#trying to get back to drawing after several months is kinda rough bear with me

[mmmwafflesart]

I just want to say I love your art and art style especially your skyward sword content <3

thank you!

[complicatedandstained]

Rules of Engagement: Fake It ‘Til You Make It

The road is still rough along the side streets of Radiant Garden, the concrete pathways lined with cracks and crevices deep-set as Yen Sid’s frown lines and rough with rubble and particularly stubborn weeds that spring up against all odds—dandelions, mostly. The Restoration Committee has higher priorities. So, Roxas has become something of an expert at curving his skateboard around the worst of it, coaxing his wheels out of divots and dips without stopping his progress entirely. 

He’s cleared some of the alleyways around Axel’s forge of debris himself, and now glides from the main thoroughfare onto one such side street to avoid running into anyone else and making himself any later than he already is. 

Although, he thinks, as he glances up to the suns, climbing higher toward midday, and readjusts the bags beneath his arm, at this rate another half hour won’t make a huge difference. 

Roxas inhales a mouthful of charcoal and jumps his winged board over the most jagged pothole in the alley, his wheels rattling their objections as he sticks the landing and slows. The forge’s back door, which they all keep meaning to replace, is a hastily hammered together collection of boards, painted black with fire-retardant and sprayed with a jagged white 813 by whoever does that sort of thing. 

Probably Demy, Roxas supposes, trying to mark the spot for his wildly erratic delivery route.  

Like many of the recompleted Organization members who had been reunited with their own bodies, (or else given the Radiant Garden scientists quite a shock when they had awoken in the replicas’ chamber), Demy had chosen to take advantage of Leon’s offer to help repopulate and rehabilitate the world many of them had been born in. In doing so, the members had to prove themselves a benefit to society through hard work, education, and community service. 

Jiminy Cricket offered them each regular therapy sessions, and they were required to pass a psychiatric evaluation before permanently moving to any other worlds. So far, rumor had it, only Isa had managed, but he had chosen to stay. They were each assigned “Sponsors of Light” to aid them in their progress. 

Xigbar likened the entire situation to house arrest on more than one occasion, but the former Org members mainly kept their grumbling to themselves. There were certainly worse arrangements to be had than being allowed to carry out their new lives in exile on their former home world. They’d all died enough times to know that. 

They were held accountable by both the Restoration Committee Leaders and the new Council of Keyblade Masters, who, with the assistance of keyblade armor, were able to make their rounds through the worlds faster than Sora’s Gummi Ship ever had and keep the peace. Roxas, Axel, and Xion had been asked to join them on their peace-keeping journeys, and, maybe, probably, eventually, they would. But, after being forced to exchange so much of their youth so far for fighting Heartless 24/7, they had decided to live as close to normal lives as they were able, for the time being, (and the Keyblade Masters had likely breathed a private sigh of relief, especially since Axel’s exact initial response had been ‘Fuck that’). 

Roxas hops off his skateboard, pops his board up into his waiting hand, and sets it against the aged brick wall beside another rebellious pack of wispy white dandelions that he and Axel haven’t found it in their hearts to uproot.  

Roxas doesn’t—hasn’t ever—knocked on the door to Axel’s forge, and he doesn’t today. Still, he can’t stop himself from thinking of it as Axel’s, even though Axel considers it theirs—even though Roxas has spent many long, sweaty days, helping Leon and his crew construct the thing and harnessing his fire magic to learn the basics of the trade at his boyfriend’s side. 

At the end of the day, it’s Axel’s peace time passion project, something besides finishing up his education and keyblade training, something that’s entirely his own. So, at Roxas’ insistence, it’s Axel’s name on the sign out front, and the deed, and the contracts with the Restoration Committee.

And he’d had to fight for it. 

Most of the former members of the Organization weren’t permitted to take up quite such dangerous lines of work. Isa, for example, had been in charge of coordinating gardening, landscaping, and agriculture with Laurium for several months before The Council of Keyblade Masters (Aqua, Terra, and Riku) permitted him to take up a management position at Leon’s side, allocating human resources for the Restoration Committee. 

Similarly, Xemnas’ venture into penning New Radiant Garden’s first newspaper were heavily criticized, and his articles and e-newsletters regularly vetted for ‘Dark Propaganda,’ so that the first twenty editions were nothing more than tremendously, intrusively accurate gossip rags, and, when that didn’t fly, painstakingly, comically accurate accounts of the town’s most mundane events, including an in depth feature report on Leon’s favorite sandwich toppings, complete with quotes and multiple eye witness accounts. 

It took half a year (and some nudging from Isa) before Xemnas was allowed to print anything remotely political or consequential, though once he began, he quickly proved himself just as capable of factual, unbiased journalism as he had been at penning a wickedly witty exposé on Xigbar’s brief but passionate on-and-off-again romantic trysts. (This was, of course, before Xigbar got himself tossed in the castle dungeon for allegedly attempting to portal his Sponsor of Light off a cliff. Although his sentence is up for appeal, last Roxas heard, because Xigbar claims he thought ducks could fly.) 

Axel’s fortunate that he didn’t have to spend a year proving himself (and has been told so—repeatedly.) 

The town needed a forge, and Axel was uniquely qualified for the position. (And the Council had wanted him out of their hair. He had proved quite persistent.) So, Axel had gotten what he wanted. Seventeen petition speeches later. 

Isa warned them it was a lot to take on in addition to classes, keeping up with their keyblade training, and community service, but Axel enjoyed using his fire for something constructive and Roxas saw the peace it brought him, so they made it work.  

“Yo, Axel! ‘M back!” Roxas calls, pushing his way inside with the ridge of his hip and scuffing his sneakers against the mat to remove the excess construction dirt. “I know I said I was gonna be, like, ten minutes tops, but, I mighta gotten distracted…”   

“In here, Roxas…” Axel answers from inside the shop, above the clang of metal on metal and hiss of sparks. “Come in here where I can see you.” 

Roxas passes through the back hallways, neatly lined with the stray supplies and freshly forged weapons and tools, in styles and cuts inspired by a variety of worlds, and enters the central workshop. Large windows allow breaths of fresh air and cast white light that’s hard to look at and doesn’t do as good a job at illuminating the large open space as the orange and yellow blazes of the large central fire burning at the heart of the forge beneath its stone chimney. 

Everything is cast in flickering shades of flame and shadow: the mounted anvil, racks of tools, barrels of water and sand, carts bearing hunks of metal needing repurposed and the neatly arranged shelves toward the entrance, mounting wares to be sold. Even Axel in his tight, light fabric britches, tunic, and heavy leather apron is cast in gold, white, and crimson as he works, stretching gleaming white molten metal between his bare fingertips with the ease of a sculptor shaping clay. 

“Well, hey, sexy.” Axel grins, head cocking to get a better view of Roxas, as carelessly attractive as ever, his hair windswept and his cheeks and ears slightly flushed from his skateboarding, or maybe just the rising temperature of the shop.

Roxas’ smile broadens in spite of himself. “Hey…” 

“That errand took seven hundred times longer than anticipated.” Axel shapes the hot metal between his fingers, and it looks sticky and elastic, like dough. He flicks his wrist, causing flames to engulf all of it once more, and begins to swirl it into an elaborate spiral before balling it up again.

“Sorry, Axel.” Roxas winces, chagrinned. “First, I had to wait for Leon to get out of a meeting, so I could give him the supplies and explain what was what. Then we delivered them, and then he wanted me to lend him a hand with a quick project, only it wasn’t actually a quick project, in reality. 

“Then I was on my way back here, swear to the gods, but I stopped into Aerith’s house for just a minute to say hello to Xion, and she wanted me to taste-test her cupcakes, and she was so excited, I couldn’t say no, and then, on my way out, I ran into Xemnas, and you know how much Xemnas likes to talk, and I just kinda lost track of time….” Roxas scuffs his foot sheepishly, the arm that’s not laden with bags stretching behind his head, ringed fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Axel’s he’s picked up for himself. “Again.”

Axel chuckles, a sultry purr that Roxas only ever hears him use when there’s no one else around, deeper and less controlled than his usual mocking, lilting laugh. “It’s okay, Roxas, I don’t need the whole mission report. I wasn’t really expecting anything less after the last five times.” He turns toward the chimney so the piece he’s working on won’t drip molten steel to the floor, and flicks a hand carelessly over his shoulder, spraying sparks, as he teases, “I know you don’t know how to say no to people.” 

In actuality, Axel knows no force in the universe could make the powerful keyblade wielder do anything he didn’t want to do—not any more.  But, the guy is far too helpful for his own good. 

“Well,” one of Roxas’ brows rises, and his smile tilts, as he draws closer and deadpans, “I was raised by a cult.”

Axel snorts, catching Roxas’ eye before turning toward the anvil, shifting the shape of the steel in his hand into something more distinctly sword-shaped, as he steps and then setting it down, dismissing the fire engulfing his hands. “Is that why I’m doing all these orders for Leon?” Axel hefts a large hammer from the ground and props it against his shoulder, before turning to glance at Roxas again. “And here I thought I was just a good guy.”

 Axel brings the hammer down on the sword with a harsh clang that sends up sparks that remind Roxas of the fireflies the pair of them chased the time they tried camping on the edge of town. 

 “You are a good guy,” Roxas assures him firmly, stepping up to the other side of the anvil to watch Axel’s progress and to see his face, glowing golden bronze in the light. A black smudge of ash on one of his cheeks reminds Roxas of the tattoos he used to wear. Roxas feels an unexpected pang, something to the left of nostalgia. 

Axel brings the hammer down hard again with a grunt and then wastes a couple precious seconds to grin back. “I love it when you lie to me.”

“Axel…” Roxas’ tone grows exasperated, his smile thinner, more wry. He hopes Axel doesn’t mean that, but admires his blatant refusal to stay in line with whatever overstepping behaviors the powers that be demand of him in the name of what’s “right.”

 “Roxas…”  Axel mimics his tone, and then huffs and keeps swinging. It’s a conversation they’ve had a hundred times before in one form of another. 

Another few blows pass in silence broken only by the song of metal and hiss of smoke and embers, and then Axel lifts the sword-to-be by the hilt, reshaping the metal with the heat of his palm as he does, smoothing out the jutting upper ridges of the hand guards under his thumb while inspecting his handiwork. 

 Roxas follows his movements in quiet admiration. Axel’s swift motions have a practiced ease and fluidity not unlike the way he fights, slicing through Heartless with his chakram… 

Axel frowns a bit at a flaw Roxas’ eyes can’t detect, and jerking his head to indicate Roxas step back, dunks the sword into a barrel of cold water and then raises it, steaming and silver, into the air with a single sizzling swipe. 

Roxas hums in admiration as Axel sets the weapon down to cool atop the anvil with a mild sigh, the steam around his hands evaporating quickly to reveal his face, tired but unflushed. “I’ll fix it later. Think it’s time for a breather.” 

Roxas nods, and Axel sets his tools to rights and steps up to join him. Without discussion, they seat themselves on a wrought iron bench below one of the wide, open bell-shaped windows at the front of the shop. From there they can feel the breeze breathe against their flushed faces and listen to the birds calling out to each other in the park a few blocks down. 

Once they’ve settled themselves, their thighs pressed against each other, ankles linking, Roxas licks his thumb and reaches out to rub at the smudge of ash on Axel’s cheek. “You are doing a good job,” Roxas reiterates. “You know that, right? Like, fucking…” his words fade off, vulnerable and fragile in their quietness, “incredible.”

“Roxas…” Axel catches Roxas’ hand in his and closes his eyes above the gentle brush of Roxas’ calloused thumb. With his hand wrapped in Axel’s, Roxas can feel the racing of Axel’s pulse and the sticky heat and ash coating his skin. Axel inhales deeply, trying to relax and smiles, lazy, superficial. “Roxas, Roxas, Roxas… You’re the good guy. I’m just along for the ride.” 

Axel lowers their hands into his lap, though Roxas hasn’t quite fixed the smudge on his cheek so much as streaked it into the teardrop shape it had reminded him of in the first place. Axel wraps both of his hands around Roxas’ and pats it in a way that feels both condescending and sweet. 

Roxas laughs, a short skeptical bark. “You’re the one always bragging about being made a Guardian of Light.” 

Axel exhales through his nose, somewhere between amused and frustrated. Roxas feels his pulse start to simmer down.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t there.” Axel half smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, though they seem to glow, Heartless-like, in the dark space. He jabs Roxas in the arm with his elbow to lighten the gravity of the accusation. “The standards were fairly low.” 

Roxas huffs and is about to elbow him back, when Axel leans in and rests his cheek in Roxas’ hair, a gesture which makes Roxas’ insides so gooey he can’t think of a response right away, except to curl his hand tighter into Axel’s.  

“I was selfish. I just wanted to get you back,” Axel continues. “You, and Isa, and the others… That’s all I thought of while I was training. You, especially. I mean, they’d told me you were as good as…”

The feel of Axel’s entire body shivering makes Roxas’ spine go rigid, especially in the pervasive heat of the smoky room with its still merrily burning hearth.  

“But I didn’t, couldn’t, believe them,” his voice cracks, fingers tracing the bones of Roxas’. “Not for a second. I mean,” his voice starts to get shallow, so he pushes for playful and misses the mark, “what kind of gods would bring back me and not you, right?” His laughter reminds Roxas of glass breaking.

“Hey,” Roxas’ words take on an edge, flat and blunt, “don’t. Don’t do that. We saved the fucking worlds, you and me,” he reminds him. He’s had to remind himself on more than one occasion since, when the other Keyblade wielders had lost patience with him, and when he had lost patience with himself.   

Axel shakes his head slightly, further mussing Roxas’ soft hair, still warm from the noon rays of the Radiant Garden suns. “Honestly, after I saved you, the rest of the worlds didn’t matter so much.”

Roxas wishes he could meet Axel’s eyes, but doesn’t want to jolt him and interrupt the soft, warm, exhales ruffling his hair. “But you did it anyway,” Roxas insists, raising their folded hands until he can press his lips against Axel’s knuckles. 

“Well, yeah,” Axel scoffs at himself, his bravado and hypocrisy and desperation, “but…” He trails off, distracted as Roxas’ lips dampen his skin, and then Roxas lowers their hands again, as if Roxas has finally started to forget such a casually intimate gesture could have gotten them killed once upon a time.  

“Why?” Roxas coaxes.

Axel scoffs again, thinking of everything that had been riding on those moments in the Keyblade Graveyard. He remembers the blinding white glow of Kingdom Hearts overhead burning his eyes even when he shut them—the electric pull of its gravity, threatening to encompass every place he had ever known and every place he and Roxas could have, like the Darkness that had swallowed his childhood home whole, alive, and squirming. 

“Whaddya mean, why?” Axel sputters, voice growing louder with indignance. “There wasn’t a why.” He laughs at the absurdity of it, shaking his head again, sounding more than a little manic. “I only did it ‘cause I was there and it was the right thing, the only thing to… Oh.” 

Axel lifts his head from Roxas’ hair, and Roxas twists his neck to meet widened green eyes. 

“Oh,” Axel repeats more softly, as Roxas’ lips curl into a satisfied grin. 

“The right thing to do. Huh.” Axel reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Faked it ‘til I made it, I guess.”   

Roxas rolls his eyes, but his tight-lipped grin splits open into a real smile. “Idiot.” He reaches up to cup Axel’s cheek in his palm. “I am so fucking hopelessly in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Axel mumbles and bites his lip, eyes darting to the side in embarrassment, and then back to Roxas’ because he can’t help himself. “I know. Sucks to be you.” 

The pair lean in for a kiss, but Roxas falters and pulls back, arm caught on the three bags weighing it down. 

“Oh!” His eyes widen, glancing down and then back up. “I forgot. I brought you something to apologize for being gone so long.” 

Axel’s eyes narrow, lips pursing skeptically, his fingertips tracing Roxas’ jaw. “Is it a kiss?”

Roxas shrugs the handles of a paper bag from his forearm and lifts the still warm parcel onto his lap. “Ta-da.”

“Ah, Roxas.” Axel’s nose crinkles, as he leans back, and his free hand reaches to unfold the paper bag. “You didn’t need to go to any trouble...”

“It’s freshly baked, flaky, crescent-wrapped jalapeño poppers from Lar—Elrena’s tavern.” 

Axel peers into the bag to see the savory pastries and inhales a whiff of the buttery, spicy morsels, which sets his mouth watering. 

“You brought me pub food? See? I knew you cared,” Axel teases, his thumb stretching to the edge of Roxas’ thin smile, and giving it a tug up that makes Roxas cackle and glare, his golden brows dipping down below the bangs he gets when his hair starts to fall flat. Axel’s hand curls around the bag, folding it closed again with a crinkling sound. “Apology accepted. But I also want...” His free hand rises to catch the neck of Roxas’ tee and draw him closer, until his nose near brushes Roxas’ again. 

Roxas hums, their lips a breath apart. He can’t hold up the glare, smiles again, a softer thing, his heart beating a slow anthem against Axel’s palm on his chest. “Guess I can do that.” He tilts his head. His pale, unwavering blue eyes burn when they’re so close, like matchsticks held to Axel’s bare skin, but he doesn’t mind. “Forgive me?” Roxas asks on a breath.

“Nothing to forgive,” Axel dismisses, and then their lips slip together. All tension and fear and stress and insecurity evaporates as their hearts beat against each other. Roxas tastes like frosting and smells like spring, wind and petals, and when Axel’s tongue wraps his, it burns like salt and smoke. Axel lifts Roxas into his lap, their mouths moving together and their hands snagging at fabric, tugging each other closer, harder, holding tight, muscle sliding against muscle. Their desperation makes it as impossibly clear as ever that they haven’t forgotten for a moment what separation tastes like, the way it rent hollow, echoing chambers in their chests. But pressed together, kissing, they feel like they are home.

[nad-zeta]

Match up ^o^

May I request a Match up, please?

I’m at the part when I have to choose a route and I honestly don’t know/care. So I decided why not let some lovely internet stranger choose for me? Who do you think I would pair the best with?

I also noticed how much effort and detail you put into these so I decided that it was only fair to try to put in just as much effort in requesting. Or maybe I am just extremely vain so blabbering on this much about myself comes naturally (I also wouldn’t be too suprised if this were the case lol). Either way, I apologise for this getting so long. And without further ado, let’s learn about yours truly. Uh, yay?

I will start with my physical appearance because that’s easiest.  

First of all, I am rather tall for a woman. Pair that with the fact that I constantly wear boots with 8 centimetre or greater heels and I almost always cap out somewhere above 182 centimetres (that’s 6 feet in American). So yes. I’m not exactly the approachable type, on the account of my height and near constant resting bitch face. I always look pissed off at something (and to be fair, I usually am).

I am a brunette with boring brown eyes. Nothing of note there. 

I prefer to walk on my toes, for whatever reason. I also have great posture when I walk and these two factors always make it seem like I am floating. I’ve been told that I always seem very confident and self-assured. Which is complete bullshit because 90% of the time, I am winging it. 

I am a dancer (of sorts. More on that later), so I am rather slim and toned. This is literally the only aspect of my physicality that I am actually confident in. The rest of me can burn in hell for all I care. 

I am also very touch adverse. I hate the feeling of skin touching my skin it grosses me touch. However. There are a select few people in this world that I accept and enjoy hugs and cuddles from (and who I could snuggle with for hours). If I let anyone cuddle me that means I trust said person unconditionally and feel extremely comfortable around them. It’s essentially the ultimate statement of trust.

Onto personality.

If you can’t already tell, I have about as much dignity as a wet cat. I while I certainly do have an ego, it can be kind of difficult to bruise. Publically, I am absolutely shameless and don’t give two shits about what others think. 

I have a tongue of steel and can rapid fire the most atrocious insults and comebacks when provoked. I’m known for my venomous sarcasm and biting wit among my own circles. I have a line for nearly every single situation so one-liners have become my thing. Which works out for me because I am a huge flirt.

I’ll flirt with pretty much anyone regardless of gender, I don’t give a crap. To clarify, it’s not because I am an attention whore (okay, yes. I am a complete attention whore), it’s because I am a theatre kid so excessive eye contact and sexual jokes are kinda where I thrive. I am also not afraid to get questionably lascivious with my flirting if someone tries to out-pace me. I never blush, I never falter, and I never let anyone know that they got the better of me. It shows weakness. 

Despite my salacious façade, I am not inherently a sexual person. As a matter of fact, I am quite the opposite. I don’t experience sexual attraction (kudos to my asexual humans. I see you). This has rendered me practically immune to all charm, crushes, and sex appeal. It makes my life a lot easier, in my opinion. I don’t get too attached. I also enjoy messing around with the egos of fuck boys. 

As mentioned earlier, I am an attention whore. I love showing off because I crave validation (this could point to some deep seated insecurities about myself that I refuse to acknowledge…. Ahem). Being on stage as where I thrive. And yes, I am a dancer, as I stated earlier. But I am not your conventional prissy ballerina. I am a circus performer. More specifically, I’m an aerialist. I have covered trapeze, contortion (I am unnaturally flexible), lyra, and silks. It’s a lot of fun almost dying every day and finding bruises in the most questionable places (if you cant already tell, I am an adrenaline junkie. I took karate for the first dozen or so years of my life and have recently been searching for more weapons combat classes because apparently I don’t have enough bruises already).

I am not easily impressed. And I don’t give out compliments very often. And that includes myself. I can be unnecessarily hard on myself at times… most of the time. But then again, who isn’t? 

As for the side of me that isn’t stark-raving mad, I am usually a pretty objective person. While I have no qualms with discussing emotions (both mine and friend’s. I am a great listener and actually give pretty good advice when it comes to dealing with intense emotions). I tend to avoid letting them interfere with my logic. I look down on those who allow their emotions to dictate their actions. It makes them needlessly reckless. 

I am typically a pretty chill person. When I am among people I am unfamiliar with, I tend to stay quiet and try not to rock the boat too much (again, I won’t hesitate to unleash a severe tongue lashing upon any poor soul who happens to rub me the wrong way… Or just happens to exist. I don’t take shit from other people and I hate it when others try to control me. (I don’t play rough, I play smart). 

I really enjoy reading, writing, or drawing quietly. I can’t stand loud and excessive noises or people (parties, screaming, concerts). I am a true extroverted introvert. I love being the center of attention and chatting, but I need my alone time. People are exhausting to deal with. 

Because of my aversion to loud sounds, I tend to avoid typical dance parties like the plague. While I am very good with mingling and partying in general, I can only keep it up in short bursts before I have to retreat somewhere quiet. This is also the reason I greatly prefer the nighttime (if I had a choice I would sleep all day and only frolick around at night. I just love the dark. It’s comforting in a weird way). I also love the night because that’s when I get to sleep and just peace out on life. It’s kinda like non-committal dying.

I am near constantly on hyper-alert so I am not easily startled. When I do get startled, I have a tendency to squeak, yelp or growl. These noses are purely reactionary sounds but for whatever reason, my friends think that they are absolutely adorable and will go to great lengths to startle me just to hear me make them.

To counteract my friend’s malevolence, I have learnt to be super observant, especially when I feel threatened. Usually, I am caught up on my own world and thoughts. I have an imagination so powerful that I can trick my brain into feeling false sensations such as an extra limb or falling. I much prefer to spend my time in my head rather than our boring reality. But if I feel threatened, or think that another attack is imminent, I instantly become hyper aware. These moments of lucidity enable me to make certain observations others would otherwise be overlooked (for example. I was able to tell when my professor lost her wedding ring due to the discoloration around her ring finger and the habitual and near-constant worrying she did at it. I offered to help her look after class ^.^. I admittedly felt kinda smug when I saw her surprise.) Ironically enough, I like to refer to this mode of thinking as “Sherlocking”. I can be quite the detective when I really try. 9 out of 10 times my friends will come to me when they suspect infidelity, I am pretty good at digging up dirt. 

However, I have to make the conscious decision to do this, usually when I am trying to figure someone out or manipulate them into liking me. So this isn’t constant and usually I go about my day like everyone else, blissfully unaware of my surroundings.

Uhh, there is probably more I could cover but this is getting very long as-is and you are probably forcing yourself to get through my seemingly eternal ramblings. So I am going to stop here and go grab myself some food. 

Best of luck to you,

-November

Hi there love!<3 you sound like such a cool interesting person! ^_^ Hehehe I probs took so long with this match up that you already chose a new route lol! Anyways thanx for waiting soooooo long for this and I hope ya enjoy it love ^0^ ^_^

I match you with……………………… Masamune

Honestly, it was between Masamune and Mitsuhide for me lol but i eventually decided to go with Masamune 

The first time Masamune sees you, his eyes go wide in awe, like wow you are one tall fine lady! He has legit never met anyone so tall. After you were named as chatelaine, you stayed behind with some of the warlords to chat and get to know them better, you are after all going to be seeing their faces every day for the next 3 months. 

Right of the bat, Masamune is howling in laughter at the fact that you are way taller than Ieyasu. You, Masamune and Mitsuhide basically tease the poor porcupine for a solid 20 minutes. “My my I never expected such a scary-looking little mouse to be so bubbly and friendly.” 

Oooh, this boy just stared a war of wits. Today day was a good day cause your tongue of steel was rapidly firing witty words and sarcastic remarks at the resident kitsune. He almost couldn’t keep up, almost. Masamune was just standing there watching the whole scene unfold, you truly were going to be a lot of fun! Masamune decided to test out that tongue of steel of your and started firing some flirty pick-up line, while unbeknown to him you are the queen of one-liners, and have no shame when it comes lascivious flirting. Masamune, of course, never backs down from a challenge, and he was determined to make you blush. The conversation got so heated that it made even Hideyoshi blush on your behalf. You simply laughed and fired another one of your pick-up lines.

After the little chat in the hallway and a massive speech from mama bear for talking about things that were not PG13, cause of the kids *cough* Mitsunari *cough*, you and Masamune become quick friends. He had never met a woman before that was immune to his boyish wild charm, and handsome sexual appeal. Masamune was definitely popular with the woman, not as popular as Hideyoshi, but he was definitely a fuckboi. As surprised as he was, that his normal antics didn't work on you, his ego wasn’t dented one bit, it just made him more determined to get to know you. 

Masamune definitely finds your flirtatious nature attractive, especially when you managed to score the two of you free sweet bun just by flirting with the shop owner, he was, even more, shook when the shop owner was a woman, your flirtation truly knows no bounds. The two of you would spend loads of time together, just going out for tea and sweets while getting to know each other. TBH although Masamune would never admit it, he found it refreshing that you weren't just his friend simply cause he was hot or cause you wanted to climb in stations but because you actually liked him as a person. You and Masamune definitely made an unstoppable team when it came to banquets. The two of you would team up and start teasing everyone there. When you two cuties are together its always a good time with loads of laughter and banter

Masamune discovered that you like him, was an adrenaline junkie. He loved that he finally had someone around that would do stupid shit with him just for the thrill of it. The two of you would go out on adventures 24/7 jumping down waterfalls and hiking up cliffs. The two of you goofball would also dare each other to do the craziest shit. Like one-time Masamune dared you to jump off the castle’s roof onto your balcony, and you freaken did it, no questions asked. Or like the one time you dared him to put his head in Shogetsu mouth, mind you the little cub was now grown into a full-blown tiger

One day you and Masa went to go watch one of Mitsuhide’s undercover performances. The three of you were investigating a shady daimyo in one of the nearby provinces. The three of you disguised yourselves as performers and joined a circus troop as their new dancers. You were so excited, the stage is where you truly come alive. You had promised Masa to show him something that would shock/surprise him after he gave you the grand tour of  Azuchi. Today was the day, you had kept your dance and performances a secret from the two men, and now it was finally time to show them what you can do. You had 3 different performances planned. The first one was contortion. To say Masamune was shook would be an understatement he never knew anyone could be so freaken flexible, like wow. Your next performance was aerial dancing, his blue eye gleamed in delight, watching you move through the air so gracefully. If he wasn’t sure before he was sure now, this boy loved ya. But what really took his breath away was when you trapezed through the air, he was absolutely mesmerized at the way you flew through the air doing back-flips and other cool ass tricks. Masamune loved the look of pure joy on your face as you performed and after the show, you explained to him that you were a theatre kid back in the past. Mitsuhide definitely took note of your skills, and since that day you now accompanied him on most missions that required him to disguise himself as a performer.

Masamune loved everything about you at this point. Your overdramatic introvert/extrovert personality. The way you walked. Gosh, he loved the way you walked, it looked like you were an angel floating around wherever you went. He loved your banter and one-liner for every situation. And most of all he loved your hyper-alert side. Boy did he love to come up behind you to scare the crap outta you just so he could hear you squeak, yelp or growl. Like he lived for those adorably cute noises. And you somewhere along the line had fallen in love with the big idiot. He was always coming up with new fun adventures to go on or new fun things to do. He was one of those few people that could actually keep up with your banter

What was he most impressed with you may ask, well you Sherlocking skills of course. One day there were rumours of some super shady daimyos visiting Azuchi. Word on the street was that they were planning on stealing Mitsunari report to make the poor angel look bad. Mitsuhide was away sorting out some other plots and schemes, so it was now up to you to use your skills, to save the angel. You used your detective skill to gather evidence, and since your inner circle knew you were from the future, you were planning on catching them in the act and filming them for evidence. Masamune was always up for an adventure, so he acted as you own personal Watson. The two of you hid while watching the whole scene unfold, once they left the room the two of you came out. “What do you think they are going to do with the report lass,” he asked while his blue eye gleamed in delight. “Hmmmmm, I believe they are going to burn the evidence in the forest” you replied in your best British accent. Masamune couldn’t help but laugh. The two of you made your way to a secluded part of the forest and spotted them making a fire. Masamune looked at you curiously “How did you know they were going to be in this exact spot.” “Elementary, my dear Masamune.” He couldn’t help but burst out in laughter you really were a super fun kitten. Unfortunately for the two of you, they heard you guys laughing behind the trees and before you knew it, the two of you were surrounded. One of the men had a sword right at your throat ready to cut you open, that is when you shocked them by not backing down from the fight, you hit the sword away with one of your own gifted to you by your dearest one-eyed dragon. “ Point that sword at me one more time and i’ll slash your Achilles’ tendons, and TBH given the medicine situation of this time, no one would know how to fix your injury, so I hope you like hobbling around on one leg for the rest of your life cause that is what will happen.” These men were shook; meanwhile, Masa was next to you howling in laughter, “She’s not joking boys, this lass delivers on her threats.” You had never seen grown men run away from a fight so fast. You and Masamune picked up Mitsunari’s report that had fallen on the ground during the commotion and walked back hand in hand

You didn’t really like skin touching skin, but TBH you definitely like the warm feeling of Masamune’s hand warmed around yours. The two of you had come to fall in love with each other, and it wasn’t long before you two cuties entered into a relationship. Despite both of you being adrenaline junkies, both of you also loved your quiet times. Often you would sit together in his manor each doing your own thing. You would read and write, and Masamune would sit at his desk pretending to work (Cause admin is so freaken boring). 

The two of you would have the best time together during banquets you loved being the centre of attention and would chat with everyone, but as the night would progress you would start feeling a bit drained and that’s when the one-eyed dragon would swoop in, pick you up and takes you to a quiet corner where the two of you cuddle and snuggle together.

He would spoil you rotten with the most amazing food, he would basically, cook anything your heart desires just to see that beautiful smile on your face. His heart would always burst with affection whenever he cuddles and kiss you, he knew that the fact that you allowed him to cuddle you was the ultimate statement of trust between the two of you.

Often the two of you cuties can be found causing mischief and giving Mamayoshi more grey hairs or cuddled together sharing stories of your day

Other potential matches............... Mitsuhide 

Hope u enjoyed it dear @november-solarstorms

[professor-hiddles]

Unspoken [bucky barnes]

pairing: bucky x reader (modern au??? but bucky still has the arm)

words: 2.6k 

warnings: implied smut, some violence? also maybe just a little slut shaming (not from any of our faves i promise) uhhh some angst & swearing too

a/n: this might be kinda sucky but whatevs i just wanted to post something lol. also theres a vine reference in there for some comic relief :) enjoyyyyyyy

The two of you knew what you were getting into. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, but purely sexual. Something to release the tension. There were five rules you had set in place, rules that kept both of you safe. 

Rule 1

No physical contact outside of your bedroom sessions. Since you shared a friend group, it was common to be seen out in public together, but this was your own rule. No touching. You could talk, make jokes, and even flirt, but no skin to skin contact.

Rule 2

Don’t stay away from potential relationships at the expense of the other. If an opportunity for a relationship presented itself, don’t stay away to protect feelings, and don’t try to keep the other person away from someone with potential.  

Rule 3

Keep emotions or pillow talk to a minimum. You’re not building an intimate relationship, but rather just having fun and enjoying one another physically. Only engage in emotional conversations if absolutely necessary. This was a rule broken rather often, as the both of you were usually under intense stress. 

Rule 4

No dates. No meeting for coffee, no going out to dinner. If you were gonna hang out, it would be with your friends. 

***

Something changed around two months into your agreement. Bucky was getting more sensual with you, being incredibly gentle and making sure that you were completely comfortable before he did anything. This was unusual, as he was typically a bit rough and fast. It was certainly different, but you weren’t complaining. 

“Buck, is there a reason as to why you’re being so gentle with me?” you asked, gently tugging on his hair. His mouth left your body for a moment, eyes meeting yours. 

“No reason, why? Are you uncomfortable?” he asked, his metal hand drawing circles on your thigh. He got back to work, pleasure coming over you in waves.

“No—not at all. Just wondering,” you said before arching your back off the mattress. Damn, he was talented with his mouth. 

He hummed in response, the vibration going through your whole body. His hands held your hips, keeping your body firmly planted on the bed. Your heart was racing, the euphoria coursing through you. 

Bucky crawled up next to you, laying on his back. You rolled onto your stomach to face him. Your hands met his hair, twirling it around your finger. 

“I think we should stop this, Buck,” you whispered, avoiding eye contact. His head turned toward yours, his smile dropping. 

“Why? I thought we were having fun, Y/N,” he said, his hand grabbing the one that was intertwined in his hair. 

“We are—were, but I met someone.” 

Rule 2. 

He could feel his heart break a little. All he could think of was someone else touching you in the ways that he did. 

“Oh. Do I know him?” he asked, his voice as low as yours. 

You nodded, “Brock Rumlow, I think he goes to your gym.” 

Fucking Brock, Bucky thought, Of course he would rob me of the one good thing in my life.

Bucky didn’t respond, instead just closing his eyes. You knew he heard you, and you knew he was hurt. You didn’t push the topic, so you let sleep wash over you.

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheets next to you were cold. A frown formed on your face, but you knew what this meant. 

You knocked your head back onto your pillow, letting a groan escape. A part of you felt empty, but a part of you felt enlightened, free to explore what other men have to offer. 

Bucky returned to his apartment, dreading the loneliness that was bound to ensue. He had fallen for you, hard. He hated the idea of someone else holding your heart, someone else taking part in your life. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to fall for you, but love works in mysterious ways. He loved your laugh, how you got a bit embarrassed when it was too loud. He loved the way you said his name. He loved the way you joke with each other, more sarcasm than he’d ever experienced. He liked that you weren’t afraid of him, metal arm and all. That usually drives people off, but not you. He loved that you bear your feelings to him, your vulnerabilities. 

He longed to hold your hand. He wanted nothing more than to kiss your cheek and tell you how beautiful you are. Truly stunning. He longed to kiss you in front of your friends, call you his once and for all. He longed to be the one you come to after a long day, just for comfort. 

He felt miserable. The one thing that actually meant something to him had been taken. He knew this day would come. He just never pictured it would be so soon. 

He should have told you how he felt. He still should. 

Bucky pulled himself together, put on a happy face and made his way to the gym. He walked in, eyes scanning the area for Brock. He hoped that he wasn’t there, but nothing ever goes the way you want it to. He decided it might be good to talk to him at least.

His eyes landed on the man in question. Bucky took a deep breath and walked over to the weights he was using. 

“Need a spot, Brock?” he asked, hoping that he would say yes. Brock looked at him, realizing who was asking. 

A cocky smile grew on Brock’s face, “Hey, man. If you don’t mind, that’d be great.”

Bucky forced a smile on his face, he stepped behind the bench press. Half of him wanted to drop the barbell on the man, but the other half wanted to grill him about you. He decided on the latter.

“So, uh, you and Y/N, huh? How long has that been going on?” Bucky said, trying to casually slip questions into the light conversation. 

A smug look crossed his face, “Around two weeks or so, she’s a cool girl. Surprised one of you didn’t pick her up already.”

You and me both, buddy, Bucky thought, gritting his teeth. “Yeah, she’s the best. Treat her good, man.”

A short laugh left Brock’s mouth. “To be honest with you, I think this’ll be more of a hit it and quit it kind of thing, you know? She’s stupid hot, but not really girlfriend material. Seems like a bit of a whore. I heard she fucks every dude in your friend group.” 

Bucky scoffed. It was taking everything he had in him not to punch the man’s teeth in. 

“Who fed you that bullshit lie? You’re lucky she even considered you, dipshit,” Bucky growled. He couldn’t just stand idly by anymore, he took the bar out of the man’s hands and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, “If you even think about hurting her, I’ll hunt you down and fucking kill you.”

Brock looked genuinely scared for a moment, before a smile appeared on his face. “My god, you’re in love with the whore! Let me guess, you’re fucking her too?” 

“Alright, thats it. You asked for it, you piece of shit!” Bucky yelled, before charging at Brock. Several punches were thrown before Bucky felt someone pulling him off of the man. 

Steve had a strong grip on the man, guiding him toward the exit. “Dude, what the hell? I know he’s a douche, but you can’t lunge at him in the middle of the gym! What was it even about?” 

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist, “He was calling Y/N a whore, and saying he was only with her for sex. I just couldn’t help myself. I hate when assholes like him get such wonderful women and then drop them like they’re nothing. She deserves someone better than that, Steve. She deserves someone who’ll listen to her, and keep her happy, and take care of her in all the best ways.”

A small smile worked its way onto Steve’s face, “Someone like you?”

Bucky nodded his head, “Yes! Wait—how did you know I meant me?” he looked at the man, clearly puzzled. You two were careful to hide your relationship, you were sure none of your friends knew.

“Dude, you think no one notices how you stare at her? You get this little sparkle in your eyes every time you talk to her, its almost sickening how cute it is,” Steve said, patting his friend on the shoulder. 

“She doesn’t feel the same, anyway, so what does it matter? I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, Steve.” Bucky said, his eyes glued to the pavement. 

Steve sighed, “What do you mean ‘you weren’t supposed to fall in love with her,’? Why not?”

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, “Uh, never mind. No reason.” 

Steve didn’t look convinced, but he let the topic go. “You might not have noticed, Buck, but she definitely does. When you aren’t there, all she does is talk about you.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, his cheeks flushed. Bucky could barely get out a coherent sentence. 

“No, I—that can't be,” he mumbled, but all evidence of doubt was erased when he saw the look on Steve’s face, “Really? But she’s so beautiful and kind and downright great; and I’m me.” 

Steve nodded, “Yeah man, but she wont like you for long if you don’t explain your side of what just happened in there. For all we know, Rumlow could be telling her that you attacked him for no reason.” 

Bucky’s eyes went wide for a moment, before running a hand through his hair. He let out a shaky breath before pulling out his phone. 

“Shit, ok, I’m gonna ask her to meet me at the bar later. Hopefully I can lay everything out and we’ll be on the same page, but if not, be prepared to nurse my broken heart.”

Steve gave a short nod before clapping him on the back, “Good luck, Buck. You’ll do great, I know it.”

After a shower and a quick bite to eat, Bucky walked down the sidewalk, trying to figure out what he would say to you. Would he apologize for putting Brock in his place? Hell no. Would he apologize for letting it get that out of hand? Possibly. Would he tell you how he felt and accept your answer, good or bad? Absolutely. 

He took a seat at the bar, ordering a whiskey, neat. His eyes darted around the bar, his nerves making him a bit jumpy. The door to the establishment opened once more with the ring of a bell, your senses taking in the familiar sights and sound that the bar has to offer. 

You heard shot glasses hit the bar counter; the sharp sound of a cue ball being hit. Your gaze almost immediately caught the glimmer of the metal arm, a smile crawling up your face. Your heels clicked on the floor below you, the sound catching Bucky’s attention. 

He stood up, arms enveloping you in a hug. Rule 1, you remembered, but maybe I can let it slide just this once. Your arms slid around his waist, returning the embrace. Bucky pulled away first, his hands resting on your shoulders. 

“Y/N, sit, please,” he said, pulling the bar chair out for you. You took the seat, still wondering what you were doing here. “I know you said you want to end things because you found someone, and I respect that decision, but please, just hear me out for a moment.”

You sighed, but stayed silent, signaling him to go on. 

“Okay, this might come out the wrong way, but please understand that I mean absolutely no disrespect to you,” your eyes widened slightly, but still you let him continue. “Brock isn’t the guy for you, you should cut things off with him.” 

A short, dry laugh left your lips, “Why? Who told you that this was your decision to make?” 

Hurt flashed across his eyes, but he stayed calm. “Y/N, he called you a whore. He also said that he’s only going out with you to get in your pants. He doesn’t want the real you, he only wants the idea of you. I know its not my decision to make,  but I really think that this is whats best for you.” 

“No, you’re lying. How do you know that? Last I checked you weren’t all buddy buddy with him,” you said, shaking your head. “How do you know whats good for me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Thats my opinion, Y/N. I’m sorry if it’s not what you want to hear, but it needed to be said. If I can save you from this guy, then best believe I’ll put everything on the line to do so.”

“Please, you think I need saving? I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own, thank you very much,” you said, close to tears.

“I know you can, but I’m worried that your feelings might blind you from whats actually going on!” he yelled, but you stormed out. Bucky was quick to follow, lightly gripping your arm. 

You spun around to face him, anger clear on your face, “Why? Why do you care so damn much?”

Both of your hearts picked up, nearly beating out of your chests. Bucky’s eyes looked glassy, he didn’t mean to upset you. All he wanted was to warn you, and tell you how he felt. 

“You wanna know why? Because I‘m fucking in love with you, Y/N! I know I wasn’t supposed to, but you made it damn hard to resist. When you told me about Brock, my heart nearly cracked in two. I didn’t even want to think about him having what I hold dearest to my heart. I’m in love with you for you, not your body, or the idea of you. I love that you listen to me, and confide your feelings in me. I love how much you care for those around you, and the kindness that’s so clearly within your heart. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, and the smile that makes my heart jump. I didn’t want to fall in love with you, but I’ll be damned if I tell you I regret it, because I absolutely don’t,” his chest was heaving now, and you couldn’t tell if the wetness on his face was the pouring rain around you or tears.

You stared at him, the weight of his words weighing on your shoulders. You wanted to cry, punch him and kiss him all in the same moment. 

He looked like he was going to speak up again, but you cut him off by pressing your lips to his. It wasn’t at all rushed like your past ones, but more passionate and loving. His arms were protectively wrapped around you, your bodies pressed close. 

You pulled away, resting your forehead on his, “Buck, we broke rule five.”

A smile was on his face, “I think we broke all of the rules, but fuck ‘em, especially rule five.”

Rule five wasn’t a rule you talked about often, because it was understood by all parties. Technically, the ‘unspoken’ rule. 

Rule 5

Do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with the other. 

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

The Purgatory Files: All Roads Lead to Purgatory, Chapter 1

This was originally a roleplay, and I edited and spliced the existing part of it to more resemble a fic for the site I’m putting together to house these stories in a more polished form. So I’m just going to post that here.

Harry woke to an insistent nudging at his rib cage, and slapped drowsily at the offending disruption of his pleasant and blissfully deep sleep.

“Msgwymmmhslpng,” he said, and rolled over, sliding a hand under his cheek.

His bed sure did feel hard. Like lying on a rough concrete floor. Had it always been that hard? He thought about buying a new mattress, which he probably couldn’t afford anyway, then promptly fell back asleep.

Another, firmer nudge pushed past the haze of the sweet, sweet sleep that he never seemed to get enough of these days. “Mouse!” he grumbled. “Go away. I’ll feed you la–”

His sleep-crusted eyes creaked open in mid-sentence as he pushed at what he believed to be his dog, but his hand hit smooth, dusty leather instead of Mouse’s shaggy mop of fur. He stuttered into silence, and squinted at the boot that rested on the ground before his still-blurry vision. Slowly, he slid his eyes upward, up a pair of shapely, jean-clad legs, a fringed, black leather bomber jacket fitted around a wiry frame, and an angular face displaying an expression of simultaneous perplexity and amusement. Dark hair fell in a wavy curtain around the woman’s shoulders, and she stood with one hand propped on her hip as she peered down at him.

She wore a gun on that hip, a big old-fashioned revolver that looked like it belonged in a museum, thrust through a black leather holster hung on a conspicuous ammo belt. Harry could feel a heady pulse of magic swirling around and through the gun. Yeah, that was no prop or museum piece.

As the world continued to fade into view around him, he realized that he was lying in the middle of a road. To either side, stretching for what looked like eons, arid grassland waved and rustled in the growing breeze, enclosed behind barbed wire fencing.

And he had no idea whatsoever how he had gotten there.

Hell’s frickin’ bells. What did he get himself into this time?

“Uh,” he said, because he was eloquent like that. Slowly, he rolled to his knees, then grimaced as a sudden headache bore down on him. The world swam before his eyes briefly, and he drew in a breath, then sneezed explosively as he got dust up his nose. It did not improve the stabby-stabbiness of the headache. He rubbed his fingers at his temples and blinked dust out of his eyes. “Augh. Urk. Ow. Nice gun. Where the hell am I?”

“Bless you,” the woman said. Well, then. A polite gun-toting dame.

She crouched down beside Harry and peered at him, a spiraling lock of hair falling over her shoulder. He noted, because he was a detective and all, that her hand stayed close to that gun. His face scrunched up as he looked at her, and he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. A flicker of dimples puckered the sides of her mouth as she smiled at him. She had cute dimples.

She… had cute everything, actually.

Down, boy. Focus. She had a gun. She had a magic gun. She had a magic gun and was probably Trouble with a capital T, because that just seemed like a girl-with-a-magic-gun sort of thing to be.

“Aw, thanks,” the woman said. She was still smiling but her eyes were watchful. “It’s real. And I hate to tell you, but you’re in Purgatory. How much were you drinking that you don’t know where you are? Or that you fall asleep in the road?”

Harry realized he was grinning like a great, big dope. She did have cute dimples. And he did like her gun. It was a nice gun. “Real,” he echoed, and giggled with a little snort. Don’t look at me like that, he thought deliriously. That was a manly giggle. A giggle of manliness. Manly amusement. The little chuckle she gave in response was simply an appreciation of the manliness of that giggle. “Yeah. I kinda gathered that,” he said. He giggled again, then grimaced and resisted the sudden, uncouth urge to spit. He didn’t resist it for very long. The inside of his mouth tasted like sweaty gym socks well overdue for a laundering.

Then a particular one of her words swam into his awareness, and he sat blinking as his still-sluggish brain tried to process the word purgatory. He stopped giggling. Thank God.

“Uh,” he said again, then wagged his head side to side to see if it would rattle. It didn’t. Wonders never ceased. “That… uh. Wouldn’t be literal purgatory, would it? Because I seem to be having that kind of day.” He shook his head again and wiped a hand over his face. Several days’ worth of stubble on his jaw prickled against his palm, and he lowered his hand to stare dumbly at it for a few seconds.

The woman began to laugh outright, and he glowered up at her. “Hey, it’s a legitimate question. You have no idea how legitimate in my line of work.”

“Literal purgatory?” The woman shook her head, still snickering under her breath. “It’s small and just about everyone here has the personality of rancid milk but…I wouldn’t go that far.”

He nodded sagely and the world swam. He resisted the urge to lie back down and take a very long nap. “Y’know,” he slurred. “’M startin’ to think I got roofied…”

She stopped laughing at that and stared at him, her expression suddenly serious. “Oh.” She regarded him a moment more, and he could almost see the wheels start to spin in her mind. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Uh…” Damn, he was just a regular master of words today. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, its gruesome scarring still hidden beneath a black leather glove, and tried to remember where he was before he woke up here in Dustville, USA. He half expected a tumbleweed to saunter past while he tried to drag up the memory.

Remembering was a lot harder than he thought it probably should be, but he finally had a flicker of image: standing at his worktable in his basement, wrapped up warmly in his flannel bathrobe and consulting Bob about a local cryptid. “I was talking to a skull,” he told the woman. “I do that sometimes.”

“A skull?” She looked down at the him for a moment longer, nodding ever so slightly as she did so. The wind caught her hair and blew a few strands across her face; she brushed them back and tucked them behind one ear. “Sure. Why not? You and Hamlet. Talking to your skulls.”

Har har,” Harry said flatly. “Ha. Ha. Hamlet. Oh, my sides.”

Somehow, he managed to wrangle his long legs in such a way that he maneuvered them under himself, and stood, swaying precariously. He began brushing off his clothes, and in doing so, looked down at himself. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans under his leather duster, his feet nested comfortably in his well-worn cowboy boots. No bathrobe in sight. He could feel the weight of his revolver in his coat pocket. “Apparently I changed clothes after.”

He caught sight of his staff and his battered old backpack lying on the ground nearby and bent down to collect them, nearly faceplanting again but managing, miraculously, to steady himself at the last minute. He was nothing if not graceful. Straightening up to his full height until he towered a good foot over the woman, he turned back to her and looked her over, his eyes coming to rest on that gun. She seemed relaxed, even a bit amused as she watched his every move, but she had been keeping her hand near the butt of that revolver the whole time, and he had a feeling she had a hell of a fast draw. He just hoped she didn’t randomly decide he looked like good target practice. People sometimes did that to him. It has an unfortunate side effect of ruining his day.

“So,” Harry said, finally leveling his eyes back to her face– not quite to her eyes, though. Something told him that a soulgaze with this gun-toting dame could make his headache turn into Armageddon in his skull. “Almost afraid to ask. But… what day is it?”

“Not to add to that fear, but it’s September twenty-second. First day of fall. Terrifying, I know.”

“Wait, what?” He boggled at her for a few seconds, jaw agape. “September? Fucking September?” He could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. He probably looked even kookier than usual right then. “Fucking hell! Hell’s fucking bells!” He paused a beat. “Uh. Pardon my Francois.” He probably butchered the accent.

Her lips pulled up into a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve heard. Not even the worst thing that I’ve said.”

He barely heard her. It had been June. He was absolutely certain of it. He had lost three months. Three. Friggin’. Months.

Taking a half-step back, arms folded across her chest, she watched him from beneath a raised eyebrow as he attempted to make sense of his predicament. “Not a fan of September?” she deadpanned.

“Not when summer was heating things up in Chicago last I remember,” he said. “It was June. Jesus. Missing time. Can’t say I’m a fan. How the hell did I get out here?”

“June.” She gave him an inscrutable look, her tone deadpan. One slender shoulder lifted in a brief shrug. “Beats me. You were lying in the middle of the road.” She half-turned while extending one arm to point to the blue-and-white striped pickup truck that was apparently hers. “I’d thought you were dead, actually.“

“Well, unfortunately for some, I ain’t dead yet. Hell, I think my ghost’d probably be making trouble even after I’m in the ground.”

She something that sounded like, “Please don’t,” and he couldn’t help but smile a little, despite his bewilderment. He could commiserate.

It also made him wonder what sorts of things this woman with a magic gun had dealt with in order to make that kind of remark.

Sighing, he looked around himself, grumbling under his breath while trying again unsuccessfully to get his bearings. Then his eyes, of their own accord, traveled back and did another gratuitous sweep of the woman’s figure, and he definitely didn’t notice how svelte and shapely that figure was. It was purely professional observation. Of a highly appreciative nature.

Trouble, Harry. Capital T.

He frowned deeply for a minute, thoughts finally picking up speed to whirl around dizzily inside his head. Missing time. Memory tampering. Dumped in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, equipped with staff and spell-shielded coat, and– yep, there was his blasting rod, hanging from its loop on the inside of his coat, and there was the smooth, cool metal of his revolver in the coat’s voluminous right pocket, tucked in with a box of ammunition.

All like he had been preparing for battle.

Something nagged at his brain. The M.O. sounded familiar. Way too familiar.

He stewed on that for a minute, leaning slightly on his staff, then shrugged. Hell, for all he knew, Trouble over here was responsible. She did just happen to be hovering over him when he woke from my blissful stupor, after all. Complete with magical gun.

He didn’t believe in coincidence. Especially not one as big as that.

He gave a little pause, then said, “Thanks, er…?” He trailed off, hoping she would supply him with something to call her in his head other than the smoking, gun-toting dame, also known as Trouble.

“Wynonna. Wynonna Earp.”

“Earp?” he echoed. “As in…”

His words elicited a heavy sigh from her, and she rolled her eyes. “As in Wyatt Earp Earp. That’d be the one.”

One corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as Wynonna Earp– what a name– heaved a sigh. She probably heard no end of it, name like that. He offered her a hand, stealthily extending his senses as he did so.

“Harry,” he replied, careful to keep the cadence and resonance of the name neutral. Names are hard currency in the magical world. Wrong being gets hold of your Name, the full and true version of it, and they can wield all sorts of power over you. You don’t give it out willy-nilly to anything smelling of magic, especially in circumstances like this, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Harry,” she echoed again, looking at him under raised eyebrows. He nodded. He guessed she was expecting him to give his full name, but that wasn’t going to happen until he could figure out what the hell was going on here and who this random woman who just happened to find him at the right time and the right place really was.

“So, uh, Wynonna,” he ventured as he held his hand extended. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest pay phone would be, would you?” He needed to call some people. They were probably scouring Lake Michigan or something for his body by now. Murphy was going to freaking kill him.

Finally, she accepted the offered hand and shook it, and as he closed his fingers around hers, a faint tingle rushed through his palm, shivering up through his wrist and into his arm. Magic. Faint, but indisputably present. Probably not even enough to fuzz up electronics. Lucky girl.

“Not too many of those still working here,” she said. “But there’s one at the cop shop.” Her hand slipped from his, and that wry smile quirked at her lips again.

Harry was glad she hadn’t offered him a cell phone when he had mentioned needing to make a call. He would have hated to accidentally fry it, her being so nice and all.

“Cop shop,” he said, and nodded. “Gotcha. You’re so helpful with your words.” He looked around, gesturing at the endlessly rolling fields and the empty stretch of road currently dominated only by Earp’s big blue and white pickup, Earp herself, and a lost, perplexed, and increasingly annoyed wizard. Overhead, clouds were starting to gather, shadows sweeping across the ground like an incoming tide. A big raindrop plopped on his nose, and he was pretty sure he went cross-eyed for a second as he reflexively tried to look at it. Great. “And the cop shop would be…? Where, exactly?”

Wynonna tilted her head, a momentary look of disbelief on her features. For a minute, she looked ready to bite his head off, literally. “Cop shop,” she repeated, her tone acidic. “The sheriff’s office. Which is in town. Where most people have their law enforcement offices. ”

Anything more that she could have said was cut short when fat rain drops started to hit the ground. More rain fell, picking up the pace a little bit and threatening an incoming deluge, and Wynonna turned her back on him, tossing a few last words over her shoulder as she stalked towards her truck. “Would you like a ride or would you prefer to walk, Hamlet?”

He felt a little pang of guilt twist in his chest as he watched her spin on her heel and march back to her truck, obviously affronted by his oh-so-charming demeanor. Damn it, Harry, he thought. It’s not her fault you got in over your head again and wound up stranded on the side of the road somewhere with your head screwed around with and three months blanked out.

It probably wasn’t, anyway. Jury was still out on that. But he could at least act like a civil human being until he was in a place to pass that particular judgement. Give at least that much benefit of the doubt.

He paced to the truck, managing by now to walk in something resembling a straight line, tossed his staff in the cargo bed, then opened the door to the passenger side of the cab and climbed inside. Silence stretched for a beat or two before he said, “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just a bit… discombobulated right now.” He managed a little smile, glancing up at her. “Hey, thanks for the ride. And, you know, for stopping in the first place. I owe you one.”

She glanced back as his staff clattered into the bed of the truck and turned just a little to watch him come into the cab. About three seconds after that a peal of thunder crashed overhead and the heavens let loose. Wynonna sat for a moment, one hand poised on the steering wheel and her attention on him.  Finally, she laughed, shaking her head.

“That wasn’t even close to what I would consider head biting.”

Well,  that sounded suspiciously like an innuendo. Harry’s eyebrows climbed again. He had a feeling they’d be doing that a lot around her. “Sounds like you’re a bit of an expert,” he quipped. Let the innuendos flow.

Her lips twitched up into a small smile. She sat up a little straighter and kept her eyes on the road when the rainfall became more intense. He glanced up as its patter rose in volume, rattling against the roof of the cab. Guess they got in the truck just in time.

“I know what I’m good at,” she said. “And the stopping just made sense. I didn’t feel like cleaning guts off my truck.”

Harry quirked his mouth into a sardonic grin. He concurred. He didn’t feel like her cleaning his guts off her truck either.

“Can’t argue with that.” The truck rumbled as she revved its engine, and the rain fell in sheets around them, starting to pool on the pavement and in the grass. He hoped they got where we were going before it started flooding or something.

He unzipped his  pack and sorted through its contents, unsurprised to find once again he had come armed for bear. Magical bear. The pack contained all your basic thaumaturgical and ritual supplies– candles, matches, his old army-surplus knife, a compass– and a number of seemingly innocuous items that he had found to be very useful for distance magic in the past.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Sighing, he craned his neck to look at the bed of the truck, where his staff was resting in a rapidly rising pool of water. “Damn,” he said to Wynonna. “My staff is getting soaked.”

“Staff?” She looked at him like she was trying to decide if he thought he was Gandalf or something. “I thought that was a ridiculously ornate walking stick.”

Wynonna had missed a golden innuendo opportunity with his carefully worded staff quip. I mean, come on. I left myself wide open. He smirked at her and shrugged. “It is a ridiculously ornate walking stick. Slash traditional Ozark folk art, slash… uh, security blanket.” He stretched his long legs as much as he could in the limited space. It wasn’t that her truck was small, it was that he was built like an NBA player. “Never leave home without it.” At least not when he thought he was going to come up against something big, bad, and potentially interested in turning him inside out for funsies.

“Security blanket. Right. Makes sense.” Her voice once again dripped with sarcasm, but he saw her brush her fingers lightly against the grip of the revolver. Her voice softened a fraction. “It’s pretty.”

He eyed her, and then found himself smiling at her, an actual, genuine smile without the slightest trace of irony, for the first time since waking up in the middle of the road that day. “Thanks.”

Harry settled back in his seat and looked out the window. He was feeling a bit less hazy now, but still every bit as confused. He watched the fields drift past, obscured by a nearly opaque veil of falling rain. Something kept nagging at him. He felt like he should know exactly why he was here. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not call up the memory.

Missing time. Mind tampering. Elaborate games. Layers of manipulation. Players arranged like pieces on a chessboard (was Wynonna a chess piece too? Instinct told him she was, but at whose behest?). What creatures on his own personal rogues gallery had all of these things on their villain bingo cards? Vampires definitely had their fingers in the mind tampering, manipulation, and game playing pots. All the Courts. But he didn’t feel any lingering effects of Red Court venom, he was too mentally present to have been tampered with by the Black Court, and he didn’t feel any particular need to mindlessly worship anyone in the White Court and do their bidding.

There were some warlocks who could also pull off that kind of mental mojo, locking memories away, twisting perception, building subtle and not-so-subtle compulsions. But that sort of magic leaves a mark, a scar on the psyche that he was sure he would be able to feel. Whatever had been done to him was subtle, expert, surgical.

Something one of the Sidhe might have been able to do. In fact, if he went down the list of his circumstances and what they hinted at, it sure as hell seemed like faerie M.O. to him.

“Hell’s bells,” he growled under his breath. “God-damned fucking faeries.” The question was, which faerie?

He really needed to learn how to keep his thoughts inside his head.

Wynonna’s eyes snapped to him and stared. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

He cast a desperate look up at the ceiling of the cab and hoped he could explain his way out of this one without getting unceremoniously dumped off on the side of the road as a lunatic in the middle of a freaking deluge.

“Uh–” he started, but then there was a resonating bang that had him reaching for his blasting rod, and they were swerving wildly and hydroplaning and probably going to die horribly, because how else would his luck go today?

“Shit!” The curse slipped from Wynonna’s lips as she worked to regain control of the truck. It continued to fishtail for what felt like an eternity before she was finally able to guide it to the shoulder of the road. For a long moment she simply sat still.

Harry realized he was both holding his breath and clenching the dashboard in a death grip with his good hand. Slowly, he pried his fingers loose.

After belatedly realizing the truck was still running, Wynonna snatched the key out of the ignition and turned to him. “You okay?”

He withdrew the blasting rod from his coat and hefted it in his right hand, because every instinct he had was screaming “Danger, Will Robinson!” inside his head. He cast a glance towards Wynonna at her question and flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring grin. It probably looked more like a grimace. “Peachy. You?”

“I’d be better with some whisky and a dry shirt, but other than that I’m great!”

Rain continued to pour buckets on them, sluicing in opaque waves down the windows, and he felt his hair standing on end as a rising sense of the two of them being a couple of ducks sitting around waiting for their date with destiny seemed to permeate the air inside the truck. That sense spiked into an all-out crescendo when there was another reverberating crack, and the back window exploded.

“Shit!” He ducked– hey look, a pun— and at the same time reached over to drag Wynonna down beside him, shielding her with his body as best he could in the limited space. Twisting so he could maneuver his arms, he slid his right hand into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a wizard’s best friend: his Smith & Wesson Model 29. Setting aside the blasting rod for a minute, he checked to see if the revolver was loaded with the .44 Magnum rounds he always used. It was.

He’d called it, all right. Prepared for battle.

“Starting to think this wasn’t a tire blow-out,” Wynonna muttered. “Dicks.” He felt her twist around beneath him, and a moment later, she held her own revolver in her hand. She looked at Harry and did a double-take at the gun he was holding.

What? He couldn’t carry around an unlicensed firearm?

”Are they shooting at you or me?” she snapped.

“How the hell should I know?” he growled back. “I just woke up, goddammit!”

Another bullet slammed into the truck, and his lips curled into a snarl as he tried to keep both Wynonna and himself out of the range of fire.

This just kept getting better and better.

[side-angel]

Simon x Reader #19

Warnings: crowd setting

Word Count: 2.7k

Requested: yus (kind of) and then I added onto the idea

Note: so sorry it’s so late after the match, but i didn’t really come up with the idea until 3 days ago -- so enjoy the longer length instead ~K

[ masterlist ]

—————————————————

You were pacing around the hotel room, where you had spent the night. You were just waiting for someone to come knock on your door and let you know it was time to surprise your longtime boyfriend. Telling him that you couldn’t make it to the match this year because of exams, in reality, you had been working on surprising him with the help of the rest of the Sidemen. You hadn’t seen him in person for a couple months now, with your last weeks of school being busy and his schedule being as hectic as ever with the oncoming match.

Several knocks came onto your door, breaking you away from your train of thought. You swung the door open to see Josh and Tobi, who both pulled you into a bear hug. You laughed at their excitement, but nonetheless happily returned their hugs. You had known them since you were a little girl and they took the place of your older brothers, with you actually being an only child.

“Alright, being able to breathe would be nice you guys,” you laughed.

“Well it’s your fault that you haven’t come to London in such a long time,” Tobi said.

“Hmmmm I wonder why, definitely not because I’m finishing up university or anything,” you sarcastically replied.

“Yeah yeah whatever you say, education isn’t that important,” Josh dismisses.

“Says the only two Sidemen that have degrees,” you laughed.

“Hush little one..”

“Do you think he knows?” you asked, pulling at the bottom of your shirt nervously.

“Not a chance, he was much more upset than he played it off to you,” Josh shook his head.

“I was this close,” you said holding up two fingers, “to telling him about it truthfully.”

“Are you ready for this?” Tobi asked you as you pulled your luggage with you and out the door.

“A little nervous, but I’m very excited to see him.”

You headed down to the restaurant portion of the hotel where the majority of the guys were still chilling and eating before everyone got to the match. You held a finger to your lips, signaling to everyone that could see you to keep quiet about you being there. Silently and cautiously, you could see Vik pull out his camera, to vlog, as you stopped pulling your suitcase and came right behind Simon.

Debating on your head what to do, you quickly chose to wrap your arms around him. Simon was very confused, but when he turned around and recognized it was you, a smile immediately spread onto his face.

“What are you doing here?!” wrapping his arms around you into a tight hug.

“I may or may not have lied just a bit when I said I had exams to go to. It was Josh’s idea, don’t blame me!”

“I hate you, but I love you too,” he laughed.

“Are you coming to the match?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m going,” you told.

As everyone else came up to greet you with smiles, Simon stayed by you before eventually excusing the two of you to go up to his room.

“Come on then,” Simon told you as he grabbed your suitcase and pulled it to the elevator.

As the two of you got to the room you’d be sharing, Simon quickly dropped your bag next to the bed and pulled you into a long kiss.

Briefly pulling away you asked, “what was that for?”

“Well I couldn’t do that in front of everyone else could I? And besides, I missed you.”

A smile stretched across your face as you sat next to him.

“You know I like this a lot more than I thought I was going to,” you told Simon as you ran your fingers through his newly silver dyed hair.

“Yeah?”

“It’s kinda hot if you ask me.”

“I’ll take that,” he smirked.

“Come on, you definitely have to go onto your coach right now.”

“Wait,” he said pulling you back, “kinda nervous ya know.”

“Why? You’re gonna be amazing don’t worry.”

“But what if I’m not? There’s a lot of people with a lot of expectations.”

“One you’re not gonna let anyone down, two you’ll be great not everyone can be amazing every day, and last at least I’ll still love you,” you laughed.

“Woooooowwww how inspiring,” Simon said smiling.

“It got you to smile didn’t it?”

“Alright let’s go. You’ll be in the friends and family coach, but I’ll see you after?”

“You got it, Captain,” you teased.

As Simon loaded onto the coach with the rest of the players, you behind Jesse and Will, who immediately recognized you and welcomed you with a hug. You were chatting the entire time that you rode to the stadium and were all smiles as people recognized you and waved hello. You chatted around with the rest of the “family and friends” as you all eagerly waited for the match to start.

By halftime, you knew that Simon was not happy with his performance. Maybe it was because you've been with him for so long and know how he thinks, or maybe it's the fact that he let P Money come on for him before the half even finished, but you just knew he was upset. As much as you wanted to give him a hug and a somewhat motivational speech, you knew he needed to get his head in the game with the team. Oh, but how you regretted it by the time the match was drawing to a close. Nothing was finishing off for Simon, and even the crowd knew with the clear frustration on his face that matched with the rest of the team. Things were getting rough on the field when even Tobi was getting heated.

You really should have known better, with the warning signs of the streaker that came onto the field. Yet by the time the whistle blew, you found yourself stuck on the stairs returning to your seat after a bathroom break. It was a push first, as people rushed their way down to the pitch for the invasion. You were being pushed around before you got shoved, causing you to fall to the ground. You curled in a ball trying to protect your body as all around you, and even on top of you, people stampeded down.

You hadn't realized how much pain you were actually in until a pair of hand grabbed you up and you recognized the person as Nick, Simon’s brother. There was yelling all around you and you could make out multiple people trying to get security and medical to help you.

“Let me walk,” said your hoarse whisper to the medical people that were about to put you on the stretcher.

“I don't think that's a good idea ma’am,” one of the people said.

“You couldn't get here quick enough but I know that I can at least walk to wherever you're planning to take me,” you snapped, already fed up with their performance during the match.

With an arm slung around one of the medical staff, you hobbled your way to a quiet room as quickly as possible. As you began to be poked and prodded, you saw a security guard rush off back to the pitch.

--

“I'm sorry what?!” Tobi yelled at the security guard who was telling him how you had gotten injured during the pitch invasion.

“When it all began, the people behind her climbed over her, but we've now got the situation under control,” he said with a lack of any sympathy.

“How is that even possible, she was sitting in VIP?!”

“From what we can tell she wasn’t sitting down when it all began, and she just got caught in the mix.”

“Well is she okay?!”

“We're having medical look at her now.”

“I have to tell Josh and Simon.”

“That won't be necessary,” the guard said attempting to calm Tobi down.

“Won’t be necessary?! You just basically told me my little sister just got trampled and stepped on, but you don't want me to tell anyone?! Seriously?!” Tobi angrily told the guard.

Tobi scoffed and turned on his heels to find Josh and Simon amongst the mass of people that had gathered on the pitch. Luckily for him, the two were together trying to make their way back to the tunnel and changing rooms.

“It’s Y/N,” Tobi rushed out as he ushered the three of them off the grounds.

“What?”

“She got hurt, from what the guy said she got injured when the invasion kicked off.”

With that, all three were rushing to make sure you were okay, yelling and practically shoving anyone that was in their way.

--

You looked up as the door opened and when you saw three very worried men looking back at you, you cursed. “Shit, why did you have to tell them?” You asked no one in particular.

“What the fuck happened?” Simon asked, clearly upset.

“I'm fine. Don't worry!” You tried to convince, but as one person put pressure on your abdomen, you couldn't help but wince at the pain that followed suit.

“Fine my ass,” Simon retorted.

“How is she actually?” Josh asked one of the medical staff.

“Surprisingly okay for the most part. She's definitively cracked at least two ribs and has a sprained ankle with bruising throughout, but no head trauma or other severe injuries,” the lady that was wrapping your ankle replied, “just some rest for the ribs, ice if it gets too bad with some paracetamol, and lay off of the ankle. We're going to get you some crutches and use those for at least two weeks. I'm going to also recommend that you go to the hospital in 2 days at the latest for an x-ray on the ankle and ribs.”

“See? I'm just fine,” you smiled at the guys.

There was almost an audible sigh of relief from each of the guys and they surrounded you as soon as the medics had left.

“I'm gonna kill whoever did this to you,” Simon finally spoke as Josh and Tobi just looked at your injuries.

“We all know you're not going to. I'm sure they didn't mean it, besides they're your fans,” You tried to reason.

As you moved to stood, suddenly three sets of hands were at your side trying to assist you in any way.

“Stop it!” You said shooing away the hands. “I'm fine. I can handle myself, I promise.”

“And yet you got trampled on,” Josh said.

“Sorry not all of us can be tall like you,” you retorted as all four headed towards the changing room.

“You're coming in with us love, you're not leaving my sight,” Simon said as he entered the changing room and peeked his head back out when “the coast was clear”.

You blushed as the guys all turned to you when the heard the sounds of crutches approaching in the room. The atmosphere was a little tense, undoubtedly because of their loss, but you were nonetheless bombarded with questions as to how you had gotten hurt. Sitting down on the bench, as Simon changed from his sweaty shirt, you answered everyone. By the time it was time to go, everyone was more livid with the fact that you had gotten hurt than the match results.

“Are you alright?” Caspar asked as you passed him on the bus, finding a seat for you and Simon.

“Yeah, I'll be okay don't worry,” you smiled.

Staying quiet for the ride back to the hotel Simon laid onto your shoulder after you convinced him you were perfectly comfortable, as his fingers tangled with yours, fiddling away.

“You okay?” You asked him, obviously talking about the match.

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

“We've established I'm fine, but what about you? It was a hard match and I could tell you were annoyed with yourself.”

“It's alright, charity after all,” he reminded.

“But I know that's not going to stop you from beating yourself up over nothing.”

“Can we talk about this later? Preferably when we're not on a bus with all the guys?” Simon asked, moving his head to look at you.

Nodding your head slightly, you pulled out your phone only to see your Twitter had been blown up with notifications. Opening your mentions tab, multitudes of people had found out about what happened and were tweeting asking if you were okay. Typing up a quick tweet just to notify that you were indeed fine, you saw Simon pull out his phone and when you got a notification that he had mentioned you, you got suspicious at what he did.

@miniminter: Wait why are people saying I cried lol

@miniminter: ‪Can't believe it happened...smh but @username is such a trooper for everything ‬[picture]

You smiled at the adorable photo of the two of you, that he had posted with the tweet. You liked the tweet and responded with a simple heart before placing a kiss on his cheek to which he smirked. In response you simply shut your eyes and rested your head on him, trying to get some peace despite the hype on the coach bus. The bus pulled up to the hotel, and you unloaded struggling a bit with your crutches and the stairs off the bus, leaning on Simon.

“You guys go party, this is us for the day. Can't really go out with her leg can we?” Simon joked as everyone stood in the lobby waiting for the other bus to arrive, motioning to you.

You felt bad that he was missing a night out with everyone, which rarely occurred, just because you had gone and gotten yourself hurt.

“You know you can go right? I really would not mind and would also totally understand if you wanna go out tonight,” you told Simon as the two of you got to the hotel room.

“And what? Leave my beautiful girlfriend in a hotel room all by herself when she's hurt? Not a chance,” he replied as he star-fished onto the bed. “Besides I'm not feeling it tonight.”

“You did everything you could, Si. Nothing you can change now so there's no use feeling bad about it,” you told him as you set down your crutches and wiggled your way to the headboard of the bed, next to where his head was placed.

“I just feel like I let everyone down because I played so shit.”

“But that's the thing, you weren't shit. You did everything you could, and you know that the YouTube Allstars wanted this one bad. Hindsight is 20/20 you did what you thought was right at the moment, and that's all a team can ask for from their captain.”

“I should be comforting you right now...I'm still pissed with whoever did this.”

You sighed. “It wasn't just one person.”

“Firstly they ruined the chances of a game next year but they also hurt one of the most important people in my life,” Simon retorted. “It doesn't matter if they're my ‘fans’ they should have respect.”

“Just forget about it, what's done is done and just be glad I'm as okay as I am,” you replied, sliding down to his level and placing a kiss on his lips. “Besides now we have the entire night to ourselves and I don't know about you but it screams Netflix time,” you giggled as you pulled away.

“And chill?” Simon said as he suggestively winked at you.

“In your dreams Minter. You may be captain but you are not calling the shots tonight,” you teased.

He laughed at your quip and pulled you closer, snuggling into your side, being mindful of your bruising and ribs.

“Hey guess what?”

“What Simon?”

“I love you.”