#please tell me how THICK is deserving of being censored?

[swagging-back-to]

ok im genuinely soooo sick of radio stations censoring shit bc 99% of the time theyrye censoring random shit that doesn't even need to be censored but they'll allow WAP to play unedited.

[yourtamaki]

o, come, be buried / a second time within these arms

zoro x f!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: hurt/comfort, sex as a form of comfort, fingering, cuddlefucking, creampie, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), cum play, cum eating, violent imagery, bit of aftercare

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there is a storm building inside you.

zoro can see it raging even as you keep your face turned from him. the room dark save for the moonlight that streams in through the open window, just bright enough to spot your outline curled up in bed, covers tucked up under your chin. lines of tension keep your back rigid and shoulders hunched, your breathing shaky and slow as you tell him to leave.

you’re vicious gales and crashing waves wrapped into one, devastating and beautiful.

“you don’t want to be around me right now,” you say, words muffled by your pillow.

“don’t tell me what i want,” he doesn't try to bite back the anger that laces itself through his tone. zoro has never censored himself from you before and he wasn't about to start now.

ire thrums hot in his veins, burning and boiling away beneath his skin. he has always given you every part of himself, heart served in his open, blood-stained palms, for better and most certainly for worse.

the thought of you holding yourself back from him, that there’s a part of you that he’s being denied, sets his teeth on edge. he'd been searching for you all day, prowling around the ship like a caged animal until finally found his way to where his search should have began, the tiny storage room that had become your shared quarters.

“you pissed at me?” he asks.

“no,” you say.

“want me to kill anyone?”

“no.”

it grates on him that there’s no enemy for you to sic him on, no bones to crack, no blood to spill. your pain deserves retribution and he is the blade that would carry it out, if only you would wield him, "then i'm staying."

"zoro, please. just go."

“who do you think you’re protecting by hiding yourself away?” he steps in closer, right to the edge of the bed but makes no move to touch you, “cause it’s not me and it sure as fuck isn’t you.”

you throw a dagger of a glare his way, so sharp it could make a man bleed before he even knew he’d been cut. he doesn’t care. a small price to pay for your gaze.

zoro is too loyal of a beast to flinch away the first time you flash your fangs at him.

you hold his gaze for a moment longer before turning back around to face the wall once more. in your silence, he resolves himself to sitting on the floor by your bedside until he can be of some fucking use to you. zoro would lick crumbs of affection out of the palm of your hand. if the closest you'll let him be to you right now is knelt on the ground, keeping vigil, then he'll take it. he's crouched halfway down when he hears you call for him.

“baby, get in.”

how you have enough sweetness in you to spare him a kind word even when you have none for yourself, he will never understand. zoro takes a moment to pull his swords free from where they hang on his hip, propping them up against the wall where they’ll still be in arm's reach before he pulls back the covers and settles in next to you.

you're cold to the touch despite having been buried under the blanket, dressed only in a simple shirt and underwear and zoro is quick to throw an arm around you and pull you in by your waist until you’re pressed flush against him, his other arm slipping under your head for you to rest on. he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, breathes you in and for a moment he can almost smell the scent of your hurt lingering on your skin, thick and bitter as blood.

there’s an urge, ever present and never sated, to dig his teeth into the side of your neck and bite down until iron coats his tongue, to taste you, know you, in a way no one else ever has or will. it’s an urge he can only hold at bay by pressing open mouth kisses to your throat and feeling your pulse flutter against his tongue.

you slowly start to melt in his arms, the tension you wore like ill-fitting armour stripping off you piece by piece with every kiss until you’re free from its hold, warm and light.

“better?” he asks, slipping his hand under your shirt and pressing his palm flat against your stomach just to feel it rise and fall, follows the rhythm of it and matches his breaths to yours. the reassurance that you're whole and safe is a cool balm to his worries.

“a little bit,” you whisper.

“but you need more,” it’s hardly a question that needs to be answered, not with the way you’ve started to shift in his hold.

“you don’t have to—”

“i do. i want to.”

and there’s more he could say, he knows there is. pretty poetry to comfort you, sweet nothings to soothe you. but what use would empty words be to you? they can’t hold you, can’t keep you warm, can’t wipe your tears.

zoro can. he will. for you, he’d do anything and everything. all and more.

the room settles into silence, his offer hanging in open air and ripe for your taking. you don't reach out for it, not yet, but zoro doesn't mind. he can wait.

“impatience is a swordsman’s undoing,” his master had once told him a lifetime ago when zoro’s palms were still soft enough to bleed and grief was a companion so new it still stepped on his heels as it dogged his footsteps.

of the two of you, patience has always been your strong suit rather than his. it was your patience that brought you together, when you stepped into his life with a hand outstretched and he met you the same way he met all good things that tried to enter his life, with a snarl and blood stained teeth.

zoro kept you at a careful distance with all the wariness of a distrustful stray, always watching but never getting close. it was you who slowly bridged the gap, gracing him with kindness and company he'd done nothing to earn but gorged himself on anyway.

it was only because of your patience that he knows the bliss of falling asleep and waking up with the warm weight of you in his arms. the least he could do is pay you back with what you've always freely given him. so zoro holds you close and waits.

and waits.

and smiles, sharp and proud, when you take his hand that still rests on your stomach and lower it until he’s cupping you between your legs, the heat of you searing his palm even through your panties.

your hips jerk when zoro doesn’t move, a soft whine catching in your throat when his other arm circles around your chest and holds you still against him, “zoro.”

“i've got you,” he says with a kiss behind your ear, toying with the waistband of your panties before sliding his hand inside.

he slides his middle finger down your slit, dipping his fingertips into the slick heat of your cunt to wet them before drifting back up to where you need him most. there’s no rush as zoro rubs neat, tight circles against your clit, slow and firm even as you buck and try to grind down on him.

he wants you to feel every moment of this, to savour it, to drown in pleasure so deep you never want to come up for air.

another kiss to your throat, one on your jaw and you finally melt back into him, legs spreading just enough for zoro reach lower and start to ease a thick finger inside you.

“there you go, baby, that’s it,” he says, “let me in.”

you swallow him down to his knuckle, trembling in his arms when zoro slips in a second finger and crooks them to rub against the spot that never fails to pull the prettiest sounds out of you.

he shifts, trying to move lower between your legs without pulling his fingers out so he can taste where you’re wet and aching for him but you stop him by threading your fingers through his short strands, keeping him in place.

“what?” he asks, “you don’t want my mouth?”

“no, not— not right now. just stay close. keep holding me. please,” he hates how small you sound.

“i’m here. i’m right here. fucking kills me knowing you were in here hurting by yourself."

"i'm sorry.”

"don’t,” the anger he felt when you tried to send him away rears up once more. an apology is the last thing he wants to hear from you right now, “just find me next time. doesn't matter when or where. you find me. got it?"

“yeah, i got it,” you start rocking back into him, soft ass grinding against his clothed cock, “zoro.”

“i know. i know you want it, baby, but i gotta stretch you out first. can’t fit when you’re this fucking tight.”

your answer is lost in a moan as he eases in a third finger, thumb pressing against your clit. the angle isn’t kind on his wrist but zoro keeps his pace steady, spreading and curling his fingers until you’re soaked and soft and ready for him. he pulls his hand out of your panties, kissing your nape when you whine from the loss before he licks the taste of you off his fingers.

“i'm not going anywhere,” he says, "keep your eyes on me."

zoro waits until you turn in his arms and he has your gaze before he gets out of bed and undresses, leaving his clothes in a pile next to his blades. you sit up to tug your panties down and kick them off, your shirt following soon after.

you’re bare and soft and holding out a hand for him to take. zoro laces his fingers through yours and joins you once more, stripped of his swords, his clothes, and his restraint.

you don't crash into each other so much as you collide into a bruise of a kiss. it aches more than it soothes but the shared pain of it only has him pressing closer to you, your soft tits pressed to his chest, legs intertwined and weeping cock trapped between your stomachs.

he reaches up to cup your cheeks and breaks the kiss to pull back just far enough to take in the sight of you, all swollen lips and glassy eyes. it takes a heartbeat longer than it should for you to focus on him. the storm is still raging inside you but zoro refuses to lose you to it. he stands firm against the buffeting winds that threaten to rip you away from him and swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“still with me?” he asks.

you turn into his touch and kiss the rough centre of his palm, “‘m here.”

"then take what you need, baby."

you slide a hand between your bodies, taking his cock into your hand and guiding his tip to your entrance. even with all the prep, it takes some time to sink inside you, time you spend peppering kisses across his face. he bears them as he bears the scars that litter his body. with pride. with honour.

zoro bottoms out with a low groan, grabbing you under your knee and hooking your leg over his hip to slip in that much deeper. every sense is flooded with you. the wet heat of you wrapped around his cock, the heady scent of your sweat and need swimming around his head, soft skin beneath his palms.

entangled and weaved together like this, heart and breath as one, zoro is drawn into the eye of your storm.

your pleasure is his, your pain his own.

still, clear waters surround you both as he waits for you to adjust. with how closely he watches you, he knows you’re ready even before you wrap both arms around him and start to roll your hips.

he keeps one hand under your knee, the other sliding down your back to rest on your ass, and uses his grip on you to pull you into a slow, dirty grind.

“oh fuck,” you moan as the two of you find your rhythm together. zoro barely pulls out, keeping himself buried to the hilt inside you. you jerk back as he rolls his hips just enough to grind your clit up against his pelvis, his firm hold on you the only thing keeping you pinned in place.

“easy now. don’t run from me.”

time slows to a crawl, every moment yawning and stretching into the next, slow and sweet as honey. you tip forward, closing what little space there still was between you to pull him into a kiss that has all the intimacy of a hard-fought spar, of learning to move together, of missteps and growing pains, of getting the wind knocked out of him only to be pulled right back on his feet.

you’re close, all worked up and sensitive from his fingers, cunt fluttering and clenching down around him as you near your high. zoro chases your pleasure down, a starving mutt set loose upon a feast. he uses the little leverage he has to wrestle you on to your back and fuck into you with short, heavy thrusts.

“c'mon, baby, that's it,” he says, bent low to brush his lips against your ear, “let go.”

he reaches down between you, thumb pressing firm against your swollen clit and you’re gone, swept out to sea as your high crashes down over you in waves. zoro hardly feels his own orgasm rip through him, too caught up in watching you shake apart and be remade in his arms.

all is still as you pant and come back into yourself. your hand slips back into his and squeezes once. he’s not sure whether you’re trying to reassure yourself that he’s still here or that you are but he squeezes back all the same.

“can i eat you out now?”

and for the first time since he stepped into the room, a smile breaks over your face, bright as the dawn sun breaking through an overcast sky. you pull out of his hold, his soft cock sliding out, and settle on your back, legs falling open, “go for it.”

zoro eases himself down between your legs, throwing your thighs over his shoulders, never letting your hand slip free from his. he takes stock of your fresh fucked cunt, clit puffy and hole clenching around nothing, dripping with him. the scent of you, of the two of you, is thickest here, heavy in his nose, and zoro breathes you in with deep, greedy lungfuls, spent cock twitching against his thigh.

he dives in, catching what leaks out of you on his tongue before pulling back and dribbling the mess of cum and spit all over your pussy.

“nasty,” you say and zoro wants to kiss the curl that sits pretty on the corner of your lips. he settles for kissing your clit instead.

“you like it.”

“i like you.”

you wield your honesty with all the ease and carnage zoro wields his swords, sliding it between his ribs and piercing his heart clean through. the pain is lost as he’s distracted by the light pouring in as the moon rises higher into the night sky.

or maybe it’s your eyes that take the pain away because it’s only through them that he notices how bright the moon’s light shines tonight.

zoro devours you, gaze fixed to yours, one hand still holding yours while the other arm keeps your hips pinned to the bed. he takes his time cleaning you up, lapping at your folds until only the taste of you remains. it’s only then that he sucks your clit into his mouth, slipping two fingers inside you to give you something to clench down on.

you are a vision in your bliss, one he has no right to bear witness to. a lifetime of blood and blades and butchery shouldn't be rewarded with the softness of you in his hand and on his tongue. it's not right.

but as you take hold of his hair to keep his mouth pressed flush against your cunt, zoro finds he couldn't give less of a shit if it's right. all that matters is if he does right by you. there's an oath in every broad stroke of his tongue, a vow in every kiss to your clit, to take care of you in all the ways you need, in all the way he knows how.

today and for all days.

your orgasm is a gentle thing that washes over you and steals your breath for a moment, smaller than the first but leaves you just as ruined.

zoro takes his rightful place by your side once more, gathering you up in his arms and running his knuckles up and down your spine.

"thank you," you press a kiss to his cheek, just below where his scar ends. he accepts the kiss but not the gratitude that comes with it.

a hound needs no thanks for fulfilling its nature.

later, he will carry you off to the baths, let you pop open bottles for him to smell that make his nose itch but that make you beam, wash your back, and wait with the patience you’ve taught him for you to share what’s trapped inside your head.

he may not understand, may not have the comfort of words to give you, but he will listen. and he will stay.

but that is for later.

for now, zoro holds you to his chest and watches over you, moonlight and peace washing over you as you catch your breath.

dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and loml @saotoru

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Could you write something based on this prompt Dick x reader! villain "I hope we never get to see each other again."

Dangerous People

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Nightwing x Reader

Warnings: Sexual assault and miscarriage. Extremely sensitive themes here, please don't read if you are triggered by such topics.

Word Count: 1.8K

Dick used to think the most dangerous people were the ones who had no morals. The people who did the dirtiest of things and had no way of redemption because there's a piece of stone where their heart should be.

He had seen it a million times over when he was Robin and then Nightwing. It had been that kind of person who took away his parents and he would learn it was the very same kind that took yours.

Detective Grayson met you one rainy night in November when you were brought into the police station in Bludhaven, cold and shivering. Tears were pouring down your face and you looked sick.

He would later come to find that night that your parents were killed by a man named Black. You told him all that you could, insisting that it was him and that they should arrest him.

As much as Dick wanted to, he couldn't just pick up a man and put him behind bars, not without evidence. Although he did promise that he would try his best to put him away. Dick could see the comfort that his words brought you.

The night he met you was also the night he slept with you. Not sex. Just sleep.

He had offered to drive you back home but you just shook your head in tears, saying that you couldn't go back home where your parents had just been murdered. And that you didn't have any money to stay at a hotel.

It was no secret that Dick had a bleeding heart, so when he saw your red and puffy eyes staring up at him, he quickly offered up his apartment for you to sleep in that night.

He took you home, and made you take a nice, hot shower before bundling you up in his spare clothes and letting you take the bed.

You repaid him the next morning by cooking him breakfast.

Thus, began the start of a beautiful relationship.

You panted, breath stuttering in your chest as Dick trailed kisses down your neck. Your fingers were carding through his hair, twitching and tugging at the roots every time his teeth grazed your sweet spot.

He held your hips to his body with a tight grip. He met your lips again with an open-mouthed kiss that swallowed your moans when his hands cupped your chest.

"I'm crazy about you..." Dick whispered underneath his breath when you cupped his cheeks. Your eyes fluttered open to see him watching you with deep blue eyes. You knew what he wanted to say, you felt it.

You kissed him again, slow and soft, conveying everything you could possibly be feeling.

"I love you too."

Falling for you made Dick want to capture Black even more. He knew of the kind of trauma that followed you throughout your life unless you got the closure you needed, so he poured his heart out into finding the man who robbed you of your family in one night.

But he was good, scary good. There was no evidence. No fingerprints, no DNA samples. No witnesses, other than you. But that wasn't enough.

He had known just how to avoid all the cameras and had left the weapon at the scene of the crime, a knife from your kitchen.

Dick felt helpless, he wanted so badly to be able to find this man and arrest him for your sake. He felt like a failure every time he would see the look of disappointment on your face when he said there were no leads.

So, he decided to go into his background. Black, a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was a shareholder of your parents’ company and Dick wondered if there was something behind the scenes that made him want to kill your mother and father.

But none of it made sense, according to the contracts that each of them signed, in the case of a death then there was no possible way for him to get his hands on your parents’ shares. It was already enlisted to you. And Black had known about it.

So why try and murder your parents when it wouldn't have benefitted him in any way. Could it have been out of anger? In the spur of the moment? No, everything looked too well planned for that.

It was then he got a call from another detective. They got an anonymous tip that there was evidence found at the scene. He immediately went over there only to realize there was something wrong.

The footprints were even, too even. It was unusual that there was equal pressure at all parts of his sole. The cigarette lighter underneath the table was empty.

He had been so sure that he had looked over the place so carefully. How could he have missed the obvious footprint in the carpet and the lighter under the table?

It was then his partner mused that the evidence was fabricated and that Black wasn't the real culprit. That someone was trying to frame him.

And then everything made sense.

***

Dick’s heart pounded in his ears as he ran. Never in his life did the Nightwing suit ever feel so strained against his body. He felt like his chest was being compressed and each breath was harder and harder to take. Still, he pumped his legs until they ached painfully as he ran faster to you.

His head throbbed against his skull with the information he just learnt.

His eyes skimmed over all the words in your file and his heart rate picked up. He couldn't believe there had been so much information that he had overlooked before, simply trusting your words.

It was such an amateur move that he was surprised with himself. How could he have trusted you so blindly without verifying it?

As he read the file, his heart began clenching in his chest. With each word it was getting harder to breath.

You were the victim of a sexual crime case, that was left incomplete, the name of the suspect was censored. The next paper was another case, you were the victim of a planned mugging, it stated that you sustained injuries. The one after that was a medical report, a miscarriage.

Everything started making sense. The puzzle pieces started fitting in his head. The name of your assaulter was censored because he was a major shareholder of the company and partners with your parents. The mugging was planned so that you couldn't get a paternal test done.

Your parents and Black conspired against you. They made you hold their burdens so that their sins wouldn't be revealed.

When he got home to find the door wide open, his blood froze in his veins. He rushed through the apartment to find that it was empty, you had left in a hurry. He needed to find you, especially when he realized one thing.

His Glock was missing.

Dick swallowed roughly when he saw you, jumping across the roof until he was only one building away from you.

“(Y/N) don’t do it!” He shouted, as if you would actually listen but he still bounded across the gap between you, hand coming to wrap around the gun you were holding to deflect the shot against the ground.

The sound resonated through the area and his ears began ringing but he paid no heed, quickly disarming you and throwing away the gun in your hand. You struggled in his grip, screaming and kicking at him before you resorted to roughly elbow him in the face.

He let go of you, feeling pain and stumbling back but made sure that to get to the gun you’re have to go through him first.

You were new at this, you didn’t bother to assess the situation or even try to combat him again before you were lurching for the gun that lay abandoned at his feet and he tackled you, trying to stop your struggling as you rolled around on the rough concrete of the roof.

“(Y/N) wait!”

“No!” You screamed, voice thick with tears, “No more waiting! That monster doesn’t deserve to live for even a second longer!”

You thrashed in his grip, reaching for the gun again and he grabbed your leg, dragging you back before you could wrap your fingers around it.

"Please! Just stop and listen for a second! For me!" He pleaded but you started sobbing when he pinned you down and you realized you couldn't move.

When you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, he couldn't help his own that began falling from his eyes.

"You know what he did to me. You know what they did!" You cried, "So, why are you stopping me?!"

"It isn't right, (Y/N). You can't do this! If you do then you're just as bad as them." His grip on your wrists got tighter, as if scared you would try to pull away again.

"It's too late for me." You told him, "My parents are already dead. I did it."

He knew that. But he wished he didn't have to hear it. You made a mistake, a decision, that couldn't be reversed. And you would have to live with it for the rest of the life.

"I'll let you go." He whispered. He knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew that he was going against his morals but still, he couldn't be the one to take you to prison.

You immediately stopped squirming, shocked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. Your heart pounded in your chest; he was willing to let you go? After everything you did you him?

He pulled away, not moving from his place on the floor. Dick looked at you one last time and your throat closed at the sight of his heartbroken gaze.

"I hope we never get to see each other again." He choked out, voice strained and you screwed your eyes shut to keep yourself from crying.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him, one last time, but you knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear. You weren't going to disappoint him one more time that night.

"Good bye." You whispered, turning around and leaving. It would be the last time Dick would ever see you.

It was that night that Dick realized that the most dangerous people were those who had nothing left to lose. And his heart would break even more when he realized that you never considered him yours to lose.

He never even got to tell you he loved you.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

[lxvesickreality]

mistakes 2/4

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: plenty of swearing, terrible writing 

Word Count: 2110

Add on: there is a lot of Russian in here. I used google for translating so if you are Russian and it is wrong, please message me and tell me lol. Part three should be the last part. If not, part four is the max I will go.

gif is NOT mine, credit to owners

“What is love you ask? Love is a lot of things. It is the feeling you get when one smiles at you, the butterflies dancing around in your stomach. It is a jolt of electricity that shoots through the part they touched, sometimes even through your whole body. Then, when your lips touch, it is as if fireworks have gone off in the distance. It is like you two are the only ones alive on this earth, just the two of you. Do not forget the way your heart races as they tell you they love you, or when they just speak to you because you love hearing their voice so much. That warm feeling you get when you are able to smell their perfume or cologne they always wear. You begin to think home is no longer a place, but it is a person and sometimes maybe it is. Sometimes, the feeling you get is the feeling of warmth and security. Security being a feeling every human being needs.”

When Steve got to a hotel to stay overnight at to give his wife some space, he pulled out the paper with his wife’s vows written on it from his wallet. He always kept it with him, no matter where he went because it warmed his heart and reminded him he had a wife at home waiting for him and that she loved him deeply. He paid for a few nights thinking that’s how long his wife might need to let what happened process. It was still processing through his mind that him and Y/N are now separated. He really screwed up and Steve did not think it was fixable. 

Steve got a call on the third night of his stay at the hotel from his best friend, Bucky and when he answered with a groggy voice, Bucky’s was frantic and full of panic. “Steve, you have to get over to your house. The team is already there.” 

“Bucky?” Steve sat up, rubbing his eyes while trying to wake up a little bit more. “Wha-what’s going on?”

“Y/N was taken. By H.Y.D.R.A. and they want what’s theirs back in exchange for Y/N.” It took no time for Steve to jump right into action and tell Bucky he was on his way all the while he was throwing on jeans and boots. His phone was put in his front pocket, grabbing his wallet and keys off the side table and he was out of his hotel room. 

~

When Steve arrived, he spotted Bucky talking to Natasha and Tony on the front porch and he turned his motorcycle off, hopping off it to quickly jog over to them. He immediately questioned them, “Have you found her? Do you know where my wife is?” 

Natasha was the first to speak, but her statement was short and cold. “No, we haven’t.”

“Shit,” Steve’s hands dug through his sandy blonde hair and was pulling hard while tears pricked his eyes. He could’ve prevented this. He could’ve done anything. This was his fault, he cheated on her with Sharon- “Why the hell is Sharon here?” Shit, this is gonna go downhill really fast, Steve thought to himself when he saw the woman standing with Nick Fury. Steve turned on his heel, trudging back to his motorcycle with Bucky hot on his heels yelling for him. Snatching his helmet off the seat, Bucky threw it quite a few yards away from them. 

“It’s time to own your shit, Steve. You cheated, everyone knows that now. But right now, you can’t leave. The team is trying their best to get Y/N, Steve. Now, come back and help us instead of running like a little bitch.” said Bucky. 

Of course everyone knew. His wife probably confided in Tony after Steve left considering that is her best friend and Tony has a knack for telling people things he shouldn’t. Not like it surprised Steve, he just wanted to be the one who said something about it, owned up to it. Steve nodded and walked with Bucky back to Tony and Natasha with a guilt hanging by his shoulders. Natasha’s glare and Tony’s look of disappointment was making him feel worse which he knew was what he deserved but he felt a little angry for them not seeing his side. Then Steve realized he had no side, or at least no good one. He’d broken his wife’s heart, his teams really good friend and asset’s heart. He deserved every hateful thing that came at him. 

“Rogers? Can we talk for a minute?” her sickly sweet voice made his blood boil and he didn’t want to lose it in front of his team but he also didn’t want to hear her voice at all. “Steve, please,”

“No, Sharon. Go away.” said Steve without turning around to face the blonde woman.

Sharon sighed heavily, “Please, Steve, we need to talk.” 

“Talk about what, Sharon?” his whole body whipped around so fast, Sharon jumped from the sudden closeness and the angered appearance. “About the fact I lost my wife three days ago because I fucked your slutty ass a month and a half ago? It was one time. You need to leave. I’m having Fury get you off of this case and I don’t want you near me. Or my fucking wife. Got it, agent Carter?” Steve hadn’t bothered to censor himself and he didn’t care about the devastated expression painted on her face, the one he caused. It made him feel good to say that but also, horrible at the same time. It wasn’t a way to talk to a woman yet he did. He treated a woman wrong before this; his wife. Steve strolled away, Bucky by his side, and left Sharon there with a broken heart that was beating for only him. He fueled that fire and all he could do was let it burn out. 

~

Meanwhile, Y/N was tied to a metal chair with a piece of clothing tied around her mouth and head in an extremely bitter room with no windows and every wall was a bland white, no furniture besides the chair Y/N was tied to or from what she could see.  Her vision was blurry and her head pounded with a strong pain that was coming from the spot she was hit. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and she saw a table a few feet away from her covered with weapons; daggers, pistols, machine guns, grenades, knives, butcher knives, shotguns, and so many more. What caught her eye was the small bottle of chloroform and a rag next to it. Shit, she cursed to herself. The rope was rubbing her skin raw making it painful to move even a centimeter. How long has she been out? 

“Ah, good morning, sunshine,” her e/c eyes shot to the man with a thick Russian accent who came in through the steel door on her left. She winced at the slight movement. “Have a good night's sleep?” 

She tried to speak but it only came out muffled and the man chuckled deeply before making his way to her to take it out the cloth from her mouth. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, got a potty mouth, do we? That’s not very ladylike, miss Y/N,” said the man. “Let me introduce myself, I’m Vadim Ivanov. I’m an agent in H.Y.D.R.A. and you vill be staying vith us for a bit vhile ve vait for your little teammates. There’s no choice in that, krasotka,” 

“What are you talking about? Why are you waiting on them? What do they have that you need so badly?” 

The man got uncomfortably close to Y/N tucking a piece of hair back and she was able to smell his breath that stunk of raw fish, and he had nasty, yellow teeth that were rotting. His hot breath got next to her right ear sending a chill down her spine and he spoke, “That is none of your business, printsessa. All you need to vorry about is if they vill get here in time to get you out alive. Hopefully, they do. You are a very pretty woman, liybimaya. It vill be devastating for me to have to kill you. If I could, I’d take you for myself.” Vadim let go of his hold of her cheek and sauntered over to the table. Y/N watched him as he took a peek out every gun making sure they were all loaded and Y/N couldn’t help but really fear for her life. She’s been kidnapped before, it should’ve been mentioned in the interview with Nick Fury when she was getting hired as an agent that it’d happen a couple times. This time felt different to her though. Something felt off about this whole situation and she was beginning to feel deep down she wasn’t going to make it out alive. 

Salty, warm tears started leaking from her eyes without any warning and she hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt a tear fall onto her bare thigh. Her eyelashes were sticking together with the wetness from her tears, tears falling into her mouth and onto her thighs. She sniffled as she felt her nose beginning to run. Y/N had never felt so scared. 

“Please, let me go, Vadim. Please. I can get you whatever you want. There’s no need to do this. Just let me go. Please…” she begged. Vadim continued what he was doing until he got to the knives and daggers when he picked one up to examine it. Y/N felt like such a coward, she’s never done this on missions but everything was different, everything felt different. She was vulnerable thanks to her husband and the Ectopic pregnancy and it was making her this way. Y/N dropped her head with a loud sob escaping her lips, was this what it felt like to let go? This was how it felt like to be cheated on. She felt a hand lifting her chin up and she was met with the dark green eyes of Vadim’s along with a sweet smile of his. A gasp fell from her lips when the coldness of the dagger touched her knee and the immediate pain when he cut her knee. “No, no, no, Vadim, please. Don’t do this. Don’t do it anymore. Stop, please, Vadim.” 

“I can not do that, printsessa. I vas given orders and I am to do as I am told. Now, say cheese.” Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion until the hammer she didn’t even know he grabbed was swinging at her knee. The break of the bone travelled through the room and she let out a shriek just as Vadim took a picture of her. “Идеально (perfect),” 

“Как, черт возьми, это так Идеально (how the hell is that perfect)? Ты только что сломал мне чертово колено (you just broke my damn knee)!” 

Vadim looked at her in surprise when she spoke back to him in Russian. “Ты можешь говорить на русском (you can speak Russian)?” 

“Я агент, ты чертовски осел (I’m an agent, you fucking ass). Конечно я могу (of course I can)!” 

smack

“Не говори со мной так, сука (don’t speak to me that way, bitch)!” 

“О, иди трахни себя (oh go fuck yourself). Я могу говорить с тобой �� любом случае я хочу (I can talk to you in anyway I want).” Y/N snapped back at him.

“Я должен был взять Шарон вместо (I should’ve taken Sharon instead). Неудивительно, что Стив Роджерс обманывает (no wonder Steve Rogers is cheating).”

“Ебать тебя (fuck you)!”

crack 

Y/N let out a deafening scream the hammer came in contact of her right wrist then her toes on her left foot when Vadim drops it. Y/N was sobbing noisily when she heard the ping of a video starting. 

“Hello, Avengers. My name is Vadim Ivanov. Don’t bother looking it up because every file of mine has been erased. Your beloved Y/N is sitting here, avaiting for your guys’ arrival and I am giving you 12 hours to find us and give us vhat ve vant. As each hour goes by, she vill get hurt. Currently, she is suffering from a concussion, a broken kneecap, a broken vrist, and possible broken toes. I accidentally dropped the hammer. Oops?” he let out a loud laugh. “You have 12 hours to find us. If you don’t come by the time those 12 hours are up, she vill be dead. Your time starts now.” 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Family of Five- Part 2: Like Sugar, With Salt

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut)

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. 

__________________________

Harlowe is still laying in bed. The alarm went off hours ago. She managed to get up, change her clothes. Calum made her eat with him and the kids. But the second she could escape, shower, and change again, she crawled right back into bed. The TV plays. Normally she would be watching it, but it’s more like the TV is watching her. The afternoon has settled in nicely, a bright clear day. She knows she ought to get up. There’s laundry to do. There’s lunch to fix. The very least is laundry. The absolute minimum. Calum can’t do it all himself. Laundry, she can do laundry. Throwing her feet to the floor, she pushes up. Just do laundry. Just do laundry. 

She walks into Te Koha’s room first. His toy trains lining the molding of his floor. He likes to think this is cleaning, since it’s not in the middle of the floor. He’s stubborn that way. Her and Calum have both collectively just let this happen. It doesn’t interfere too much and she’s glad at the very least that it’s not cluttered in the middle. There’s a path--and it works. Pulling his tiny hamper, she drags it behind her in, leaving it near the door before checking Esha’s room. Even though she’s still barely a toddler, she has her own hamper. Harlowe thought it would be frivolous but Esha wants everything Te Koha has, his tiny shadow. 

Grasping both hampers, she carries them down stairs. There’s no one inside. There’s not a giggle or chuckle or the twinkle of Pepper’s tag. It’s unusual for sure. But it’s not crazy. Just noteworthy, the silence settles thickly. Just the barely audible hum of fridge. She walks over to the kitchen window and sees Calum bouncing Esha as Te Koha runs around with his airplanes, Pepper runs behind him. Koha spies her from the window and smiles. His chubby cheeks lift as he waves. “Momma!” he shouts.  

She leans over the counter, pushing open the open the window. “Hi baby!”

“Will you come outside today?”

The question hurts. Things have gotten so bad again. Harlowe knows that. She just never thought her children would notice. Just go out for him. Go out for him, Harlowe chants to herself. She nods.. “I gotta put some clothes in the washer, but yeah, I’ll come out.”

The smile on his face radiates. He cheers. “Need help? I can help?”

“No, baby. Mommy’s got it. Keep an eye on Papa Bear for me. Make sure he doesn’t step on my rose bushes,” she adds. 

“I can hear you, you know,” Calum gripes. Koha laughs, but resumes his running with the toy plane. Calum steps closer to the open window. “If you don’t feel like coming out, don’t push yourself. Take it one step at a time.”

She exhales. It’s good for her. Just for a little bit. “I should go out.”

Esha whines in Calum’s arm, reaching for something below. He sets her down. “Okay, baby girl, I know. Down, I know.” She trots toward Koha. Calum turns back to Harlowe. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Please?”

“I will.” He eyes her, head tilting forward. “I promise.” He knows she’ll suffer in silence. They both will. To a fault. Even if it’s bad, but that’s just who they are. A cry starts up; Esha. Doesn’t sound particularly bad, it’s more like a startled cry. 

Calum jogs over. “What happened, baby girl? You’re okay.”

“She just tripped,” Koha says. 

She leaves the window open. The small chirps and sounds of life help, make her feel less isolated. She sorts their clothes by colors and tosses them into the machine. The kids have a special detergent and she grabs it, always a little shocked by how heavy it is. The washing machine begins to rumble. She rests her hands onto it, feeling the vibrations shake up her hands and arms. She is still alive. Right? 

The back door is unlocked from when Calum took the kids and dogs out. She wonders if Calum knew that she needed a moment’s silence. Or maybe he was worried. If the kids watched her fall apart for too long, would they become hyper concerned? Would they want to do nothing because she was doing nothing? What was she teaching her kids? Her forehead falls into the glass of the door. She can’t teach them that. She can just water the flowers, right? 

There’s still lunch to fix. The kids will be getting hungry soon. She can get to that right? Calum’s here. They’ll get that that. She twists the doorknob, stepping onto the warm wood of the deck.  Koha rushes up the porch steps, wrapping his arms around her legs. Brushing her palm over his back, she sucks back tears. Koha’s only ever wanted good for her. He deserves his old mother back. Not her now, covered under a thick blanket of tired, of doubt, of shame. “We didn’t water the flowers yet, Momma. Do you want to do that? Can I help?”

He starts to pull back from her. Harlowe’s quick to wipe her tears from her face. “Yeah, let’s go water the flowers.” The walk to the garage door. It cranks after she types in the code before they walk inside, Te Koha takes hold of her hand. Harlowe gives it a squeeze, smiling, however briefly down at her son. A spitting image of her. With Calum’s soul. 

Things were better when he was first born. Harlowe had gotten pregnant with Te Koha well before she and Calum had ever considered getting married. But it didn’t matter. Besides, Harlowe will never forget the day Calum did propose, down on one knee in the middle of her empty apartment. He was sweaty for sure, having helped move her out so she could stay with him. She was swollen, stomach, ankles, feet. Everyone that looked at her was afraid she’d pop at any second. But it was Calum who popped instead, on his knee, to take her hand. 

He was going to do right by her. After nearly fucking things up. He couldn’t loose Harlowe a second time. Her pregnancy with Te Koha was fine. There were aches and pain for sure. But she felt fine. She was fine. Te Koha was a fairly easy baby. And now there is just a fog. Esha wasn’t a worrisome baby. She was stubborn and a opinonated, even at two. But she wasn’t difficult. It was just Harlowe’s brain. Her brain was making things hard. 

“Momma?” Te Koha asks, taking his water can from her hands. He can see the frown pulling down his mother’s face. 

“Yes, baby?”

“I’m sorry you’re sad,” he whispers. “I promise to be good.”

She gasps, a short explosion of air before her chest squeezes. She kneels in front of her little boy. His brown eyes are teary up like mine. Cupping his face between her palm, she brings his attention to her. “What’s happening to me is not your fault. It’s not Papa Bear’s fault; it’s not even Esha’s fault.”

“Then what happened?” He sniffs, wiping underneath his nose. “You were so different before.”

“Momma’s had some serious health issues. It’s…. been hard on me. But it’s not your fault. Please, please, please don’t think it. I wish I wasn’t like this. Mommy wishes she could be her old self. I am so sorry.”

“Is there is anything I can do to help?”

“Just keep being you baby boy. Just keep being you.”  She wipes the tears that have fallen from his skin. “Do you still want to help me water the flowers?”

He nods. “Yes. I always do.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Let me grab my can.” They walk to the hose, Harlowe filling Koha’s up first. Then filling hers. He trails behind, waiting for the every other plant that Harlowl leaves to him.  He sticks his tongue out a little, watching as the water slips over and splashes onto the ground. Harlowe pauses occasionally to pluck the dead leaves and weeds around certain plants. Te Koha follows suit, under the careful eye of his mother. This is the mom he remembers. A soft smile on her lips when he pulls hard at a weed and successfully uproots it. A small cheer of pride echoes from his chest. 

“Need any help?” a voice says behind me.

Harlowe looks over her shoulder. Koha shoots up from his seated position. “Uncle Mikey!” 

Michael laughs, collecting Koha into his arms before picking him up. “Oh, you’re getting big. No wonder Cal’s got arms like fu--freaking Superman. Lifting kids all day is a great work out.”

“Michael, what are you doing here?” Harlowe’s not sure of her own voice. It’s strange for sure. But there’s a glimmer of something light, something like happiness. It is happiness. He’s still the same. With the basketball hat, the fringed hair, the leather bracelets, and the rings. 

He opens his free side to her and Harlowe folds into his embrace. “Cal called me over. Said you were having a decent day. Wanted to check in.”

Harlowe and Michael have, over the years, gotten close. They bonded originally over video games. Harlowe has her degree in psychology and through her willingness to always listen to him they grew closer. Michael isn’t necessarily reserved but he’s not always forthcoming about things. He’s vocal when it’s necessary. Harlowe never judged--she pushed occasionally for him to open up. But she never sneered at him, never berated him over his feelings. She just listened. 

Michael returned the favor. He’s always become a great pillar of support since this funk after Esha’s birth. She had shockingly cried to Michael a couple times about her inability to conceive a third child. She wanted to give Calum that picture perfect family. Her body and mind weren’t ready for that--they were telling her to slow down. She always had trouble listening. 

“It’s been okay,” she says softly, pulling back from his hug. 

“Okay is good. Okay is great.”

“Are you going to help us?” Koha asks. 

Michael laughs. “Sure, why the--why not?” Michael’s still working at censoring him around the kids. Almost five years should’ve been enough practiced but Michael was only the uncle currently with no kids. He didn’t have the filter on all the time.

The three of them settle back down in the front garden. Harlowe pulls out the gardening seat for Michael to sit. He complained about potentially ruining his jeans. “Look!” Koha puts out a bug, nestled into the mulch. Harlowe pulls back his hands a little. Even though he’s wearing gloves, she fears that it could be a snake or spider. It’s not though upon closer inspection. 

By the time they move to the side of the house where the kitchen window is, Calum gazing out of it. “Lunch’s up soon, bud. Come inside and wash your hands,” he says softly to Koha. 

Koha and Harlowe look up at each other. The window is opened just enough. “Can I Momma?”

She grins and looks over to Calum. Hhe sighs, hopping onto the counter and holding out his hands. “Fine, you two are definitely fucking Aries.”

“Swear jar, Papa Bear,” she laughs, sliding off the gloves and hoisting Koha up. He grabs Calum’s forearms and he slides in through the window. Calum sets him down. “Wash your hands now. I don’t want to find actual ants on your ants on a log.”

She just barely catches Koha’s laugh as he walks away from the window. “He loves going in through the window. Why not let him live a little?”

“Because then he’ll think it’s normal to climb in through the windows,” Calum laughs. 

“You saying it’s not?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, missy.” They share a laugh. Including Michael. He’s used to their shenanigans. “You coming in for lunch?” Cal asks. 

“Once I finish up out here. Shit, the laundry.”

Calum shakes his head. “One load is already done. Second load is in the dryer.”

“I’m so sorry I forgot.”

“Baby, it’s okay.”

She sighs. “I’m just so off. I hate this.”

“Just consider the meds, think about it, okay? I’m not asking you to makeup your minds just yet. But don’t count it out.”

Michael rests a hand on her back, not quite on her shoulder but not quite off it either. “They honestly could help, Harlowe. Don’t eliminate the possibility. I know you don’t want to take meds. I know you can do this without. But you don’t have to.”

“The ACT is helping, I think. I just don’t want to add more to our medical expenses. I’m already running it up as it,” Harlowe counters. 

Calum wishes he could shake his wife sometimes. Snap her out of whatever haze she was in. Or just get her to see that he cares not what dime amount it costs. “You know money is not a problem here.” Harlowe opens her mouth. Calum continues before she can interject it. “Finish up in your beds and then come in and eat. Relax the rest of the day. Think you can finish the beds?”

She nods. It’s been weeks since she’s been out here. Calum tries to do it for her. Harlowe’s picky, picking it up from her mother and her grandmother the particular meticulousness when it comes to her yard. He does what he knows she likes and knows how to keep the basics up  but doesn’t push it too much further. 

He slides off the counter. “Ready to eat little man?” Koha nods. 

Harlowe goes back to her yard. Michael calls into the window for something before handing a bottle of water to Harlowe. “Maybe you should get out of LA,” he says holding the bag for weeds open.

“You sound like Calum now. You guys have been working here for years now.”

“It doesn’t mean that we can’t move, you know? We’ve been discussing going back to Sydney, anyway. Going back to our roots, settling down. Cal and Luke already have kids. LA’s no place to raise kids.”

She rips the weed from the dirty. Some mulch flies up through the hair. It lands and Harlowe stares down at it. “ I don’t want to be lectured at about moving.Then I have to look for a new university to work out. I’ve got three years where I’m at.”

“You’re not tenured. You said they’re already discussing making changes to the Creative Writing department.”

“I love the kids I work with. They’re brilliant. I have great reviews from them. They’d be crazy to get rid of me.” She yanks at out another weed.  

Michael sighs. “They’ve done crazier things before, you know that better than anyone.”

“Even if the band moves back, it will still take me awhile to find work. I can’t force Calum to take care of the bills alone.”

“Harlowe, you’re making fucking bank. Calum’s smart and has been for years now. He could handle everything and more by his income alone.”

He’s right. Calum’s invested some money. Most of those profits go towards savings for the kids future education plans. Advancements from albums and merch sales have also been sitting in savings for them. Her income is chump change comparatively. Calum’s always treated it equally. The sales from her books helps too for kids savings. Her salary covers half the bills.  My income is chump change compared to him.

She could move. Maybe she should. Calum’s been dropping the possibility more and more since everything went downhill. “My family,��” she says softly. 

“They’re going to cause you to go gray.”

A sob chokes her. Her chest squeezes. When did she start crying? When did the tears burn her eyes? I’m so used to being able to handle things. I don’t know what to do.”

Michael rubs at her back, shushing her softly. “You’re allowed to be weak. Being strong doesn’t mean being able to handle everything. It’s about knowing your limits, knowing when you need help.”

It takes a few minutes before the tears subside. The water soothes the ache in her throat. The passing moments are filled with silence. Michael points to some small green leaves, making sure it’s okay to pull before he gets a grip on it. He can’t tell if it’s a new plant or not and would rather not cause her another crying fit. Harlowe nods before clipping off some browning leaves. 

“You are not alone in this, okay? Remember that.”

“Thanks, Michael.” 

She watches, to make sure he gets safely to his car. It’s all the years of drinking as a young woman and knowing that any moment could be someone’s last. It’s the years of being a mother and freaking out whenever Te Koha decides to hide behind a rack or mannequin. She has to see with her own eyes to everyone’s safely. 

When she gets inside, after double checking the lock on the door, she notices  Esha’s standing with her little horse. Her smile is bright. Harlowe does her best to return it as she goes to wash her hands. Esha clambers right behind her, the clacking of the plastic striking the floors. Harlowe steps to get a paper towel. More clacks are heard. 

Harlowe runs in a circle, the clicking following her ‘round and ‘round. She scopes up her little girl, lifting Esha above her head. “You’re getting so big, girlie. I love you.”

She giggles at Harlowe. “You’re not tired?” Harlowe asks. “You should be tired by now. You ran behind Koha today. He’s a fast one. My little zoomer.”

When she looks over to him, sitting at the table, tracing over the alphabet with Calum, he grins. “Nyoom,” he laughs. 

“Down,” Esha pleads. It’s softly at first. Then she repeats herself, more firmly, when the request is not immediately fulfilled. “Down.” 

“So demanding, you’re my child. Lord help you.” Harlowe sets her down and she runs back to her horse. 

Calum chuckles. “Alright, c’mon, Koha. You’re half way done.”

“I’m being Momma’s little zoomer,” he huffs but goes back to tracing. 

Calum turns his attention back to Harlowe. “Make sure to eat.” 

She nods. She’s not very hungry though. She knows she should be. But she’s just not. Her appetite goes most days. “Want to shower first.”

He points to the fridge. He means right now. “Please, baby. Just something. A turkey sandwich and apple. It doesn’t have to be a lot. I even bought pink ladies, your favorite.”

“I smell.”

“Harlowe.”

She knows that tone. She marches to the fridge to find the plate all ready for her. She knows, during the first couple of bites that she won’t get it all down. Something is better than nothing under Calum’s watchful stare. She pretends not to notice his constant glances and gazes out of the same window that Te Koha was lifted through. They both know the other is watching. 

More than half the sandwich is gone and the whole apple is finished. Harlowe tips the plate in Calum’s direction before dumping the core and sandwich remnants. He gives a slight nod. His acknowledgement of what she’s eaten. He worries. Maybe more so than he should. But who can fault the concern? Who can find any issue in the pure love that he carries for her? He wants her to be okay. 

Harlowe walks over to the penmanship study and tugs at Calum’s elbows. “You stink, you know?” he teases. 

She lifts an arm, turning the armpit to his face. “Wanna try something else smart to say?” 

Calum rears back. “God, I can’t breathe. Te Koha, help me. I’m going to suffocate from the stink.”

Koha laughs in his seat. “Sorry Daddy, I have to finish tracing.”

“My own son betrays me,” he gasps, pretending to pass out. No one reacts. “So you all were just going to let me die? Even you Esha,” Calum sits up, pulling her into his chest. He smiles over Harlowe’s shoulder to her. She coos, smacking her toys together in excitement. “Yeah, even you were just going to leave your old man high and dry. No love.”

She stands and walks over. Harlowe end down to pick her up. She reaches for Calum though. “She’s such a daddy’s girl,” Harlowe laughs. 

“I love you,” he breathes into her skin, lips brushing over from the forehead kiss.. “I love you so much. Mommy loves you too. You too, Koha,” he says turning his attention to his son, brushing his fingers through the tight coils. “We love you too.”

“I know,” he says softly. A grin taking over his face. “I know.”

Harlowe decides on a soak. But after her shower. The shower will let her cry if she needs too. Though, after her tears in the garden, she thinks today will be decent. The rose scent of the bubbles starts to invade her nostrils. Her eyes close and Koha’s face fills her dark vision. His tears. His plea for her to get better. Her own children take the blame for her brain’s reaction. 

The sting starts up behind her closed lids. God, she’s so unfit. With lips pressed together, Harlowe tries to quiet the sobs. It’s just about nap time; she doesn’t want to wake them. But God, how unfit. Unable to remember the laundry she had started. Hardly able to keep the yard together and in good shape. Can’t even a fucking sandwich. 

Every second she can sit in bed, she does. Calum must think she’s disgusted with him. Harlowe hasn’t touched him sexually in months. She wants too, just lacks the motivation to go through with it. All her energy is spent before her feet ever hit the floor. Covering her mouth, she lets one nasty sob rip through her. The floor thuds with footsteps; Calum’s heard. Fuck. She sniffles. Pull it together. He can’t see her crying again. He doesn’t even bother knocking, not that he needed to anyway. If he heard the wail, she knows he would’ve broken down the door if necessary. 

“Babe,” he rushes out, settling onto the edge of the tub. “Talk to me, please.”

Her hands tremble; her throat hurts. The words are stuck in the dryness that coats her mouth. Grabbing her towel from the counter, he sets it on his lap before pulling her out of the water. Calum wraps the extra fabric, then holds her to his chest. The rocking motion helps. All she has to do is focus on the back and forth motion. She doesn’t have to think about anything else. 

“Te Koha thought it was his fault,” she breathes. The words are sour. She feels like there is bile on them as she speaks. “He thought he had done something wrong. I forgot about the laundry. I’m barely eating. I’m falling apart. I don’t want to fall apart. I’m not taking the fertility meds like I should. I want to give up; I don’t want to keep doing this.”

Calum finally speaks, voice thick. “Do you want to get better?”

“Sometimes I do; sometimes I don’t.”

“Right now, do you want to get better?”

“I’m just tired, Calum. I’m so fucking tired.”

“You know I’m here for you. You know I care, right?” She nods against his chest. “Do you trust me?” She nods again, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt. He releases a breathe. “Then we can’t stay here. You can’t keep dodging therapy appointments. You can’t skip your meds.”

“I know; I’m sorry.”

Calum kisses the top of her head, or what he can reach of it behind the pineappled afro. “I need some extra hands. We need some extra hands; I know a nanny scares you. But we’re getting out of LA, as quick as possible. I’m calling your parents, see if they can help for a little bit. But we’ve gotta get out of here. I know you’re worried about insurance costs and such. But maybe it’s time to leave the States. My parents could help us; I’m sure they’d be happy to.”

She is small, in that moment she is that eleven year old girl that cried in a bathroom because she heard her parents arguing. She is that eleven year old girl that needed her father’s comforting touch. She is small again, in Calum’s lap, still damp from the shower and bath. She needs someone to help her. Maybe she can stop torturing herself, her husband, and her kids. 

“Okay,” she whispers. “I need the help.” A tiny drop of relief hits her stomach. She needs help. She needs help. She just needs the help. There’s no shame in that, right? There’s nothing wrong in admitting that sometimes the burden is just too heavy to carry all by herself.

[wolvesandfoxes25]

What we want: Ch.1

Sakura fiddled with the neck of her beer, chancing a glance up at the snickering blonde in front of her.

The Hokage.

He was a little intoxicated.

Well, why not?

The kids were on missions, and work had dwindled a bit.

So, some of the old group, and most of the older Sensei’s, had decided to venture out into one of the bars.

Sakura turned her focus to Kakashi, who was now talking to a random civilian woman at the bar, laughing at something.

She could tell though…she could tell that he was scouting. She noticed how his eyes trailed over the figure of the woman when she wasn’t looking.

Pervert.

But, why not? She seemed interested.

Sighing, she looked back across the booth at Naruto, who was chuckling at something Choji said, his fox like grin taking over his features.

Hinata wasn’t there, she had opted to stay home with Himawari.

Bolt and Sarada were on a week long mission themselves, leaving Sakura completely open to do whatever in that time span.

And of course Sasuke was not in the village.

Closing her eyes in pain, Sakura suddenly felt a shove at her shin, and she looked up quickly into the eyes of her former teammate.

Oh Gods.

He was giving her that look.

The heated, intense look he kept throwing her way everytime she saw him now.

Swallowing her lone shot of sake, she got up from the table, and brushed off her skirt, turning to go into the one stall woman’s bathroom.

Sighing soundly, she stood in front of the mirror, looking herself over.

God, when had she aged to her thirties? When had she gotten married and had a child? She felt like her life had slipped away before she realized what was happening.

Sarada.

That was the one thing she wouldn’t change for the entire world. Her child was everything to her, even if the child’s father in question was almost never in the picture.

In the midst of her thoughts, she heard the door open, then shut, the lock latching in place, the music from the bar beating hard against the walls of the bathroom, almost matching the rhythm her heart was going.

Naruto.

In the mirror, their eyes met, and she felt herself be pulled in to those intense blue eyes, narrowed into slits at her obvious unhappiness.

“Sakura.” He called out huskily, cheeks flushed, his Hokage robes discarded at the table, leaving him in his orange outfit.

Swallowing, Sakura felt her legs tremble.

It had been this way for a month now. There was strange tension between the two of them that had reared its head after a heated meeting in Naruto’s office about their children.

Bolt had been calling Sarada ugly names, and Sarada had been beating Bolt’s head in for it. Naruto, true to form, had no censor, so he told Sakura exactly what he thought about it.

Due to being on the receiving end of Sarada’s mothers tantrums himself. He knew all too well how painful they could be.

Sakura had scolded Naruto for allowing his son to speak to a girl in that way. And that…well, that pissed Naruto off.

Not only that, but he had a lot of other stressors that could contribute to the horrendous fight that they had gotten into.

But, said fight was laced in something Sakura couldn’t name, and was honestly too afraid to.

Being around Naruto from that point forward set her skin alight with an unknown flame that she had never felt before. His scent made her senses swim with longing, and lust.

Oh God.

What was happening to her?

A growl brought her out of her thoughts, and she glanced up, watching as Naruto made his way to her, fox like eyes setting their sights on the target.

Her.

Reaching out, he grabbed her bicep and pulled her against his chest.

No time was wasted as hands fiddled with each others lower garments, pants hitting the floor, Sakura’s skirt following suite. Naruto grabbed her underwear and ripped them downwards, seeing them pool around her ankles.

Sakura huffed as he gripped the underside of her ass, and hoisted her up, slamming her against the adjacent wall, lips and teeth attacking her neck, mouth uttering filthy words that would make even Kakashi blush.

Maybe.

Sakura was lost in the heat that he placed her in.

Naruto sank his teeth into her pulse point, and gripped his dick, aligning it with her wet entrance, shoving forward, burrowing home within her.

The two of them groaned, the walls reverberating with the techno beat of the music.

And that’s how they fucked. And man, were they fucking.

There was nothing gentle about the way Naruto grabbed her hair, exposing her pale flesh to him, his canines finding solace in her silky skin, ripping a low moan from her throat.

Sakura wound her legs around his hips, thrusting her womanhood against his thrusting manhood, her loud moans drowned out because of the song.

It was brutal….what he was doing to her.

But Gods, she didn’t care.

She needed this.

Sakura threw her head back, gasping sharply at the angle his hips were moving, the little knot of pleasure unfurling, promising a strong orgasm.

She needed more of him though, she wanted him deeper.

Arching her back smoothly, Sakura shoved at his shoulders, falling to her feet, watching as his face went from rapture to confusion.

Sakura stepped over to the sink and bent over, exposing her wet pussy to him, the wet juices gliding down her inner labia, making the pink haired Kuniochi bite her lip.

“N-Naruto. Fuck me like this. Please.” She almost begged, wiggling her hips in circles until she felt strong fingers clutch her hips and his cock push its way inside of her, all the way to where his balls were slapping against her clit.

Sakura squeaked from the sensation, never feeling this horny before.

She needed to come. She desperately needed to come.

The music was louder now, pulsing in rhythm to her and Naruto’s fucking, harsh panting reaching across the bathroom, the two of them sweating, watching the other in the mirror.

Sakura was so close she had to grit her teeth in order to stay standing. Naruto himself was huskily breathing heavily, his hips slanting against hers so strongly, Sakura could feel her breasts bounce beneath her dress.

Suddenly, Sakura felt a hand weave itself into her hair, gripping it tightly, forcing her head back, the ends of the strands screaming, making her breath rush out hotly.

Naruto bit her neck, his nose scraping against her ear lobe, blue eyes watching her intently in the mirror.

“Come for me, Sakura.” He commanded, sinking his teeth into her flesh again.

And she did, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her lower abdominal muscles clenched so hard, she thought she’d fall to her knees from the intensity.

A growl could be heard behind her, and she felt his hips slant in a sloppy rhythm, signaling he was coming to.

They both bucked together, fingers tensing, jabbing harshly into the flesh they could find.

Then, the song abruptly ended.

Naruto released her after a few seconds, and Sakura fell forwards, his seed dripping down her thighs, legs trembling.

Oh fuck.

Silence.

Sakura herself gripped her underwear and pulled them up quickly, shaking so hard, she thought she’d topple over.

After fixing her hair, she made her way to the door, but a hand halted her, the blond haired man dragging her against him, blue eyes searching, shooting unanswered questions at her, cheeks tinged red due to the alcohol he had consumed.

Green eyes searched blue. But, neither of them said anything.

There was nothing to be said.

What had just happened was horrible.

Terrible.

Their spouses didn’t deserve it, that was for sure.

Sakura felt tears building, much to the dismay of the young Hokage, who sighed and let her go, watching her scramble out of the bathroom.

Sakura noticed all her friends on the dance floor, Sai and Ino dirty dancing to a particularly vulgar song that had just started playing. Kakashi was still conversing with the civilian woman at the bar, the two of them a little closer now, the tension palpable between the two, the woman’s hands on his bicep. Sakura didn’t notice too many others before she was grabbing her sweater and bolting out the door, throwing some money on the table.

She needed to get the hell out of there.

Arriving at her house, she went directly to her room and flung off her clothing, dragging a hand through her hair, smelling Naruto all over her.

Whimpering, she stripped all the way down, hearing the squelching between her thighs, knowing his seed was still there, branding her with the sin she had just committed.

Rushing towards the shower, she turned on the hot tap and stood there for a few seconds, for as long as she could bare.

Wincing at the now scolding temperature, feeling no better, Sakura reached for the cold water and turned it on, adjusting the two taps to a comfortable setting before grabbing the bar of lavender soap, and suddsing her skin, rubbing away the nights events, wanting to forget them altogether.

Why had that happened?

Well, the alcohol was a good factor. No, Sakura wasn’t drunk, but she had a good buzz going. And Naruto, well, he was right there with her. And the heat in the bathroom had just caused a stir in both of them apparently, especially due to that fierce fight the two of them had shared.

Sakura couldn’t help the thoughts that surfaced. She couldn’t help but think about his big hands running up her thighs, his hot mouth latching onto her neck, or his thick manhood parting her lower lips to wedge inside of her.

At that thought, she felt her own womanhood pulse, and she cursed herself, shaking her head free of those thoughts.

That could never happen again.

They were married, and had children.

Sniffling, Sakura cupped her hand and gathered some water, parting her legs, washing off the leftover semen, feeling tears pool in her eyes, shame coursing through her.

Oh God.

Oh God.

The rest of the night, Sakura was restless, completely exhausted she sat up and wiped the tears that were pooling out of her eyes.

She needed to speak to someone.

And who better than talk to the person that never slept?

It was 8 a.m. when Sakura knocked on his door, looking around to see if anyone was in the vicinity.

No answer.

Sakura knocked again, wondering if maybe he was asleep?

No answer.

Once more she knocked again and then she heard swearing on the other side of the wooden door.

“Just hang the hell on. Damn it.” He swore, unlatching the lock and swinging the door open, glaring at the early intruder.

“What?” He snapped, onyx eyes suddenly softening when they saw her.

Oh God.

He was shirtless!

“K-Kakashi-Sensei!” Sakura blushed, turning her back to him.

“Well, what did you expect? I just woke up…and my night, well, it didn’t consist of much clothing.” He said, humor in his voice.

Sakura blushed even harder at that comment, turning back around but keeping a hand over her eyes.

“I-Is she still here?” She questioned him.

“Nah. Left early. Want to come in?”

Sakura nodded, but still kept her eyes averted, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Kakashi smirked, and pulled her inside, walking back to his room and shrugging a black tank top on, yawning.

Sakura sat down on the couch, fiddling with the hem of her dress, watching as Kakashi put on a pot of tea.

“So. What’s going on, Sakura?” He asked her, stepping into the living room, sitting in the chair across from hers.

Sakura squeaked, lost in her thoughts, a particular vulgar image popping up from last nights events.

“O-Oh, I-I, u-um, well, that is…”

Kakashi raised a brow at her nervous bumbling.

“Sakura? What is it?” He pushed lightly, “You can tell m-”

“Naruto and I fucked at the bar last night!” She shrieked, clapping a hand over her mouth, watching as his eyes widened considerably.

Oh boy.

“Well. I wasn’t expecting that.” Kakashi responded, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sakura bit her lip, still clutching her dress forcefully.

“In the bathroom, I take it?” He questioned, and Sakura nodded.

Silence.

“I’m a horrible person.” She whimpered, pushing her face into her palms, letting out a loose sob, shoulders shaking.

Kakashi looked at her sadly and stood up, sitting beside her on the couch now, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Come now, Sakura. You were both intoxicated, and accidents happen. The bar kind of got to everyone last night, let me tell you. Ino and Sai were practically fucking on the dance floor. Even Yamato went home with a woman! I may have accidentally caught him and his one night stand fooling around outside the bar before they finally decided to leave.”

Sakura sniffled and gave him a little smile at that.

“I-Is it rare for you to go home with a woman from the bar?” She asked him, knowing the question was very personal.

“Eh. Depends on the woman. I try not to, I’ve had some pretty horrific experiences before. Last night was so so. She was kind of boring.”

Sakura smirked.

Silence.

“About a month ago, me and Naruto got into a very bad verbal disagreement regarding our children. Bolt seems to pick on Sarada a lot, and Sarada likes to handle their disagreements with her fists instead of her words. And I think we both were having a bad day, and things…just kind of escalated. I’ve never seen Naruto so furious, he got in my face, and I pushed him. It ended to where I was backed into a wall, and we were both so…winded…and the room just was filled with this odd tension that was never there before.” Sakura finished, running a hand through her pink hair.

Kakashi listened, trying to find the right words to comfort her.

Maybe she needed the truth.

Yeah. That would help.

Or, probably make her even more depressed. Either way, she needed the truth.

“Sakura. I want you to listen to me. Okay?” He told her, patting her head.

The female looked down and nodded, looking so much like the student that he taught so many years before.

“You and Naruto have a special bond. I used to think it was just a friendly bond, like a sibling bond. However, after your experiences with the infinite tsukuyomi, I began noticing something…different.”

Sakura glanced up.

“The two of you bounced around the tension, but there were some nights where you both would argue, and Yamato and I would just look at each other and quietly move away from you two, just waiting to wake up to the two of you… doing something.”

Sakura gasped and blushed, hiding her face.

“Now. That carried on a for awhile, well into the war. Then when the war was over, and you shoved Hinata and him together, I just figured the tension would taper off. But, it never did. It just laid dormant until the two of you shoved it back forwards.”

Sakura knew it was true.

Damn it.

“Sakura. I’ve seen with my own eyes the way Naruto looks at you. Even while he’s married. I’ve seen the angry expressions he gets when Sarada talks to you about Sasuke. His passion for you hasn’t left him, and I think that frightens him, the same way it frightens you.”

Sakura bit her lip and nodded.

“It’s all my fault, Sensei. I shoved him towards Hinata, because he deserved a woman that would love him for his good side and for his faults. All I’ve ever done is talk down to him it seems. Or nag him. Why would he feel anything but anger for me?”

Kakashi smirked.

“Because you don’t take his shit, Sakura. And I thought you and I established that Naruto is nothing short of a masochist.”

Sakura snickered at that.

True.

Then, the guilt rushed back.

“B-But, last night. It could wreck both of our marriages, Kakashi-Sensei. Sasuke would be furious if he found out. And Hinata….Oh Kami, she’d never forgive me.” Sakura finished, feeling the tears overlap her eyes once again.

Kakashi sighed and sat back, rubbing his thighs, mulling over his thoughts.

“Well, Sakura. You don’t have to tell anybody. And you know I would never say anything to break your trust.”

Sakura nodded, sniffling.

Silence.

Kakashi looked at the Uchiha symbol on his previous students back and he narrowed his eyes at it, a question popping up in his head.

“Sakura? May I ask you something?”

The pink haired woman turned towards him, nodding softly.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked raising an a silver brow at her reddened expression, wanting to smirk, but decided not to.

“Um, er. That is…I, I can’t answer that, Sensei.” She finished, closing her eyes due to embarrassment.

Hm.

He really wanted to know.

Maybe he could bribe her?

“Tell you what. You answer that question, and I’ll take off my mask.” He promised, making a peace sign with his fingers, doing his infamous eye smile.

Sakura looked dumbfounded at him, glaring slightly.

T-That…jerk! He knew she would talk if that was at stake.

“Ok. I will. But you have to take the mask off first.” She said, crossing her arms.

Kakashi just shrugged, reached up and pulled the mask off, watching shock cross the younger woman’s face.

Sakura paled considerably, feeling a little light headed.

She knew it…

She knew it!

“I win!” She squealed, jumping up and fist bumping the air, squealing like a little school girl.

Kakashi watched in humor.

“You win?” He asked, chuckling a little bit.

“Yes! Years ago, Sasuke, Naruto and I had a bet going to what you looked like under your mask! Sasuke thought you had tiny lips, Naruto thought you had fish lips, and I assumed you were decent looking. They both thought I was nuts, cause why would a good looking man hide his facial features? And I was RIGHT!” She yelled again, doing a little happy dance now.

Kakashi just smiled, shaking his head at her childlike display of winning.

Sakura laughed and sat down again, looking at him again.

“Jeez Sensei, you really are handsome. Oh my gosh!” She squealed again, leaning towards him, eyes on his chin.

“You have a beauty mark!” She laughed, falling back against the sofa cushions.

Kakashi rolled his eyes at that, grabbing his mask again, but Sakura’s hand stopped him from pulling it up.

“No! I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you self conscious. Sorry. Sorry. It’s nice, it’s cute, attractive.”

“Yes. Just what a ninja wishes to be.” He sarcastically answered.

Sakura snickered at that.

“Is that why you hide your face?” She questioned him, honestly bewildered at his reasoning now.

“Hmph. When I was a kid, everyone would always talk about how cute I was. Women would pinch my cheeks, and if they saw that mole, that was it. They would just fawn over me. And…I decided to wear a mask from then on.”

“Surely your boyish features went away after awhile. I mean…why did you decide to continue to wear it?” Sakura asked.

Kakashi waved a hand, rubbing his eyebrow.

“Sakura. I’m no stranger to fangirls, believe me. They’re bothersome. And distracting.”

The kuniochi looked down at that statement, a little embarrassed.

Kakashi noticed.

“Hey. That was a long time ago, you’ve changed drastically since then. You are definitely no longer that ‘fan girl,’ Sakura.” He smiled, patting her hair again, giving her a crinkly eye smile.

She smiled at him, nodding.

“Now! I did what you asked of me, your turn.” He smirked.

Sakura nodded, sighing, leaning back against the cushions, looking out the window into the cloudy sky.

“I did enjoy it, yes.” She murmured, shame rising within her at that omission.

The older ninja just stared at her, knowing the answer from the get go.

Sakura herself stood up, all joking aside, and stood by his window, watching the rain clouds roll in.

Her fingers were trembling, her lips as well.

She was so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

“I should have married him.” She murmured, feeling the tears fall out of her eyes now, remembering back to the day she watched him marry Hinata.

She had shoved the feeling back, down…down…down. But, was fully aware that it burned to see them kiss each other at that altar.

To watch him be taken from her in one fell swoop.

Kakashi watched his ex-student sadly, he hadn’t seen her breakdown in a very long time, and he had hoped to never see it again. He didn’t like to see others cry.

Especially not those he considered his family.

“Sakura.” He started, getting up, wrapping his arms around her shaking form, her tears wetting the front of his tank top.

Kakashi closed his eyes, patting her hair, listening to her wrenching sobs fill his room.

Naruto himself groggily sat up in his bed, rubbing his forehead, grunting at the headache that shot across his temples.

He had gotten drunk last night.

Last night.

Fuck.

That wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t…wasn’t…but it did.

Naruto knew exactly when the buried tension had resurfaced, and that was when he and Sakura had gotten into the altercation about Bolt and Sarada.

And…from then, the both of them felt a sort of electricity take hold of them, never letting them go, or ebbing, but growing greater and greater everytime they saw each other.

And last night…when he saw how sad she was because of that…teme…Naruto had nudged her under the table, getting her attention, making her flustered due to how he was looking at her.

He couldn’t help but stare at her…

Sakura was beautiful, any man with eyes could see it. Could drown in those emerald eyes of hers.

Shaking his head clear of last nights events, of her face when she climaxed, of how she felt wrapped around him…of the noises she made.

Gritting his teeth, he felt a stirring in his lower extrimety.

Damn it all.

Ignoring the rush of hormones, Naruto looked to the left side of him, noticing the vacant side of the bed.

Hinata must have gone out with Himawari.

Was she frustrated that he had come home drunk?

Should he tell her? Could he just…not tell her? And live with the guilt?

Hinata didn’t deserve to be lied to. Nor did she deserve to be cheated on. But, would it do to throw everything off balance over a drunken mistake?

Naruto wasn’t sure.

Damn it all.

Sakura had managed to pull herself together, Kakashi releasing her, silence enveloping them.

“Sensei? What am I going to do?” She asked him, her voice coming out squeaky, so much so, that it threw him back to her genin days.

Kakashi shook his head at those happy yet sad memories, and rubbed his chin.

“Well. There are several options here, Sakura.” He started, pulling his best ‘most understanding’ voice.

She looked at him, waiting on his advice.

“One: You could just keep this to yourself. It happened on a drunken whim, and I’m fairly sure the bar back was spiking our drinks anyway. Everybody’s drinks.” He chuckled, but it didn’t earn anything from her.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Two: You could talk to Naruto about what happened, and you both could discern where to go from there.”

Sakura nodded, listening still.

“Three: You could tell Hinata yourself, and Sasuke as well, and…see what happens? But honestly, I would stray from that path, if Hinata is going to hear it, it needs to come from Naruto.”

Sakura closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“W-Well. I guess, talking to Naruto, and asking his opinion would be the best, responsible course of action. Ignoring what happened is…unhealthy, and leaves more tension.”

Kakashi nodded.

“Good choice. Now…if you get a move on, Naruto will be the only one in his office in ten minutes. I would suggest to do it somewhere public, but also private. Not anywhere near your house. Or that bar.” He said, smirking, wincing lightly when she hit his arm.

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.” She said, hugging him lightly, and leaving.

Kakashi waved goodbye as she shut the door, and slumped on the couch when she left.

Oh man. He had a feeling this whole scenario was going to get a lot more interesting.

This will also be Archiveofourown! Chapter 2 is up on my page!

@mrhunhun

[sonaaaaaaice]

Ianthony Fic - New Beginnings

Anthony hadn’t been himself lately. To anyone else, he was the same old jolly Anthony but Ian knew better. He noticed the crease between his brows that presented itself a lot more frequently now. He noticed the expression of relief after they were done shooting a video - not the kind that the others had, not out of accomplishment; it was the relief one got after coming out of a strenuous situation. He noticed how his smiles seemed to grow less and less genuine with each passing day.

And then there were other things. Things that didn’t require over a decade of friendship and an eye as keen as Ian’s. Basically, Anthony hadn’t been himself lately and it was obvious to anyone who cared to pay attention.

Ian brought it up one night when they were at his apartment “chilling”. In reality, there was an air of awkwardness and tension around them, as if the night suspected what they were about to discuss and decided to set the mood accordingly. Ian was sure the last time a conversation between them had felt so dreadful was when Anthony had called to announce that he was going to propose in Japan.

Trying (and failing) multiple times to bring up the topic without sounding overly concerned, Ian decided it was best to be direct. Although before he could utter another word, Anthony beat him to The Discussion.

“Ian, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he began in an ominous tone.

And just like that, Ian knew why the night had felt so significant earlier. He had subconsciously picked up on the clues all along and his thoughts had culminated in the realisation mere seconds before Anthony informed him so himself.

“I want to leave Smosh.”

Ian should have prepared himself better, goddammit. Because hearing those words hurt. He grimaced and something like guilt flashed across the other man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if to lighten the blow.

Ian hummed but didn’t say much more. They had talked about this once. Years ago. Leaving Smosh. Back then, it was them and a couple other people who assisted them occasionally. They didn’t have dedicated makeup artists back then, unless it was to make a fake wound. They also didn’t have a movie or wax statues to boast of.

Ian didn’t want to continue their conversation that night. He felt too exhausted all of a sudden and the idea of sleep was too enticing. But this was important.

“How long have you been mulling over this?”

“Quite a while…”

“Anthony-”

“Since December.”

“Jesus.”

Silence set in once more. Each man held his breath, anticipating an ugly argument. The tension in the room grew so thick, it was almost like a physical entity.

Ian took a deep breath. “I am not angry,” he enunciated, because it was essential that his best friend knew that much. “I’m not angry but I can’t understand why…”

Anthony sighed and an expression flicked across his face that Ian wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see again. It was gone before he could analyse what it even meant.

Feeling an oncoming headache, Ian massaged his temple gently and thought about what he could say. It was odd because he never had to think before talking to his friend; it was one of the best features of their relationship.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t miss the old days?” He sounded more bitter than nostalgic and Ian hated it.

“I don’t need to look you in the eyes to tell you that. Of course I miss the old days! Everyone misses their old days, nothing new about that.”

“For fuck’s sake, you know that’s not what I mean. I hate this Ian. I hate it! I hate what we have become, I hate that I have no control, I hate that Smosh has become a…a brand,” he spat with no inconsiderable contempt, “and has so many censors on our ideas. This is not what I ever intended it to be and I don’t want to be part of it any longer!”

His chest was heaving and Ian flinched at the last shouted word. Yeah, fights with Anthony, however rare, were always the worst.

“I just really fucking miss when it was the two of us having fun,” he murmured, avoiding Ian’s gaze.

Ian found his annoyance mitigate on hearing that and felt his heart flutter. He pressed his shoulders fondly and smiled sadly at him. “Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong Ian, I love our friends, I love the crew. I just…I don’t like what we’re doing here. This isn’t us. I wish we could go back to when it was just you and me with our silly skits and lunchtime videos. It’s like we hardly hang out any more outside of Smosh related stuff. When was the last time we had lunch together without talking about any new ideas or business projects? I miss you Ian…” he trailed off.

After a heartwarming speech like this, the only logical option was to engulf him in a bear hug. Which Ian did. And they stayed like that for several moments, breathing in the comfort of familiar arms. Secure. Warm.

“I am such a sentimental ass,” Anthony huffed, his breath tickling Ian’s neck.

“It’s okay. You get to be a sentimental ass once in a while.”

“Mhmm.”

“Look,” Ian pulled away gently, but didn’t place much distance between them. “I won’t lie and tell you I’m okay with you leaving. Because I’ve never done this alone and I don’t know how to. But know one thing, I will always be there to support you, no mater what. I don’t think I want to leave yet. But I trust you and if you’re sure leaving will make you happier, go ahead. And just in case you feel like it isn’t working out-”

“That’d be embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you feel like coming back, I’ll be right here to welcome you.”

They shared fond smiles and breathed synchronised sighs of relief. The argument was handled much more maturely than either of them anticipated.

Ian suddenly became aware of their proximity and stood up abruptly.

“I assume you won’t be joining us for the summer games then?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Oh well. It will be a tough job explaining this to the rest of them. Anyway, I’m tired as hell,” he nodded towards his bedroom. “You might as well stay the night, it’s already past two.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have it in me to drive after having this talk.” He fiddled with a thread on his ripped jeans. Ian knew he was holding back on something else he needed to ask but wasn’t sure about Ian’s reaction.

Before he could prompt him to continue, Anthony looked up at him with dazzling eyes and an uncertain expression.

“Do you remember the other thing we never tried because of Smosh?” He asked tentatively.

Ian froze. “You mean…”

“Yes.”

Silence again. They stared at each other with contemplating eyes for who knows how long. It wasn’t common for Ian to have to look down at his friend, but he was grateful for the height difference that Anthony being seated lended him. He felt like he was in control here, the one who could decide whether or not they were about to discuss something they’d avoided talking about seriously for years now.

“We’re both in relationships, you know that right?” Ian said at last.

“And are you happy with her? Because I know I’m not.”

That was a revelation. He had never talked about being dissatisfied in his relationship before. Ian took a moment to process the new data.

“Anthony,” he began, his voice shaking.

“No Ian, please. Yes or no? Are you happy with her? Your girlfriend who just happens to look a lot like me and have the same interests as me?” His words were made worse by the accompanying cold and mocking tone.

“What the fuck man?!” Ian’s temper was rising steadily. “You’re one to talk. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Dog person. Remind you of someone?”

And to his great annoyance, the bastard smiled. Smiled! “Point proven. We’ve both settled for the next best thing we could find after each other.”

Ian was at a loss for words. He knew that, of course. He had accepted the fact that he and Anthony were never going to be a thing and so had given up waiting long ago. But to hear it out loud from another person made him feel pathetic. And guilty. The girls deserved better than this.

“I’m not leaving just because I’m tired of having no control. It’s been years and I’m still crazy about you Ian. I want you. I want so much more than what we’ve got going on now, and knowing that you feel the same way hurts so much because we could have everything if we just tried.”

Ian didn’t ask how Anthony could be so sure Ian still felt for him the same way he did so many years ago. But then again, he was Anthony. Of course he knew.

“I know you’d never agree to be together as long as we were business partners because somehow you found this reasoning by 20 year old me really sensible. God knows why I even suggested that.”

“We were 23 and at the peak of our career. Of course I found it sensible. It’d have been stupid to risk our careers for what could just have been hormones and a little crush. You’ve never been good at relationships, admit it. I didn’t want everything we had achieved to go down the drain because we couldn’t handle a break up.”

“But it isn’t just a crush though, we know that now…right?”

Ian found it very endearing, the hope and uncertainty lurking behind his seemingly confident guise. Anthony rarely looked vulnerable. Ian couldn’t believe this was happening after years of pining. Despite himself, he started crying.

Maybe he should have felt ridiculous. He was almost 30 for god’s sake! He just couldn’t find it in himself to care when Anthony was looking at him like that and strong hands were guiding him to the couch, enveloping him, grounding him, comforting him.

“I’m sorry but you look adorable when you cry,” Anthony chuckled next to his ear. And wrapped himself more tightly around his smaller frame. “I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he said in a rumbling voice.

“But you can’t. I’m not cheating on her.”

Anthony hummed and they stayed embracing each other. Ian found himself drifting off and was soon dead to the world, content in the warmth of loving arms and dexterous fingers stroking his hair, oh so gently. He didn’t hear the soft “I love you” murmured against his forehead.

The coming days would be testing for them both. But right now, they were in the safe space where anything was possible.

[chimomo]

I'm going to give you the chance to rant and ask for your opinions on Snape even though I already know them. >:D

Ohhhh boy. Alright.

First of all – this is not aninvitation to debate or anything, please. My opinions are just that –my opinions. You may see differently, and that's FINE, but pleasedon't try to debate with me. I'm a very anxious person who willprobably just combust.

Warning: NOT SNAPE FRIENDLY. If youlike Snape, this is not a post for you.

So, Severus Snape.

When talking about Snape, I've reallygot to divide this into three parts: him as a character, him as aperson within the universe, and his fans. Yes, they get their ownsection.

First up: Him as a character. Snape's agood character. I consider all of the central characters in HarryPotter to be good characters. They're well-rounded, interesting, havetheir own motivations and voices. Each one of them is worth includingin the story, and that includes Snape. That... is all I have to sayon that.

Snape as a person within the universe?This is where things get messy. Snape is not a good man. Snape is nota kind man. Snape is not a hero. Did he do good things? Yes. Did hedo them for the right reasons? Absolutely not, and that's thedifference. You really have to look at Snape's motivations, beginningfrom when he was a child. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt andsay that as a child, he really WAS Lily's friend just forfriendship's sake. They were two wizard children in theirneighbourhood, things were perfectly innocent. However, when he gotto Hogwarts – when he was sorted into Slytherin – that's whenthings changed.

I'd also just like to point out that Idon't hate kids in Slytherin. Not at all! IRL, my sister's one. Someof my friends are. And in universe, look at Andromeda, Slughorn, orthe dozens of Slytherin kids we never hear about because they're justliving normal lives. However, at the time when Snape was sorted intoSlytherin, it was probably at the House's most toxic point inhistory. Voldemort was actively recruiting, and Slytherin House wasripe for the picking. Many older students would already have beenswayed to join the cause, like Lucius, the Black children alreadythere (except for Andromeda, of course), etc. That is the environmentSnape was put into. And Snape bought into it. He wanted to fit in, sohe bought into this idea of purity and being better than muggleborns.And that's where everything went downhill.

James and co bullied Snape (and, asAllison pointed out to me, other characters agree it was really arivalry). This is true. But Snape was not a nice boy. Lilysays it herself – he called other students mudbloods all the time,and with the people he hung around with, you think he wasn't doingsome serious bullying himself? He was literally longing for the daywhen he could join the Death Eaters, a terrorist group, and spent hisdays – when he was not with Lily, which I'll get to in a moment –with other young people who also wished to be Voldemort's lackeys.That is not a good group of children. The kid was obsessed with DarkMagic – with hurting and killing people. He literally inventedSectumsempra, and we've seen what that spell does. THIS WAS A BOY WHOSPENT HIS DAYS COMING UP WITH SPELLS TO SLICE INTO PEOPLE AND KILLTHEM.

“But he changed becauseof his love for Lily!” But... was it love? Look, I'mdemiromantic, so I'm not the BEST person to talk to about romance.But I've been infatuated with people before. It's not romance. It'snot love. It's obsession. And that's what Snape's “love” for Lilysays to me. Snape clearly did not get a lot of attention as a child.Lily was most likely his first friend. To an 11 year old who hasnever had friends, that's important.As he told her about her new world, she must have looked at him likehe was giving her the sun. And he'd never felt that sort of attentionbefore. And of coursehe liked it. And that's when his obsession with Lily began, I think.To him, she is a prize – this beautiful intelligent witchwho gave him attention andlikes him and wantsto be his friend. And then weget into issues of friend-zoning, both within the universe and infandom. “Snape deserved Lily, he was a better friend toher!” “I'm a better person than James Potter, why doesn't Lilylove ME?”

Then,of course, we get to the Mudblood incident. Snape literally calledher a racist slur. He used themost offensive term for a witch possible. Did he do it withoutthinking? Yes, he did. But to me, that proves the sort of person heis. If he has to actively think about not calling her a mudblood,that is very, very telling. If it just slipped out because he didn'tcensor himself in time, that is very, very telling. And let me justsay – I'm queer. If someone I considered a friend evercalled me by a slur because ofmy identity, you can bet I'd drop them faster than I'd drop a giantspider.

Lilydid for herself the best thing she ever did on that day – ended it.Permanently. She cut herself off from a toxic friend and from thatpoint on was able to change and grow without this tumour of a“friend” hanging onto her by a thread – until, of course, heset it up so that her husband and son would die.

Petersold the Potters out to Voldemort. But Snape planted the idea in hismind. He told Voldemort of the prophecy, and only changed his mindwhen he realized Voldemort was going to kill Lily. But he did notcare about James. He did not care about Harry – this“good man” did not care that a toddler and his father were goingto be killed. He was so bitterabout James Potter and Lily Evans falling in love – of James“stealing” Lily – that he genuinely did not care about thedeath of a small child and his father. And that also PROVES that hedoes not love Lily. I've been in love with two people, and God doesnothing make me happier than seeing them happy, even if it's withsomeone else. It's a bittersweet happiness, but I would never, NEVERwish death upon the boys that the people I love have loved. Becausethat's what love is – letting go, and wanting someone to be happy.For a beautiful example of that, look at the character Tomoyo in themanga Cardcaptor Sakura. Now that isunrequited love.

I'msorry, but that's not a good person. Just.... not. Yes, he went toDumbledore. Yes, he switched sides because of it. But the factremains that he never wanted James to survive – and he never wantedHarry to, either. And that's really what sums up Snape for the restof his life – bitterness.

Snape,from that moment on, could no longer be considered truly evil– he was, yes, now fightingfor good. But he is still not a good person. He is not a kind person.And nothing is more telling of that than his interactions withstudents.

SeverusSnape is as much of a bully in his adult life as James Potter everwas from the ages of 11-16. The difference is that Snape bullieschildren. He is in a position of power over these children. Ofauthority. And he uses that power to bully, shame, and hurt children.Whether it's him sneering at Hermione and mocking her appearance (“Isee no difference”), threatening to feed Neville's toad poison(he's literally threatening to kill a child's pet),or knocking points off of innocent kids for absoltely no reason, he'sa horrible, horrible teacher. Not to mention a biiig, big fact – heis Neville Longbottom's worst fear in Prisoner of Azkaban. I want totalk about that.

NevilleLongbottom has not had an easy life. His parents, of course, weretortured when he was a small child and are now in the hospital,permanently, unable to care for him, love him, or even recognize him.Neville was thought to be a squib for years. He no doubt considershimself barely a wizard. That has left his self-confidence so, so cutup, and Snape just preys onthat. So by the time Neville is in third year, Snape is genuinely hisworst fear. But let's take a moment and think about something – inPrisoner of Azkaban, the entire Wizarding Britain is terrified of awizard who has escaped Azkaban. We know that Neville knows theidentities of the wizards who tortured his parents – and that they,too, are in Azkaban. This is an anxious 13 year old boy. He'sprobably fretting over the though of someone like Bellatrix escapingtoo – not to mention just the general fear of Sirius being out andabout. Yet, despite that, his worst fear is Severus Snape. BecauseNeville is at Hogwarts. Hogwarts, a place of safety and comfort,learning and laughter, a place that is supposed to be so incrediblyuntouchable. And Snape has taken this place that should be a havenand twisted it forNeville. He's made him scared to do things in his own home, and assomeone with an abusive parent, I know how awful that is.Neville can reassure himself about being safe from the Death Eaters.But not from Snape. Snape is not only at Hogwarts, but has genuineauthority over Neville. Authority he uses in the worst possible way.

Andthen there's his treatment of Harry. Was he technically protectinghim? I guess. But honestly? It's a very good thing Harry has a thickskin and just loathed Snape rather than feared him, because Snape wasAWFUL to him. He was unfair, bitter, and nasty to a kid who, in firstyear, really did come in with a clean slate and wanting to dowell/get along with teachers. Snape is the only regular teacher Harryhas an issue with. He gets along well with pretty much everyone else– not counting Umbridge, etc – and his marks are fine. But Snapedespises Harry – DESPISES this innocent kid. That's. That's sochildish and petty and bitter oh my god. I have people I dislike butif one day I meet their kids of course I'm going to be nice to them,because children are not their parents. Harry was not James JR orLily JR, he was Harry, an empathetic, kind, sarcastic boy with hisown personality and life. I still don't like the fact that Harrybasically reacted the way fandom did re: Snape (“Bravest man Iknew” my ASS I can feel all the people Harry's ever met rolling intheir graves when he says that).

Icould go on and on about Snape in universe, I really could. But I'mgoing to wrap it up by saying that Severus Snape is, by all accountsin the Harry Potter books, not a kind person. No amount of fanfictionor gifs of the movies will change that.

Andthat brings me to my last opinion of Snape. Snape within the fanbase.The glorification of Snape makes me sick. If you like his character?Great! We all have our favourites and least favourites. But please,please please PLEASE do not pretend he is something he is not. Andthat's what many, many people I have seen do. These are, typically,people who have not read the books in years. Maybe not at all. Theysaw the movie, and felt their hearts ache at the sight of Snapecradling Lily's body and weeping over her. They turned to fanfiction.And fanfiction, in the Harry Potter fandom, is where canon goes todie. Fanfiction is where the tropes “Ron the Death Eater” and“Draco in Leather Pants” became popular.

Andthe Snape adoration begins.

TheSnily. Oh, the Snily. But that's not even the worst. The Snarry. TheSnamione. The Snape/any studentin Harry's generation (excuse me while I actually go and vomit). Thewank over “Oh, Snape, he was such a good person, did you know Lilyand James were going to forgive him and make him their second child'sgodfather because Lily was pregnant when she died and alsoCrookshanks was the Potters' cat blah blah blah” (reread the booksholy shit reread the books and learn the difference between canon andfanon PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE).

Andyou can't escape it. This Snape adoration, this hero worship, isEVERYWHERE. I honestly categorize the HP fans I meet into “Snape”and “No Snape” - and am far more willing to discuss HP with the“No Snape” category. I just get this huge sense of relief whensomeone says “Oh, I hate Snape”.

Look,I could keep going, but I'm over 2000 words and I'm tired. I'm sotired. If you read this whole thing and hate Snape too, I love you.Come talk to me.

Andplease, please, please – if you disagree, you do. Not. Have toreply. My opinions will not change. I'm just posting this ask as aresponse to my friend sending me in the question.

[benevolenterrancy]

“Breakfast, McCree?” boomed Reinhardt's voice from the vicinity of the kitchen that McCree was blearily shuffling into.

“You're a good man, Reinhardt,” he said vaguely as he slumped down against the kitchen table.  He wasn't normally this groggy in the morning, but two time changes and a midnight arrival could take the vim right out of a man.

Reinhardt chuckled good-naturedly, and under the comforting dimness of his hat McCree listened to the sounds of Reinhardt navigating the kitchen.  In enclosed, domestic spaces like this, Reinhardt always seemed like he was too big to possible be able to fit.  Bulls and china shops tended to spring to mind.  It always seemed that Reinhardt, if he was to cook, should be outside at some great bonfire as ancient gods watched on, or at the head of an enormous banquet hall – somewhere with elbow room.  It went to show how sleepy McCree was though if he was being that fancifull, after all Reinhardt was just an ordinary man, same as him. ...Well, what with standing about a foot and a half taller than even McCree's very respectable five foot eleven perhaps not quite the same, but still.  Reinhardt moved his massive body around the kitchen with familiar ease, and frankly, celestial bonfire or no, he was one of the better cooks out of the old crew, to McCree's memory.

He told Reinhardt as much; sleep deprivation had never been kind to his mental filters, and in any case it didn't hurt to keep a cook happy.

Reinhardt seemed pleased, in any case.  “It was bad enough with you lot, back in the day,” he told McCree.  There was the sound of a plate being drawn as the griddle gave off the enticing sounds of bubbling grease.  “At least Overwatch had proper cooks.  Travelling with Brigitte...”  He gave his head a dismayed shake.  “Girl would live off engine oil if she could, I reckon.  Had to keep her fed up; she wouldn't be able to tell a spatula from a flathead.  'Course, she said the same to me after she saw what my repairs looked like to the old Crusader,” he added with a laugh.

A plate was dropped into McCree's periphery.  It came with the mouthwater smell of fried meat and ketchup and a lot of things that made McCree's heart flipflop in concern.  Hopefully Angela wouldn't look unkindly on clogged arteries.

“Thanks,” McCree said, fighting his tired body into the approximation of an upright position.

“Think nothing of it!” said Reinhardt.  “It is nice to have someone else up in the mornings again!  I will join you again soon, after I've rousted Brigitte.”

McCree nodded, but his focus was already divided by the breakfast sandwich that he had been delivered.  This sort of distraction was not something Reinhardt would ever find rude – his breakfast sandwiches deserved careful consideration.  Or, rather, demanded it.  Tackling a proper Wilhem breakfast sandwich was trickier than some ops McCree had run for Blackwatch over the years.  For one, they tended to as tall as a man's face, and the man in question was Reinhardt.  Short of unhinging your jaw, eating one was a test of all your merit, but it certainly ensured you were awake by the time you were done – it was either wake up, or choke on a stray strand of bacon that had sensed your lack of focus and attacked.

Gather his courage, McCree clamped his hands around the beast and bravely marched into battle.  He bit into it, teeth fighting through bun and meat and egg.  The egg squirted back in violent retaliation.

The groan that came from his mouth was verging on vulgar.  Had he not been the only person in the room, it may have needed to be censored. This was cooking.  Oh, he'd always enjoyed breakfast, breakfast was a meal that could be eaten at any hour of the day, and any good eatery made sure this was an option, as far as McCree was concerned.  This, though, put all the roadside diners he'd stopped in over the past few years to shame. For one, since this was Reinhardt and he had Feelings about this sort of thing, it would certainly only use named meat – and not names like Spot or Trixie.  There would be no raccoon-and-leftover-roadkill mystery mix in this sandwich, oh no.  McCree could feel the snap of the slightly blackened bacon as it was crushed between thick slabs of pig.  And McCree did identify it as pig not pork, because with how thickly it was sliced all it needed was a curly tail and it could nearly be the whole animal.  The grease tap-danced across McCree tongue only to turn around and tango with the melted cheese.  Then came the gloop. Another important feature of any Wilhelm Breakfast Sandwich was the egg.  It gushed. A solid egg yolk was an offense to Reinhardt's sensibilities and he would consider any breakfast sandwich that didn't leave your hands positively yellow an abject failure.  You couldn't bring any shame to the table when you ate a Wilhelm Breakfast Sandwhich – that got checked at the door and replaced with pure, blissful appetite.

The only thing that distracted from McCree's whole-hearted concentration was the sound of light footsteps from out in the hall.  Lena, McCree identified immediately.  She was the only one with a tread that light who'd be up at this hour.  He grinned broadly at her as the door open, thrilled to see an old friend again for the first time in years.  He gave a little wave with the sandwich – partly in welcome, partly to show the breakfast that awaited her if she found Reinhardt, and partly because if you put this sort of sandwich down after you started eating it it would inevitably explode.

Lena didn't wave back.  This was largely because the person that entered the room was not, in fact, Lena.  It wasn't actually anyone that McCree knew.  He gawked.

Vaguely, he could remember Winston mentioning that another plane was due to arrive shortly after McCree's, but that introductions would have to wait until the morning.

It would appear introductions couldn't wait any longer.

The man stood in the doorway and stared at McCree.  He wasn't particularly tall, but you wouldn't be able to tell at a glance – he had the sort of stance that made him look like the tallest person in the room until he stood next to someone.  Probably had something to do with the fact you had the feeling he was looking down his nose at you, even when he was looking up.  McCree couldn't tell much else about his body, since unlike McCree or Reinhardt he wasn't in his pajamas.  Instead he was fully dressed in a heavy jacket, pants, and boots.  His face though, well, McCree could tell a lot about that face, and most of it went to the tune of hot damn.  It was a proud face. Black lashes and thick brows, an imperious nose and sharp mouth.  You could shave off this man's angles.  His hair was black and silky looking, shaved at the sides, and it all tapered into a neat beard.

McCree was also suddenly very aware of the fact that there was runny yolk dribbling down his wrist and ketchup smeared from the tip of his nose to the tip of his beard.

Well fuck.

“Mm, m'lo,” McCree attempted to say, in a valiant attempt to make this horrible moment that had slowed down to glacial speeds pass a little quicker. The fact that he spayed bread crumbs as he spoke probably didn't help.  He frantically tried to swallow what was in his mouth, but the sandwich could sense weakness and took the opportunity to try to choke him.

“...Hello,” said the man.  He was edging along the wall towards the kitchen cabinets, leaving a wide berth between himself and McCree, as if he thought slobbery gluttonous were contagious.  Or maybe he was just trying to stay out of the splash zone.

McCree figured at this point his best opportunity would be jumping headfirst out the window and testing his lucks against the rocky cliffs beyond.  It would probably be a kinder reception than this stranger's put-off, stony silence.

“Hanzo?  Oh, good, you found the kitchen.  Take whatever you– oh, hey, McCree.”

There was no god in this world.

“'Lo, Genji,” mumbled McCree, giving up.  So it must have been Genji's plane that got in last night.  And that meant... Hanzo... that Hanzo.

McCree tried to say something, but the shock and outrage got trapped up in the cheese and bacon and instead he mostly just gurgled inarticulate noises.  This was Hanzo?  THIS was Hanzo? This was the two-faced, snaky bastard that fucked Genji up?  This was that bastard? McCree had mostly hoped he'd never meet this Hanzo, mostly because he'd much prefer it if the man had had the decency to die in a ditch, like he had tried to do to Genji, but if McCree did ever meet Hanzo, he'd had every intention to try to kill him.  He'd vaguely imagined an epic showdown, telling the cowardly pile of cowshit exactly what McCree thought of him and finally put him down, avenge his friend.

In no scenario did this involve him being rendered inarticulate on breakfast meat.  He tried his best regardless.

Hanzo just cast Genji a desperate, beseeching look.  Who is this madman and how do I stop talking to him? the look said.

Pure, unadulterated fury finally conquered the breakfast sandwich and with a gag McCree was able to swallow what had been waging war in the back of his throat, and he tossed down the rest of the sandwich.  It exploded, but so did McCree.

“You!” he snarled, having nothing much better to say, as he leaped from his chair and gestured a threatening finger.  Yolk glooped off the end of it onto the floor.

“You rather missed your chance, McCree,” said Genji, dryly.  “The effect's somewhat lost.”

“That's not my fault he barged in on me!” cried McCree.  “Why is he even here?  What is going on?  Did he kidnap you?”

Given that Genji's face was hidden behind a flat, unresponsive faceplate, the look he gave McCree was a withering one.

“Yes.  He kidnapped me.  Which is why I am standing here.  Kidnapped.”

McCree mentally backpedaled and tried to reshape this entire scenario in a way that made sense.  Genji was here.  He seemed to want to be here. Hanzo was here, and he couldn't be here if someone hadn't brought him here, presumably Genji.  Genji was not actively trying to kill Hanzo, which was perhaps the bit that baffled McCree the most.  Genji's normal range of emotions, as far as he remembered, had a tendency to slide between generally pissed off at the world and furious at his brother. Actually, everything considered, this was the most mellow he thought he'd ever seen Genji which didn't make any sense since his brother was, actively, standing right next to him.

“Overwatch needs people.  Hanzo has offered his services,” said Genji finally, taking pity on McCree's baffled expression.

“But he tried to kill you?” said McCree weakly.

Hanzo shifted uncomfortable.  The bastard.

“Oh right, I'd nearly forgotten,” said Genji.

“We have... reconnected, since then,” said Hanzo, awkwardly.

McCree stared openly.  This was too much to process on the little sleep he'd had. So he took the only option that seemed reasonable at the moment: he punched Hanzo square in the face.

Genji screamed at him, but Hanzo, not expecting the misfirings of McCree's sleepy brain, collapsed with a crash to the ground.  McCree stood dazedly surrounded by Shimadas, shaking his sore fist.  His sandwich had since congealed into something indigestible, which seemed like a real shame, he thought distantly while Genji shook him angrily by the shoulder.

It was going to be a long morning.