worth it. They were worth everything.

“...You’re really doin’ it. You’re really gonna do it, eh? You’re gonna lose it all. You’ll be gone, I’m tellin’ ya!”

He was exhaling. The last exhale he would ever make. It was so loud in his ears. It was the only sound.

I want to see them.

“Huh...” the strange slightly accented voice hummed, “Huh... Alright. I think I like you. I’m goin’ ta help!”

Kuwabara was shaken awake after the third dream.

His face wet with tears, he stared up into the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Kazuma! Kazuma! Are you alright!?” They asked squeezing Kuwabara’s shoulders tight, While Shizuru stood hovering over their shoulder, her face white and worried.

Kuwabara let out a shaky gasp, and very stupidly muttered, “Oh... you’re a man.”

And so after his third dream; the third day since Hiei, Kuwabara met one of the other people who was probably very important in his life.

Too bad he’d probably just made a very bad first impression.

Second impression?

Eh... whatever.

[animeman08]

Hulk

The Hulk is a fictional superhero appearing in publications by the American publisher Marvel Comics. Created by writer Stan Lee and artist Jack Kirby, the character first appeared in the debut issue of The Incredible Hulk (May 1962). In his comic book appearances, the character is both the Hulk, a green-skinned, hulking and muscular humanoid possessing a vast degree of physical strength, and his alter ego Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, a physically weak, socially withdrawn, and emotionally reserved physicist. The two exist as independent dissociative personalities, and resent each other.

Following his accidental exposure to gamma rays saving the life of Rick Jones during the detonation of an experimental bomb, Banner is physically transformed into the Hulk when subjected to emotional stress, at or against his will, often leading to destructive rampages and conflicts that complicate Banner's civilian life. The Hulk's level of strength is normally conveyed as proportionate to his level of anger. Commonly portrayed as a raging savage, the Hulk has been represented with other personalities based on Banner's fractured psyche, from a mindless, destructive force, to a brilliant warrior, or genius scientist in his own right. Despite both Hulk and Banner's desire for solitude, the character has a large supporting cast. This includes Banner's lover Betty Ross, his best friend Rick Jones, his cousin She-Hulk, and therapist and ally Doc Samson. In addition, the Hulk alter ego has many key supporting characters like his co-founders of the superhero team the Avengers, his queen Caiera, fellow warriors Korg and Miek, and sons Skaar and Hiro-Kala. However, his uncontrollable power has brought him into conflict with his fellow heroes and others. Despite this he tries his best to do what's right while battling villains such as Leader, Abomination, Absorbing Man and more.

Lee stated that the Hulk's creation was inspired by a combination of Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Although the Hulk's coloration has varied throughout the character's publication history, the most usual color is green.

One of the most iconic characters in popular culture, the character has appeared on a variety of merchandise, such as clothing and collectable items, inspired real-world structures (such as theme park attractions), and been referenced in a number of media. Banner and the Hulk have been adapted in live-action, animated, and video game incarnations. The character was first played in a live-action feature film by Eric Bana. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the character was portrayed by Edward Norton in the film The Incredible Hulk (2008) and by Mark Ruffalo in the films The Avengers (2012), Iron Man 3 (2013) in a cameo, Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015), Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Avengers: Infinity War (2018), Captain Marvel (2019) in a cameo, and Avengers: Endgame (2019). Ruffalo will reprise the role in the upcoming Disney+ series What If...? (2021) and She-Hulk (2022).

> Personality

Bruce Banner During his decades of publication, Banner has been portrayed differently, but common themes persist. Banner, a physicist, is sarcastic and seemingly very self-assured when he first appears in Incredible Hulk #1, but is also emotionally withdrawn. Banner designed the gamma bomb which caused his affliction, and the ironic twist of his self-inflicted fate has been one of the most persistent common themes. Arie Kaplan describes the character thus: "Robert Bruce Banner lives in a constant state of panic, always wary that the monster inside him will erupt, and therefore he can't form meaningful bonds with anyone." As a child, Banner's father Brian often got mad and physically abused both Banner and his mother, creating the psychological complex of fear, anger, and the fear of anger and the destruction it can cause that underlies the character. Banner has been shown to be emotionally repressed, but capable of deep love for Betty Ross, and for solving problems posed to him. Under the writing of Paul Jenkins, Banner was shown to be a capable fugitive, applying deductive reasoning and observation to figure out the events transpiring around him. On the occasions that Banner has controlled the Hulk's body, he has applied principles of physics to problems and challenges and used deductive reasoning. It was shown after his ability to turn into the Hulk was taken away by the Red Hulk that Banner has been extremely versatile as well as cunning when dealing with the many situations that followed. When he was briefly separated from the Hulk by Doom, Banner became criminally insane, driven by his desire to regain the power of the Hulk, but once the two recombined he came to accept that he was a better person with the Hulk to provide something for him to focus on controlling rather than allowing his intellect to run without restraint against the world.

Hulk The original Hulk was shown as grey and average in intelligence who roamed aimlessly and became annoyed at "puny" humans who took him for a dangerous monster. Shortly after becoming the Hulk, his transformation continued turning him green, coinciding with him beginning to display primitive speech, and by Incredible Hulk #4 radiation treatments gave Banner's mind complete control of the Hulk's body. While Banner relished his indestructibility and power, he was quick to anger and more aggressive in his Hulk form, and, while he became known as a hero alongside the Avengers, his increasing paranoia caused him to leave the group, believing he would never be trusted.

Originally, the Hulk was shown as simple minded and quick to anger. The Hulk generally divorces his identity from Banner's, decrying Banner as "puny Banner." From his earliest stories, the Hulk has been concerned with finding sanctuary and quiet and often is shown reacting emotionally to situations quickly. Grest and Weinberg call Hulk the "dark, primordial side of Banner's psyche." Even in the earliest appearances, Hulk spoke in the third person. Hulk retains a modest intelligence, thinking and talking in full sentences, and Lee even gives the Hulk expository dialogue in issue six, allowing readers to learn just what capabilities Hulk has, when the Hulk says, "But these muscles ain't just for show! All I gotta do is spring up and just keep goin'!" In the 1970s, Hulk was shown as more prone to anger and rage, and less talkative. Writers played with the nature of his transformations, briefly giving Banner control over the change, and the ability to maintain control of his Hulk form. Artistically and conceptually, the character has become progressively more muscular and powerful in the years since his debut.

Originally, Stan Lee wanted the Hulk to be grey, but, due to ink problems, Hulk's color was changed to green. This was later changed in the story to indicate that the Grey Hulk and the Savage Hulk are separate personalities or entities fighting for control in Bruce's subconscious. The Grey Hulk incarnation can do the more unscrupulous things that Banner could not bring himself to do, with many sources comparing the Grey Hulk to the moody teenager that Banner never allowed himself to be. While the Grey Hulk still had the "madder he gets, the stronger he gets" part that is similar to the Savage Hulk, it is on a much slower rate. It is said by Leader that the Grey Hulk is stronger on nights of the new moon and weaker on nights of the full moon. Originally, the night is when Bruce Banner becomes the Grey Hulk and changes back by dawn. In later comics, willpower or stress would have Banner turn into the Grey Hulk. During one storyline where he was placed under a spell to prevent him turning back into Bruce Banner and publicly presumed dead when he was teleported away from a gamma bomb explosion that destroyed an entire town, the Grey Hulk adopted a specific name as Joe Fixit, a security guard for a Las Vegas casino owner, with the Grey Hulk often being referred to as Joe after these events.

The Gravage Hulk is the result of Banner using the Gamma Projector on himself which merged his Savage Hulk and Grey Hulk personas. This form possesses the raw power of the Savage Hulk and the cunning intellect of the Grey Hulk. While he doesn't draw on anger to empower him, the Gravage Hulk persona draws on dimensional nexus energies to increase his strength.

The Dark Hulk persona is the result of Hulk being possessed by Shanzar. This form has black skin and is viciously strong.

The Guilt Hulk is a malevolent representation of Banner's abusive father, Brian Banner, that manifests itself in Banner's childhood memories.

The Devil Hulk or Immortal Hulk is the result of Hulk needing a father figure. While the character's physical appearance varies, he is always depicted as having glowing red eyes, and reptilian traits. The new form of Devil Hulk is the result of Banner and Hulk having been through different deaths and rebirths. This incarnation is articulate, smart, and cunning, and does merciless attacks on those who do harm. Unlike the other Hulk incarnations, Devil Hulk is content with waiting inside Bruce. If Bruce is injured by sunset, the Devil Hulk will emerge with his transformation being limited to night-time. Thanks to the Devil Hulk side and Banner working together, Devil Hulk can maintain his form in sunlight.

The Green Scar persona is unleashed on Sakaar and is an enraged version of Gravage Hulk. In addition, he is an expert in armed combat like the use of swords and shields. Green Scar is also a capable leader and an expert strategist.

Doc Green is a variation of the Merged Hulk persona that is the result of Extremis fixing Hulk's brain. This persona is powerful enough to destroy Tony Stark's mansion with one thunderclap.

> Powers and Abilities

Banner is considered one of the greatest scientific minds on Earth, possessing "a mind so brilliant it cannot be measured on any known intelligence test." Norman Osborn estimates that he is the fourth most-intelligent person on Earth. Banner holds expertise in biology, chemistry, engineering, medicine, physiology, and nuclear physics. Using this knowledge, he creates advanced technology dubbed "Bannertech", which is on par with technological development from Tony Stark or Doctor Doom. Some of these technologies include a force field that can protect him from the attacks of Hulk-level entities, and a teleporter.

The Hulk possesses the potential for seemingly limitless physical strength which is influenced by his emotional state, particularly his anger. This has been reflected in the repeated comment, "The madder Hulk gets, the stronger Hulk gets." The cosmically-powerful entity known as the Beyonder once analyzed the Hulk's physiology, and claimed that the Hulk's potential strength had "no finite element inside." Hulk's strength has been depicted as sometimes limited by Banner's subconscious influence; when Jean Grey psionically "shut Banner off", Hulk became strong enough to overpower and destroy the physical form of the villain Onslaught. Writer Greg Pak described the Worldbreaker Hulk shown during World War Hulk as having a level of physical power where "Hulk was stronger than any mortal—and most immortals—who ever walked the Earth", and depicted the character as powerful enough to completely destroy entire planets. His strength allows him to leap into lower Earth orbit or across continents, and he has displayed superhuman speed. Exposure to radiation has also been shown to make the Hulk stronger. It is unknown how he gains biomass during transformation but it may be linked to One-Below-All.

His durability, regeneration, and endurance also increase in proportion to his temper. Hulk is resistant to injury or damage, though the degree to which varies between interpretations, but he has withstood the equivalent of solar temperatures, nuclear explosions, and planet-shattering impacts. Despite his remarkable resiliency, continuous barrages of high-caliber gunfire can hinder his movement to some degree while he can be temporarily subdued by intense attacks with chemical weapons such as anesthetic gases, although any interruption of such dosages will allow him to quickly recover. He has been shown to have both regenerative and adaptive healing abilities, including growing tissues to allow him to breathe underwater, surviving unprotected in space for extended periods, and when injured, healing from most wounds within seconds, including, on one occasion, the complete destruction of most of his body mass. His future self, "Maestro", was even eventually able to recover from being blown to pieces. As an effect, he has an extremely prolonged lifespan.

He also possesses less commonly described powers, including abilities allowing him to "home in" to his place of origin in New Mexico; resist psychic control, or unwilling transformation; grow stronger from radiation or dark magic; punch his way between separate temporal or spatial dimensions; and to see and interact with astral forms. Some of these abilities were in later years explained as being related; his ability to home in on the New Mexico bomb site was due to his latent ability to sense astral forms and spirits, since the bomb site was also the place where the Maestro's skeleton was and Maestro's spirit was calling out to him in order to absorb his radiation.

In the first Hulk comic series, "massive" doses of gamma rays would cause the Hulk to transform back to Banner, although this ability was written out of the character by the 1970s.

[universal-shenanigans]

Breaks & Healing

     V shot up. The pain from his wound shot through his body and it caused him to ease himself back down on the...bed? He looked at his surroundings. It looked like he was in a hospital room. As he scanned the room more his eyes fell upon the person sleeping next to his bed. Alex rested in a chair at his bedside, slouched and snoring quietly. He admitted to himself that he hoped it was Alexa. Just a tiny bit. But, it was better than no one. A nurse walked inside. Upon walking in, Alex woke up. She looked at the nurse, then to V. She sat up and stretched, ��Glad to see you’re not dead.”

     “I’m glad as well. You lost a lot of blood, and if you were in that alley longer you would have been dead.” The nurse stated. V was thankful that he was alive, and that someone was here to see him wake up. But, the fact that they brought him to a public hospital was his main concern at the moment. Forget the pain, forget the cause of the pain, forget everything. If he did not get out of this hospital now, someone was going to find out who he was, and things could get even worse from there. “Don V, are you listening?”

     He snapped out of his thoughts and brought his attention back to the nurse. “Hmm? What was that?”

     “I was saying you’ll have to stay here for a couple of weeks in order to regain the blood that you lost. You’ll need some stitches for that wound too, and once you leave you’ll need to clean them everyday for a month, at least.” She explained as she looked through her clipboard.

     He nodded, “Okay. But, is there a way I can leave sooner? Maybe in a week and half? Or a week?”

     The nurse raised a brow, “Um, no? Physically, that’s not possible for you. Why did you think you could leave early?”

     “Well I do have things to do, and I have a casino to run. I want to make sure that things run smoothly and...” he fell silent. He didn’t want to outright say anything about the position he is in, but Alex could tell by the look in his eyes why he was so adamant on leaving. She turned to the nurse, “Could ya give us a sec Juliette?”

     She nodded and walked out of the room. V looked at her with a raised brow, “Juliette? Why do you know her name?”

     “One: her nametag. Two: she’s my family’s nurse. This is a public hospital, but a lot of nurses work with mob families. Mine and Alexa’s included. So we made sure to get you to one of our nurses, rather than a random one that could get you arrested. You’re good, don’t worry.” He felt a wave of relief wash over him and he relaxed into the bed. He noticed the bandage around her arm. “How bad is it?”

     “What? This?” She looked at her bandage and chuckled. “Nothing that I haven’t felt before. I promise you, I’ve had worse.” The door opened and Alexa walked inside with Andrew following behind her. She smiled at Alex, “Thanks for watching him.” She nodded and smiled back. Alexa knelt down next to his bed and held his hand. She hated to see anyone hurt, but knew it came with the job. She let out a soft huff and looked up at him with a raised brow and grinned. “Been awhile since you’ve gotten shot?”

     “Yeah. I would have liked to go longer without remembering the feeling. How is ‘the trove’?”

     "Robin has things handled and the band is entertaining the masses pretty well.” Andrew chimed in. That’s another thing he didn’t have to worry about. He carefully pushed himself up and propped his back against the pillow. Andrew pulled up two chairs for himself and Alexa. She sat down and let out an exhausted sigh. “Alright, you’re not dead. I’m glad, but we need to seriously talk about Arthur. If he already has people on the hunt, then who knows what the hell else he’s going to pull.”

     Alex’s eyes narrowed when she glared at him, “What did you even say to him?”

     “I exposed his ass for the creep he is, and told him that if he thinks about pulling a stunt like that again that he would face consequences worse than death. Apparently, that didn’t affect him and he called my bluff.”

     “Typical. He’s fucking insane...” Alexa scoffed.

     “I had him taken outside, and I was moments away from killing the bastard until one of his maggots shot me...” he half growled. “As soon as I was pulling the damn trigger...”

     Alex sighed and shrugged. “At least you were willing to end it right then and there. Hell that’s all I could ask for really.” she chuckled. She rubbed her head and groaned. “But in all seriousness, there’s gotta be a reason for goin’ after Alexa, besides whatever sick thoughts he’s got goin’ on.”

     “You saw one of his men the other night. They’d rather die than tell us anything. Getting that sort of information is going to be difficult considering that type of reputation.” He scoffed. “He might just be worse than me...” Silence consumed the room. It seemed when someone had an idea, they immediately shot themselves down and resumed their thinking. After a few more minutes of silence, a voice broke the air. “We find another source.” They turned to Alexa and she continued. “When Arthur and I were together, we had connections to the same people his father had before he died. Arthur managed to increase that number as well. It’s a bit of a task, but I’m sure we can find a lead from at least one of them.”

     Andrew raised a brow, “What makes you think they’ll tell us anything? If his own goons are scared enough to die for him, wouldn’t rumors like that spread and freak out other mobsters?”

     “Not necessarily. I’m pretty sure that they still don’t see him as a huge threat, but are keeping a close eye and keeping ties with him just in case. Whether it’s to benefit from it or not is beyond me, but it’s a good start.”

     “Besides if they decide to keep quiet, we always have the choice to help’em remember how much of a threat we can be if we have to.” Alex added. As V was listening to the plan, he was hatching his own plan in his mind. In case things turn for the worse. He was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to it, but it was to keep these people safe. Even if he had just met them, they didn’t deserve to have to go through the stress of the situation they were in now. “V!” His trance was broken by Andrew. “Hmm? Sorry, right. About these connections, do you think you can come up with a list of people we can visit? Most reliable to least?”

     Alex had noticed that this was the second time that he wasn’t paying attention, but decided against saying  something about it. Alexa responded to his question, “I can try, but it’s gonna take some time. There are a lot of mobsters to go through.”

     “That’s fine. I’ll make sure to tell Robin what’s happening so that I can keep the crowds at the club happy, while you all take a two week vacation. Paid, of course. Dig up everyone you can find while I recover.” They nodded. Nurse Juliette entered the room once more and placed a tray of food in V’s lap. “Alright guys, gotta give the Don his rest. He’s got a lot of it to do. Plus a couple blood transfusions so he’s really gotta sleep for that.” Alex couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on V’s face when she mentioned the procedure. “What’s the matter Don? Don’t like blood?”

     “No, I can’t do needles. I hate needles. I despise them. If you think you’re putting one inside me, I will make sure I leave and never come back.”

     “Well I mean I figured you wouldn’t come back, cause you’d probably be fuckin’ dead, Don. So ya got no choice. But, since you’re freaking out so much about it, I’ll make sure asleep for it.” His heart was put at ease a little and he nodded. Alex left the room chuckling with Andrew following and snickering to himself. V’s eyes narrowed at them as thy left, “Children...” He looked over at Alexa when she caressed his hand with her thumb. “You’ll be okay. Plus this way you might get out sooner and help us out.” He smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course. You’re right.” She gifted him a warm smile in return and hurried out the door to catch up with her friends to get started.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The News (Sriracha, Part 41.)

Series description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: The wedding came way sooner than you expected to, you could maybe say that you weren’t even prepared for a thing of such a caliber. Also, did El and Mike really told Mr. Clarke that they’re cousins?

A/N: This chapter is a complete and utter chaos and I love it so much. Inspired by all of the romantic songs from the 80s’. There is a lot of callbacks to the OG Stranger Things (like El and Mike being cousins) and into the origins of this series as well.

Warnings: THIS SHIT IS HEART-WARMING, IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD, MF, BECAUSE I LOVE AND YOU MATTER TO ME AND NOTHING WILL CHANGE THIS. Also, a lot of fluff. ♥

Word count: 5K

Tagging: @nemodoren @missdictatorme @ysljordy @creedslove​ @hopperlover​

Series master list: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

Life can go completely crazy once you decide to something insane with it. Like having a wedding with a guy who you love without any judging, yet still being a college student. The big date was set on the first July of 1986, which meant that you had to study for that semester’s finals, take care of the new house you owned, having Eleven moving back and on top of that, you were doing preparations for the wedding. Now, that was what you called busy.

It was quite weird when you once took El to Hawkins High to sign the papers with her, meeting professor Clarke in the process. You let Max and El go to your car while he wanted to have small chit-chat with you.

"How are you and your Hopper doing? Everything fine?" - He started, putting his palms entwined on his chest. After a while, you nodded, being completely confused. After a small rant about your approaching wedding, he proceeded to the thing which was itching his curiosity.

"Have seen Eleven before here a couple of times before. First, if I'm correct, it was in 1983. Then she came to the Snow Ball of 1984... I thought she was Mike Wheeler’s cousin and now I get to know she's your and Hopper’s daughter?" - He asked curiously. What the hell was going on in the fall of 1983? You hadn't known much about that time from El’s perspective, yet Mike mentioned that was the year when they first met. Trying to hide the nervousness and confusion behind a smile, you nodded.

"You know kids, Mr. Clarke. They like to make things up and they don't exactly think about the consequences either. It was probably some joke or whatever." - You giggled, telling yourself that you have to talk to both of them about this. It wasn’t an issue that could bring some great consequences in the future, but it would be weird to see two teenagers who proclaimed being cousins... Well... Holding hands, kissing, and stuff. - "Especially these boys. You know Dustin and Lucas, Mike and Will. They love to make up stories and wild stuff. Sometimes even I don't know what should I believe when they're telling me something. Their imagination is just amazing."

"Right, haven't exactly thought about that. You have any information about Joyce, Will, and Jonathan?" - He asked and this time, he wasnt suspicious. You nodded with a happy smile, telling him all about their life in Maine. You wanted to visit them in there for a short vacation, taking Mike, Lucas, El, and Dustin with you - Steve Harrington told you that he and Nancy would gladly go with you to ride in the second car.

"Mr. Clarke, you're invited to my wedding!" - You yelled at him when you were leaving the corridor, pointing a finger at that slim, tall man with a mustache. - "I hope that you'll come. July the first, party starts at two p.m.!"

But when you sat behind the steering wheel, that was a different story. You looked at Eleven who was sitting at the passenger seat, having a hell of a confused face. - "Cousins? You and Mike told them that you're cousins? Where are we? In Texas or Alabama? For the love of God." - You asked unbelievably. Max on the backseat leaned in with a burst of laughter. She didn't know about that either since she wasnt around at that time.

"It was Mike's idea... And Mike’s a boy and boys are..." - Eleven wanted to defend herself, her brown eyes looking at you while you started the engine. You stopped her by pointing your index finger at her.

"Uh-uh, young lady. Only I can say that boys are stupid and that's because I'm living with your father. We clear?" - You asked with a giggle. They told them that they're cousins... Jesus Christ... You couldn't wait to tell Hopper. It was clear that he will lose it once you'll tell him what Mr. Clarke asked you that day. After taking the girls for some ice-cream, you picked up Hopper at the station, since his shift was just ending. While Eleven ran off with Max to look at the movies int he rent shop Harrington was working at, you entered the police station.

"Afternoon, Flo. Every time I see you, you look better than the last time. How do you do that?" - You asked, leaning your head to your shoulder. You loved that woman so much - you still remembered how much patience she had with you and Hopper at the start.

"You, honey, are going blind. Nice to see you too." - She got up with a giggle, hugging you and kissing both your cheeks. - "The big day.s on its way. How you're feeling? I was so nervous I couldn't sleep a month before it happened."  

"Oh, I'm more nervous about my finals than about my wedding. Jim will probably get drunk and he’ll cry in the corner with my father about me being a big girl and stuff. I hope he gave you the invitation card? If he didn't, I swear to God..." - You rolled your eyes, having Flo gently patting your shoulder. The old lady disappeared for a second to snatch you some coffee and a piece of cake. Callahan, Powell nor Hopper noticed you chatting with Flo yet, so you had the time to observe Jim.

He looked way more relaxed as a normal officer. It could be seen that he's happier than that before. He didn't have as much responsibility as he had when he worked on the position of the police chief, even though he was doing an excellent job being the head of Hawkins police. Yet now, he had more time to have fun with the two other men and there was something simple about listening to orders.

"Honey, don't worry about that. The Monday after you said yes, he came to the office yelling that he's about to marry you. For real this time. And the following week he gave the cards to at least half of the station." - Flo chuckled, watching the men as well. It took them a while to notice you standing there but when they did, Hopper immediately started to pack his stuff. Normally, Powell or Callahan drove him home, so it was a nice surprise seeing you standing there.

"How you're doing, girl?" - Powell gave you a tight fatherly hug, have you smiling from ear to ear in the process. - "You're looking tubular. That's how the young call it these days? Also, new haircut?" - The man asked when you gave a short hug to the younger policeman.  

"You're about two years late with tubular, dear Powell. But thanks for noticing since this grumpy bastard didn't." - You let Jim slide a hand on your waist, looking at him with your eyebrow risen.

"You know that I still can cancel the engagement?" - Hopper mumbled before stealing a kiss from you. For a short moment, you were just looking at that handsome man before calling him out with: - "It’s more probable that I would do that, baby. So don't try to piss me off."

"And that's the facts. See you around boys, we have a family night." - Hopper waved at them, leading you out of the station, telling you about his day. Max and Eleven were waiting for you outside, holding a few rented movies. You were taking them to the cinema that night, true, but you allowed them to watch some movies in the living room. It was Friday, so neither of them had to wake up for school.

The other few weeks were just crazy - you and Hopper had to choose the flavor of your wedding cake, you had to study for finals hard, there were the dress tests and even three weeks before the wedding, you hadn't found the right one. Steve Harrington, Robin, Nancy, and your mom became the party for each of the tests since Hopper wasnt allowed to see them. The location was paid, the menu was completed, the decorations were also set to go, but the dress...

And also the finals.

You'd swear that you hadn't sweat this hard at the previous exams you were taking. And writing the final essay wasn’t a walk in the park as well. It was the result of many things that happened in 1986: from Hopper being MIA to coming back, buying a home, finishing the reconstructions, having Eleven coming back to your life, the whole proposal, and marriage thing... You straightaway cried when you got the letter you passed and that by the start of the next semester, you'll start a whole year lasting practicum at the children's traumatology in the hospital of Hawkins. That was a miracle happing right there.  

After that, it was time to concentrate on the chaos you called "my life". And it was hard sometimes to stay mentally stable. Especially when the countdown to the wedding itself came. It was a week before the first of July when you stopped in the door leading from your bathroom, looking at Jim quietly reading in the bed. You looked like you're about to puke something, your eyes being widened and opened.

"Are you alrite? Somethin’ happened in there?" - Jim put the book down, quickly snatching his new reading glasses from the top of his nose. With the same face, you walked through the bedroom, shaking your head.

"This doesn't look like your nothin’ happened face. What's goin’ on?" - He asked once again when you were purring the pajamas on. Eleven was listening to the Romantics on the second floor, so you heard some parts of A Night Like This resonating through the house.

"Marriage is the scariest of all social constructs I've ever seen." - You started explaining, climbing into the bed next to Jim. Oh, so that was what this was about. - "I mean, two people can live together without having to marry, you know? All it takes is love and time and..."

"You're afraid of bein’ married is what you're tryin’ to say, am I rite?" - Jim chuckled, looking as you tried to figure out the most comfortable position. You settled on your belly, having a small pillow under your breasts, watching Jim sitting next to you. You made a dumb face before nodding.

"You’ll be just fine, trust me. You already have me under your thumb so there's nothin’ to worry about. Come ’ere." - The man chuckled, putting the book on his nightstand to snuggle you.

"It wasnt too hard to domesticate you, but... I'll be Mrs. Hopper next week. If you'd die, I would have the right to have the money from the police office and stuff. It's the legalities that make me anxious." - You mumbled horrified. Suddenly, you jumped when Hopper just started to laugh out loud.

"You haven't even got married and you're already thinkin’ about havin’ me dead? Well, that's nice." - He continued with the laughing, having you chuckling too. - "Trust me. It won't change a thing... Except for your surname."

But even if Hopper assured you a million times, just like your mom and Steve, you still couldn't sleep, couldn't eat and you were sure that as soon as you'll be walking down the aisle, you'll run away with Bon Jovi playing in the background. Steve even offered you that he can ’kidnap’ you so Hopper would have to find you, but you said no that offer, no matter how fun did that sound.

The first of July was the worst day you have ever endured since you had to get up pretty early and you didn't even have a bachelorette party. Hopper left to your parent's place while Robin, Joyce, Nancy, and your mom with Lena gathered at your place. You heard Robin asking your mom if you're fine when she saw you getting up from the bed - your mom had to explain to her that you had a problem with getting up since the day you started kindergarten.

You puked through the first hour they arrived, spending it on the toiled, bawling your eyes out. When they managed to get you out, robin made you do the basic things, like taking a shower, brushing your teeth, and drink at least a cup of coffee to raise your pressure. You were looking like you were about to faint for the last hour and a half.

"If you don't want to marry the man, you shouldn't accept the ring is what I'm saying." - Your mom told you while she and Jules were making a hairstyle on your head. You looked puffy, tired, and not well at all. Nancy was sitting on your bed, reading some girly magazine as well

"I do want to marry him, I just really don’t feel good." - You told them, clearing your nose with a tissue.

"I think it's the nerves that are fucking you up." - Robin got up and stood behind Nance so you could see her in the mirror too. She was speaking in the most boyish manner possible, she never fucked around with you or Steve and that was why you liked that girl so much. - "Read it in my mom's Cosmo." - She shrugged her shoulders, sending you a small smile. You nodded, earning a curse word from your mom who barely cursed.

As soon as everyone made sure they have everything, like dresses, jewelry, and stuff, everyone got into two cars - Eleven, Max, Nancy, and Lena were in one, while in the second one, there was you, your mom, Julia, and Robin. Mom told you that you're even prettier than she was on her big day. Robin knew how to crack you up with her jokes and how to bitch you down in case you had any side thoughts - that was why you chose her to ride with you. Both of your best friends didn't go exactly easy on you and that was why you adored them.

When you saw the church closer and closer, your hands started shaking and your forehead got wet like a helter-skelter. It all felt so right, yet so wrong at the same time. You knew Jim for three years almost and there were occasions when he proved to you that he’d go to hell for you. Not even that made you sure if it was all a good idea or not. Take on Me was playing in the background while girls were speaking about the flowers and decoration, so you decided that it was time for a little walk.

A little walk to Bloomington maybe? To run away from all that chaos inside of you? Or something like that? Just when your palm circled the door handle, Robin and Jules walked out of the preparation room. You leaned into the door innocently, having a smile on your face. Both of them knew what were you thinking about, so they walked to you from both sides, both of them entwining their elbow with yours. - "You are not running away. You are not going anywhere, milady. What you're going to do is that you'll dress up to the white dress, look like a princess and you'll make one old grumpy idiot very happy once you say yes." - Robin told you, dragging you back inside the room.

"And then, we'll have a party and you'll drink your ass off with us, understood?" - Julia asked sweetly too. They were two crazy sons of a bitch, so they made you exactly what they said you're going to do. Not even hour from that, you were marching in the back room dressed in white, having too long high-heels on with a veil over your face. You heard Jim coming - it was quite hard not to hear the men arriving. He had a few shots of Scotch or something your dad had at home since he was louder than usual.

As you heard more people, like Karen Wheeler who came in to wish you luck, coming in, you understood that it's happening. You will be a wedded woman in less than an hour. And that was... Surreal. The clapping of high heels intensified as you started to imagine all the horror scenarios again.

"Heard you're having some trouble here." - Jonathan and Joyce snuck into the room to say hi. Joyce was looking breath-taking in the lilac-colored dressed you've sent her to Maine. And that hairstyling? She was killing it. Jonathan was looking breath-taking too, yet his eyes were all over Nancy.

"It's just some slight turbulences." - You chuckled nervously, letting her hug you. After that, she stepped away, taking in the sight of you.

"My oh my, you're something." - Joyce chuckled, hugging everyone in the room as well. - "Hopper is really lucky these days, I mean, look at you. I know you're nervous and all, but as soon as you'll stand in front of him, you won't even remember that, trust me. I've done this too." - She chuckled, making you chuckle nervously as well. Jonathan then patted her shoulder, telling her that they have to get into the right order. She opened up her mouth and giggled excitedly, biting her lip after that. - "See you in ten, baby." - She hugged you for the last time and went outside. Everyone was going outside and you knew that the only person who will be waiting for you once you have to go there too will be your dad.

And he was smiling when you did so.

"You look just beautiful." - Was all he could say when you held the skirt up a bit so you wouldn't fall flat on your face. A smile was all you were capable of before you entwined your elbow with his, looking at the door leading outside for the last time.

"I know what you're thinking about." - He chuckled, looking at the door as well. - "Are you sure about doing it, though? Do you realize what consequences would that have, honey? You'd leave him in there alone, standing in front of all of the people you and he would look like a fool. Jim would be... I wouldn't say angry but disappointed for sure. Maybe he wouldn't talk to you after that for all I know." - Your dad took a deep breath in, straightening himself, making sure he's looking good.

"Believe it or not, I thought about running away too, so that's some genes here. Your mom would never, but I was scared like a little boy. But we’re twenty-six years in and I have never regretted marrying that awesome lady." - He looked down on you. For the first time that day, you were smiling without having some other chaotic feelings inside your head.

"And I mean... I wasn’t the happiest with Hopper at the beginning, but as time went, you two showed everyone in this bloody town what love is supposed to look like. You separated here and there, yes, but you also gave home and love to a girl who needed it. He taught you patience and you taught him to love. That's how it is, baby. And as far as I can say, I think you're doing the right thing. There's no need for second thoughts, no need for looking for a chance to escape because you'll be fine this man no matter what." - Your dad finished and you both had tears in your eyes.

"You’ve been drinking, haven't you?" - You asked to stop yourself from crying, snickering your old man with a burst of honest laughter. He didn't answer, but you saw on his eyes that he had a few glasses with Jim. - "I love you." - You whispered just before the door opened up and the cannon started to play. Everyone was standing up for you and you could see your mom and Jules weeping in the first row. You, one of the craziest and toughest sons of bitches were getting marries. Who would d have thought that it would happen so soon?

It felt weird to walk there, looking everyone you knew in their eyes. Karen and Tim were smiling at you, having Mike by their side and when you were in the middle of the aisle, you heard Joyce started crying as well. She was telling everyone that she's sorry, but everyone was just smiling, having tears in their eyes themselves. No matter how happy everyone felt, you were numb. Completely numb. All you could concentrate on was not falling, on your pulse, and the rhythm of your breathing.

Jim was standing there with his palms entwined in front of him, giving you the warmest smile he ever had. It was there. The last stop where you could turn around and run away from everything. It wasn’t that you didn't love him, for the love of God, you just... You were scared. Even if it wouldn't change your day-to-day life, you knew that it will have an overall impact on everything. When your father gave your hand to James, tears in your eyes could be seen. And Jim knew that these weren’t happy tears.

He remembered the wedding he had with Diane. He felt like throwing up until the ceremony was over, he didn't know if he chose to do the right thing or not, he was fighting himself. And now you were doing the same thing. It was natural and James understood everything since he had gone through all of that once. Marriage was one big unknown. What happens once you'll walk out of the church like a wedded couple? That was a thing no-one, including you, couldn't be sure about. But Hopper knew that this time, he has chosen the right person to go through all of these shenanigans with.

You had endless patience with him - and when James said endless, he meant endless. Eleven, the Russians, the Demogorgons... You absorbed all of that. When he was at his lowest, drinking and taking too many drugs, you made him stand on his feet. When he was acting like a jackass, you acted like one too until he calmed down. When you met, you looked past his temper issues and impressive love life to see him for the man he was. When it came to the terms of having a partner, you were the best person for Hopper. The best one had ever met.

"How you're doin’?" - He asked with a boyish smile when the wedding register spoke to the guests. You nodded, gulping quietly, looking at his palms holding yours. Jesus, he was looking good. He was looking great. If you'd have the chance, you'd undress him as soon as could.

"Pretty good, you?" - You whispered back, finally starting to smile. You didn't know shit from what the man next to you was talking about, the only thing you could see was James just... Smiling. Something about vows woke you up from the trance, looking around to see Steve handing you the cards you have written. Neither of you wanted to have some normal-ass pathetic vows. With your sense of humor, it was clear that this will make a lot of people chuckle.

"James Hopper." - You started, already having a nasty grin on your face. - "We already know that we can make it at our worst and our best. We already tested that we can go through both healthier times and even the times when things aren’t... Exactly good. I promise to occasionally fold your clothes if you'll promise me to start my car in the winter. I promise that I’ll cook you a warm dinner every evening as long as you'll promise me that you'll even come home." - You finished, cracking your mom again. She had her eyes already completely red and Hopper didn't even start. No-one knew what you're talking about, but that was what made the vows even funnier.

"Miss Y/N Y/L/N, soon to be Hopper. I know that I already promised you a lot of things and there will be more things to come, for sure. I have promised you a bed and I delivered it to you. I now promise you in front of everyone that I will repair you the gramophone every time you manage to break it again, I will paint every room in the pomelo color if you ask me to, I will fold my clothes and maybe try to do the laundry sometimes and mostly, I won't ever let anyone hurt you." - He looked you in the eyes, having you on the edge of crying as well. - "And if they will, I will hurt them back."

You both were shaking when you were putting on the rings. Hopper had almost broken your ginger, having you burst out with laughter. When you finally had it on, he kissed it with a warm smile, looking you in the eyes. You’ve done the same thing once you managed to slip it onto his hand. And the sweetest part was when you were finally allowed to kiss him. It was a miracle that you didn't swoop him off his feet since you pulled him down hungrily. They were right. Once the formalities were over and once you signed the piece of paper with both your former surname and the new one, the stress faded away. Happiness overtook the ruddle, having you live your best life.

And when you finally took the dress off, changing into a pair of jeans, your old Converse shoes, and a nice shirt, you were finally feeling it - not until the first dance, of course. The golden ring was looking spectacular on your left hand, being put directly above the silver one you've accepted twice. It also felt heavy, but that was a thing that will go away.

The party started great with you and Hopper taking all of the traditions that came with weddings - cutting the cake, breaking a plate, throwing your flower into the crowd of women, eating from one plate, dancing with Jim and your dad, opening the presents and cards... And of course, there there were the speeches.

Hands down, your parents’ speech made you cry. Aiden made you chuckle. The kids had the most chaotic speech of the evening, six of them trying to talk at one time. Jules told you not to be dumb and to listen to James, at which you rolled your eyes. Joyce made herself cry and Jim’s eyes water, while Jonathan and Nancy’s speech was more about wishing you luck. But Steve Harrington, boy oh boy, wasn’t he something? His speech left you crying.

"So, good evening everyone, my name’s Steve and I’m living in Hawkins since... Ever. And the thing I'm notoriously famous here is the way I was trying to win Mrs. Hopper for years. For your information, I was the best friend of her dearest brother and she often reminds of the times when she saw me running naked around their pool, so, thanks for destroying my self-confidence because no-one is better at it than you." - Steve started on a comedic note, having you laugh into James’ shoulder. He was laughing as well, smoking. - "I won't tell you more about my romantic failures, since, this evening is supposed to be a happy one." - Steve smiled and made you a toast. Nancy was worried that maybe, since he wasnt the best at this type of activity, he’ll say something about the second world war or that he'll start talking about his grandpa, but Jonathan just chuckled at that.

"And I can fell that it is a happy evening for everyone here. The food was great, the ceremony was sweet and you guys are the most adorable couple I've seen ’till this day. Thank you for allowing me to be here with you." - Steve ended and drank a bit of his champagne and so did you. But as always, there was something off about the taste. You frowned, trying to figure out what is wrong with it.

"What's that face for?" - Hopper whispered, kissing the top of your head.

"The wine and the cake... I don't know, Jim, it tasted way better when we were picking it." - You said honestly, having Jim nodding at your remark.

"If you don't like the taste, don't eat it and drink it. What about dance now when we’re done with the speeches? It was lovely, but my ass hurts." - James whispered again, having you laugh and nod. You danced the whole night, not having a single alcoholic drink. But Jules was a different story. Steve from biology had to walk her home because she wouldn't make it on her own. Most you loved dancing with the kids - these lunatics had such dance moves that you didn't know where they got it from, especially Lucas and Dustin.

It was a long day, but once Hopper carried you inside the house, you made exactly what newly wedded couple is supported to do once they arrive home. Eleven was staying at Wheeler’s, which was kind of a gift they gave you. Without telling too many details, you fucked in almost every room in the house, which left Hopper destroyed, laying in the bed at four a.m.

Yet you couldn't fall asleep. Why? Because while your hubby slept in your bed, your face was inside the toilette the whole time. And something on the back of your head was telling you that maybe, it isn't the nerves as Robin told you.

[forkanna]

NOTICE: Characters and locations ©Atlus. This fic and story ©2019-2020 me! All rights to their respective owners. Mature rating for sensual situations and dialogue. Canon (slight) divergence. Based on vanilla P4 since that's what I played (Sorry, Marie fans). Names are in Western order. Title adapted from the boss battle music. Cover art by 7aho.

[AO3 LINK] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

NOTES: This one isn't going to be quite as in-depth or long as my P5 fic (and also a lot lighter in the plot department haha). Apologies for all the exposition within the first couple of pages. I always attempt to make the fic accessible for readers who don't know anything about the fandom if I can, but try to keep it short.

And for those of you waiting... don't get mad at me for not putting out very much Elsanna lately. I promise you, it IS coming. LOTS of it. I just have to have proper motivation or it will turn out not so great. Thank you for your patience!

                                                     CHAPTER ONE

None of this was right.

The spooky old castle seemed to press in on Chie Satonaka from all sides as she tore down hallway after hallway, the sound of her loafers echoing off the flagstones. Nevermind how bizarre it was that she was in another world — which she was never going to get used to, even if she came and went a thousand times — but her childhood companion and best friend in the whole world being in danger was more important. She didn't have the luxury of being thunderstruck.

Chie and her friends had gone back and forth so often about the Midnight Channel. Was it real? Was it a scam, a mere urban legend? Mass hallucination? Nobody outside of the sleepy little town of Inaba had ever heard of it, or seen it happen; purely a local paranormal phenomenon. As the story went, if you watched your television with its power turned off at midnight, during a rainstorm, you could see something. Some versions even claimed the person you saw on the screen was your soulmate.

However, that was where fantasy ended and grisly reality took over. The two previous instances had shown women that later turned up dead — and not just on TV. Their corpses hung upside down from power lines and rooftops. In this most recent case, they had all seen Yukiko Amagi in the TV — first as a blurry shadow, and now in vivid high definition.

If it really was Yukiko. That woman in the screen looked and sounded nothing like her best friend, even if it was her face and voice. The garish pink princess dress was so unlike her! Not to mention the obscene thirst for boys from such a timid, polite girl… Chie could remember each word with crystal clarity:

"Goooood evening! Tonight, Princess Yukiko has a big surprise! I'm gonna go score myself a hot stud! Welcome to 'Not A Dream, Not A Hoax; Princess Yukiko's Hunt For Her Prince Charming!' And I came prepared — I've got my lacy unmentionables on, stacked from top to bottom! I'm out to catch a whole harem, and the best of the lot is gonna be all mine! Well, here I gooooo!"

Every deranged syllable had come from someone else's mind. It had to be a sick joke! Still, there was no other explanation for where her best friend had gone. Unreachable by phone or email, and her parents didn't know where she was, either.

The other world was their only lead. And since Yu had previously shown her and Yosuke that they could actually go inside, as long as the screen was large enough to step through… that was that. Insane as it was, they had all jumped through a big screen TV into a parallel dimension to rescue their friend.

But staircase after staircase flashed past, rich red curtains and glittering chandeliers, with no sign of Yukiko. The shadows pulled at Chie from all sides exactly as the boys had described. Maybe it was her bright green-and-yellow windbreaker that caught their attention, or maybe it was that someone was invading their realm. She didn't belong in Yukiko's palace. Or at the very least, the shadows of the Midnight Channel thought she didn't, and probably were equally distrustful of the boys.

Speaking of which, where were they? She could have sworn both Yu and Yosuke were right behind her… and that weird red-and-blue bear thing, whatever his name was. They had tried to insist she stay behind because she was a girl, not strong enough to fight in spite of her kung fu training, and now they were the ones who couldn't keep up?! She almost wanted to turn back and give them a good kick in the-

"Chie told me that red looks good on me…"

The words nearly made Chie trip over her own feet and go down hard. "Yukiko?!" Where was it coming from? She turned this way and that, trying to find the source, but saw no one. The voice kept going, talking about how much she didn't like her name. How she thought she was worthless. She tried to tune out the harsh words themselves, merely focusing on the direction they were coming from and attempting to follow.

But as she barrelled through an ornate set of double doors, looking for the next flight up… the subject matter changed. And she couldn't ignore the words anymore.

"Chie was the only one who gave my life meaning. She's bright and strong, and she can do anything! She has everything that I don't. Compared to Chie, I'm… I'm…"

"HEY!" she shouted. "I'm coming, Yukiko! Hang on!"

However, the disembodied voice only continued, without any obvious source now. How could it come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time?! "Chie protects me; she looks after my worthless life. And I… I don't deserve any of it… Chie is so kind."

The words burned almost as badly as the tears burned her eyes. This was wrong. Something about it sounded right, sounded satisfying to her, but she didn't want to examine it too deeply. All she wanted was to save her best friend and get her out of this nightmare palace.

"I know, right?"

That was not Yukiko.

"What the-" Her eyes swivelled to the side and saw a girl running backwards. She was about her minimal height, a little over five feet… had the same chestnut-brown bowl cut. The same green jacket. The same…

The same. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," the doppelganger laughed as she easily jogged backwards and kept pace with her, no worry for running into anything. She never did. It was as if this other Chie, this fake, had eyes in the back of her head or rearview mirrors that only she could see. "I bet you knew you'd be seeing me sooner or later."

"What are you?!" Chie demanded of the impostor.

"Don't ask stupid questions," she laughed, voice distorted. "Let's cut the bullshit. And I mean Yukiko's bullshit."

"What… do you… what are you saying?"

Waving a hand up toward the roof, she went on, "Yukiko thinks you're 'so kind'. That you protect her, right? We know that's not what you want from her at all." When she didn't respond, the clone smirked. "You're thrilled to death she depends on you. The most beautiful girl in school, and she needs you — some grubby little bitch who couldn't tell eyeshadow from lipstick. Man, do you get a charge out of that!"

"I… I do not!" she shouted, trying to put her head down and run faster — to ignore this pretender. She had been warned that there were frightening shadows all around them, and this was further proof; it was a trick. One she refused to fall for.

"Where ya goin'?" the clone pouted as she sped up to match pace. "Gotta go save your princess? Of course you do. She can't do anything while you're not around. Helpless like a lost puppy, right?"

Teeth gnashing, she snarled out, "Yukiko is not a puppy!"

"But you wish she was. If she was a helpless dog, yipping around your heels… then you would be set, wouldn't you? What else would you need with a devoted, needy little bitch to boss around?"

"I… excuse me?! What did you call her?" Chie finally stopped, turning to snarl at the girl who stopped as easily as if they had planned this weeks ago. "She's not a bitch! A-and she's not helpless! So you can shut up and go back to wherever you came from, because I have a friend to save!"

And then she left her in the dust.

Determination radiated off her entire body as she leapt over one of the shadows, landed on the face of another and demolished it. They seemed to sap her endurance a little at a time, but she also felt stronger somehow with each one she defeated. Just like training in her secret hideout when she was little; she might be getting tired now, but she would be able to handle more next time.

"You're right."

Her jaw tightened. "Thought I told you to leave me alone."

"You said to go back to where I came from," Other-Chie corrected with a Cheshire cat grin. "And I did! Right here with you!"

"Yukiko needs me! So unless you're going to help me save her-"

"Are you kidding? Like I said, you're right; she's not really that weak. Yukiko doesn't need you. It's the other way around, isn't it?" That shut her up, so the shadow went on, "You don't know the first thing about being a girl. So terrible at it. And she's kind, and sweet, and trusting. What are you?"

"I… I'm her friend."

"No, you're really not," she laughed loudly, harshly. The beginnings of fresh tears stung the back of her throat as she took the next steps two at a time, wishing desperately that she could ditch this unkind spectre. "Because that girl cares about you, and all you care about is that she does. You don't actually like her at all; you find her too quiet, too meek. Too pretty."

"That's not-"

"But she does depend on you. And hey, why should you ditch her when she's so devoted to you? Keep her on the end of your leash like the bitch she is."

"STOP!" Chie begged — and went down hard when her shoe tripped over the top stair, rolling a couple of times onto her side. Her knee had borne the brunt of the fall and now it throbbed in pain, and she automatically tried to massage it. "Just… just leave me alone, I… I do like her, she is my friend! My BEST friend!"

"Awwwwww, is she though?" More false pouting as she crouched over the real Chie. "Can she really be your friend if you want to keep her under your thumb? Totally codependent?"

Growling, she began to crawl forward, wishing she had a good pair of earplugs.

"Can't escape the truuuuth," she sing-songed.

"Go away."

"Just let yourself enjoy it. Give in. In fact… Yukiko is right on the other side of that door."

That made Chie sit up a little straighter. Was she really? Somehow, she knew it was true; she could sense a presence on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling double-doors now that they were so close.

"Yukiko?"

"That's right. So go in there and grind her under the heel of your boot. Show her that you're-"

Completely ignoring the rest of her shadow's words, Chie burst from the ground with renewed adrenaline and kicked open the doors.

"Yukiko!" But the princess didn't move. "Yukiko, what's wrong?!"

As she laughed, madly and maniacally, Yukiko did finally turn around. And she was just as otherworldly and demented as the Chie-clone that had been hounding her heels. Mostly, they looked the same, outfit notwithstanding; it was the eyes… they were almost golden, they blazed with such a yellow intensity. Something about them was most certainly wrong.

"Oh my! A prince has arrived! Things are really heating up!"

Gritting her teeth, Chie pointed at her and said, "No… you're not Yukiko. You're not her at all!"

"What are you talking about?" she gasped, full of false innocence. "I am she, and she is me! We are we."

"Oui oui," Chie's clone added with a light chuckle. A sick lurch shot through her stomach when she realised the clone had followed her inside. Now she had to deal with two of them.

"Oooh la laaaa," the false Yukiko giggled as she pressed an open palm to the center of her chest, just above her ample cleavage. "But I'm afraid if you really want to woo your princess, you'll have to wait! Deeper in, deeper in!"

The shadow of Chie approached her opposite number. Were they in league with each other? Rivals? Maybe they were part of the same being, a monster that wanted to manipulate the people that fell through the TV into this hellscape… but all she did was reach up and grasp at Yukiko's hair, snapping her head backward.

"AH!"

"I'll go deeper in," she promised with a little smirk. "And I don't want to wait."

"Mmhh! Yes, my Prince!" That obscenely lovesick look on her face made Chie turn away from them, throat tight with disgust. "But you can only have me here! I think she wants the other me!"

"Does she? Yes… yes, of course she does." She looked up in time to see the other Chie glowering down at her, despite the sinister smile. "Owning just one of you isn't enough; we need both of you in our cage."

Chie wanted to smack both of their heads together. But then something Yukiko had said pushed through to her: 'deeper in'. She knew where the real Yukiko was.

"Take me to her."

"Huh?" She tilted her head, silky black hair falling to the side. "Take you what where?"

"Don't play dumb. Just… take me to my best friend! You can do whatever you want to me, but I need to see her… I need to know she's okay!"

Against all her expectations, Fake Yukiko pouted instead of looking interested or pleased. "But that's not how this is supposed to work. You do whatever you want to me. Right? I don't wanna be the prince, I wanna be the princess!" And she actually began to sniffle a little.

"Hey, don't cry," the other Chie said with a slight chuckle, tightening her grip on the back of her hair. "I'll make you feel good if you don't cry."

"Y-you will?"

"Hey, HEY!" she shouted over the two of them. "Focus! How about this: I'll help her do that to you, whatever she wants — or I want, or whatever… if you take me to Yukiko first!"

"Oh!" The false Yukiko's face lit up with joy, cheeks turning as pink as her vile princess dress. "You promise? It's not worth it if you don't promise, I wanna hear you say it!"

"I promise. Now, can we get a move on?"

While Yukiko was giggling and literally bouncing up and down for joy, the other Chie started clapping, nodding in approval. "Daaaamn, I'm a little shocked, Satonaka. You're playing her like a fiddle. Thought you were going to insist you're nothing like me, but you're doing exactly what I would do. Bravo!"

"Just cut that out already and let's go," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. Then she felt herself being hoisted into the air. "Wha- WHOA! What are you doing?!"

"Just what you said," she sighed as false Yukiko hitched up her skirts and dashed through the other door toward the stairs. The other Chie fell in step behind her, toting the real one in a princess carry as easily as if she were a bag of flour. "Taking you to see both halves of your whole. Or should I say 'your hole'? Eh? Great pun, right?"

"Disgusting. I can't believe you can talk about her that way — and you call yourself another part of me!"

Her smirk should have been illegal. "Ohhh, but I am. And I see right through all of your bullshit. She's a trophy to you; an ornamental piece. A refrigerator magnet. No… more like, one of those cute little buttons you have pinned to the front of your jacket there." Her head nodded down at said buttons. The sleepy smiley face had always been her favourite, but now she just wanted to rip them off and throw them away. "Something you can wear around and show everyone. Maybe that's what the red one is, right? Is that your Yukiko button?"

"It's… my 'I love exercise' button. And if you're really me, you would know that."

"But it is red, like her favourite colour," she kept teasing.

"Sh-shut up. And do you have to carry me like this?! I can walk, y'know — like my button says!"

"It says you can walk?"

"No, it says I love- just shut up! GOD!"

Laughing openly at her, Other-Chie scoffed, "I'm faster than you. And I won't be a panting, sweaty mess when we get to the top floor… well, maybe once we're there…"

"Does everything you say have to be a double entendre?!"

However, she seemed to be dead on the money. In no time, they were at the top floor, and entering an ornate throne room. Somehow, the shadow Yukiko had gotten there ahead of them with enough time to spare that she could seat herself, and look as prim and proper as if she had been waiting for them for an hour. And there, at the bottom of the red carpet-lined steps leading up to the dais, was…

"YUKIKO!" Springing out of her double's arms, she ran forward and knelt by her side, curling an arm around her shoulders. This Yukiko was wearing a light pink kimono, as she typically did when working at her parents' very traditional Japanese inn.

"My, my, it's getting crowded in here," the shadow on the throne chuckled as she rose from her seat, stepping to the edge of the dais. "Why don't you and I go somewhere else? A land far, far away, where no one knows me. If you're my prince, you'll take me there, won't you? C'mon, pretty please?"

"Do you… mean me?" Chie asked hesitantly. She was a little worried about how the real Yukiko hadn't said anything yet, but curiosity would not let her ignore the shadow entirely.

"Of course, Chie! She's my prince. She always leads the way; Chie is a strong prince." Then she sighed and added, "Or at least, she was."

"Was?" the Other-Chie demanded, eyebrows shooting up.

"When it comes down to it, Chie's just not good enough. She can't take me away from here — can't save me! Historic inn? Manager training? I'm sick of all these things chaining me down — sick of everything being decided for me!"

"The hell I can't save you!" It was a disbelieving scoff, and the other shadow began to stride up the stairs as she continued, "I'm your prince, aren't I? I can do whatever I want with you. And you'll be grateful, because you know I won't let anything bad happen to you ever again. Well… nothing that I'm not doing to you myself."

Even while Chie herself was reeling in fresh disgust, the other Yukiko's eyes were widening. "You will? I m-mean… I really thought you couldn't help me escape my prison."

"I'll destroy your prison and make you a new one," Other-Chie said… and as she reached the top of the stairs, something about her changed. One blink, and she was identical to the real Chie; the next, a large crown appeared on her head to match the thin, delicate tiara on Other-Yukiko's head. The jacket stayed the same colour but turned into something more royal, with gold braids hanging down in loops over the shoulders. Medals replaced the buttons. And her school skirt became grey tights.

"A new one just for me?" Other-Yukiko gasped in wonder.

"Thick bars made of diamonds. The floor will be polished marble, your cot in the corner will be velvet…" Her hands smoothed up Yukiko's neck, gripping in the hair and tilting her head up. "And your collar will be made of the finest leather money can buy."

"Chie…?"

Her attention instantly diverted from the shadows to the real Yukiko Amagi. She was still huddled in her arms, dazed eyes finally focusing on the stairs, up at the two figures. Then turning to the one holding her.

"Yes?" she breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Chie, what… what is… going on? How did I get here?" Already, her eyes were watering as she whispered, "A-are we going to die?"

It wasn't that Yukiko was a coward, or a weakling. She was stronger than she knew. But she saw herself as weak and helpless. Chie had always tried to encourage her to train with her, thinking the kung fu might help offset that meekness, but she had shied away from it — insisting it would be seen as 'unladylike' by her extremely conservative mother. Frowned upon as something ill-suited for a girl who would one day help run the Amagi Inn to be caught doing.

"No," she whispered, a smile finally pulling at her mouth for the first time since she had entered the TV. "No way. I got your back."

"I've been s-so scared," she whispered fearfully as she trembled in her arms. "I don't know wh- don't know what's going on, but I kept thinking, if… if only you came… but how did you know where I was?"

"Boo hoo," Other-Chie jeered at them. And when she turned to look…

This was a very different scene now. Her princely green coat was now draped over her back like a cape, yakuza-style. The rest of her clothing was… something else. Was it some kind of metal bikini? Maybe it was gold; that would explain the yellow sheen. And between the thigh-high boots and opera gloves, and the smug look on her plain face… the outfit was definitely giving it a very specific connotation.

"Isn't it sickening?" Other-Yukiko sighed, shaking her head as her arms folded in front of her chest — in just the right way to push her breasts up. "They cling to each other like they're going to fall apart. And how can that other me just blubber and cry all the time?"

Other-Chie grinned and started sliding her hand up and down the small of her Yukiko's back. "Mmm, forget about them. The real Chie and Yukiko have business to attend."

"Ooooh," she giggled. "What kind of business?"

"Let's get out of here," the real Yuki whispered. "Just… j-just let them do whatever that is, and… and you and I can go back to Marukyu Tofu and… and have something for dinner, and w-we'll just… forget all about this. Okay? If… if you know the way out?"

Her eyes were so hopeful when she looked up at Chie. As always. That was the look that got to her more than she had ever wanted to admit. Which, unfortunately, contributed to how badly the shadow version of herself was getting to her with each and every word…

"Look at her face," said shadow snorted instantly, grinning wolfishly down at the original Chie. "She finally gets it. She sees the ugly black mold under the tatami that she had been pretending didn't stink for years. Yukiko Amagi is nothing but a tool to her."

"And she loves being a tool," her Yukiko breathed as she sat her Chie in the throne, then crawled into her lap, petting up and down her arms. "I know I do."

"Come on!" the real Yukiko whispered. "Can't we go away? Do you know the way home?"

"Y-yeah," Chie whispered. Then she cleared her throat and stood up. "We're going. Back the way we came; if we can get out of the castle, I think I can take us to where we can go back through the TV."

"Through the what?! I'm- WHOA! Chie-chan!"

Not wanting to mince words, she started dragging Yukiko away from the steps. The other girl couldn't move very fast, but it was as much about the restrictive kimono as it was her inferior athletic ability. But she would never give voice to it, never have complained about-

"Why is she SOOOO slow?!" Of course, Other-Chie said it for her. "Doesn't she ever even go outside? Pathetic!"

"Actually… there's something wrong, my Prince."

"What?"

"They haven't paid us back yet."

"Ohhhh. I believe you're — right!"

A loud din of jangling metal filled the air as Chie suddenly found herself stopped short, just a few more strides from the doors. When she looked down, she saw her arms were pinned to her sides by thick chains, and they were already trying to drag her back toward the throne.

"Hey!" she shouted, struggling. "What the hell is this?!"

"You promised!" Other-Yukiko wailed, pouting as the toothily-grinning Other-Chie dragged her back toward them, up the steps and onto the dais. It hurt, but her pride was wounded far more than her body.

"Promised wh… oh. OH! B-but you already have the other me, isn't that enough?"

"You're my prince! Why should I only want one of you when two princes who adore me is twice the fun?"

Her shadow chuckled. "She's got you there, Satonaka."

Now Chie had a dilemma. She could see Yukiko approaching the steps, expression panicked and worried for her best friend. And all she wanted was for her to escape, to save herself. Her entire goal in entering the TV was to get Yukiko out of there!

Then she thought about something else. There were more shadows than their two clones roaming those stone hallways; all manner of beasts and ghouls and assorted horrors. Yukiko was not a fighter; never had been. She still needed her. Even if she hated that she liked it, that didn't make it untrue.

"Alright!" she gasped out. "Okay, let me out of these chains, and… and I'll do it. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"You forgot?!" Yukiko asked incredulously.

"No, no, she did," her own shadow mused, eyes narrowed down at her. "So obsessed with Amagi that we stopped mattering, didn't we? You're as codependent as she is."

"Sure, yeah, whatever. Let's get on with it. What am I supposed to be doing?"

The eyes remained narrowed, but her smirk came into full bloom. "You know already."

"What? No, I really don't. Should I pull her hair like you did?"

"Chie?" asked the real Yukiko as the fake one smiled wider. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Yuki-chan. Really, it's… I promised them…" She didn't want to continue, but her shadow had other plans, and nudged her hard with her elbow. "I promised I would d-do whatever they wanted if they took me to you. And I mean… they did, so…"

As her friend looked stricken and confused, the false Yukiko nuzzled up against her side. "Do whatever you want to me. It's going to make me feel so safe, so loved! Like my prince cares about me!"

"But she's your prince!" she protested, nodding at the other Chie.

"We're both her prince. How are you still not getting this? No wonder our grades are in the toilet; we're just dumb as a fencepost, huh?" Then she picked up Chie's hands and guided them to the princess's neck. "Do what comes natural. Go on."

"What comes… natural…" Well, putting her hands on Yukiko's neck sure didn't feel that way. Even if this monster was a fake, it had her noble features, her little bow mouth… which was slightly parted in anticipation.

They wanted her to choke her. It hit her like a ton of bricks, and her hands shot away as if burned. Yukiko pouted, and Other-Chie rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Please, stop this," asked the real Yukiko, bowing politely. Just as she had been trained to do. "W-we just want to leave. Is that so wrong? We want to go home!"

"Not until she fulfils her promise," Other-Yukiko pouted. "And it's such an easy one! All she has to do is put me in my place like she already wants to do — everybody wins! I get to belong to my Prince, and she gets to enjoy owning me!"

Yukiko was revolted. "What are you saying?! You're a person, I- no, I'm a person, and so are you, and… who would want to be owned like they're some kind of thing?!"

"Why, we do, obviously. We want a hot stud to sweep us off our feet, so we don't have to think about anything at all! Not managing an inn, not grades, not responsibilities. Living the life of a pet sounds so inviting, doesn't it?"

As she went on, the real Yukiko was beginning to look despondent. And Chie knew why; because she was right — at least partially. It didn't mean she really wanted a life like that, but as she was now beginning to understand, it meant there was a part of Yukiko that found the idea of running away from everything that was expected of her to be an extremely appealing notion. And that it distorted the bonds of their friendship. All the things she had heard Yukiko saying before, echoing off the walls… those were probably her honest feelings and wishes. Everything the shadow spouted was the worst possible version of said feelings.

"Well, I'm not going to do this forever," Chie warned them with a sigh as she reached into the shadow Yukiko's hair and scratched behind her ear. "But I will for a little while. I did promise, I guess."

"Mmm," she hummed, and the false Chie also watched with satisfaction. "My prince… it feels so good, I'm so yours…"

"Doesn't she have any self-respect?" the real Yuki muttered. But it was loud enough they could hear her.

"She doesn't. You know that she doesn't and you don't." Other-Chie began to stride down the steps toward her, a red whip appearing in her hands, already pulled taut. "But while they're busy… would you like to find out how they're feeling up there? So boring, sitting around on the sidelines."

Instantly, the real Chie stepped away from the pet, letting her fall onto her elbows from the unexpected absence of her master. "You leave her alone. That's not part of the promise."

"It's a bonus," her opposite chuckled with a smirk. "All she has to do is say 'yes'."

"But…" She had to think fast. As usual, Yukiko looked too terrified of the imposing shadow, of the whip in her hands, to protest; she might even give in. "But I… but your Yukiko wants us both!"

One eyebrow raised as she turned to smirk back over her shoulder. "But they are both ours. Every Yukiko belongs to us for all eternity. Doesn't that make you feel so good? Makes them feel good."

"So good," Other-Yukiko echoed, rubbing up and down her upper arms as her eyes closed in bliss at the mere fantasy.

"You lay one finger on her and the deal is off," Chie pushed stubbornly. "I said I would… d-do things to the other Yukiko, but you getting to torture my best friend isn't part of that!"

A little "Chie…" slipped out of Yukiko's lips. Then she swallowed hard and said to the other one, "Y-yes, please don't touch me. I… I don't want…"

"Liar," she insisted.

"I am not lying! I'm scared, I d-don't want to be here! And I don't want you to hurt m-"

She cut off with a yelp as the whip came whistling down, hitting the ground right next to her fingers. She clutched both hands to her chest and shrank in on herself, eyes slammed shut as she tried to blot out everything and everyone.

"She wants it," Other-Chie said with certainty. "Look at how pathetic she is. Not trying to fight me off, can't even move now."

Other-Yukiko laughed and began to paw at Chie's leg, which made her a lot more uncomfortable than she could have imagined. "Poor little bitch thinks she's too good for our collars. Speaking of which…"

Suddenly, the other Chie was standing over her and holding a black spiked dog collar, dangling off the end of her index finger. She began to twirl it around and around. "Happy birthday to us."

"What's… what are you doing with that?" Now it was in real Chie's own hands. The leather was warm and heavy, and the shadow Yukiko's neck was slender, calling out for its companion. "Oh."

"Please?" she breathed needily. "Just… put it on, and we'll both be so happy…"

So she put it on. She couldn't bear to face the real Yukiko, but she managed to slide the leather around her doppelganger's throat and fit it snugly without being too tight. A sigh of gratitude fell from her as soon as it was complete, and she smiled up at Chie with what seemed like genuine affection.

"I thought you had seen how worthless I am," she whispered. "But you want me all to yourself? Really?"

"S-stop it," she muttered as she cleared her throat. "I did it because it's… what you wanted. A trade for Yukiko."

"But I'm-"

"What else do you want me to do? Huh? So we can get it done, and… and I can go home."

Now the false Yukiko looked as if she might cry. Her real life counterpart crept forward to kneel on the second step, getting a better look. Other-Chie clicked her tongue, though her expression remained as smug as ever. "So mean. Give her what she wants, and then make her feel like doggie doo. What a power move; really keep her on your leash this way."

"Cut that OUT!" Chie snapped.

"Whoa, touchy! I can't help it if the truth is too weird for you."

"You don't want to be here with me," Other-Yuki finally breathed, and Chie found herself actually feeling a pinprick of remorse. "Can't you play with me a little more before you go? I… I'm gonna miss you…"

"Oh… fine, fine. Tell me what it is you want me to do."

Her expression full of sappy affection — and the real Yukiko's full of disbelief and outrage — she began to hitch up her skirts. "Well, I did pick out something very special to wear today — so I can catch a stud, like you! But it looks like I got defeated, and these are going to waste, so… I thought-"

"Wait, wait, I'm not- you want me to see your underwear?!"

"Not just see it…"

Cold flooded the pit of her stomach. She turned wide eyes on the real Yukiko, who still seemed dazed but was now frowning a lot deeper than before, then back to the legs that were appearing beneath the hem of the clone's dress.

"No."

"Don't you want to go home?" she purred as her thighs came into view. "Play with me. Make me feel really, really good… and you might get that wish. Pretty please?"

"NO! You're a shadow, a- a demon! Why would I do something for you I've barely ever done to myself — much less anybody else?!"

The shadow Yukiko got a little more insistent, pout more pronounced. "Because I'm your princess! Touch me — make my body come alive for you! Turn me into your willing servant!"

"Come on, stop it!"

"Why? Give me one good reason you shouldn't be ripping off my clothes and having your way with m-"

"Because I wanna do this with the REAL Yukiko, not YOU!"

                                                     To Be Continued…

[mywindowslookwriting]

A Partial A24 Ranking

A24 is an American production company, known for creating indie megahits like Midsommar, Moonlight, and The Spectacular Now. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen any of those. But irregardless, here is my (partial) A24 ranking, of just the ones I’ve seen.

10. Mid90s (2018) dir. Jonah Hill

The directorial debut from actor Jonah Hill is a ‘slice-of-life’ look at teen skateboarders, with some nice cinematography, 90s nostalgia, but also unfortunately a huge helping of toxic masculinity and lack of consequences. The main characters toss around slurs casually, and they cheer when the thirteen-year-old boy protagonist has his first sexual experience with a much older girl – who was possibly 22-23 at the time of filming. Drug use is romanticized, and the ending finds characters still static and without consequences for their bad choices. Honestly, if you like skateboarding movies, just watch Skate Kitchen.

9. The Bling Ring (2013) dir. Sofia Coppola

The true story of a group of wealthy L.A. teens who robbed various celebrities like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan is turned into a surface-level enjoyable film. I enjoy Sofia Coppola’s work, and the film takes the viewer on a wild ride of privilege and celebrity, but it has a tendency to feel like the viewer is being given the keys themselves, with Coppola not really having anything to say about their actions. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it leads to a film that feels a little devoid of meaning.

8. Eighth Grade (2018) dir. Bo Burnham

A surprising directorial debut from a comedian, Eight Grade looks at, well, the last week of eighth grade as a socially awkward girl tries to survive until high school. As a movie, it’s so deeply apt it’s insane, and features some great acting from Elsie Fisher as the protagonist, but the only reason I couldn’t rank it higher is because there was so much second-hand embarrassment – as anyone who used to be a child now thinking about everything they did as a kid understands – that it was hard to watch. That being said, I still definitely recommend it.

7. The Florida Project (2017) dir. Sean Baker

In the shadow of Disneyland, kids living in motels play, go on adventures, and get into trouble while the adults in their lives struggle with money and hard choices. The contrast plunges the viewer back into childhood, but makes the adult issues blindingly clear in a moving snapshot that feels like hot summer on your skin as it moves from slow-moving happiness to fear to frustration to anger, and finally, maybe, hope.

6. Room (2015) dir. Lenny Abrahamson

Based on a book, a woman (Brie Larson) kidnapped and trying to raise her son (Jacob Tremblay) in a single room. It’s emotionally devastating, with superb acting – Brie Larson won an Oscar for her role -, and although it cut a lot and isn’t entirely faithful to the source material, but that’s okay because it’s such a moving and eventually heartwarming drama film.

5. Never Goin’ Back (2018) dir. Augustine Frizzell

In the hot Texan world of Never Goin’ Back, poverty is a given. So why shouldn’t two best friends celebrate one of their birthdays at the beach, even if it means spending their rent money? The movie is funny, many of the girls’ antics are hilarious, and a beautiful celebration of the many forms – and frankly, insanely homoerotic in this case – of female friendship. It has its flaws, putting it lower on the list, but Never Goin’ Back makes it easy to laugh, or to give opportunities to look deeper into its meaning.

4. The Farewell (2019) dir. Lulu Wang How far would you go for family? Would you lie to them about having terminal cancer so they are happy for their last few months? For families in the western world, this question is unfamiliar, something no one would consider doing, but the film’s look at a Chinese family reuniting under the pretense of a wedding in order to spend time with the protagonist’s grandmother for the last time is intensely relatable because it is about family. Whether laughing or crying, the Farewell deftly tackles messy family lives, and all you can learn from others just by listening.

3. 20th Century Women (2016) dir. Mike Mills

In the rapidly-changing landscape of late 70s California, an older single woman is struggling to raise her teenaged son, so she enlists the help of his best friend and a punk artist boarding in their house. The cinematography and structure takes risks, with colour pouring out of highway scenes, and the future lives of characters being revealed, but it’s not artsy and inaccessible. It’s surprising that a male director could have represented different types of women and their struggles, but he did it, and he did it well.  

2. American Honey (2016) dir. Andrea Arnold

Lead actress Sasha Lane was discovered on a beach with her friends during spring break. Her character is invited to travel through America selling magazines with other misfit teens in a grocery store parking lot. The almost three-hour long movie is as sprawling as the sky in the south and midwest of America. It’s a hot summer day that feels refreshing, not stifling. It’s young love and lingering closeup shots. It’s the American dream, updated. American Honey is almost three hours long, freeform and calm, beautiful and frantic. It’s a languid summer day, and the cool glass of water you inhale afterwards. Simply, it is American Honey.

1. Lady Bird (2017) dir. Greta Gerwig

Trying to escape your hometown. Arguing with your parents. Falling in love, or maybe not. Dancing at prom with your best friend. Moments of universal high school feelings add up to a superb directorial debut from writer and actress Greta Gerwig of one seventeen-year-old girl in her last year of high school. Appearing on the surface as a straight-forward coming-of-age film, the focus on the women of the film that rarely finds time to stray to love interest characters makes it feel fresh, especially helped by wonderful acting from Saoirse Ronan and Laurie Metcalf. It’s an alternative glimpse of life packaged into a mainstream tale of relatability that makes it A24’s best film.  

-written by sagan, september 4th 2019

[prorevenge]

Piss on the floor, and threaten to evict me? Enjoy your possesion charges.

Obligatory on mobile disclaimer.

This story is still unfolding, but this is where we are at currently.

Back in October 2017, I moved in with a friend (G) and his roommate (T), after they moved out together from their previous and needed a 3rd.

T and I hit it off right away. G is a pothead, and he got me started on the habit. I gave it up in December, I felt tired and slow all the time. G kept going as normal.

The house we moved into had all sorts of problems. I'm a handyman, so I'd fix whatever I could, and I was only ever reimbursed for materials, minus my share. It was kind of shitty, for my labor went unpaid, but whatever, I never brought it up, and it never bothered me. The landlord was always giving excuses as to why he couldn't fix it, and would deduct it from the rent instead. It worked out, but it was a pain in my ass.

One fateful day in January, T had been out since the day before, so it was just G, the cats, and me. I went to have my morning piss, only to find that the toilet is completely smeared in piss, as well as the floor. I am livid. I recorded it over WhatsApp, and sent it to the group. I said it was unacceptable and that it needed to be cleaned before I decided to do it. G wakes up, and immediately stats with the bullshit (woah, that's a big leak. We need a plumber). I reply that it wasn't possible for a leak to crawl up the walls of the bowl and make a mess all over. He then blamed the cats. I am somewhat allergic to cats, specifically, their piss. Just a whiff of it will have me coughing a lung out. I bring this up as well.

His tone went from "haha that is so weird!" To "quit your bitching, I'll clean it up you faggot". And he did. And from that moment on, his demeanor and attitude changed completely.

He would send passive aggressive messages if I had any dishes leftover from the day before. He would send passive aggressive videos if MY TV which was on the livingroom, was dusty. Whenever I got home and said hi, he would ignore me.

So I started ignoring all of it. I stopped saying hi to him, and limited myself to only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. He didn't like that. Whenever we'd be both walking in opposite directions, he would square up, and try to shoulder shove me out of the way. We are both pretty big dudes, so at first I took it in jest, but later I'd stiffen up and send him flying every single time he tried it (you never forget how to hip/shoulder check someone).

He eventually stopped with the physical confrontations, and would complain to T about me. His complaints ranged from "he won't even greet me" to "I never see him do any housework".

One day, his insane girlfriend was over, and they had a massive fight at 2am, where she took his PC (which I built) and threw it across the room.

He sent me a message the day after, along the lines of "fix it, I'll pay". I replied that I would fix it for free, but only if my friend G asked. I wouldn't touch it otherwise. He took issue with that, and told me he had no need to establish a friendship with me. I told him that I had no need to fix a computer, so I wouldn't do it, and he got pissed. He stormed off my room, and left the building.

A few weeks later, I left my Tupperware soaking in the sink. He sent a message to the group, stating that it was unacceptable to have dirty dishes (all the while, he had days worth of dishes at any given time). I asked if we were expected to clean up daily, and he blew up saying how he was tired of havig an ungrateful, arrogant, violent prick in his home (lease is under his name, we all pay equal parts of rent) and he wanted me gone by the end of the month.

I got home, laughed at him, and he threatened to have me evicted legally, and if that failed, he'd throw my stuff out on the streets. He claimed that because his name was on the lease, his word was law.

I challenged him to do either, and got a nifty little surveillance program that uploads straight to YouTube. I caught him once goin into my room, realizing my webcam was on, and walking out. When I got home, I broadcasted the video to his TV, and confronted him. His stance was that I was illegally recording him, and he'd sue me. I told him to go for it. I still don't know why he went in.

He turned violent and aggressive. I decided to just be the bigger man, and leave, so I moved out on Saturday. I figured I'd drop the drama, leave and that'd be the end of it. Nope. On Saturday night, he sends a message "like a bitch".

On Monday morning, I called the landlord. On the lease, there is a clause that states that the use of recreational drugs is forbidden. I told him that Gs substance abuse had forced me to leave, because the apartment was filthy all the time, and reeked of pot.

He told me he was going to make a surprise visit. I told him when to best catch him blazing.

On Tuesday, the landlord called me to ask if I would testify against G. Apparently, the landlord did go and dropped on him, the stench of pot was unmistakeable. Police were involved, and G apparently assaulted the landlord. He is being evicted, and I have a court date coming up.

I sent him a message, "good thing it's your name on the lease". Got no reply.

Tl;Dr: pothead roomie pissed on the floor, I threw a fit, he threatened to evict me or throw my shit out. I snitched to the landlord, and roommate is being evicted for breaching the no drugs clause on his lease, and being charged with possession.

(source) (story by Aeris_24)

[snarkybluechristian]

Hazbin Hotel: Yandere Alastor x Vaggie Chapter 6

Vaggie immediately tossed the shoes to the side and began running through the house as quickly as she could.  She bolted up the stairs and only allowed herself to catch her breath when she was back on the floor that she remembered her bedroom being on. As Vaggie leaned against the blood-red wall, her eyes settled on a mirror on the wall across from where she was standing.  In the mirror, Vaggie could see the bruises on her neck.  They didn’t camouflage into her purple skin at all.  The spots were dark red, fresh, and plain to see.   A shudder ran through Vaggie’s spine.  Alastor was no genius at romance, but he was right about hickeys.  They were a way to mark territory.   Vaggie covered them with her hands fearfully as she remembered her “patrons” back in El Salvador and what they did when they started getting possessive. Vaggie felt a fearful tear run down her cheek before she took a deep breath to give herself strength.  She would not be a rich man’s property.  Not again… “I don’t care how obsessed you are with me,” Vaggie said turning away from the mirror and wandering around her room searching for Angel as she briefly reflected on Alastor’s behavior. It was beyond creepy, especially that line, “Women are made to bear and so are you…” Vaggie shook her head and forced herself to focus on the task at hand.  What happened happened, but Angel still needed her help. Vaggie crept the hallway quietly listening for any sign of Angel. “Alright, if I were a freaky, sex-crazed Mary Poppins, where would I hide my victims?” Vaggie questioned out loud. Suddenly, Vaggie heard the sound of Angel’s screams coming from just ahead of her. “AHHHHHHHH!” Angel screamed out in agony before he laughed painfully.  “Oh, baby!  More!  More!” His voice caused Vaggie to shudder fearfully in her tracks as she finally found the room, twisted the knob open, and peeked inside. Vaggie held her hands over her mouth to cover her horrified gasp.   Angel was chained on a rack with his back exposed, his arms chained up, and his legs held in restraints.  The poor spider demon had scars on his back from the leather whip Rosie was holding in her hands. In a flash, Rosie lashed her whip against Angel’s bare back again causing the spider demon to scream out in agony. Rosie turned the wheeled contraption Angel was strapped to around, wrapped her leather-covered leg around his waist, pushed her chest against his, and asked, “Are you sure about that, sweetie?” “I can take anything you can dish out, lady,” Angel said before his eyes locked with Vaggie’s.   Angel’s eyes flashed in panic as Rosie’s wrinkled lips locked with his. Then Angel said, “Lady, please, this is torture…” “Oh?” Rosie asked licking Angel’s cheeks.   “Yeah,” Angel answered with a smirk.  “You pressing your sweaty, saggy tits against my bruised chest really stings!” Rosie then kicked Angel in the chest, spun him around, and began whipping him more viciously than before. It suddenly occurred to Vaggie that Angel said this on purpose so that Rosie would be distracted.  She quickly glanced around the room for anything she could use as a distraction.   Vaggie’s eyes settled on a vase on a table down the hall holding more of those blood red flowers.   The vase gave her an idea.  It was a bad one, but bad ideas were better than no ideas at all at this point.  So, Vaggie pulled out a spare knife she had hidden on her person and tossed it at the vase causing it to shatter on contact.   Vaggie then backed herself against the wall and held her breath as she heard Rosie stop her whipping and run into the hall.   When she dared to look at her, she had to keep herself from gagging.  Rosie was dressed in a leather dominatrix outfit with absurdly high stripper heels.   “Oh, Vaggie…” Rosie called out upon noticing the broken vase.  “You silly, silly little girl.  You should know better than to interrupt my playtime…” In a flash, Rosie dashed right down the hall and disappeared out of sight.   When she vanished, Vaggie breathed a sigh of relief and ran back into the room to see Angel panting in exhaustion. Vaggie quickly shut the door and said, “Angel…?” “Is she gone?” Angel quickly interrupted.   “Yes, I think so,” Vaggie said quietly. “Oh, thank God,” Angel said breathing a sigh of relief.  “I’m so glad you’re here.” “Shhh…” Vaggie said running over to the other side of the rack to look Angel in the eye.  “I’ll get you down, but you have to be quiet.  You got it?  How do I get you down from there?” “The keys are on that table,” Angel said gesturing with his head to a bedside table with a lamp and a book on it. Vaggie quickly grabbed the keys and began releasing all of Angel’s limbs from the rack.  When she was done, Angel fell forward on the ground tiredly. “Angel, are you alright?” Vaggie asked fearfully worried that Angel was injured.  “Can you walk?” “Yeah, babe,” Angel said with a smile as he reabsorbed his extra pair of arms and got to his feet while putting on his coat that was lying on the floor.  “How about you?  I see those hickeys.  Alastor must be a rougher lover than I imagined.  I’m jealous.” “It was completely non-consensual.  I assure you,” Vaggie said angrily as she began pushing the contraption towards the door to block it.  “Now, we need to get out of here before…” “There you are!” the merry British demon’s voice called out as she stopped the contraption where it stood.  “What are you doing here, Vaggie?  Did you want to play, too?  Angel and I could always use another partner…” Vaggie pushed back against Rosie’s grip before she felt Angel grabbing her arm and pulling her back behind him just as Rosie rolled the contraption across the room to get a better look at her captives. Angel stepped in front of Vaggie as he summoned his Tommy gun and his bat.   Vaggie looked around for a weapon and only found the book and the lamp, so she grabbed the lamp off the table with one hand and grabbed the book to use as a shield. “Oh, dear,” Rosie said with an amused smile.  “Do you two intend to fight back?  How adorable.  I love it when I can get down and dirty!” “Bring it on, you dominatrix bitch!” Vaggie spat back.   Angel stuck his tongue out and said lewdly, “I’m gonna screw you as you screwed me, ya crazy bitch.  I hope you’re ready.” “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Vaggie said out loud.   “Make your way to the window,” Angel muttered to Vaggie gesturing his head back towards the window.  “And prepare to jump…” “Got it,” Vaggie replied with a nod. “Oh, I am so defenseless,” Rosie retorted sarcastically putting one hand on her hip and twiddling her fingers against her face with the other hand.  “What’s a little old lady to do?” Then with a snap of her fingers, Rosie summoned her umbrella and six penguin familiars and said, “Ladies, how about you show these brutes some manners?” “Bring it, bitch!” Angel yelled back as Vaggie threw open the window.  “Vaggie, grab on!” Vaggie dropped her lamp and grabbed onto Angel’s side as he dissolved his bat and picked her up with his extra arms, but unfortunately before Angel and Vaggie could jump out the window, the window slammed in their face. “Enough!” Alastor’s voice suddenly rang out.   The three demons and penguin villains turned to look at Alastor who suddenly appeared on the other side of the room.   “I believe we can settle this dispute in a more civilized manner,” Alastor said stepping between the two warring parties.  “That is if you two are willing to cooperate…” Angel reflexively held Vaggie tighter against his side and took another step backward as Alastor continued, “How about this?  Vaggie, if you stay with me, I will let this hairy mess go.  Then as long as you are obedient and loving, I will let you visit the Hotel once a month.  What do you say, dear?” Vaggie knew she didn’t have a choice.  Angel couldn’t stay there.  He had already suffered enough.  If Vaggie said no, Angel would spend the rest of eternity as Rosie’s sex slave.  Not even he deserved that. “I’ll…” Vaggie began before she felt a hand cover her mouth. “Hold it right there, bucko,” Angel interrupted as he pointed his gun straight at Alastor.  “You have to fuckin’ insane to think that I’m goin’ to just leave and let you pound Vaggie like a goddamn piece of meat.  I ain’t leavin’ without her.  And if that means I have to claw my way outta here with her, so be it.” Alastor’s eyes twitched for a brief second before he flashed a cruel smile, snapped his fingers causing Angel’s gun to disappear and Vaggie’s lamp to disappear, and said, “Suit yourself then.” Before either Angel or Vaggie had time to react, Alastor tapped his staff on the ground and instantly teleported everyone present into a dark, cool dungeon room.   The cell was built completely out of gray stone.  It was oddly spacious and horizontally long, able to hold the four demons comfortably, and that was about the best thing about it.   There were a toilet and a sink with a mirror on the back wall on one end of the cell to their right, a single bed with a bare mattress and pillow on the other end of the cell to the left, and chains hanging on the bare wall between them.   The only light sources were a lightbulb with a pull-string hanging from the ceiling and a small, horizontal window about the size of a two-by-four board above the bed where the light met the ceiling.   Iron prison bars made up the fourth wall.  Their cold, menacing, vertical poles were spaced evenly and only interrupted by an iron bar door on the very right which at the moment was hanging open with a black key hanging in the lock of the door much like it would be in jail cells from the 1930s. Vaggie and Angel looked around fearfully at their new surroundings.  The cell was oddly clean, but there were still faint blood stains on the walls where the chains were.  That was enough to make Vaggie let out an involuntary gasp. “You know, Alastor…” Rosie began interrupting the thoughts of the two frightened prisoners practically backed up against the wall as she dismissed her minions and leaned back against the prison bars.  “Vaggie hasn’t had a chance to answer the question herself.” “Hmmmmm…you’re right, Rosie,” Alastor replied with a smile glancing back at her before returning his gaze back to Vaggie.  “So, what is your answer, Vaggie?  If you stay here with me willfully, I will let Angel go, but if you refuse, he will stay and you two will both be at our disposal.  So, tell me.  What will it be?” Vaggie squirmed until Angel finally dropped her on the floor and then slowly walked up to Alastor looking him in the eye as much as her smaller frame would allow. “Vaggie…” Angel tried to complain. Vaggie held her hand up to tell Angel to be quiet and said boldly, “Alastor, I promise to spend every day for the rest of my eternal life fighting for my freedom.  I will never give in to you!” Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Well, then.  As punishment for your defiant behavior and your trespassing, you two can spend the night in this cell…” Alastor, Rosie, and Rosie’s minions instantly teleported outside the cell.   Alastor quickly locked the door, took the key, and continued, “Rosie and I will come for you in the morning, Vaggie.  Have a good night, you two!” The Radio Demon quickly right down the hallway out of sight.  Rosie stood there for a second quietly flashing a cruel smile as her familiars disappeared before finally following behind her friend. Vaggie stood in place tensely as Angel laid himself out over the bed and stretched out his limbs. “Well, looks like you and I are spending the night here, Vaggie,” Angel said nonchalantly folding his arms behind his head on top of the pillow.   Vaggie didn’t respond but continued staring at the hallway in front of their cell. A look of concern flashed through Angel’s eyes before he said, “Hey, doll?  Vaggie?  Are ya there?” Vaggie finally looked over to Angel. The spider demon tapped the old mattress and said, “What do you wanna do, doll, the day is still young?” Vaggie tiredly sat on the bed next to him holding the book on top of her lap and sighed.  She glanced over to Angel and cringed when she noticed him staring at her with a smirk. “Why are you staring at me like that?” Vaggie demanded. “You still owe me,” Angel said playfully. Vaggie looked at Angel in confusion until she finally had her revelation. “Oh, my God,” Vaggie said in growing annoyance. “What?” Angel asked playfully. “You only stayed here because I owed you?!” Vaggie yelled. Angel sighed with a playful smirk that got on Vaggie’s nerves and said, “It beats the therapy sessions back home.  Besides, this was too good an opportunity to pass up, babe.” Vaggie took a deep breath to calm down and conceded, “Okay, fine.  What the hell do you want?” “Just give me a moment to…” Angel said nonchalantly allowing himself to wonder before he got his idea.  “Wait.  I know just the thing!” Angel sat up, threw off his coat to reveal his bare chest, posed dramatically, and said, “I want you to snuggle between my fluffy tits!” “WHAT?!” Vaggie asked incredulously.  “You can’t be serious!” “I’m completely serious,” Angel said playfully running his gloved hands through his chest fluff.  “My skin under my fur gets cold.  I need warmth.  Think of it as my way of saying thanks.  I don’t let anyone do it for free.  My customers say it’s like heaven in here.” “Forget it,” Vaggie said in annoyance putting the book at the head of the bed next to Angel’s pillow and laying down so that she was not facing him.  “I’ll just use the book.  I’m not resting my head on your STD-contaminated fur.” “Hey!” Angel retorted.  “I’ll have you know that I wash it every day.  But if that’s how you feel, babe, suit yourself.” Vaggie laid down for a few minutes but very quickly got uncomfortable.  She turned over and stared at Angel’s chest longingly.  His fluff looked so soft and silky… “Like what ya see, hon?” Angel teased. “Fine,” Vaggie snarled as she reluctantly sat up and climbed on top of Angel’s chest.  “But this never happened.  Understand?” “Whatever you say, hon,” Angel retorted playfully as Vaggie slowly lowered her head onto Angel’s fluffy chest.   Vaggie lowered herself gingerly as if she were getting used to hot water in a bathtub. Angel rolled his eyes and used his lower pair of arms to push Vaggie’s head on top of his chest.   “Angel?!” Vaggie yelled in protest before her head sank into the chest fluff.  “Oh, my God.  This is so soft…It feels like cashmere…” Angel chuckled as his lower arms pulled his coat over Vaggie and himself to keep them warm. “That’s it, doll,” Angel said soothingly as his arms rested on Vaggie’s back.  “Just relax.  We both need this.” Vaggie tensed up again as she began to realize the gravity of the situation that they were in.   Vaggie began shuddering fearfully and taking shallow breaths, but before it could get any worse, Angel started rubbing her back.  He didn’t say or do anything else.  He just rubbed her back until her breathing finally returned to normal. Angel then took a deep breath and picked up the book next to his head.   “What’s this?” Angel said before he read the title.  “The Taming of the Shrew?  Oh, my God!  I haven’t seen this one in decades!” Vaggie lifted her head up and scowled. “That book again?” Vaggie asked incredulously.  “Dammit.  Alastor tossed me that fucking book yesterday to entertain myself while he ran off to talk to Rosie.  The nerve of that guy.  What’s that book about anyway?” “It ain’t a book, doll,” Angel replied excitedly turning open to the first page.  “It’s a Shakespeare play.  We read it in school.  Oh, God, this one was one of my favorites!  It’s been forever.  Want me to read it to ya?” “We still have daylight and we’re gonna be stuck in here until tomorrow morning, so why not?” Vaggie conceded. “Alright,” Angel said excitedly.  “I’ll try to explain all the stuff that’s kinda confusin’, but just let me know if you’re having trouble followin’ along.” Vaggie smiled and relaxed into Angel’s fluff as he began reading the story. 

[killmongerdreams]

teorainn

summary: Inspired by Netflix’s Frontier. || Irishman!Bucky Barnes x Native!Reader 

warnings: lots of cursing, overuse of the word fuck, mention of blood and death, kindnapping, clint is a grumpy man

author’s note: Teorainn is Gaelic for frontier. Reader is a POC, and if you don’t like it, you can fucking fight me. Also, I’m back, hoes. 

Bucky keeps a strong hand on his satchel as he weaves in between the market stalls, dark hair flying in the brisk wind as he sprints for his life. The motley butcher follows not too far behind him with an  arm high in the air as he fists the thick hilt of a meat cleaver.

“Get back here, you fuckin’ harpie!” Bucky yelps as the cleaver sails past his head, the sharp metal scraping his cheek. He jumps over a cart of hay as he hisses through his teeth at the stinging pain. A few drops of blood drip down his cheek, staining the collar of his already ruined shirt. 

He turns a sharp corner, making a beeline for the stables when he realizes the butcher is nowhere in sight. The door creaks open with a quiet groan, and Bucky slips in unnoticed. There, in the middle of the freezing, hay-ridden ground are his two best friends, looking worse for wear as they huddle together under a moth-eaten blanket in a feeble attempt to salvage warmth. 

Winter was an unforgiving bitch; Bucky longed for the scorching heat of the summer to warm his chilled bones. 

He throws the satchel in front of them, the worn leather giving away quickly as it falls open with a thud. Inside were a few legs of roasted chicken, courtesy of the butcher with one hell of an aim. Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out two bruised apples and a decent handful of partridge berries. 

Bucky settles onto the ground with a sigh, rubbing at the abrasion on his cheek angrily. “I fuckin’ hate this shite. Next time one of you cunts are goin’ out and riskin’ your arse.” his muddled accent is thicker with anger, and Clint and Steve have a hard time not snickering at the fact. Bucky’s been in London since he was a tot, and he still hasn’t shaken off his mother’s thick, south-western Irish drawl; it pisses him off to no end. He’s already different enough, and no matter how hard he tries to mimic the English, anyone can tell he’s not from there. 

Steve reaches over with a wry grin, thumbing at the stray streaks of crimson coating Bucky’s cheek and jaw. “You could always let me go,” Steve offers, ignoring Bucky’s wince. 

“You know damn well no one will let you go anywhere.” Clint rolls his eyes, huffing. “You’re too small.”

“Exactly. With this body -” Steve gestures to his frail, sickly frame, waving a bony wrist in the air. “ - I can get in and out faster than you two.”

“No.” The word is spoken in unison by both Bucky and Clint, followed by twin sets of narrowed blue eyes. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, idiot.” Bucky mutters angrily. He shoves two of the four chicken legs and the berries into Steve’s lap while he and Clint get a leg and an apple to themselves. It’s quiet for a few moments as the dig in like a pack of wolves, not bothering to save the long-awaited meal as their state of hunger catches up with them. 

“There’s a feast tonight at the Gallery,” Steve tells them, wiping at his berry stained mouth. “I could slip in and out, steal enough food to last us a few days.”

“You’re insane. That’s the Governor’s feast.” the incredulous stare decorating Clint’s filthy face would’ve been comical if not for the fact it was coming from the King of Stupidity himself. Clint was at least a dozen different shades of crazy, and barely anything phased him in this day and age, so if the man was labeling someone other than himself as psychotic, then that person was a true-bred dumbass through and through. And the look was leveled at Steve, who, even in his hungriest, savagest state, kept the clearest head out of the trio. He was usually the one keeping Bucky and Clint out of monumental trouble.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Bucky claps Steve on the back gingerly, shaking his head. “Like I said before, you’re not goin’ anywhere, idiot.”

In hindsight, he should’ve known better. No one tells little Steven G. Rogers he can’t do something and get away with it.

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering when he notices the warmth of the smaller man isn’t pressed against his front anymore. He sits up abruptly, fast enough that it startles Clint from where he was curled around Bucky’s back The blonde rises slowly, squinting in equal parts grogginess and annoyance. 

“What. The. Fuck.” Clint hisses. 

“Steve’s gone.” Bucky says, voice raising in alarm. “The fucker actually went.”

“What. The. Fuck.” Clint repeats. For a man who was roused rather rudely from his sleep, he rises to his feet with an eerie amount of grace. He shrugs on his battered boots, glancing at Bucky from over his shoulder. “C’mon, then, let’s go find his sorry ass before he gets himself killed. We’re gonna bring him back here and tie him to a post, and then I’m going back to fuckin’ sleep.” 

Clint throws open the stable doors with the fury of a man on a mission, grumbling under his breath. “Stupid fuckin’ asshole. This is what I get for associating with someone from fuckin’ Newcastle. Should’ve fuckin’ known....C’mon, Barnes! I don’t have all night!”

Outside the gallery lays the bodies of many fallen English soldiers. Clint lets loose a string of expletives so filthy that even Bucky winces. 

“Maybe he got away.” Bucky suggests quietly. Clint throws him a dirty look for his efforts of reassurance. 

Stepping over the bloodied, mangled men, they head into the Galley, finding a red-haired woman making a half-assed attempt to clean blood off her bar. “You! Woman!” Clint barges through, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why aren’t you dead?”

The red-haired wench rolls her eyes. “They wanted the Governor. They got him.”

“Who the fuck is they?” Clint demands. He slams his hands down on the countertop, right into the pool of crimson. Bucky nearly gags. 

“Y/N Y/L/N and her crew.” she informs, making all the color drain from his face. Bucky doesn’t understand the significance of her name, but apparently it’s profound.

“Did you happen to see a little blonde man?” Bucky questions. “He goes by the name of Steve.”

“He’s a girlish little thing, has an attitude worthy of a pack of wolves, and stupidity that knows no bounds.” Clint tacks on. 

The woman nods. “He tried to sneak in and grab food, and Governor Stark caught him. He was gonna execute him in front of everyone, but Y/L/N burst through the door right before his throat was gonna be slit. She took him with her.”

“Fuckin’ hell!” Clint curses. He looks to Bucky with wide eyes. “He’s as good as dead.”

“I don’t understand.” Bucky bites at his lip, worried. 

“I forget you lived under a rock for-fuckin’-ever.” Clint insults quietly. “Y/L/N is a former Irishwoman, brought over here with her little brother and sister on a slave ship coming from Canada. Stark bought all three of ‘em, slaughtered the little ones right in front of her.”

“What do you mean by “former irishwoman?”‘ Bucky questions. 

“Her father was an Irish fur trapper, a man by the name of James Y/L/N, and her mother was Native. Cree, I believe.” the red-head supplies. “The girl lived good for a while, but then Stark’s company invaded their camp one night, found the family sleeping in a tent. Killed her mother and took the children.”

“Where was her pa?” 

“Cock-deep in an American girl, according to what I’ve heard.” she shrugs, smirking a little as Bucky cringes. “She has her own vendetta with that man. I figure she’ll settle that score when she’s done with Stark.”

“And ya sure she has Steve?” Bucky asks, making her nod.

“He got all mouthy, and Y/N herself dragged him out the front door by his pretty blonde hair.” 

Bucky and Clint groan as one. They knew that mouth of his would get him killed one day.

“You think he’s alive?” Clint inquires. 

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” the red-head counters.

“If he’s alive, I’m gonna string him up by his ankles on a tree and beat him with a fuckin’ stick.” Clint growls, stepping carefully over a fallen tree branch. “And, if he’s dead, I’m gonna bring him back to life just so I can be the one to fuckin’ kill him.”

Bucky stuffs his hands deep in his pockets, navigating the uneven terrain with unsure footing. They were deep in the wilderness, far past the rural outskirts of London, in the middle of the night. He was sure they were going in circles, everything looking the exact same under the barely lit sky.

“Ma always said not to fool with the world.” Bucky informs sagely. “You’ll lose yer soul playin’ ‘round with witchcraft like that.”

“Your ma can suck my fat cock.” Clint snaps. “I’m gonna fuckin’ torch him and then piss on his fuckin’ ashes.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply, only to get cut off as an arrow whistles through the air. It embeds itself into the rough bark of the tree in front of him and both men freeze in their tracks. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ scream, Barnes.” Clint whispers harshly. “Move slowly, and try not to make a sound.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were ya,” a voice calls out. “You’re surrounded by a good twenty men.” 

“Y/L/N?” Clint asks, back straightening. 

“Do I know you?” the source of the voice steps out of the brush, and Bucky can feel his eyes go wide. Standing before him is the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. She’s beautifully wild with long, dark hair twisted into different braids, thick fabric woven between the strands. Her furs are strung tight around her body, but not tight enough that her weapons are completely concealed. Hanging from a leather sash strung around her body are a multitude of knifes and an axe, the sight of them setting off a cascade of alarms in both men’s heads. Intelligent, daunting eyes appraise both of them in turn, and Bucky feels his blood freeze when her dark gaze lingers on him a tad bit longer.

“Do I know you?” she repeats, and Bucky thinks he can hear a trace of Irish in her flat tone.

“We’re looking for our friend.” Clint explains. “Steve Rogers. He was at the feast when your band crashed the party. By the way, I commend you on your style - brutal and bloody. It leaves a statement that can’t be ignored.”

“Shut up.” Bucky grinds out through gritted teeth.

Something akin to amusement passes through Y/N’s eyes. “I’d listen to your friend, boy. A smart mouth like that will get you killed.”

“Tryin’ to see if Steve’s smart mouth got him killed.” Clint retorts.

“If you want to see, then follow me.” she says. Without another word, she turns on her heel and starts to walk away, leaving them to scramble at her heels.

 “I’d suggest you stay close,” she said without looking behind her. “You never know what lurks in the dark.”

“Yep,” Clint mutters. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.”

“She might kill us first.” Bucky says back, sneaking a glance at the woman before him. “Let’s hope the fuck not. I’m too young to die.”

“And I’m too old for this shit.”

[stjimmykingofshitmountain]

Bombs Away [Junkrat x Reader]

This was the third time this week your training coach had left you standing in a cold field in the middle of nowhere. Honestly? You were getting sick of this bullshit. You had better shit to do with your Thursday afternoon than stand around in a field in the middle of October. 

"Goddammit Junkrat..." You kicked a half built bomb on the ground which let off a few sparks and crackles.

"Y/n." A deep raspy voice startled you out of your little tantrum.

"Jeez.." You clutched your chest. "Roadie! You gotta stop that, man"

"Sorry... The rodent sent me." He started to gather the empty bombs you'd been tinkering with. "He told me to tell you he can't make it..." He pulled you onto his back and carried you across the field. This was nothing unusual, the first few times it had freaked you out but it was pretty comfy nowadays. You rested your arms on his head head and scoffed.

               "Did he say why?" You took in the tree lining the field as Roadie jogged across the field.. He was silent for a big dude.

"No. He just told me to 'Find the Sheila and tell her what oi said.'" The base was coming into view already. Too soon for your tastes. "I'll take these bombs to our workshop and finish them up for you."

"Roadie, you don't have to do that!" You hugged around his neck against the chill in the air.

"You go find Jamison. Find out what's goin' on." He came to a stop outside the door to the base and set you down on the ground gently. "Don't tell the rodent I said this. He sounded... off..."

                   Before you could ask what Roadhog meant he was walking away from you towards their workshop.  The doors of the base slid open and Tracer was stood on the other side.

"Oh, Y/N! Hiya love!" She was chipper as ever and her accent rang melodically through your head.

"Hi Lena! How are you?" You couldn't help but smile when Tracer was around.

"I'm good thanks, y/n. Say.. Have you noticed something off about Jamison?" She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head. "He never showed up for dinner and he's not in his workshop." 

This would make the second person to mention Junkrat's mood to you. This was worrying indeed.

"I was just on his way there actually.. He ditched our training again." Tracer raised an eyebrow at that. Junkrat wasn't the most dependable but this was downright odd.

"Y/N, find out what's up with him would you? It's quiet with out him around. As irritating as he is." You jokingly saluted in response and Tracer smiled. "I have to head out. I'll see you later!" And with that she was gone. 

                      You strolled through the maze of the base accommodation halls until you got to a sterling white door with a gold name plate which read "Jamison Fawkes." You tapped on the little touch screen to alert the person inside you were there and instead of answering back through the telecom you heard an Aussie accent soaked "WHAT?!" come from inside.

"Jamison, it's Y/N. Let me in." You tried not t shout too loud as to not alert the other people in their rooms. When you didn't get an answer you tried again. "You've skipped the last 3 training sessions with me. You owe this to me at least." You tried to make your voice sound stern but traces of pity were seeping through. Jamison obviously sensed.

"I don' owe you jack diddly squat, sheila." He started off angry but you heard a little crack in his voice at the end following by some muffled sniffling. You were leaning defeated against the door when Winston came down the hall and pulled out his master key card that was mainly used in emergencies.

"Psst! Y/n!" He raised the card with a questioning look and you stepped back from the door nodding so he could let you in.He swiped the cards and the doors slid open to let you in.

                    Jamison's room was tidy, surprisingly, but the curtains were closed and the only source of light came from in between the curtains of evening sun. You scanned the room for Jamison, who was stood in front of a mirror, his mechanical arm lay on his bed. 

"Junkrat what the...?" You meekly moved towards him and the voice that left him startled you.

"Don't." His voice was broken and he just stared blankly back at himself in the mirror. 

                   Every trace of anger evaporated looking at him. His eyes were ringed by red marks and his skin was almost white against the black soot which seemed to permanently stain his skin. Where his prosthetic arm normal was were scratches, some oozing red. You gathered your courage and tried again.

"J-Jamison?" He didn't make you shut up this time but shifted his gaze to you. He looked visibly hurt at your expression. You eyes traveled his body assessing new and old scars.

"Sheila." You'd never heard Jamison speak so quietly, it didn't suit him. "I can't.. I don't..." He looked so defeated, he was even struggling to string a sentence together.  

"Take you time, Jamie..." You watched as he dropped to his knees and sobbed. He was wailing and the sound broke your heart. He sounded like a wounded animal. You knelt down in front of him and tentatively placed your hands on his shoulders, which were shaking violently. He wailed louder and he fell against you as he cried.

"Shh.. shh... It's fine. Shh." You hushed him and soothed his back. His wails were quietening down as he curled against you. He was just quietly sniffling. "Can you move to the bed?"

He nodded quietly as he clung to you as you both stood and walked to his bed. You moved his prosthetic arm carefully to his dresser next to the bed and sat him down and took a seat next him.

                                  He looked dead ahead without really seeing anything as your hand traced his biceps soothingly. He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath as he tried to talk again.

"I'm sorry." He said it so quietly you only just caught it.

"For what?" You looked at him and he slowly turned to look at you, looking at you as if you should know what he meant. "For that?! Jamison.. It's fine. Everybody has moments like that."

For some reason this seemed to anger him. He shot up off the bed and pinned you against the  wall with his one arm, getting in your face.

"Not me! I don't! I'm Jamison Flaming Fawkes." He raised his voice and spittle flew onto your face. He was unpredictable and unstable, you had to be on your guard. "I don't have these... these... feelings!" He pushed away from you and began to claw at the spot where his metal arm usually attached. "I blow up what I want, when I want. I don't care about anyone or anything." You could see the tears passing by his manic smile.

"Jamie stop! Stop! You're hurting yourself" You grabbed at his human arm and tried to pull his hand way from his amputated limb. "Stop! You're scaring me!" 

                      He stopped in his tracks.  He slowly turned to look at you, gripping his arm, hyperventilating  and tears threatening to spill over. The cogs slowly turned in his brain as he sat you down on the bed, only he laid down and pulled you onto him and then moved to re-attach his prosthetic arm to hold you in place and use his human hand to stroke his thumb across your cheek. 

"Shush, shh, shh, Sheila. It's OK. Nuts, Sheila. I'm sorry." He calmed your breathing first and then turned you to pull your face closer to his. "Please don't have a panic attack. It's OK shush." His thumb was still soothing your cheek.  He searched your eyes and you searched his for peace and tranquility. His mechanic hand had moved to the small of your back to hold you flush against him and a light pink blush was dusting his cheeks under the soot.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on, Jamie?" You whispered. He guessed he owed you that much.

"I... Y/N be honest. Am frightening?" His head was propped backwards against the headrest.

"When you get mad you can be..."

"Tha's not what I mean." He took a deep breath  "When I fight.. When I'm doing normal things just.. walking around. Do I look hideous?" 

                      You were taken aback that the ever-confident Jamison Fawkes was asking you this. 

"What? No!" You propped up to look at him. "Jamie, what's goin' on with you?" He looked away, looking a little embarrassed.

"Well.. I just. I don't look like the other guys here... Just. McCree or Hanzo always have girls crawling all over them but with me.. They look the other way." His gaze fell on his peg leg, which was slightly bent at the knee for comfort. "I'm just a freak." He sighed sadly.

"Jamison Fawkes no." You turned his head to look at you. "You are a kind, unique, crazy individual and we would have you no other way. You've got a good heart... A thieving.. anarchist heart but.. A good one. Overwatch would be lost without you." 

He searched your face for any trace of a lie.

"Y'mean it Sheila?" He looked at you like a lost little puppy. You gave him a short, solid nod. "Then..." He pulled you forward and planted a soft, ashy kiss on your lips.

                          It took you a second to kiss back but when you did he pulled you even closer to him. Funny that the safest place you've ever felt, was in the arms of a criminally, insane pyromaniac. He rolled you over to be on the bottom so he could look down at you. 

"I love ya' Y/N." His eyes were bright and shiny and he had the cutest little smile on his face, not his usual manic grin. "My little time bomb."  You gave him a sleepy smile.

"I love you too, Jamie." You kissed one more time and then pulled him to lie next you. He pulled up the covers which were covered in soot, by the way, and threw them over you both. You were asleep immediately and Jamison smiled down at you, giving you a sweet little kiss on your forehead.

"Bombs away, Sheila. Bombs away..." He laid his head down and pulled you close to him and drifted off to sleep.

[BONUS ENDING]

                  Later on, Roadie walked through the door to see if the rodent was doing any better. His gaze immediately fell to the two of you snuggled against each other on the bed. He picked up the blanket which had fell off and placed in back over you. Junkrat's eyes opened slowly and he saw Roadhog in the dark and smiled at him. Roadie raised his thumb and gave you both a quiet chuckle and left. Jamie looked down at you and gave you a sleepy peck on the cheek before falling back into the embrace of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So I had just got Overwatch when I wrote this but I had adored Junkrat for a while by this point! I hope you guys liked this! I know it's cheesier than a bag of wotsits but I had to write this side to Junkrat! I love my Aussie Shrimp Pyro! <3 Potential smut coming sooon ;)

[aqua-harry]

Nine Months - Harry Styles Imagine

No piece of mine has never had as much interest surrounding it as this one has, so thank you for expressing your excitement to me. I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait. (Protip: if you’re reading on mobile, ditch the app and read on Safari or Chrome instead, as the app is prone to close on longer pieces of text).

This one is dedicated to @permanentcross, simply because she’s the best. E has listened to me ramble on and on about this story for longer than anyone should have to. She’s the inspiration behind many things beneath the cut, all of which I will leave up to your own interpretation. 

Without further adieu, I present you with Nine Months...

» The Proposition

“Don’t know why I’m nervous,” your chuckle gets stuck in your throat and you try to cover it up with a cough, your eyes still not able to reach Harry’s. “Done this a million times, probably. But now…”

You distract yourself by finding a stray piece of thread on the hem of the oversized shirt you had bought on vacation years ago, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger while you listened to your heart pound in your chest. It was easy to hide under the veil of darkness within your room, the only light source coming from streetlamps through the curtains and small electronics scattered about.

“Hey,” Harry says, tapping the underside of your chin with his fingertips. “Hey,” he says again with more authority after you don’t look at him. “Nothin’ to be nervous about, yeah? It’s just me.”

It’s just Harry. You look up at him, the same eyes you had found a home in greeting you with crinkles around the edges, a soft smile dancing around the corners of them. It’s just Harry.

“Can lay down for a bit if you want. Maybe just breathe out the nerves or summat?” he suggests, cocking his head to the king-sized bed in the center of the room. “C’mon.”

You take his hand and allow yourself to be lead to the four-post bed you once thought to be too elaborate for the two of you. It wasn’t like you to be nervous - especially around Harry. But the stakes were high, and if both of you did your jobs properly, your lives would change forever...

“Think we should start tryin’ for a baby,” he’d said as he drove the two of you home from dinner.

You paused, wondering whether his words were a statement or a question. You looked at him, the streetlights illuminating his face every five seconds, his jawline prominent and strong to match his concentrated gaze. It took you longer than it should have to respond, which made him nervous.

“It’s just -” he began, placing both hands on the wheel and gripping the leather tightly. “You’re so great with Ruby. Seein’ ye’ with her tonight - know she’s only five so it’s easy t’ entertain her, but the way you handled the new baby and talkin’ to Ruby? She loves you. Always has. I don’t…” he trailed off, your quietness wavering his confidence.

A very large part of him must’ve thought you were ready, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. But now that he’d said it and you were completely silent on the manner, he wanted to take everything back.

“We’ve been together for years now and I guess I jus’ feel like it’s the right time?” And then you heard it - the questioning rather than suggesting, the worry in his voice loud and clear underneath his words. “Got everythin’ else. Got everythin’ we could ever need. I jus’ - I want a family with you. Can’t imagine havin’ one with anyone else.”

You weren’t generally one for crying, but his confession made you tear up a bit. Years ago, had anyone told you that you’d be having a conversation such as this with Harry on the way home from dinner with the Winstons, you would’ve deemed them insane. It was no secret Harry wanted to be a dad - so much so that you wouldn’t be with him had you not wanted children - but actually being on the precipice of starting a family made you a little misty around the eyes.

“Maybe not,” he muttered, your reaction worrying him to the point of recanting his statement. “Not the right time…”

He glanced at you then, the broad smile on your face dissipating some of the fear in his eyes. His gaze flickered from yours to the road as you began to laugh, which in turn caused him to let out a few confused giggles.

“Can you -” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Can ye’ say somethin’, please? I don’t know what you’re thinkin’...”

“Of course I want to have a baby with you, Harry!” you playfully slapped a hand down on his bicep, squeezing gently as you continued to laugh. “How could you ever think that I wouldn’t want to?”

“Well you weren’t sayin’ anything!” he bellowed as he rolled his eyes dramatically, his grip on the steering wheel lessening as the tension in his shoulders disappeared. “Almost felt like a right asshole, suggestin’ you start carryin’ my baby!”

“No,” you shook your head, cupping your palm around his cheek. “Never. Of course I want a family with you. Of course, of course. Can start trying tonight, as far as I’m concerned.”

And now, side-by-side, he holds your hand while the two of you settle next to one another in bed, the dim light from your alarm clocks casting shadows of blue and green against your skin. You turn to face one another, smiling in an unspoken agreement, your thumb rubbing across the small tattoo on his left hand.

He would be lying if he’d told you he weren’t at least a little anxious, so he kept his mouth shut. You could tell by how long it took for his lungs to steady; how long it took for him to fit himself up against you, a task that normally took seconds turning into an awkward entanglement of elbows and a muttered sorry.

“Remember,” you begin, swiping a bit of his hair behind his ear, “when you sent me all of those pink roses when we first started going together?”

“Yeah,” Harry smirks, his dimple popping into his cheek. “You were so mad a’me.”

“You told your sister I put out on the first date and I most definitely did not!” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “And it was my first time meeting her! Don’t need you goin’ around claiming I’m some sort of trollop for Harry Styles!”

“I said I was kidding right afterwards!” he giggles, grasping your fist in his own. “She knows I was, especially considerin’ I asked her what to do after you didn’t return my calls,” he kisses your knuckles, laughing after each peck to your skin. “She said ‘Roses fix everything, and if they don’t, then you really fucked up’ or somethin’ along those lines,” he snickers again when he notices you squinting at him, your lips pursed.

“Your note fixed more than the roses did,” you let out the slightest smirk, remembering his handwritten confession. It had been as open as Harry had been with you up until that point.

“Knew I was in love with ye’ when you sent me the picture of you sitting in the middle of all those bouquets.”

“That’s funny,” you recall, scooching a bit closer to him. “I knew I was in love with you as I was sitting in the middle of all those bouquets.”

He reaches around and pulls you closer to him, whispering, “You’re so beautiful,” into your hair, kissing the crook of your neck just below your jaw.

The two of you stay like this until your breathing matches his, your chin resting on the crown of his head as he runs his hand through your hair while he places soft, spongy kisses against the skin of your neck. It’s just Harry, you repeat the mantra in your head, a silent chant that calms your nerves.

It’s just Harry, it’s just Harry, it’s just Harry.

You shift slightly, indicating that your apprehension had settled for the moment, a long sigh leaving your lips. He lazily rolls on top of you, his lips attached to yours in a fluid motion that indicates it’s more than just a peck. You move your hands down the back of his spine as he swipes his tongue over your lower lip, your fingertips moving along with the muscles beneath his warm skin.

“Always smell so good,” he mutters against your lips, and you snort unexpectedly, a giggle escaping your throat in a bubbly sound before you can stop it. “Wot?” he furrows his brow, lifting up on his forearms to get a better look at your face.

“Always smell so good,” you repeat his words in a lower register, squeezing the fleshy skin on the underside of his biceps. “Such a Harry thing to say.”

He fully frowns now, the semi-permanent wrinkle between his eyes more prominent than ever. “Well,” he scoffs. “I’m Harry. So it’d make sense that I’d say somethin’ like that,” and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“You’re right,” your giggles continue as you rub up and down on his arms. If he expects an explanation, he’s not likely to get one. “Sorry, sorry. Go on,” you lift up to kiss him and gasp slightly when he pulls away from your mouth.

“Thought it was a nice thing t’ say,” he grunts, shifting above you. “Course ‘m gonna say somethin’ I would say. Want me t’ go ‘round sayin’ you always smell a bit off?”

“No!” you squeeze his biceps again. “You’re right, you’re right. It was a very nice thing to say,” you kiss his chin for fear of him pulling his lips away once again. “Still a bit nervous, I guess. I’m sorry. You always smell good too, for the record.”

This time he does roll his eyes, but he does so with a smile on his face. “Didn’t know you we’re so hard to please,” he smirks, lowering his lips to yours. “Wouldn’t’ve even suggested havin’ a baby with ye’ had I known…”

You chuckle, thankful for the light banter between the two of you that seems to lift the mood. His lips are gentle when they find yours again, a slow and calculated swipe across your mouth relaxing you further into the bed. He knows your body, having memorized what makes you sigh this way and moan that way, the familiarity of your form beneath him something he never allowed himself to take for granted.

He takes his time, his mouth moving against and across yours with an expertise and skill that never ceased to make your stomach flutter and your heart race. His tongue slips into your mouth, begging tentatively against your lower lip, asking for permission in the polite way he tends to exhibit when he’s on a mission. You oblige, deepening the kiss by tangling your fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck that could stand a trim. He moves beneath you so that his thighs are positioned underneath yours, hitching your core up to meet his own.

“I love you so much,” he pulls back, his cherry-red pout glistening from your kiss. “Y’know that, right?”

“Yeah,” your voice is barely audible, your chest rising and falling in short spurts while you catch your breath. “Know how much I love you, right?”

“Course,” he nods, gently lifting your t-shirt to your underarms, helping to discard the fabric once he’d lifted it over your head. Returning the favor, you lower the elastic on his Calvins so that he’s fully exposed in front of you, a sight you’ll never tire of. You look up at him and smirk, a knowing look in your eyes.

“You really want this? Not just doin’ it cos I said somethin’?” he asks while he kicks off his boxer-briefs to the floor.

Your hands stop on his hips, your head cocked to the side. “Yes, I really want this. When have I ever done something just because you wanted me to?” you question as he shakily repositions himself in front of you.

“Good point,” he sports a grin big enough for his dimples to appear, and for a second, you hope your child will inherit their father’s smile, at the very least.

Your child. The implications of the thought - the implications of the ease in which you thought the thought - cause your nerves to strike up again, a bright streak of jitters flashing across your senses.

It’s just Harry, you remind yourself.

“We doin’ this?” he looks to confirm after lining himself up.

“Yes,” you nod, breathing deeply. “Yes.”

He enters you slowly, gently, and altogether overwhelmingly. Both of you sigh when he’s reached the hilt, your chest pressed up against his while you hook your arms underneath his, clasping your hands together when they meet in the middle of the broad span of his back.

Instead of feeling awkward or misplaced, you fall into the pattern of lovemaking you had become accustomed to. This time, however, is different. It was weighted, your love. It had a purpose - it had a goal. The importance of the moment far surpassed the technicality of it, and when you breathe Harry in as your nails leave half-moon impressions on the back of his shoulders, you can’t seem to find a moment in your life that has felt more right than this one.

You kiss along his jawline while he deliberately thrusts into you, your bodies moving together. Small grunts escape his lips while goosebumps form on your skin as you try to keep it together beneath him. You gasp and moan atop his kiss when he lifts your thighs onto his hips, your ankles locking against his lower back.

“Wow,” you let out a shaky breath when he bends to kiss your breasts, a smile forming around the supple peaks on your chest. “Oh, God.”

“I know,” Harry whispers, kissing up between your breasts, over your collarbone and to your lips. “I know.”

You whimper beneath him as he continues his long, slow strokes up and into you. Mumbles of “I love you” and short sighs of pleasure escape both of you, your hands tracing invisible patterns across his back while his lips leave soft trails along your cheeks, your chin, your mouth.

It was ridiculous, you realize now, to feel so nervous before. The way your bodies fit together was the same as it had always been; the way he filled you and moved against your skin while you moaned beneath him was familiarly intimate; the way you kept his gaze until he had to squeeze his eyes shut with pleasure was still your favorite game to play.

The purpose was different, but the love was still the same.

“Cl-close,” you stutter when his tempo quickens slightly. “Gon-” he hits a particularly delicate spot within you for what seems to be the hundredth time. “Gonna…”

He finishes inside of you after a nod, a silent agreement that you’d finish together.  He rests his body on top of yours, his full weight comforting you in ways that nothing else could, and you kiss the crown of his head while your heart beats erratically in your chest, a light smile playing against your lips.

“Should we elevate your hips or summat?” he lifts his head up, his hair a mess and his cheeks dewy. “Get all th’ help from gravity we can?”

“Don’t know if that’s really true,” you smile, biting your lip. “Maybe just laying here a few minutes? Don’t want to stand up and have everything, y’know…” you flick your hands in a quick downward motion, your eyes widening at the image.

“Right,” Harry laughs, kissing your cheek. “Well then we’ll lay here for a mo’,” he confirms, resting on top of you once again, his nose nuzzling into your neck.

Closing your eyes and settling in, you lazily run your hands up and down his bicep and across his back, smiling a bit when he dramatically sighs at the feeling.

When his breathing levels out to small tufts of air against your bare skin, you tut a bit, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep from falling asleep. When his voice vibrates against your skin, you don’t even bother trying to make out what he’s mumbled.

“What? Can’t hear you like that, love.”

“Said,” he grumbles, raising his head so his lips aren’t halfway smashed against your neck. “Coulda just made a baby, the two of us.”

You smile, annoyed at how your eyes fill with tears for the second time that evening. Clearing your throat and hoping Harry doesn’t notice, you smooth his hair away from his forehead. “Yeah,” you nod. “We certainly could have.”

» First Month

“No,” you groan, pulling the covers up your body. “Not yet.”

Harry chuckles, his voice deep and rough under the veil of a solid eight hours of sleep. He pulls you to him without any help from you, nestling his chin in the crook of your neck. Your backside fits easily with his front as you burrow yourself further into the soft white linens of your shared bed.

“Nearly 9am,” he informs, kissing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “‘ve got things to do today.”

“Got things to do every day,” you mumble, most of your words said into your pillow. “Sleep is good. Sleep is now.”

You feel him smile against your skin, his soft hair tickling the apples of your cheeks as he presses his lips against your temple. He rubs soft circles with the pad of his thumb onto your hips, your tummy, your thighs. You sigh, nearly telling him his efforts are lulling you back to sleep, but you sink deeper into the blankets, knowing that he’ll stop if you let on how close you are to drifting off again.

“Angel,” you feel his lips against the shell of your ear. “Gotta get up now.”

You don’t even respond - it’s not worth it, considering how comfortable you are, and maybe he’ll get bored and allow you to sleep the day away if you’re unresponsive. Maybe he’ll forget about you completely and you can sleep forever, undisturbed and completely content.

“C’mon,” you hear Harry say as he leans up on one elbow, the mattress giving into his weight, causing you to fall in closer towards him.

No, of course he wouldn’t allow you an extra hour or two in bed.

“Sun’s not even out!” you grunt exasperatedly. You turn so you’re fully on your back now, your face shoved to the side and into your pillow, a frown etched into your lips and your unopened eyes squeezed shut.

“Sun’s been out for two hours, love,” he laughs.

You feel him adjust his weight, his body shifting down the bed and over your legs. You try your hardest to keep the agitated look on your face, but as soon as he begins to kiss his way up your body, you can’t help but soften your features. You reflexively open your legs to him so he can rest between your thighs, your resolve weakening as he settles in against the bare skin of your legs. Running his palms up and down your torso, he lifts up the olive-colored t-shirt of his you’d claimed as your own years ago.

Spanning his fingers across your belly, he kisses just below your navel. “What if there’s a baby in there?” he places spongy kisses along the waistline of your briefs. “Could explain why ‘ve been so tired lately. ‘re usually not like this.”

You scoff, your hands finding a home in his hair. “Only been trying for three months,” you peek open one eye, smiling at the way Harry seems to be entranced by the flesh on your stomach. “Don’t think I’d get pregnant that quick, after being on birth control for so long.”

You open both eyes now, succumbing to the encouraging kisses he continues to pepper across your torso. You squirm a bit as the stubble on his chin tickles the sensitive skin above your underwear, scratching his scalp tenderly while he rests his cheek against your tummy.

“I don’t even feel sick,” you yawn through your words. “Wouldn’t I feel sick?”

“Dunno,” Harry shrugs and nuzzles into your warm skin. You giggle a bit, the two-day scruff on his unshaven face causing your skin to tingle. “‘ve got pretty strong swimmers, I reckon.”

» Second Month

You bite at the skin of your thumb, glancing from the television to Harry, feeling as though you could jump out of your skin at any moment. When you feet wiggled on top of his lap, he would subconsciously place his hands atop your ankles to calm them, his eyes still focused on the show.

“Harry,” you say.

“She’s not kneaded the bread enough,” he shakes his head, pointing at the TV at the other side of the room. “Hasn’t built up enough gluten. Won’t be able to rise that way.”

“Harry.”

“Used to be a baker, love,” he clears his throat, sinking deeper into the cushions of your couch, his eyes still focused on the program. “No way that loaf’ll rise if she’s only worked it a few minutes. Won’t get Star Baker with that lack of skill.”

You grumble, crossing your arms against your chest in a huff. You allow Harry five more minutes of the baking show, waiting each baker had their breads in the oven before crawling over to him. Positioning yourself to straddle his lap, you begin kissing every bit of skin you can see.

“What’s this about?” he smiles, his hands resting on your bum.

You sigh, leaning back so you can look him in the eyes. “I need you to fuck me. Need you to make me cum. However, whatever. Just need you,” you nearly whisper. “And you can’t do that if you’re worried about the strength of Sandy’s gluten.”

Your statement makes Harry’s eyes widen, his lips pursing in surprise. “A’right then. Fuck Sandy’s gluten,” he nods, placing a hand on your cheek so his fingertips touch the hair on the nape of your neck.

When he pulls you in for a kiss, you moan, your needs finally being met. You melt into him, leaving no space between the two of you while he grasps the back of your neck with one hand, his other pressing into the small of your back so that you’re flush with his torso. Your hands lose themselves in his messy curls, tugging against and weaving into the chestnut strands, desperate to get him closer to you somehow.

Rutting against his groin, you circle your hips against his own, his teeth coming down gently onto your bottom lip as a form of approval. His hand moves from your back to your hip, anchoring you down onto him in order to steady your movements while you whimper above him.

“Get this off,” you grumble, tossing the over-sized hoodie you’d been sporting over your shoulder.

Harry’s eyes flicker with confusion. Whether it was from your lack of undergarments or your fervent movements, the situation seemed to be moving too quickly for him to process it completely. Soon, his mind catches up to your plans, and he cups the underside of your bare breast while closing his mouth around it.

“Fuck!” you screech, tears immediately stinging at your eyes. “Ow! Stop! Fuck!”

Harry nearly springs backwards and away from you, his mouth glistening and raspberry-colored while his eyebrows knit with confusion. His bewilderment turns to concern when he sees your pained expression while you inspect your chest.

“Gonna suck the life out of me if y’do that!” you chirp loudly once more, checking to see that he hadn’t drawn blood.

“I barely touched ye’!” Harry rests his hands on either side of your torso, squeezing gently. “‘m sorry love, that’s never ‘appened before.”

You hiss when you run your hands across both of your breasts, the sensitivity unlike anything you’d ever experienced prior to Harry placing his mouth upon them. He was right. It hadn’t ever happened before - usually he could’ve been as rough as he pleased, oftentimes going at them with so much fragility, you’d had to encourage him to be a bit less gentle.

“I’m okay,” you place your hands on top of his, giving them a pat of assurance. “Probably just going to start my period,” you shrug. “Could be why I’ve been so horny lately.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, a knowing look in his eyes and a bit of sarcasm beneath his breath. “That’s probably it. Your period.”

You choose to ignore the connotation behind his words, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes as to not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under your skin. His comments about you possibly being pregnant had increased as of late, but you weren’t convinced. It was your body, after all. What did he know?

You distract him with your mouth, your tongue jutting out to grace his upper lip as you arch your back so you can grind down on top of him. Creating a friction that makes you both moan, you pull away from his mouth to breathe deeply against him.

“Goddamn,” Harry says into your neck. As you continue the rhythm of your circular movements, he bites and nibbles against your skin tentatively, making sure to take his time, just in case you decide to pull away and yelp again. You grab onto the back of his neck, whimpering in his ear as the heat between the two of you becomes a tangible presence in the room.

You force his lips back onto yours, clasping both sides of his face between your palms, wanting to feel how he takes your bottom lip between the two of his, always causing a flutter in your belly. When he reaches in between the two of you and slides his fingers across the waistband of your leggings, you gasp. Sneaking a hand down the front of you, he’s pleased to discover you’d skipped undergarments all-around today.

“No panties either, hmm?” he questions, sliding his middle finger between your folds. You groan and buck your hips into his hand. “Got a minx on m’hands, yeah?”

Smirking, you clutch his shoulder and gasp once more when he flicks his fingers up and into you. With your mouth forming into a perfect “O”, he moves his fingers and kisses up your jaw, moving to bite your earlobe before making his way back down to your lips.

You moan into his mouth as he hooks his middle and ring fingers inside of you, beginning an up-and-down motion that makes you shudder. When the tingling begins in your toes and travels up to your calves, you clutch around Harry’s wrist and pull away from his lips.

“I -” you start, clutching onto his bicep with your free hand. “Wh - I - fuck, Harry!” you grind against his hand, still grasping for anything you can hold onto. He shifts to make eye contact with you, causing you to dig your nails into the skin just below the rolled cuff of his t-shirt, slamming your other fist onto the arm of the couch in pleasure. “Ha - God - I ne-nee,” you can’t get the words out before moaning again, flinging a hand over your face to cover your eyes.

“What do y’need, pet?” Harry asks as he looks up at you writhing on top of him in so much pleasure, your neck has gone red as you’d forgotten to breathe. “Tell me.”

“You’re gonna - fuck!” you spit out as he puts his free hand on your thigh, steadying the fleshy skin beneath your thin leggings. You let out a long groan and bite down on your lower lip, unable to control your movements anymore.

“Tell me, gorgeous,” Harry’s voice is deep, and although you can’t see it, you know he’s smiling around his words. “Tell me what y’need.”

“C-cum,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Cum f’me, then,” he allows, increasing the speed of his fingers.

In what seems to be a burst of light and colors - although it could just be the reflection of Mary Berry’s floral bomber jacket on the television behind you - you grab onto Harry’s bicep once more and release everything you have into a moan that echos off the walls of your living room. Squeezing your eyes tightly shut, you gulp in as much air as you can manage while he continues his assault beneath you. Once your moans turn into soft whimpers, you open your eyes and look down at Harry, who appears to be the cockiest man in the universe at the very moment.

“Got it out of your system, love?” he smiles.

“Yeah,” you nod meekly, pecking him softly on the lips. “Think so.”

“Great,” he pats your thigh, glancing around you at the TV. “Now can y’ get out of m’way? Need t’ see if Sandy’s loaf has risen.”

You gasp, playfully smacking him in the chest. “Not very nice!”

“Look,” he laughs, pointing at the television as the contestants look into the ovens. “Think you and Sandy have somethin’ in common, love. Might say she’s got a bun in the oven,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Really?” you glare. “You’re gonna go with that one?”

“Get it?” he laughs, his eyes crinkling while you unsteadily remove yourself from his lap.

“Y’know, I was gonna -” you start, standing above him with your hand on your hips. Harry looks up at you with tears in his eyes, his face gone red from trying to conceal his giggles. “Was gonna return the favor,” you point at the apparent tent in his gym shorts, “but now I’m not. Have fun with Sandy and her weak gluten.”

“Oh, c’mon, pet,” he reaches his hands out for you. “It’s bread week!”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your hoodie off of the floor. When you leave the room, you can’t help but smile at the burst of laughter that bubbles out of Harry.

“Might ‘ave a bun,” he whispers to himself, “in the oven.”

» Third Month

Pacing back and forth outside of the bathroom, you’d tapped nervously against your hips after checking your phone’s timer for the tenth time. You had forced yourself to step into the bedroom to wait, knowing that you would nearly vomit with nervousness if you were stuck standing over the plastic wands, waiting for the results to show. Who knew eternity equated to 240 seconds?

You weren’t a believer, if you were honest with yourself. You had only been off the pill for three months. No matter how strong Harry claimed his “swimmers” were, you weren’t convinced you could get pregnant after trying for such a short period of time. But the more he teased you about the possibility of pregnancy, the more that little voice in the back of your head said there may be some truth to his jest.

The signs were there, but then again, they weren’t. You had been unusually tired lately, but work always did get busier in the spring months. Your breasts were tender, but that could be caused by multiple things. You’d still had periods, too. They were light, almost like spotting, but they were there. You couldn’t possibly be pregnant if you’d gotten your period. And you were horny - oh, god were you horny - nearly to the point of doubling over with lust at even the slightest change in atmospheric pressure. The temperature would drop and so would your panties.

But, then again, you no longer wanted your favorite tea. It tasted bitter, no matter how much milk or sugar you added. You’d had to cease lighting your favorite candle because the smell of it was nearly unbearable. And although you weren’t nauseous like so many pregnant women tend to be, you did have the most incredible bouts of heartburn in the morning, almost to the point of calling into work, it was so bad.

Ease of mind forced you into buying the tests. You’d taken four, all lined up neatly against the countertop of your bathroom, the pink caps placed gently back onto the sticks before you walked into the bedroom. You sighed, started the timer on your phone, and sat down on the bed. You rested your elbows on your knees for approximately ten seconds before abandoning any thought of relaxation and began to pace back and forth in front of the bathroom’s door frame.

You should’ve waited for Harry. You should’ve waited for him to get back from his week-long trip to New York so the two of you could find out together, at the same time. If it were positive, you could celebrate. If it were negative, you could ease the slight pain by trying again. This was something couples should experience together, right?

But it was his fault, the twerp. You’d complained about your heartburn over FaceTime the night before, and he responded with a knowing grunt and “Probably just the baby again,” through a poorly-concealed smile. You’d rolled your eyes, but your heart lurched in your chest at the thought, and you’d known then that you’d be taking the test without him.

When the timer on your phone chirped, so did you, jumping slightly at the shrill sound coming from your back pocket. Taking a deep breath, you walked into the bathroom, the tests still neatly aligned in between the his-and-hers sinks. Before you’ve even reached the countertop, you could see four distinct plus signs in the clear indicator boxes.

“Holy shit,” you whispered as you ran your fingertips across the pluses, the positive results bold and apparent beneath your touch. “Holy shit.”

Your heart beat faster with the knowledge of imminent motherhood. Harry was right, and although you would have to admit defeat, you were looking forward to how sweet such defeat could taste. You looked at yourself in the mirror, knowing that within the span of however many months, you’d be rounded-out, a belly popping with the promise of a baby.

You were going to be a mother.

You smirked at yourself in the mirror before realizing you’d have to keep this secret from Harry for at least another four days. Your smile fell from your reflection as you kicked yourself for not waiting.

If 240 seconds seemed like an eternity, four days would certainly feel like purgatory.

--

You were nearly bursting at the seams when Harry arrived home days later. It was hell speaking to him as if nothing were happening - as if you weren’t growing his child inside of you and as if your lives weren’t going to be changed forever - but you’d managed to keep your pregnancy a secret for the remaining days of his trip.

You listened from the top of the stairs as he walked into the house, his boots clomping against the hardwood as he made his way indoors. When he called out your name in question, you rushed down the stairs, hopping a bit at the landing before rushing into his arms, the force of your body against his enough to make him laugh and hold onto you for dear life. You clasped onto him like a koala, hugging him so tightly, he worried you’d never let go.

“Missed you too, pet,” he gripped the underside of your bum with his large hands, chuckling as you kissed across his cheeks, stopping with a quick succession of pecks at his lips.

You leaned back, your fingers linked behind his neck. “You were right,” you grinned.

You waited for your words to register, hoping that he would catch on. You nearly planned it all out, the big reveal. Wanted him to open a present that somehow indicated he was going to be a father - maybe the tests wrapped up in twine or a subscription to a parenting magazine - but you’d decided that you wouldn’t be able to hold it in any longer than you’d already had. Being quick and honest with the news was the best policy after waiting so long to tell him in person.

“Right about what?” Harry furrowed his brow, his head tilting to the side a bit.

“You were right,” you smiled widely, glancing down at your belly before looking back up at him.

It took him a few moments, but his furrowed brow soon changed into a look of excitement, which caused tears to well in your eyes.

“Right ab…’m gonna be…” he shook his head, flicking his gaze from your stomach to your eyes, and when you nodded emphatically, he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to fill with tears, too. “I’m gonna be dad?!”

“Yes!” you laughed. “I’m pregnant. Wanted to take the tests with you, but you were gone and kept makin’ fun of me, so I needed to know. Hope you’re not mad. But,” you grinned, “I’m pregnant!”

He kissed you all over, then. Quite like you did to him moments earlier, both of you laughing with permanent smiles on your faces. He kissed you deeply on the lips, your giggles melting into one another until you were able to calm down, your breathing leveled by the steadiness of his kiss.

“First doctor’s appointment’s tomorrow,” you whispered while resting your forehead onto his.

“Do we get to see the baby?” Harry asked, his voice thick as he tried to conceal the emotion within it.

“Think so, yeah,” you confirmed, kissing him once more before leaning back again. “They said they’ll do an internal ultrasound to make sure everything is good. We’ll see and hear the little one.”

Harry smiled again, his dimples popping deep into his cheeks as he grinned. You laughed, shaking your head, a single tear escaping down your cheek before you were able to stop it.

“Gonna be a dad,” he tested out the word again, his eyes glistening with tears and all the promise your news held. “Gonna be a dad.”

---

“Stop touching it,” you say, trying your best to bat Harry’s hands away from the model of a fetus in a womb. “You’ll break it!”

When the small plastic baby pops out of the fake uterus and onto the floor, Harry’s eyes grow wide and you scoff. He fiddles with the model as he tries to fit the pieces back together, jamming the bits loudly against one another in a comical way that makes you less nervous.

He’d been uncharacteristically quiet that morning, but then again, so had you. The two of you had whispered to each other since you’d woken up, moving around quietly next to one another in the bathroom as you got ready. He’d swung through the Starbucks drive thru on the way to your appointment, but both of your drinks stayed in the car, untouched and ice melting.

You kept stealing glances at one another, smiling knowingly as you filled out the paperwork in the lobby of your doctor’s office, your handwriting not as neat as it usually was. When your name was called, you looked at him for reassurance, laughing at your own ridiculousness while you walked back to the examination room.

Harry had tried to ease his nervousness by playing with the anatomic models on the countertop littered with pamphlets of what could go wrong with your baby, the two of you completely losing it as he tried to fit the fetus back into its womb.

“Hope that doesn’t ‘appen in real life,” he grunts, shoving the model in the corner of the counter. “Don’t need our child falling out onto the floor first thing.”

You snort, lying back on the exam table. “I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

“Look good in that gown,” Harry drums his fingers on his knees.

“This ole thing?” you tilt your head against the scratchy paper to meet his eyes, lifting the hem of the oversized, over-bleached gown. “Just somethin’ I had layin’ around…”

“Reckon you could take it home?” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Play a little game of doctor or -”

A quick knock raps on the examination room door, cutting all conversation. Harry looks at you, his eyes flitting from you to the door and back again. When your obstetrician pops her head in, he stands at attention, wiping his hand on his jean-clad thigh before sticking it out to greet her.

“Hello!” she sing-songs. “So nice to meet you. Dr. Richmond,” she clasps Harry’s palm in both of her hands.

“Harry,” he nods shyly, and you smile at his sudden meekness, knowing he would worry about the possibility of her having heard his comment about playing doctor. “Styles.” he adds as an afterthought.

“Quite aware,” the doctor smiles, and before he sits down, she pats him on the shoulder for good measure. “So, it worked, I take it?” she grips your knee as though you’d been lifelong friends before powering up the ultrasound machine and washing her hands at the small sink, glancing over her shoulder and winking at you with a comfortable smile on her face.

“Think so,” you nod, biting your lower lip. Harry looks slightly confused - almost as if he’s been left out of an inside joke - before you point to your belly to jog his memory of why you were there.

“That didn’t take long,” Dr. Richmond giggles. A small smirk outlines Harry’s lips and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Bloodwork shows that you’re certainly pregnant. Shall we see how everything’s coming along, then?”

The doctor does the usual checks while Harry watches with a furrowed brow. She asks you about your general health, how far along you thought you were, and then measures the growth of your belly.

“Thinking about three months, yeah?” she questions, her hands gentle against the bare skin of your stomach. “Just at the end of the first trimester.”

“Knew it,” Harry mutters under his breath from the corner.

“Let’s take a closer look to make sure,” Dr. Richmond laughs in Harry’s direction, giving your shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Dad, want to move over here so you can see just as well as Mum?”

He smiles at that - Dad and Mum - and rolls the stool over so that he’s next to you, his head popping up over your belly in perfect view of the ultrasound screen. When the doctor turns off the lights, you reach out for his hand, your heart beating through your chest as he places a small kiss on the back of your wrist.

“Bit of pressure,” Dr. Richmond warns. “Just like a normal internal exam, love. Just relax.”

You nod, your fingers intertwined with Harry’s as you focus your eyes on the screen, an image of black and grey indecipherable to your untrained eye. It’s quiet at first - too quiet, you imagine - and your grip on Harry’s hand tightens.

“You’re not all that far along,” the doctor tries to explain, her eyes squinting to find what she’s looking for. “Sometimes it takes a bit to find the heartbeat early on.”

You glance at Harry then, fear flashing across your features. You clutch his hand so tightly, you’re worried you’ll break it, but he nods reassuringly, placing another kiss against the back of your hand to calm you. You focus your eyes on the ceiling while he watches the screen, knowing that whatever horrible news that was bound to come would be easier to take if you didn’t have to actually see it.

After a full minute of silence, the sound of your baby’s heartbeat - strong and steady - fills the room. You gasp, straining your neck to see the screen, a small orb of light grey popping up onto the screen. Harry squeezes your hand, a smile taking up the lower half of his face.

“There we go,” Dr. Richmond sighs. “Knew we’d find you!”

You breathe a shaky sigh of relief, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes and falling freely down your temples and into your hair as you split your time watching the screen and Harry’s face. When he turns to you, his eyes are filled as well, laughter bubbling in his throat as he stands to kiss you squarely on the lips and once more on the forehead.

“Love you,” he whispers in your ear.

“You’ve got a strong one, here,” the doctor smiles, jotting down numbers into your chart. “Good, steady heartbeat. Nothing to be worried about at all. Sometimes it’s just difficult to find the wee ones at first.”

You nod, entranced at the circle on your screen that would one day grow into a baby with soft downy hair and wiggly toes; a toddler who most likely would test your patience; a kindergartener who would give Harry a run for his money. You’d never loved anything as much as you loved that orb on the screen, fuzzy and nearly indistinguishable from anything else.

“Here’s the head, although it’s a bit difficult to make out,” Dr. Richmond takes a frame of the baby, pointing out its form on the screen. “We can do a 3D ultrasound the next time you come in so you can see the little one better. Baby’s about the size of a Brussels sprout right now,”

“Our lil’ sprout,” Harry smirks, his eyes still focused on the screen.

“Sprout?” the doctor smiles, glancing over her shoulder as she takes another still of the screen. “That’s cute.”

“Sprout,” he repeats, confirming the nickname with a nod.

---

That night, you notice a scribble of dark letters in the corner of the ultrasound pictures you’d decided to display on the fridge. You squint in the dull glow of the dimmed lights, reading Sprout and the date in Harry’s handwriting, a small heart festooned beneath it.

“Sprout,” you whisper, testing it out for yourself. “Yeah. Sprout.”

» Fourth Month

You smile at Harry when he squeezes your knee underneath the table, a certain giddiness hidden within his tight-lipped smirk. You wink at him after placing your hand on top of his, giving it a knowing squeeze.

After making it through your first trimester with news that Sprout was growing strong and healthy, both you and Harry decided it was safe to begin telling those closest to you. You’d told your family days before, and now, it was Anne and Robin’s turn, their unsuspecting faces bright and cheerful over lunch.

“Didn’t have to get us anything,” Anne scolded as she opened the gift you’d carefully wrapped. “Not even anyone’s birthday! It’s enough to have you take us out for lunch.”

Both she and Robin got a present from you and Harry - mugs that stated “#1 Grandpa” and “#1 Grandma” in obnoxious colors. Your parents got the same set, and you’d be meeting Des for dinner later that week to give him his very own.

“Bit competitive, innit?” Harry had said as you ordered them. “If your dad, my dad, and Robin all find out they’ve got the same #1 Grandpa mug, they’ll have to battle it out…”

You smile at Anne now as Harry tells her to just get on with it, making fun of her for how she always treats giftwrap as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. Robin opens his first, giving a short chuckle when he reads the print.

“Really?” he asks you.

You give a nod, biting your lower lip to keep from smiling. You would wait for Anne to open hers before celebrating, not wanting her to feel left out just because she took her time opening the gift.

“Oi!” she chirps, reading her mug. “That’s not very nice. I’m not even all that - oh!” she looks at Robin, then at you, and then at Harry, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears. “What’s yours say?” she glances at the square box in her husband’s hands, reading the mug quickly, before she allows the tears to fall. “You’re kiddin’ me!” she stands up, her hands in her hair. “Really? Really?!”

You laugh, pushing your chair back and meeting her at the edge of the table. “Really!” you say into her dark mane while she squeezes you in a tight embrace.

“How far along are you?” she pushes your shoulders back so she can take a look at you, doing a quick once-over before pulling you back in for another hug. “When are you due? Oh, gosh!” she’s laughing through her tears, swaying back and forth while you pat her back and laugh along with her. “There’s so much to do! Come here!”

When the news settles and becomes less overwhelming for Anne, you’re able to field all of her questions about your first three months of pregnancy. Harry reminds her to breathe and suggests maybe even having a bite of her lunch to eat.

“Any morning sickness?” she asks, forcing herself to eat a forkful of salad.

“No,” you shake your head, speaking around a mouthful of grilled chicken. You’d been ravenous lately, using the excuse of eating for two to finish meals without the threat of any leftovers. “Just heartburn. Horrible, horrible heartburn.”

“I had morning sickness every day at nine o’clock sharp with Harry. What does heartburn mean?” she looks at Robin and he shrugs, a bit of a confused look on his face as if to say ‘How the hell would I know?’ “Think it means you’re ‘avin a boy,” she ponders the thought for a moment. “No! No, I think that’s if you’re carryin’ low. Don’t know how you’re carryin’ yet.”

Harry finds your knee under the table again, patting it gently in reassurance. You’d already been through this conversation with your own mother, but you were more than happy to speak with Anne about your pregnancy. It was endearing how everyone was so excited for you and Harry, even if they did get a little overzealous.

“Lots of heartburn means lots of hair, I think! And that one is true. It really is,” she nods, pointing her fork towards Harry when he laughs. “Plus, between the two of you, I’m sure your little one will come out with enough hair to put into plaits!” she chuckles, her shoulders shaking at the image.

You and Anne do most of the talking during the meal, your answers to her questions spurring on more inquiries. She’s nearly beside herself with excitement, wondering when she can spread the news to her friends and whether or not you’ll find out the sex of the baby. She clutches her heart when Harry explains the baby’s sex will remain a surprise until birth and that you’d been referring to your child as Sprout instead of “he” or “she.”

Robin and Anne walk the two of you to your car once you’ve finished lunch, Anne hugging you three times before finally allowing you to get into the car.

“Thank you,” she whispers into your ear with her final squeeze. “Couldn’t think of anyone better to raise a family with my boy. Hope you know how much we love you, babe,” she kisses your temple before looking at you with tears in her eyes.

“Stop,” you shake your head, looking up to the clouds as you will your own tears not to fall. “Don’t y’know you can’t say such nice things to a pregnant woman? She’ll start blubbering all over the place!”

As Harry drives away, you sigh, leaning back into the passenger seat.

“What’d Mum tell you that’s got you all teary?” Harry asks, patting your knee.

“Nothing,” you smile, sniffling. “Just wished me good luck. Said it took hours to push your massive head out and hopes that I don’t suffer the same fate.”

He gasps, his eyes widening and fingers digging into your kneecap while you laughed maniacally.

Little did Anne know, you couldn’t think of anyone better to raise a family with than her boy.

» Fifth Month

Whether it was your need to nest or the fact that you were simply fed up with having so much crap, you were bound and determined to purge every unnecessary item in your household before the baby came. Harry left you to it, knowing not to get in your way as you tore through old clothes and boxes of long-forgotten junk shoved into the back of closets, nooks, and crannies.

He didn’t want you to overdo it, what with your bump growing bigger on the daily, but you shooed him away and told him that it had to be done, as you were losing sleep over the amount of shit the two of you had compiled over the past four years. He’d backed away slowly with his hands up, a t-shirt slung over his shoulder - one that you’d demanded he wear within the next week, otherwise you were going to throw it out.

You found yourself in the would-be nursery, sorting through piles of boxes you hadn’t gone through since university, wondering why you’d bothered to keep so many term papers and old textbooks for so long. It warmed your heart to know that within less than a handful of months, all of the ancient boxes would be gone and be replaced by your first child’s belongings.

It was bittersweet, going through old memories to make way for the new. Your hormones had been getting the best of you lately, and you willed yourself not to cry at the picture boxes you’d found, but you couldn’t help imagine Sprout making their own memories years on down the line. It’s okay to be emotional, you remind yourself. It’s fine to be...

You scream, not knowing exactly what was happening, because it had never really happened before. You pause, barely breathing, wondering if the sensation will happen again. And there it is - a flutter in your belly, a bit like going down the first plunge on a rollercoaster or the look in Harry’s eyes whenever he tells you he loves you. It happens over and over, this flutter, and you don’t know whether the pounding you hear is from your heartbeat or footsteps bounding up the stairs.

You hear Harry call out your name, but you’re so focused on the movement within you, you don’t think to respond to his panicked call. He frantically appears in front of you, his eyes wild and his breath lost along his way to you.

“Wha’s wrong?” he grips your shoulders, bending over in front of you to catch your gaze as you move your hands across the ever-growing bump. His eyes are so full of concern, you feel bad for not responding to his calls immediately. “Is it the baby?”

You shake your head no and then giving it a second thought, you nod your head yes. And then you begin to giggle. A bubbly, uncontrollable giggle that has you hiccuping with delight. The furrow in Harry’s brow deepens as he assesses the situation, not knowing whether to continue his concern for the baby or switch his worry over to your mental state.

“Wha’ in th’ bloody hell is goin on?” he smirks, loosening his grasp on your shoulders. “Use your words, darling.”

“Feel,” is all you can manage. Grabbing his hands, you place them on your stomach, his fingers splaying out across the fabric of your tight t-shirt. “Can you?” you ask, your voice light.

“Is th-” he glances from your eyes to his hands, feeling the small trembles of movement beneath his palms.

“Yeah,” you laugh again, nodding and biting your lower lip to keep from completely bursting.

“Tha’s our -” he begins to speak again, his closed-lip smile opening over his teeth, the dimples in his cheeks more prominent than you’ve ever seen them. “That’s our Sprout.”

You place your hands on top of his, pressing down on them so he can feel the movements better. Always worried about being too rough, Harry treats your bump as if it’s delicate glass, ready to break at any moment. You smile when he kneels down in front of you, kissing your belly softly while you keep your hands atop his.

“You’re a banana,” he whispers into your t-shirt.

You snort, looking down at him. “What?”

“Sprout’s a banana,” he repeats, his brow knitted together as his strawberry pout turns downward. “Was just readin’ about it in that book I bought. Went from a Brussels sprout to a banana.”

“Should we start calling Sprout ‘Banana’ then?” you ask, trying to conceal your smile.

“No,” he scoffs, placing pulling his hands away from your stomach and placing his cheek against the swell beneath your t-shirt. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he closes his eyes, nuzzling against the bump. “Sprout is Sprout. Just ‘cause Sprout is the size of a banana doesn’t mean Sprout isn’t Sprout.”

“Oh,” you nod, your hands automatically knitting themselves within his hair. “Right. Sprout is Sprout.”

“Do like bananas, though,” he kisses your tummy again. “Do like bananas.”

» Sixth Month

“Harry,” you rub his back, your hands gliding over the bare skin of his shoulder blades. “It’s okay. It was bound to happen.”

“Can’t even keep two goldfish alive,” he grumbles, cradling his face in his hands while his elbows dug into his knees. “‘ow am I supposed to keep a baby alive if I can’t keep two worthless goldfish alive?”

You sigh, grappling with how to gently explain to him that two supermarket goldfish were the furthest thing from an infant.

He had bought them with good intentions, you were sure of that. It made you pause, the plastic bag knotted at the top and filled with two small orange fish swimming in what looked like an insufficient amount of water. But when he promised there was a purpose behind them, you nodded your head and told him not to make a mess when he transferred them into the round globe he’d purchased to house them.

“Goldie Hawn and Laurence Fishburne,” he presented them to you, placing the fishbowl in the center of the coffee table. “A test-run for the baby. If we can keep Goldie and Laurence alive, we can keep Sprout alive.”

“Love,” you smiled, your hands resting atop your unmistakable bump as you rested your feet on the table. “Those fish couldn’t have cost more than a pound each. If they die…” you trail off, staring at the sad-looking duo.

“They’ve got names,” Harry huffed, plopping down on the sofa next to you. “They’re not just fish. And if they die - which I doubt they will - we’ll know that we need to have loads more training before the baby comes.”

“For the record,” you stated, patting his thigh, “I would just like to mention I had nothing to do with this and will not be held accountable for the life or death of Goldie and Laurence.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, crossing his arms against his chest. “See if ye’ mean it when they’re thrivin’ without your help.”

But, unfortunately, Harry’s hopes of keeping Goldie and Laurence alive were shattered when you found them belly-up in their bowl this morning, only a week after he’d brought them home. You broke the news gently, offering to stand beside him while he flushed them down the toilet, a dejected look on his face while he avoided looking at your round belly.

“I fed them. I gave them fresh water,” he currently runs his hands through his hair, digging the heels of his palms into his eyebrows. “Don’ understand how two fish die so easily.”

“They were from the market, my love,” you kiss the back of his shoulder, scooching closer to him on the couch. You tuck your arm into his bicep, giving it an encouraging squeeze as you rub his arm with your thumb. “They’re not meant to last a lifetime.”

“Shouldn’t ‘av named them,” he shakes his head, the messy hair from his slumber pluming above his scalp. “Got attached. Figures.”

You kiss his cheek, resting your head against his shoulder, rubbing up and down his arm in what you hope to be a supportive way. You knew he was sensitive, but you had certainly expected him to take the death of the goldfish much easier than this.

“Didja really think keeping them alive meant you’d keep the baby alive?” you ask softly, almost afraid for his answer.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, and his simple answer confirms that he did in fact believe the life of two goldfish correlated to the life of your unborn child. “Jus’ thought it’d be good practice, is all. Can’t be a good dad if I can’t keep a fish alive, yeah?”

“Hey!” you lift your head, nudging him with your elbow. “Don’t say that. That’s not true at all.”

“What ‘m I gonna do, huh?” Harry asks, not meeting your eyes. “Thought I was doin’ everything right with Goldie and Laurence, but I wake up to news that they’re dead. Dead!” He’s exhausting himself with the implications of the deaths, but you allow him to continue. “So many rules,” he goes on. “Can I make a bowl of porridge with the baby in the kitchen, or will the heat from the stove threaten its life? What about holdin’ the baby near a microwave? Will my child get radiation poisonin’ because I was stupid enough to buy a house with modern conveniences?”

“Har-”

“And what if I’m holdin’ the baby above the toilet and I drop ‘m in? Happened with me phone once! Carelessly mullin’ about, and then plop! no more baby! ‘Harry, mate, where’s your child gone?’ ‘Oh, no worries, just dropped it down the toilet!’ Gonna forget I put the baby down somewhere, maybe even leave Sprout at the store, and then it’ll be confirmed,” he raises his hands in front of him, his long fingers splayed in the air. “Can see it now. Harry Styles Leaves Own Child In Frozen Food Aisle.”

You scoff now, releasing him from your grasp so you can sit down on the coffee table in front of him, your knees touching. “Look at me, will you?” you grab onto his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes. “None of what you just said is true,” you fight a smile, but you want him to know you’re serious, so you fight through the image of Harry accidentally leaving your baby in the middle of the frozen peas. “If there’s anyone who’s going to be the best father in the world, it’s you, all right?”

He closes his eyes, sighing before opening them once more.

“‘m serious,” you reiterate, lacing your hands with his. “You’ve read more books about pregnancy than I have, you’ve already got the car seat put together, and you’ve done research on which prams are safest,” you remind him, squeezing his palms with your own. “Plus you make the best crepes, which means we’ll have family breakfasts just as soon as Sprout’s old enough to eat with us. Just because Goldie and Laurence didn’t stand a chance doesn’t mean our baby won’t, yeah?”

Harry smiles then, a small smirk that has only one of his dimples showing, but it’s enough to satisfy you.

“Wouldn’t have let you knock me up if I didn’t think you weren’t going to be the best dad in the world,” you knock your knees against his, smiling when he tries to mask his face with your intertwined hands. “So don’t say that stuff about not being a good dad. Makes me look bad.”

“Do me a favor?” Harry asks, his eyes slightly bashful beneath your compliments.

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell Sprout about Goldie and Laurence. At least not until we can be sure we know how to keep a baby alive.”

You giggle, kissing his forehead. “I promise.”

» Seventh Month

You hated using the phrase Babymoon, but if it meant you could lie on the beach with Harry, next to the water that was bluer than you’d thought possible, feeling the warmth of the sun beat down onto your face, you’d certainly call your time spent in Jamaica a Babymoon.

“Want you to see where I recorded,” Harry had said one evening as you got ready for bed. “We can go to Jamaica - one last trip before Dr. Richmond says ye’ can’t travel any more - and you can get pampered and relax. Beaches are beautiful there, yeah? Say yes.”

Say yes, as if it were difficult to agree to a Jamaican vacation with Harry.

Five days later, you’d found yourself on the beach, spread out on a lounger with Harry placed next to you, white swim trunks matching your white bikini. Although you felt ridiculous wearing such a thing at seven months pregnant, Harry insisted that you looked absolutely stunning and would hear nothing of you wanting to change.

You muttered something about being the size of a manatee as you hiked a leg up to slather in SPF-50, and if Harry heard you, he’d chosen to ignore it.

“Lemme put suncream on Sprout,” he grabbed the bottle from your hands.

“I can do it myself,” you tutted, reaching for the bottle.

“Let me,” he repeated, and when he drew a heart with the sunblock onto your bump, you sighed and let him lather the lotion into your skin.

He took his time, smiling as he ran his hands over your protruding belly, working the suncream into your skin while claiming that whatever he was doing was good for the baby, too. “Don’t know if fetuses can get sunburnt,” he shrugged, tapping his fingers against the taut skin of your tummy, “but Sprout doesn’t have to worry if they can!”

On the beach, you couldn’t help but moan with delight as you sprawled out on the lush cushions of the cabana’s beach loungers, the rays of the sun warming your skin. It was quite the change from London’s unpredictable weather - even in the summer, it could be cold and rainy one moment and hot and humid in the next.

“You all right?” you asked, setting your book down on your chest as you looked over at Harry.

“Fine,” he smiled, tucking his phone beneath his thigh. “You?”

You lowered your sunglasses to shoot a pointed look at him. “What’re you doing?”

“What?” he tried playing stupid, but when you continued to stare at him without a response, he grinned sheepishly. “What? You’re not going t’be a pregnant, sunbathing goddess forever! Want to remember how gorgeous you look ri’ now. Decided to document the image for posterity’s sake.”

“Better delete those,” you warned, poking his bare thigh.

“Not a chance,” he shook his head, sitting up straight and swinging his legs over the side of the chair. “Most beautiful sight a man could see,” he leaned over to press a firm kiss to your lips. “Won’t apologize for wanting to remember it.”

You thought about Harry’s comments all throughout dinner. He had to be lying, right? There was no way he could find you to be the most beautiful sight he’d seen - not nearly beautiful enough to consider you a goddess. You’d looked at yourself in the mirror before leaving to the restaurant, your billowy, floral print maxi dress accentuating the round bump in front of you, your breasts full and slightly tanned. Maybe, you’d thought with a shrug. You did kind of look good.

Arriving back at the house from one of the most delicious meals from Harry’s favorite local eatery, you glide lazily into the living room, smiling when Harry reaches out to you.

“Sit wi’ me,” he tugs your hand, pulling you down to his lap.

You grunt, trying to disperse your weight so you wouldn’t crush him. “Hi,” you smile, kissing his cheek.

“Love you in that dress,” he smooths his hands over the fabric. “Flows so nicely over the bump.”

When you giggle in response, he leans up to your mouth, kissing you deeply. You taste the tinge of tequila on his lips, a flavor you hadn’t experienced in months, as he rolls his tongue against yours, a gentle hand on the back of your head to guide you against him. You smile against his mouth, nibbling against his lower lip when he tilts his head back.

“Sorry I’m what you’re stuck having sex with,” you say against his lips, your forehead pressed against his. “Feel like I should give you a hall pass so you can have the sex you deserve.”

Pulling away from you, Harry looks genuinely upset. “Don’t you ever say anythin’ like that again,” he frowns, his eyebrows furrowed in that ever-present knitted wrinkle. “Do y’know how sexy I find you? While you’re carryin’ my baby? Can’t have sex with you enough,” he runs his hands up and down your arms. “Thank God all your hormones are makin’ ye’ so horny, otherwise you’d need a shock collar t’ keep me off of ye’!”

You laugh, because he’s not lying. The more you show, the more handsy he gets. He’s always loved pregnant women, but seeing the love of his life pregnant with his baby? He didn’t know if he’d ever get over it.

“What’s it gonna take for me to get ye’ to understand how gorgeous you are?”

“Just humor me,” you smile, pulling him closer to you by the collar, putting all of your self-consciousness into peppering kisses along his jawline as you work open the buttons down his shirt. You smirk against his skin while you unbutton down the loudly-patterned red Hawaiian shirt, running your hands down his chest while he runs his hand down your leg and beneath the flowing fabric of your dress.

“Know ‘m huge, even if you say I’m not,” you move to stand up, a bit awkward due to the ever-growing bump in front of you. You kiss him chastely on the lips before crouching down in front of him. “Maybe I can make it up to you, though.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he shakes his head, grabbing your wrists. ‘Get back up ‘ere,” he tugs you to him, but your resistance against his pulling allows him to stand in front of you with a little two-step until both of you are steady. “‘m not done with ye’ yet.”

You groan as he pulls you to him, frustrated - yet endeared - by him wanting to assure you that you’re not as big as you think you are. “It’s fine! I’m a whale!” you want to scream at him, but maybe he genuinely doesn’t think you look as big as you know you do, so you bite your tongue and pretend that you’re the size you once were, instead helping the unbuttoned shirt fall of his shoulders by running your hands down his caramelized skin.

Harry takes your mouth onto his, finding the nape of your neck and guiding you to him, his warm lips enveloping yours as your palms explore his chest. You sigh, melting into him, always ready to accept the easy way his lips glide over yours. He tilts your head up further, pressing his mouth deeper into yours as his tongue slides across your lower lip. Softly sucking on the velvety skin found there, he firmly presses into you as you respond to his touch.

A smooth rhythm quickly finds itself between the two of you, his hand guiding you on top of his mouth by your neck,and you try your hardest - you really, really do - not to let out soft moans into his mouth to let him know that he’s making you feel just as beautiful as ever, but he’s so good and you’re so willing, you can’t help yourself. You want to let him know how much he impacts you - how much you enjoy having him pressed against you, whether there’s a baby inside of you or not.

“Need to,” you mutter against his lips, and as much as it pains you to break from him, you pull away and catch your breath, your eyes wild and chest heaving in the thick, humid air.

“Need t’what?” Harry asks, his eyes just as wild, if not moreso.

“Your cock,” you whisper, bending down to your knees again. “Need your cock in my mouth.”

He groans, something guttural from deep within his chest, as you unbuckle the belt around his waist.

“Love,” he tries to stop you, but you shake your head firmly, the look in your eyes telling him not to test you. “You sure?” his brow his furrowed, but the way you lick your lips and cup his bulge makes him forget any and all objection he may have had.

Your mouth is watering at the sight of how ready he is for you when you drag his boxer briefs down his muscular thighs and down to his feet. He takes a shaky step forward, kicking the discarded clothes behind him as you move so he can sit on the edge of the couch.

“‘ere,” he grabs the couch cushion he’s not sitting on, placing it down in front of him so you can kneel comfortably upon it. “Don’t have to do this,” he reminds you as you crouch between his knees, perching yourself comfortably in front of him.

“Want to,” you smirk, licking your lips as you jerk him with your hand first and catching him by surprise, his hips bucking into you. You start off slow, making eye contact with him as the soft skin of your hand meets the soft skin around his dick, and he furrows his brow into a semi-permanent wrinkle before running a shaky hand through his curls.

“That nice?” you ask, and you can guess his answer before he even nods his head.

“Mmm,” he squeezes his eyes shut as you swipe the pad of your thumb over the head, making the surface slick with his precum beneath your fingers.

While Harry bites his lip, he urges you to continue the flicking of your wrist up and down on his cock, his need growing for you with each stroke. You watch his core intently, his muscles contracting and quivering beneath his tanned skin as he breathes in and out of his nose in quick puffs. You smile, squeezing just below the ridge of the head before sliding your palm over it.

You feel him grow harder in your hand, pulsing quickly every time you increase the pressure on his shaft. Everything he tries to say gets muffled by groans, and when you lick your lips, he knows he can’t possibly try to convince you that he didn’t want you to blow him anymore. He knows what you’re about to do and fuck - if this is the result of you wanting to show your appreciation because he found you to be the most stunning woman in the world, then who was he to stop it?

“Gonna suck you off, baby,” you warn before kissing up the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. “Wanna make you feel so good. Wanna make you cum so hard.”

You swear you hear him whimper at your words, and in your mind, that means you’ve won.

You start with small licks around the head, pulling back the skin and exposing it fully so you can get a proper taste. You slowly make your way down the length of him, always needing to build up courage to attempt taking all of him in your mouth at once. He’s knowing of his size - that it’s difficult for you to take him all - but whatever you’re doing feels so damn good, he doesn’t care if you get him down your throat or not. He lifts up so he can reach you, placing a gentle hand on the back of your head for encouragement while he moans out your name in response to you sucking just above his balls while you jerk the head of him between your thumb and forefinger.

He tastes good - salty and sweet all at once - but you’re familiar with him. You moan around him when you take the head of him fully, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin. He buckles beneath you, pulsing into your mouth, groaning and muttering all the while. He tenses as you open your mouth to take more of him, lowering so that you can accommodate his thickness and length.

You twist your mouth and hands in succession, compensating for what you can’t fully take in your mouth. Harry watches you, more turned on than he can remember, as you bob your head up and down, swiping your hand over where your mouth has just been, gasping around his cock as you work to fit all of him in. You’re insatiable, it seems, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth, and it’s a heavenly thing to be privy to, he thinks.

You’re hungry for his release - starving to know that you can pull a reaction out of him like nobody else, even if you are swollen and bloated as a whole. You close your eyes, attempting to take him as far as your throat will allow, and when Harry’s grip in your hair tightens and he growls beneath you, there’s a certain sense of pride that falls over you. You resist the urge to swallow and keep your mouth around him for as long as you can, gasping for air as he pops out of your mouth. You smile widely at him, jerking him off with both hands while you catch your breath, his cock slick and easy to navigate thanks to your spit.

“Fuck me,” he hisses, tugging your hair. “So fuckin’ good,” he thrusts into your hands, groaning and biting down his lower lip.

“Yeah?” you question, licking the drop of precum that has pebbled at the slit of him. “You like that?”

“Christ Almighty,” he closes his eyes while you lick at the groove on the underside of the head of his cock with the tip of your tongue.

You smile, happy with yourself, and go back for more. Eager to please, you swallow around him, your throat contracting and making room for him each time you take him in your mouth. He can feel the vibrations of your moans down his shaft, causing him to grunt and call out, torn between clamping his eyes shut with ecstasy and watching your every move. He wants to keep up the charade - he could watch you do this for the rest of his life, really - but he can’t help but want to give in to the release he’s just on the edge of.

“Gonna cum if y’keep doin’ that,” he warns as you grip his balls with one hand, continuing your assault with your mouth. “Gonna make me cum, angel.”

You moan, nodding a bit in encouragement, not letting up. You suck harder, hollowing your cheeks around his cock as you jerk him off with one hand and fondle his balls with the other. He lifts up on the heels of his hands as he breathily warns you one last time, muttering that you don’t have to swallow, shooting his load into your mouth while he jerks up and into you, his moans nearly screams as you lap at every last drop.

You lick him clean one final time as his body goes slack. Both of you try to catch your breath, and when you lift up onto your feet, you use his knees to stabilize your wobbly posture.

“Should try to convince you of your beauty more often,” Harry smiles breathlessly, glistening with sweat beneath you.

“Don’t need convincing,” you playfully kick at his shins. “M’just showing my appreciation.”

» Eighth Month

You look behind you, trying to keep your back turned to the windows as you choose a striped black and white blanket from the shelf. Harry appears next to you, a soft hand on the small of your back, nodding in approval at your choice of the knitted throw.

“Everything good?” you look up at him, noticing the tight-lipped smile he’s sporting.

“Yeah,” he nods, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Seemed nice enough. No reason to film while we’re shopping. Not necessary, y’know?”

You shake your head, glancing behind you quickly, noticing that a few cameras were still held up by the paparazzi, but for the most part, the photographers outside the store respected Harry’s wishes. They’d already gotten pictures of you eating lunch before you made your way over to the baby boutique. You had looked forward to this day all week, shopping for the finishing-touches of the baby’s nursery, looking for items to go along with the black-and-white theme you and Harry had chosen. Unfortunately, the paparazzi had different plans, and after your location in downtown London had been revealed, there was no hope in a private afternoon.

It was decided by Harry that there would be no official public announcement of your pregnancy. “Don’t owe anyone anythin’,” he shrugged after you’d mentioned it to him. Agreeing, you never brought up the subject again. However, keeping mum about your bump meant that any picture of it would be in high-demand, and it was impossible to hide the fact that you were eight months pregnant. The paps knew this, and with a certain frantic energy you weren’t used to, they set up shop outside of the storefront, waiting for you to turn so they could get a good view.

Harry had apologized to the employees of the boutique, as well as the few customers who had been unlucky enough to be in the shop at the same time you were. They all understood, bidding the two of you a congratulations and keeping their heads down as the paparazzi outside continued to watch your every move.

You refused to allow them to spoil your time. It was nearing the end of your pregnancy and you were bound and determined to finish the nursery before you hit your ninth month, the need to have everything in its place overwhelming and consuming your every thought. It calmed you to be in the store, surrounded by the items that would complete the nursery, soft and buttery in the way that all things baby tended to be.

“Look!” Harry chirps, holding up a unicorn night light and grinning. “Sprout would love this!”

“Don’t think Sprout needs a night light just yet, babe,” you chuckle. “Won’t even really be sleeping in the nurser for a few months.”

He sighs, placing the small light back down onto the shelf. While he occupies himself with a row of displayed stuffed animals, you tell him that you’ll be in the back of the store towards the decor section if he gets bored. He nods, taking the blanket from you, and glances at the paparazzi once more.

You busy yourself with looking at swatches of faux-fur accent rugs with a boutique associate, apologizing once more for the chaos outside while she continues to assure you that it’s no problem at all. She helps you decide on three sets of linens for the bassinet, a standing lamp for the corner of the nursery that would go along with the dark cherry wood of the furniture that had already been situated in the room.

“Found these,” Harry sidles up beside you, holding out a pack of sippy-cups that look like dogs. “Think we need ‘em.”

You smile - first at the employee, then at Harry - and sigh. “Won’t need those for a long time,” you pat his arm. “But we can get them if you want!” you pipe up once his face falls dejectedly. “Can get them and save them for later. Puppy cups? Sprout with love them.”

Looking pleased with himself, Harry tucks the package beneath one arm and folds the blanket carefully beneath the other. “What’d ye’ pick out?” he inquires, looking at the set of sheets in your hand.

You go through what you’d tentatively decided on, happy when Harry vehemently agrees with most of your choices, commenting on how the finish on the lamp will go well with the existing furniture in the nursery. Once you’ve decided on accent pillows for the rocking chair and some frames for artwork Harry had made to fit the room, the associate places the order for the items that will be shipped to your home.

“Kind of wild,” she smiles, her fingers clicking against the keyboard. “Never had this much paparazzi at the store before. But then again, we’ve never had you at the store.”

Harry leans against the cashier’s counter, shielding you with his body while he slings one of the thick paper bags across his shoulder. He glances outside, noticing there were more photogs than the last time he checked, and when he turns back to you, his eyes flicker with slight concern.

“‘m sorry about that,” he clears his throat. “Again. Didn’t think there would be such a commotion,” he tries to hide his annoyance with a smile, but you can tell he’s unhappy.

Once you’ve paid for everything, you take one bag while Harry takes three in his right hand, lacing his fingers into yours with his left. You thank the employees again, bidding them a good day, and make your way to the front of the store.

“Close to me, okay?” he says over his shoulder as he leads you through the store. His brow furrows and his lips set in a straight line as you give him a furtive nod, slipping your sunglasses on to help conceal whatever look you may give off. Doing the same, he clears his throat once more, dipping his head before emerging from the shop.

Once he opens the door, you know the atmosphere is different. You were used to being papped by now - it came with the territory of being with Harry Styles for so many years - but you hadn’t experienced this level of pandemonium before. Sure, you’d been seen out since you’d gotten pregnant, but you weren’t showing and Harry wasn’t anywhere around. The fact that the two of you were together at a shop filled with baby products and there was absolutely no hiding your bump? It was payday for the paps, you knew that much.

You’re barraged with flashes and questions, the paparazzi clicking away while you try to remain focused on walking through them. It wasn’t that they were close - it was that they were too close - and you gripped Harry’s hand with a force that begged him not to let go. You swallow harshly, staring at your feet as they make small steps towards the car, stopping every few seconds so that Harry could readjust in front of you, doing his best to lead you through the congregation of cameras.

“Don’t need to be so close for a picture, guys,” he warns, noticing the grip of your hand in his own. You notice he’s got his hackles up and while you know he’d never let anything happen to you, you’re happy for the sunglasses shielding the look of fear in your eyes.

Trying to make yourself smaller as you wade through the crowd, you wonder if there’s an end to the sea of photographers. There was only a sidewalk between the store and where Harry had parked the car - why did it seem like it was taking so long? Just as you see a clearing, a large camera lens catches your shoulder and you yelp as you’re jolted back a bit, jerking Harry’s hand in the process.

It’s scary, how quiet it gets. Harry turns around quickly, making sure you’re okay before wrapping his arm around your shoulder protectively, creating a shield with his arms lined with shopping bags to keep a path open for the two of you. The man who hit you apologizes profusely, but you can tell by the lock of his jaw and the lack of acknowledgement that Harry is seconds away from losing the quiver of quiet reserve he had left.

He opens the car door for you, taking the time to ensure that you’re safely tucked away in the front seat with the bags in the back. Walking around to the driver’s side, he opens the door and pauses before getting in the car. Gripping the steering wheel from where he stands, he pivots his body towards the open door. When he faces the hungry crowd, your stomach drops, desperately willing him not to say anything he’ll later regret.

“We don’t mind you taking pictures,” he begins, his voice steady and deep. He talks slowly in the way he normally does, but there’s a bite to his words as he clearly pronounces each one, wanting them to hear every bit of what he has to say. “Never have. Always been cordial to you - both of us have. She didn’t ask for this,” he gestures to the horde of cameras in front of him, “I did. It’s all on me. The very least you could do is respect her physical space.”

You watch his grip on the steering wheel tighten, his knuckles whitening due to the force. You breathe deeply, your heart pounding in your chest as you pray for him to be done. He’s made his point, although you’re sure it’s fallen upon ears that don’t care to listen.

“The second you threaten my family’s safety is the second I get a restraining order on every single one of you. Understood?” The crowd uproars with insincere apologies as Harry sits down in the front seat without closing the door. “She’s fuckin’ pregnant, man,” he growls out the car door. “Just have some decency.”

On the way home, he’s silent. You don’t push him to say anything - what’s done is done, and you won’t have him apologizing on their behalf. He knows this. The only indication of him being okay - of the two of you being okay - is the kiss he places on the back of your hand when you lock your fingers with his.

» Ninth Month

You groan, smacking your razor down onto the countertop surrounding the deep tub. Enough was enough. You felt like an engorged porpoise and were sure you looked like one too. How was anyone who was nine months pregnant supposed to shave their legs? You couldn’t even see your feet - how were you expected to bend down far enough to get the stubble around your ankles?

With tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, you stomp into the bedroom, whimpering when you see that Harry has decided to read in bed, his perfect, slim frame sprawled out against the linens.

“Great,” you cry, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were now freely streaming down your face. “Not only do I have to be disgusted by my naked body, you get to be disgusted by my naked body, too!”

“What’s this?” he asks, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, sitting up straight. “What’s wrong, love?”

You attempt to pull yourself together before explaining yourself, knowing that it would just make you blubber more to not be able to get the words out. Looking up to the ceiling, you take a few shaky breaths before continuing, refusing to look him in the eyes.

“I’m the size of a fuckin’ whale!” you frown, a fresh set of tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “A beached one! And I can’t reach anythin’ to shave,” you mumble, feeling stupider than ever, angrily pawing at the tears that had run down your neck. “So not only am I a beached whale, I am a hairy beached whale and I am sick of being pregnant.”

You lean against the wall, your hands covering your face while you try your hardest not to sob into your palms. How insane must you look right now? How absolutely horrified must Harry have been, watching you fall apart as a mess of shaving cream and water slopped down your legs?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists to pull your hands away from your face. “None of this, now,” he kisses your forehead, encouraging you away from the wall so he can wrap his arms around you tightly. “Know you’re tired, love. Know you’ve had enough. But you’re so close,” he reminds you. “Due date’s in a few days, ‘n then we get to meet Sprout.”

You nuzzle into the neckline of his t-shirt, the smell of his skin comforting to you. He rubs your back, swaying ever-so-slightly while you calm down. He was right - the finish line was in sight, but that didn’t help the fact that your ankles had swelled to the size of softballs and you couldn’t tie your shoes.

“Can I shave for ye’?” Harry mutters against your temple.

You lean back from his embrace, catching his eyes. “Really?”

“Why not?” he asks. “Can’t be too different from shavin’ a face.”

You nod, knowing at this point, there was nothing to lose. Even if he did cut you, it wasn’t like things could get any uglier down there, what with your swollen feet and haphazardly painted toenails.

He walks you into the bathroom, leading you over to the tub where you’d set up before. He motions for you to sit on the edge of it on top of a soft towel, grabbing your razor and shaving cream.

“Smells like mango,” he sniffs the dollop he squeezes out onto his fingertips. “Quite like that.”

You smile, resting your hands atop your belly while he bends down to reapply the cream to your legs. He’s careful as he shaves your legs, sticking his tongue out as he focuses on going against the grain, dipping the razor back into the half-filled tub of warm water after every stroke up your calves.

“Y’know,” he says, moving slowly up your shin, “Know ye’ don’t think I’m tellin’ the truth when I say you’re the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen ye’,” he shakes his hand in the water again, placing the clean razor back on your skin. “But I can’t thank ye’ enough for carryin’ my baby.”

You laugh, smoothing your hand across his head.

“Serious!” he chortles. “Love ye’ forever for doin’ that. Well,” he shrugs. “Love ye’ forever regardless, but really love ye’ forever for growin’ Sprout as well as you have.”

You shake your head, not knowing what else to say. You knew he was being truthful - at this point, there was no reason to lie, especially after he’s crouched down in front of you, shaving the four-day stubble from your legs and seemingly loving it. But, no matter what Harry said, you figured there would always be part of you that felt unworthy of his praise. He was beautiful while you were...well, very circular.

“Think we’re all set!” he examines his work, making sure he hasn’t missed anything before draining the water in the tub.

“Thank you,” you awkwardly maneuver yourself into a standing position, kissing him on the lips when you’re upright. “Take a bath with me?” you ask before thinking about the implications - resting your body back against Harry’s like you normally did in the bath would make you feel like an absolute hot-air balloon, but sitting on the opposite side of the tub from him would just be unnatural.

“Course,” he nods, turning the water back on after.

Never without ambiance, he lights three candles while you toss in a rose-scented bath bomb, hoping that the addition of one of Harry’s favorite luxuries would distract him from how especially buoyant you were while pregnant. He helps you into the tub, dimples appearing in his cheeks when you hiss at the temperature. You liked it a bit too hot, wanting to relax into the water as it cooled around you.

You run the silky pink bath water across your chest and arms while Harry undresses, feeling sorry for yourself when you notice the v-line of his abdomen and the slimness of his waist. Shaking away whatever doubt you had in your mind - He thinks you’re beautiful, and that’s all that matters - you turn the opposite direction when he steps into the jacuzzi, backing up into his chest when he settles in against the sides.

“There we are,” he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “Feels good.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, kissing his jaw as a small thank you. When you relax further into his chest, you can’t help but snort when you notice that your bump is sticking out of the water.

“Hmm?” Harry peeks open one eye, lifting his head.

“Look,” you laugh, tapping your belly. “Sprout’s joining the party.”

“Oh hey,” he smiles, moving to place both hands around your stomach, resting them outside of the water. “Nice of you t’ show up, little one.”

“Not so little anymore, I reckon,” you sigh. “Size of a pumpkin, I read.”

“Mmm,” Harry nods, his voice vibrating against your back. “Think it was planned that way, what with an autumnal birth?”

“Maybe,” you snort again, cupping your hands and pooling water over the bump. “Seems about right.”

“If ye’ had to name Sprout after one of th’ foods the book compares the size to, what would it be?” he asks, gently tracing invisible circles against your tummy with his fingertips.

You think for a moment, thinking the question to be ridiculous at first. “Don’t know if there’s any,” you ponder, stretching your memory to recall a food that was suitable for your child’s name. “Avocado?”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “Horrible. Avocado Styles.”

“Not like you could do any better!”

“Certainly could,” he scoffs.

“Well, then?”

“Coco? For coconut?”

You pause, considering the option. “Maybe,” you nod.

“Olive,” he states. “Could just go with olive. Or Olivia. Oliver?”

You smile, thinking that he must’ve thought of this before, taking into great consideration which food-to-fetus comparison he would name his child if absolutely forced to. “Fans would have a hayday with that one.”

“Probably,” Harry laughs, the two of you rising and falling slightly with the movement from his chest. “Always love a bit of speculation, though.”

“Still think Avocado Styles is the best choice,” you joke, poking his cheek.

“Never,” he shakes his head, splashing your belly a bit. “Avocado Styles,” he groans. “Must be the hormones takin’ over again…”

» The Delivery

A day and a half and counting.

39 hours of convincing Harry you’d be fine.

2340 minutes of anticipation.

You weren’t strong enough, and you knew it. How the hell did women used to squat down in fields, birth their babies, and then go back to work within the same hour? You were in one of the finest hospitals in all of Europe and you couldn’t do it.

You just couldn’t.

“Can’t do it!” you cry, gripping the side of the hospital bed. Had you known it would take this long to get the damn thing out, you would’ve never promised Harry that you wanted a baby.

You’re nearly done - the midwife had been coaching you through your contractions, telling you how fabulous your pushing was while Harry whispered how much he loved you into your ear - but if anything were going to kill you, it was the final minutes of the delivery.

“Can’t do it,” you whine again, your face scrunched in pain as Harry places his forehead against yours. “Harry. I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” he affirms, brushing the sweaty hair from your brow. “You can, my love. You’re doin’ it right now.”

You close your eyes and bite your lip, a small cry escaping your throat as the midwife tells you to push again. She knows you’re tiring, but if she’s worried, she doesn’t say anything. You breathe heavily after the contraction passes, gearing up for the fear of death the next one will bring.

“Can I -” you hear Harry begin, and when you hear the midwife respond positively, he tilts you slightly forward in bed. “Gonna sit behind ye’, love,” he explains. You nod, allowing him to nestle into the space between your back and the bed, appreciative of the assistance he provides by holding onto your knees.

When the midwife tells you to push again, Harry counts through in your ear, his voice calming and steady. “Doin so well, angel. Wish I could take over for ye’, but I can’t. You’re so strong, you don’t even need me to, y’know that? Love ye’ so much. So, so much.” he kisses your temple as you breathe quickly between pushes.

You lean back against his shoulder when you’re told to take a break, panting against his neck while he readjusts his grip on your knees. “How much longer?” you mutter.

“Couple more pushes ‘n we get to meet Sprout,” he promises. “Couple more and you’re someone’s mumma.”

You nod, lifting your head when you’re prompted to push again, bearing your chin down into your chest. His words give you the strength to give it your all one last time, his counting in your ear providing a timeline to the last few seconds you were in the world without your child.

Maybe you could do it.

Suddenly, with a yelp from you and a gasp from Harry, cries erupt from the three of you as the small, pink baby is placed on your chest.

“Welcome to the world, Baby Girl Styles!” the midwife says.

[punkrogers-jerkbarnes]

Dead Inside

Looking for a zombie-AU Stucky fanfic? Look no further! Here’s the first chapter to get you started:

It’s a sunny day, which is ironic, really. A mid-November, cold kind of sunny, but a beautiful day nonetheless. The wind is blowing just hard enough to warrant a coat and a scarf, but the sun is warm on Steve’s face as he makes the walk to Natasha’s apartment. His hands are a bit cold, but that won't matter in a few minutes anyway.

It always hits Steve hard that there aren’t many people walking about the city. He exits his apartment and expects to be swept away into the waves of people going every which way to work or school or wherever, but not anymore. Not since the news aired two weeks ago.

Not since the virus.

It still makes him nervous, going outside, but he figures that he has six years of military training under his belt and that gives him a leg up on the Infected.

He doesn’t like when people call them zombies—it sounds like something out of a horror movie. It makes him feel like he’s living in a fantasy. And, nope, this is definitely real life. The conspiracy theorists are having a field day with this one. And Steve can't really blame them, if he’s honest with himself. It is insane. Zombies in New York? When he’s first heard it, he hadn't believed it.

He’d been with Natasha and Sam watching a football game when a breaking news banner had popped up on the bottom of the screen.

Breaking: Virus Infects New York Lab

“Hey, turn this up!” Sam had called, making grabby hands at the remote. Natasha’d changed the channel to the news and turned the volume up.

“Well, Karen,” the reporter was saying. “I’m standing outside of the hospital right now where our sources say there’s a virus spreading at break neck speed inside. The virus is said to kill within the first two hours, and actually resurrect it’s victims as a kind of brain-dead zombie.” And then just as the reporter had started to laugh, a dark-skinned man had come up behind him and literally latched his teeth into the man’s neck and pulled out his jugular. There’d been a lot of screaming and then the camera had cut off.

Apparently one of the “zombies” had gotten out of the hospital. It’d only killed the reporter before an on-scene policeman had shot it—in the head, of course. Everyone’s seen the cliché zombie movies—but it’d been enough to send everyone into a panic.

The next day, similar stories of the Infected, as people liked to call them, started popping up all over the globe. Quarantines in LA and San Francisco, lockdowns in Beijing, airports shutting down in England . . . Germany shut off its borders to any incoming flights or immigrants.

The world literally shut down in a matter of hours.

So that’s why it’s weird when Steve goes outside—not very many people do, anymore. The schools have shut down along with most work places.

No one wants to risk being bitten. No one wants to risk their children, their families. No one wants to risk going out.

And then there’s Steve, who walks the streets like he owns the place. He’s almost to Natasha’s when he hears a bang. He turns sharply, pulling his gun from its holster at his side, pointing it with elbows slightly bend, eyes sharp. But it’s just a stray dog, and he relaxes, laughing shakily at himself. You didn’t live this long for nothing, he tells himself. There were multiple times during his three tours when he would’ve died if it weren’t for his acute hearing and sharp reflexes. So as Steve heads up the stairs to Nat’s apartment, he thanks his lucky stars that he has the skills that he does.

He texts her that he’s outside, and then knocks on the door—the special knock that they had when they were kids. Three swift knocks and then two spaced evenly apart. He waits for exactly three seconds before he hears someone walk to the door.

“Steve?” Natasha calls from the other side of the door.

“Open up, Widow,” Steve calls back, hiding a smile. The door swings open and Steve steps in, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Natasha’s place is spacious and tastefully decorated—all black furniture and marble. Steve’s always loved it here since his place is so small. Sam’s sprawled across the couch looking totally relaxed until he sees how many guns Steve has hidden on his body. Sam’s expression tenses immediately.

“We goin’ back to war, Steve?” he asks, trying for a joke and failing miserably. Steve huffs a sigh and rolls his shoulders back, standing up straighter.

“You guys ready?” he asks, looking over at Natasha. She nods and Sam gets up, coming over to stand next to them.

“Well, let’s go,” Natasha says, grabbing Sam’s hand. Steve looks at them together, then down to the ring on the redhead’s hand and can't help but smile. They’d gotten engaged six months ago and now the wedding probably isn’t going to happen with everything that’s going on. With New York on quarantine and no one being let in, their families wouldn’t be able to come, but Steve thinks that maybe they’re going to do it anyway. Go to the courthouse or something—have a small ceremony. It’s better than nothing.

But instead of dwelling on all the things that won't happen, Steve makes himself move toward the door, leading the way out onto the street and to Sam’s SUV. They get in, Steve in the back, and head out. There are a few people out on the roads—not as many as normal, but enough for traffic. Mostly, people trying to get out as soon as they can or going out to the store. Wal-Marts, Costcos, and Targets are the only stores that are still getting trucks in, so those are the only stores that still have everything in stock. Natasha is impatient as she weaves in and out of traffic, drumming on the steering wheel with her thumbs. Steve just sighs and looks out the window as the redhead makes her way through traffic and to the shopping centre with the Target in it. Natasha finds a place to park—which isn’t hard, since almost no one is here—and they all pile out.

Steve grabs his backpack out of the back and hops out, ready to go. He’s not nervous, exactly, but he is anxious to get in and get out. They’d seen at least two packs of the Infected on the drive over. He doesn’t want to get caught in the Target with nowhere to go. So he leads the way in, Sam and Natasha behind him, planning to get in and get out as quickly as they can. Steve’s backpack is fully stocked with bullets, guns, knives, hatchets, and a first aid kit, so even if they do get trapped by some twisted fate of God, they’ll be okay.

They walk quickly into the store and split up to cover more ground. Steve goes straight to the food while Sam and Natasha go to the hiking equipment. Their phones are both of high volume, so if something does happen, they’ll be able to find each other. Surveying the aisles, Steve picks one to go down and starts tossing things in his basket. Bread, flour, sugar, and some candies he knows Natasha will appreciate. He also gets soups and canned vegetables, knowing they’ll need those for later.

Because this epidemic is just that—an epidemic. It isn’t going away any time soon.

So when Steve exits the food section and goes to meet up with Natasha and Sam at checkout, he’s every surprised to see none other than Bucky Barnes standing in line ahead of him.

Steve and Bucky work together at the coffee shop Natasha runs. They’re both veterans looking for some sort of income in the terrible economy that is America in 2015, and they’ve become relatively close. They hang out at work sometimes and have movie nights with the rest of their friends—Tony, Thor, Bruce, Clint, Sharon, Peggy, and Maria. Steve’s very happy to see Bucky alive and well, but when he taps Bucky on the shoulder, the older man jumps and flinches away.

“Hey, Buck, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, pulling his hand away. “It’s me, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes finally focus on Steve and he visibly relaxes, letting out a strangled laugh.

“Scared the shit out of me, Steve,” he says, smiling that tiny smile that leaves Steve’s stomach in knots.

He’s been in love with Bucky Barnes since he met him almost two years ago.

“Sorry about that. You here alone?” Steve glances around and spots Natasha and Sam making their way over. He waves his hand in the air to get their attention and then looks back at the brunet.

“Nah, the rest of the gang is in here somewhere. Figured we’d stock up, what with the fuckin’ zombie apocalypse and all.” Bucky shrugs and moves up in line, Steve shuffling behind him.

“Where have you been staying? I heard the blocks around your place were Infected.” Bucky’s gaze darts around before meeting Steve’s eye again.

“I’ve been staying at Tony’s. He has more than enough room.” Natasha and Sam finally reach Steve, and he’s about to greet them when all hell breaks loose.

There’s a commotion at the doors and all heads turn to see what it is. Steve tenses, hand going down to pals at the gun on his belt. One lone Infected makes its way through the double automatic doors and before Steve can do anything, it’s ripped into a woman making her way out. There are screams all around and people rushing for the doors only to be blocked by a seemingly never-ending tide of Infected pouring into the store. Steve takes one look at his friends and takes off for the doors.

“Lock the doors!” he yells to anyone who will listen. A few people follow his orders, shoving the Infected back and trying to get the doors to close. Steve finally makes it over, gun in hand, and starts to shoot, clearing the doors as best he can.

There’s got to be at least twenty of them—fast and strong and reeking of death. Flesh hags off their bodies in chunks, blood caked on their bodies from where they were bitten and killed. Their clothes are torn and tattered, fingernails dirty and broken. It’s like something out of a bizarre horror movie.

People finally catch on that you can close the doors by shoving them shut, and one by one, the doors get locked and people flee back into the building. Steve glances around, trying to assess the situation. There are about fifteen Infected in the building, more piling up at the doors. People are running in all different directions and the ones that aren’t are trying to take on the Infected with anything from baseball bats to golf clubs. There’s blood all over the floor—human and Infected. Steve searches for his friends in the chaos, and can only seems to spot Natasha and only because of her fire-engine red hair. She catches his eye and motions to the back of the store. It takes Steve a while, but he finally understands.

The back of the store. The intercom system and security cameras are controlled from back there.

“You’re a fucking genius, Natasha Romanoff,” Steve mutters, taking off toward the back. She flashes him a smile and a wink as he runs past, cutting an Infected’s head off in one fell swoop with a hatchet she’d had somewhere on her body—Steve doesn’t know where. He focuses on getting to the back room, ignoring the carnage around him. If he stops to help, he’ll cause more harm than good.

But then he sees Bucky.

And three Infected.

Steve stops dead in his tracks, spins on his heel, and rushes to his friend’s side. His heart is pounding so hard that he can feel the blood rushing in his ears as he makes his way down the aisle to the open space Bucky’s in. He can't just leave him there weaponless.

So he clutches his gun a little tighter and runs for it, stopping three feet away.  

Stop. Aim. Fire.

The shot rings in his ears, but he's used to the gunfire of war. This is a different kind of war, though. An all-inclusive war. It's not just against one country or people—it's against the human race. It's the human race on the line here.

And if he can save Bucky, that's a win in Steve's book.

So he aims again, and this time the Infected goes down. Bucky looks up, and it gives the Infected time to claw open a gash on Bucky's forearm.

Oh God, no. Not Bucky. Anyone but Bucky.

But the when brunet glances down at the blood, he looks more annoyed than anything, and then hits the thing over the head with a lamp he'd grabbed from the shelf on his left. Steve shoots it as it stumbles, and then there's only one left. Bucky takes care of it by swiftly knocking the thing down and driving a shard of glass from the lamp through its forehead.

When Bucky stands, he's covered in blood and grime, but he sends a goofy smile Steve's way. Steve smiles back, and then, on a whim, reaches out and takes Bucky's hand.

"Help me," Steve says, squeezing Bucky's hand. The older man squeezes back.

"Anything." Turning on his heel, Steve pulls Bucky with him and they begin to jog to the back of the store. No Infected have made it this far, so there's no one Steve would feel guilty about not helping.

They bust through the double doors and into the back room, Bucky still holding Steve's hand and Steve isn't sure if the pounding of his heart is from adrenaline, Bucky, or both. Probably both. But he does what he came here for regardless--searching until Bucky drags him to a door.

"I used to work at a Target in high school," he explains as he opens the door. "They're all the same. You can access the PA system from here." Bucky shows him the button and then steps back, letting go of Steve's hand.

"Thanks, Buck." And then Steve gets to work. He presses the button down and begins to speak slowly and clearly.

"Attention. My name is Steve Rogers, a captain of the United States Marine Corps. If you have children with you, get them to the very back of the store. You will see two double doors. Bring them there. Sergeant James Barnes will be waiting to direct you to a safe place within the store." Steve glances over at Bucky who nods and exits the room. "However," Steve continues. "If you wish to leave, leave now. I will be giving instructions to barricade the doors in five minutes. Exit out of the loading docks. Be careful. Be safe. Be alert." He sits back, tapping his fingers and watching the clock as five minutes tick by.  

He can hear the voices of women and crying children from outside of the door and he has to fight himself to not get up to help. Bucky's got this. He looks back at the clock and presses the button down again.

"For those of you left, find a woman named Natasha and a man named Sam near checkout. They will split you into two teams. One team will be sent deeper into the store to pick off the Infected still inside while the other team will barricade the doors. Listen to them. They know what they're doing." Steve takes a deep breath. "This is what we will do to survive. Either take your chances out there, or be safe here with us. The choice is yours, but make it quickly." Steve then shuts off the intercom and pushes away from the desk.

"Women and children are secure," Bucky says from behind him. Steve jumps a little and turns around, blushing. The brunet graces him with a small smile and reaches out his hand. "Let's go see how they're doing out there."

They walk through the store hand-in-hand, surveying the damage. It doesn't look like more than five human lives were lost, where as the floors are littered with Infected corpses. Steve's heart is still pounding when he sees Natasha and Sam standing with Tony, Thor, Bruce, Sharon, and Maria. The doors are barricaded with dressers and chairs and night stands. He takes a deep breath, trying to relax.

But as Steve allows Bucky to lead him down towards their friends, he realises something.

They're trapped.  

His throat closes up and his brain screams at him to get out, but he knows that would be stupid. They’re all safer in here than they would be out there.

“That was a nice speech,” Sam says, coming up to him. “Did you write it down first?” And Steve can't help but laugh, which must have been Sam’s intention because he relaxes. He also glances down at Steve and Bucky’s hands, still clasped. Steve just shrugs at him. Natasha looks pleased.

Except it doesn’t mean anything.

They’re in the middle of a fucking apocalypse and Bucky only wants him because there’s no one else to want.

Or maybe Bucky doesn’t want him at all. Maybe the hand-holding is platonic and only for reassurance.

Either way, Steve is making himself sad, so he decides to focus on more important things. They have to do inventory and find sleeping places and take a headcount. They have to find a place to store the bodies. They have to establish rules, they have to . . . God, they have to do everything.

“So what now, oh Fearless Leader?” Tony asks, smirking. Steve fixes him with a hard glare and looks over at Natasha.

“Nat, do inventory of the food we have,” he tells her. She nods, and takes off. “Sam, toiletries. Bruce, pharmacy. Tony, electronics. Thor, find sleeping places for everyone. Clear out the clothing sections so they have a carpeted place to set up. Then go get all the bedding you can find and hand it out. Sharon, go gather everyone and figure out who is allergic to what and what medicines everyone is on. If they have a mental illness, if they’re sick, if they have asthma. Make a list.” Everyone goes their separate ways, leaving Maria and Bucky standing next to him.

“We need to make contact with the outside world,” Maria says to him. Steve nods.

“I’ll get Tony on that as soon as we figure everything else out.” Maria nods heads off to help out where she can. Steve looks over at Bucky and realises that he’s still bleeding.

“Let’s go get your arm cleaned up, yeah?” he asks. Bucky nods, but then stops and takes Steve’s face in his hands.

“I know you're worrying, so don’t,” Bucky murmurs, looking deep into Steve’s eyes. “You’re doing the right thing. And I'm with you. Till the end of the line.” Bucky smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and Steve is no longer sure what’s going on between them, but he doesn’t care. They don’t need a label. They can just be.

So Steve leads Bucky over to the pharmacy section of the store and cleans up his arm, thinking that as long as he has Bucky, as long as he has his friends, this might be okay.

He might just survive this.