#consider this a starter if you'd like!

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

“I would like to engage in conversation with Robin. Philosophize about the various topics of life and meaning behind what makes humanity ‘tick’, as they’d say.”

“And perhaps also find out what makes him motivated to go about his life as he does. His demeanour ever seemed different from others. Quite intriguing, if I’d day so myself. Perhaps I’d find an engaging and daring conversational partner in him. Or more.”

✧ ━━ 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

Robin leaned back in his chair as he listened to the voicemail. Fingers drummed lightly on the polished desk and the glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds casted sharp shadows across the room and the contours of his lovely face. The city had grown quiet by now, everyone was tucked inside to avoid the winter chill starting to seep in from the North. His eyes shifted from his lack-of-people watching instead to study the receiver and the voice that rang through. It was persistent, almost tenacious in its quest to reach him, and he couldn’t help but admire that kind of dedication. How they'd managed to find his office's number he had no idea, but he did know that however they did manage to do it, it was most likely far from legal. All the more reason to listen; a low hum escaped his lips, his fingers busying themselves by absentmindedly twirling through a lock of his pale hair.

The voicemail continued on, feeding his ego and igniting a small, satisfied grin across his lips ━ that was nothing new, but the way they spoke brought a flutter in Robin's chest. He reveled in the possibilities that could bloom from such an interaction; intelligent conversation was his lifeblood, and those who could match his wit were a rare find. Perhaps he was addicted to the thrill, anything to break the monotony of his otherwise controlled existence.

"Hmph! Alright, I'm intrigued ... "

As he reached to intercept the voicemail, the last phrase caught him off guard — a dizzying flush of crimson instantly ignited across his pale cheeks. In that moment, the world around him blurred, leaving only the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. He sat there, staring at the phone. The voicemail box clicked closed, and the red glow of the notification light flicked on. His thoughts spiraled.

What sort of brazen asshole... ?!

His chin lifted defiantly, and he turned away momentarily, tapping his fingernail against his knee; but the intrigue was undeniable. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, his gaze flicked back to the phone, and after a moment ━ coupled with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a rather loud scoff ━ Robin finally gave in. The assistant pushed himself forward and pressed the callback button. He took a moment, pushing down the flush on his cheeks and lifted the phone to his ear. When the line connected, he steadied his voice,

“Meet me at the cafe by Southside Park at 4pm,” he said, a playful edge creeping into his tone. “You've caught me for now, but I do tend to get bored rather easily… Let's see if you can keep my attention, mystery caller.”

[revengesworn]

"I finally found you, Mikey."

Draken has spent many hours wondering how he'd feel in this moment. Upon setting eyes on Mikey again, for the first time in so long... finally, he's met him once more.

When Mikey abandoned his friends, beating them up and spitting on their friendship in the process, Draken couldn't understand it. He'd been angry, so angry that he thought he'd lose his mind. He's been broken- devastated, crushed by the weight of despair that Mikey's actions brought upon him, wanting to know too many things - why would you do this? how did I miss this? -that he'd never get the answers for.

He'd tried. But Draken... couldn't abandon Mikey. In fact, even trying to let him go is one of the things Draken feels most ashamed of now. He knows how much Mikey suffered, and he knows Mikey - that that bond they shared, their friendship, the moments they had with each other... they couldn't have been a lie.

So Mikey must have some reason for all this. Draken has no clue what could be, but... how could he live with himself, if he didn't try to figure it out?

"You've been busy. But you can't avoid me forever, you know."

@kyukicho ( starter for mikey! )

[joyfcll]

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ now that riley had made amends with her friends , and hockey camp was coming to a crawling close , joy watched the memories filter their way to LONG-TERM , and even she couldn't help but sigh in relief that the worst had passed , and the best was yet to come. the sense of self glimmered and glowed as their little girl drifted off to sleep , and soon enough : the other emotions were headed off to wind down too. they needed to be up bright and early for pick up with mom and dad , after all !

❝  oh ! hey , anger — d'ya think you could wait up a minute? ❞ she asked , tapping the red emotion on the shoulder. ❝  i just wanted to thank you for yesterday. or , yknow , now the day-before-yesterday — apples , bananas ; potato patat-o - ❞ she snickered and shook her head. ❝  but i really mean it. riley would be lost without you. ❞

@spxcemuses / anger !

[spring-lxcked]

STARTER CALL. Like this post for a starter. These can vary in length from a couple of sentences to multiple paras (feel free to lengthen or shorten your own reply however you like). Multis: please specify muse. Feel free to also specify in the replies whether you'd like the starter from William pre-incident, Springtrap, or Glitchtrap if you'd like.

[cottonthumb]

❦ “It’s been roughly a month since Valentine’s. Weather’s warming up, people are feeling cheerier, won’t be long before the hill’s all green again-”

“But I’m in a bit of a bind. Right that it’s the start of sowing season and there’s plenty of work on the farm, but I need a hand of something else. Here in Galar, it’s tradition to give Applin to the people you want to spend your life with. Something of a romantic gesture-”

“Unfortunately, not all the folks who give each other Applin keep them after Valentine’s day.”

“So I need a hand on that. Most folks who can’t handle raising the little things will hand Applin to me so I can help reintegrate them back to route 5, their usual habitat. Unfortunately, some of them can’t go back to the wild as easy as all that...”

“So please, if you think you can lend a hand to a little Applin in need of a lot of love and a nice home, get in touch with me! I need as many volunteers as I can get, so all the help is greatly appreciated!”

[xxtc-96xx]

so in regards to some recent community events

there have been some events happening in the community that unfortunately remind me of old happenings in previous fandoms, so I'd like to just put my two cents out there about the situation.

Mewtwo is overall pretty simple character design wise with a pretty simple palette. You'd seen how I have made some variations with a limited palette and they all still have some connection to the original purple and pink, or green and yellow. Because of that I know that I can't honestly expect someone out there might make a similar mewtwo character with colours close by, assuming that can never happen by coincidence is just unreasonable on my part, even when you add stripes as a nod to mewtwo's clone starters

So with that being said I think one needs to be reminded in this community that similarities are going to happen, be either colours, stripes, spots, accessories like glasses or scarves and not one of us owns that aspect of a design because sometimes you can only do so much with them while still trying to stay true to the original mewtwo

If there IS ever a situation where you might think perhaps there is another person out there who's designs lean closer to yours you should ask yourself first, is this a common thing? Does this artist have a history of copying everyone else, do they copy story ideas too or is it just in terms of appearance?

Once you consider that one should ask themself, how do I approach this? Simple, you send them a private message and you ask them. I can guarantee this community for the most part is pretty reasonable and I doubt the receiving end will bite your head off for asking. What shouldn't you do? smear them, making public call out posts accusing said person of theft with no evidence

That is what people did in my old community for the Lion King, and believe me when I was much younger I fell for the trap of making call out journals on thieves myself but that will never make the problem better, it just escalates the situation and makes it more complicated and stressful. I have dealt with genuine copycats in the lion king community, I have someone who has leeched onto both character aspects and story beats from me for fifteen years and counting at this point so at this point in my online career I've gotten better at telling coincidence from purposeful copying or theft. And the Lion King fandom has devolved into a sea of finger pointing and accusations, stealing and fighting. I've seen it happen every now and then here in the mewtwo and mew community now

Do not turn this community into what the Lion King turned into, we can be better than that, we can be adults and face the matter like adults, we can't be reactionary, we can't be twitter

[kyracooneyx23]

You're My Little Secret - Kyra Cooney Cross

Kyra Cooney Cross x lionesses!reader

summary - kyra's coming to arsenal and none of the girls know that you already know each other very, very well.

warnings - nothing except its kinda crap, lot's of rambling. (let me know if you want me to make this a series)

Kyra x Sunny masterlist

Kyra Cooney Cross was Arsenal's latest signing, the young Australian leaving Hammarby to come and play for one of the biggest clubs in England. Most of the girls had known for a while now about her joining you since before the world cup.

Since the news was properly announced, Caitlin and Steph had made sure to send multiple essays on all the group chats about making the girl feel as welcomed as possible.

Unlike Kyra who had already played for two clubs, Arsenal becoming her third, you were much like Leah Williamson, you'd been with Arsenal since you were 8 and had risen up to the top through the academy and now were a frequent starter for the senior team.

Arsenal had become a home for you, and you never planned on leaving. All the girls had become your family, every single one of you shared a special bond. That's what made Kyra coming to Arsenal so awkward.

You didn't mean to keep such a big secret from everyone, you and Kyra had just wanted to stay private. No one knew, not even Katie who was like your older (extremely annoying) sister or Vic who was your best friend. Kyra hadn't even told Mini and Charli. You just never felt the need to tell them.

Only one person even knew the two of you had met before, but she didn't have a clue that you were together.

Even when they would constantly pester you, trying to get you to go on dates you just let them go on, always ignoring them.

But still after over a year of calling Kyra your girlfriend, not a single person knew about the countless kisses the two of you had shared, or all the nights you'd spent with only each other.

Nobody knew all the coffee dates or the late-night walks.

Nobody knew of the hours you'd spent on facetime when you were away from each other.

It was hard acting like you hadn't already known the girl for 2 years and been dating for 1 and a half of them. But it was better that way. You'd seen how crazy fans went about trying to prove that Katie and Caitlin were dating and the stress that had caused on their relationship, and all the times when they felt like they had no privacy. You and Kyra didn't want that. If you didn't tell anyone, not even your teammates and friends, there was no chance of the public finding out as long as you stayed discreet. But that was easy considering the two of you had a long distant relationship and no fans even knew the two of you had ever spoken to each other.

It was going to be harder now though.

Kyra had received many offers from clubs around the world, but when Arsenal had offered it was a no brainer that she would join the red and white team. She would do anything to be able to spend more time with you, a nice change to the normal distance in your relationship.

A few days after the news Kyra had joined was announced, it was her first day at the club. And for you it was your first time seeing most of the girls as you had been out since the end of the world cup with a minor ankle injury missing out on the games against Linköping and Paris FC in the champions league qualification.

Vic was the first person you greeted as she walked in, practically dragging her feet along the ground. You leaped onto your best friend wrapping your legs around her, forcing her to give you a piggyback.

'Get off me Sunny.' She groans trying to shake her body and get you off. You just wrapped your arms tighter around her neck resting your chin on her head.

Sunny was the nickname you had received when you had begun properly playing with the senior squad. The girls had been talking about you when the topic of your bubbly personality came up. You can’t remember who, but someone said something relating you to the sun and ever since then the name Sunny had stuck.

'But I haven't seen you in ages.' You complain before giving up and sliding down her body and landing on your bottom on the floor. A small pout on your lips. 'I hate you.' It was meant to just be a whisper but she still heard you, resulting in a kick in the head.

'Get up you big baby.' The Dutch girl demands, and you do as she says following her to the room where most of your teammates already were.

You go around the room giving everyone a hug, except for Steph and Caitlin your favourite people to annoy on the whole team. You tugged at both of their hair as they were facing away turning away almost immediately and diving into conversation with Beth and Leah.

You didn’t get to say much though, as a pair of hands turn you back around and your greeted by two pissed of Aussie's faces. Y/n L/n,’ you wince at the full name, the girls only ever saying it when you were in trouble, ‘we haven't even said a word to you and you're already annoying us.' Steph gives you a stern glare and you smile sheepishly.

It was well known by almost everyone that you loved to annoy your older teammates.

'We've only just gotten away from Kyra and now we have to deal with you, and her when she gets here too.' Caitlin groans, 'Do you reckon Jonas will let me resign and go play in a foreign country?' You grin cheekily at her, knowing that she really loved you. Katie often joked that you were like Caitlin's child as you always came to her whenever you had problems, and she always had your back.

'It's ok Cait,' You say, giving her a light pat on her shoulder 'I know you hate to admit it, but you love me.' She rolls her eyes at you wrapping you up in a headlock, you wriggle around, making weird, suffocated noises as you try to escape her grasp.

It's almost like fate that Katie walks in in that exact moment, you slip out of Caitlin's grasp and sprint over to the older Irish girl. 'Katie, you need to sort out your girlfriend.' You tell her urgently 'She was trying to kill me.' Katie laughs, looking over at her girlfriend who is back talking to Steph. The Ireland captain was used to the playful banter you and Caitlin had, often having to be the one to step in when you both took it a bit too far.

'Do I not even get a hello?' She teases you causing you to roll your eyes and poke her in the stomach. 'Oi, I'll get Caitlin to put you in another headlock.' She threatens.

'Please. No!' You plead, putting your hands up in defence before running over to Lotte. You slung your arm over her shoulder. 'Carlotte Mae Wubben-Moy.' You grin watching her face to see her reaction at her full name.

'You know how much I hate it when you call me that.' You don't have time to respond to her when Steph and Beth come and join the two of you.

'Is she annoying you as well?' Steph asks Lotte, giving her a sympathetic look as she sees your arm over her shoulder and your signature cheeky, smug grin that you always have whenever you are annoying someone. 'God you and Kyra are going to get along like a house on fire.' She tells you, her face slightly scared as she thinks of all the pesty things you and Kyra would do upon meeting each other.

Little did she know that you and Kyra already got on.

You’re about to respond but don’t get to as Jonas walks in. A hush settling in the room.

'Hello girls.' The Swedish man shoots everyone a smile as you all move to sit down on the chairs so you're facing him 'Special welcome back to Sunny, so nice to see you again after the break, congratulations on your success at the World Cup, you played brilliantly,' the mention of the world cup sends a stinging pain through you. You still hadn't fully recovered from the loss in the final to Spain, you were so close to winning and were still devastated that you couldn't get the result. 'Before we properly talk about the season ahead and reflect on the games against Paris fc and Linköping, I'd like to welcome our newest signing who I am sure will play a massive part in helping to lead us towards success. I am sure you already know who she is but please welcome Kyra Cooney Cross to the Arsenal family.' Everyone claps and some people even cheer as the Aussie comes into the room.

You almost immediately make eye contact with her who had been searching for you the moment she walked in. You have to bite your lip to hold back a large smile.

You hadn't seen her since the Lionesses had played the Matildas in the semifinals. You had been too busy recovering from your injury so you could be back in time for the start of the season to have time to properly catch up with her, so it took all your self-control not to get up and run into her arms.

She goes and sits with Caitlin, not wanting to make it weird if she went and sat with you.

You turn to Alessia who is sitting next to you, the two of you have a short conversation while Kyra is settling in, before you have to listen to Jonas talking about important stuff, but it was pretty much the same talk he had at the beginning of every season.

When he lets everyone go and do a light gym session, before proper training after lunch, you are almost immediately on your feet and heading into the gym.

You talk to Alessia but are hardly paying attention waiting for Kyra to come out wanting to say hi to your girlfriend. When she does, she's with Steph and Caitlin who are pointing at all the girls, probably telling Kyra all their names and stuff about them. You'd already done that over face time.

When Steph points to you and Alessia, you make eye contact again. This time you smile and wave at them. Kyra says something to them that you can't hear but they begin to walk over to you.

'I don't know if we should be doing this.' Steph says anxiously, who you can hear now since they were getting closer.

‘Doing what.’ Your girlfriend asks.

‘Introducing you and Sunny, you’re the biggest pests in the world.’ Caitlin tells her.

'We'll probably end up regretting this moment when they start stealing our boots every training session' Steph says and you grin at the left back.

'That's such a boring prank, I've got much better ones planned already.' You laugh and Caitlin rolls her eyes.

'Kyra this is y/n, but everyone calls her Sunny, Sunny this is Kyra.' Caitlin says to the both of you. It was weird hearing people introduce the two of you like you were strangers, but you played along with it anyways, not wanting to raise suspicions.

You pull her into a hug, and she wraps her arms back around you in return. You almost melt into her warmth, the familiar smell of her perfume consuming your nostrils. You could stay in Kyra's arms forever, but you know it would look weird if you stayed like this for too long.

'Nice meeting you.' Kyra says holding her hand out for you to shake. Her acting skills were terrible, she sounded like a robot, and you had to hold your breath so you wouldn't laugh at her.

'I look forward to playing with you this season.' You say back, knowing you probably sounded just as awkward as she did. You shake her hand, and she smiles slightly when she sees one of her rings on your finger. When you let go of each other Kyra turns to greet Alessia, this time the interaction seems more natural.

'It's going to be a tough race to see which one of you is more annoying.' Steph tells you as you and her watch Kyra interact with Alessia. You're not trying to look like a lovesick puppy, but as Caitlin looks at you from the side it's all she can think of, she tells herself she's just seeing things though, you can’t be looking at Kyra like she’s your long-lost lover. Right?

'I need the toilet.' Kyra whines to Steph after a while as the five of you are walking to the weights area of the gym.

'I'll show you where they are.' You say almost immediately, cringing at how eager you sounded to show a girl, who supposedly you were only meeting for the first time, where the toilets were. You played it off though missing Caitlin's small frown of confusion before she shrugs and says she'll meet Kyra at the cafeteria at Lunch.

'Don't get up to any mischief.' Steph tells Kyra in a way much like how a mother would talk to a child 'you don't want to make a bad first impression.' Kyra nods and you both watch as the two older Australians walk away.

'Lessi, you coming?' You ask the blonde striker, who shakes her head. 'I'm going to go and see Lotte.' She says leaving you and Kyra alone.

As you and Kyra walked off, you felt almost giddy. You had time just the two of you for the first time in ages. When you were out of sight from everyone else, yours and Kyra's hands intertwined.

'I've missed you so much.' She whispers a small smile cracking on your face.

'I've missed you more baby.' You say, turning around and holding open the door for her stepping to the side so she can enter. 'I'll wait out here for you.' A small frown forms on her cute face.

'I don't really need the toilet.' She tells you as though it was obvious 'I just wanted to spend time alone with you.' She steps closer to you placing a hand on your arm.

You two had been in moments like this too many times to keep count, but that didn't stop your heart from racing. Every time you were with Kyra, whether it be on facetime or in person, you'd constantly be questioning how you got so lucky to have a girl like her.

When she's so close to you that your chests are basically touching, you close that small gap placing your lips on her. Your hand holds the back of her neck, keeping her as near as possible, whilst hers sneak underneath the fabric of your training top running up and down your back. The contact of her skin on yours gives you shivers, turning into putty at Kyra's touch.

As the two of you were sharing a passionate moment, Steph and Caitlin were doing warmups in the corner of the gym, their voices were hushed but intense.

'I don't know, Steph.' Caitlin whispered; her brow furrowed with suspicion. 'Did you notice how they were acting before? It was just… off.' Steph nodded thoughtfully, adjusting the weights before her next shoulder press.

'Yeah, it was weird. Like they were trying too hard to act normal.' She glanced around before leaning in closer. 'Do you think they're hiding something from us? Like, maybe they knew each other before, and they've been keeping it from us this whole time?' Caitlin eyes widened with realization.

'I think you might be onto something. How else do you explain why Sunny was so eager to take Kyra to the toilet. and the way she was looking at her.' They exchanged knowing looks.

'Should we ask them about it?' Steph asked her Aussie teammate who just shook her head.

'Let's just see how the next few days go,' Caitlin says, not wanting to jump straight to conclusions 'There's probably nothing even going on and we're just overthinking. Sunny can be very friendly, that's probably it.' Steph hums in agreement the two of them changing the subject to Steph's upcoming wedding.

Back in the toilets you and Kyra were still making up for lost time. The two of you had moved into the bathrooms, you were sitting on the sink your legs wrapped around Kyra's torso. She had undone your plait, so your hair was now loose, all knotty from her hands being tangled in it.

When you pull away Kyra's eyes are glued to your face. The midfielder memorising every single detail almost as if she was never going to see you again. 'God your gorgeous.' She mumbles placing a light kiss on your jaw, you lean your head back a slight sigh of pleasure escaping your lips. Kyra uses this as an opportunity to place wet kisses all along your neck but you're quick to push her away knowing it would look strange if you came out of the toilets with fresh hickies littering your neck.

'Not now.' You tell her when she pouts, your quick to slide off the sink and readjust your t-shirt. 'We should get going before anyone notices we’ve been gone for a while.’

‘But I’ve only just got to see you.’ She complains clinging to your arm like a koala clings to a tree. ‘five more minutes? She begs giving you puppy eyes that you normally found it very hard to say no to.

‘I’m sorry Ky, but we really got to go otherwise they’ll start wondering where we are.’ It takes a minute of persuading Kyra, and then fixing your hair and hers before you’re walking back out to where everyone else is.

‘I’ve never heard anyone call you Sunny before.’ Kyra says.

‘Really? Surely you’ve heard someone call me it before, everyone does.’ You say slightly shocked, even your parents had started calling you Sunny.

‘Nope, never have.’ The Aussie answers ‘I think I’ll stick with babe and my love. You know, the names only I can call you.’ She sends a wink your way and you shove her lightly.

'Who said I wasn't seeing anyone else?' A teasing grin plasters your face as you joke with Kyra, her face turning stone cold.

‘I’ll take my ring back; I’ve been wondering where that was for a while now.’ She warns making you laugh.

‘Oh yeah.’ You’d almost forgotten about the ring ‘I think it looks better on me though. I even put it on my middle finger so I could do this.’ You flip her off making her jaw drop.

‘That is not the way you should be treating your amazing, super-hot and funny girlfriend is it?’ She teases ruffling your hair.

‘C’mon Ky.’ You sigh, undoing your hair again and re-plaiting it ‘That’s the second time you’ve messed my hair up already today.’ She laughs.

You are back in the gym now, hopping onto the bikes to do your warmups while Kyra leaves you to go back to Caitlin. When you get off the bike you grab a mat to do your stretches, alone until Vic comes next to you.

‘I’ve been looking for you for ages.’ She says sitting next to you watching as you stretch. ‘We need to do our pull-up comp, you may have beaten me last year but I want revenge.’ She grins and you roll your eyes.

‘As if. I love your confidence though.’

‘I’m serious, I’ve got this one in the bag.’ Vic tells you one you've finished, you and Vic make your way over to the pull up machines. Manu noticed the two of you getting ready and since last year, when you two had started the pull up competition everyone had been placing bets on who would win.

‘Everyone, Vic and Sunny are doing the pull up comp.’ The Austrian shouts catching most people’s attention.

Kyra was with Caitlin and Katie at the far side of the room, but still heard the goalkeepers loud shouts. ‘What is that?’ She asked the older pair.

‘When Vic joined last year her and Sunny did a competition to see who could do the most pull ups. Sunny won and Vic is determined to win this year.’ Katie says, catching Kyra’s interest. She’d love to see her girlfriend doing pull ups with her muscles on full display.

'Let's go watch.' Kyra insists, not leaving the others much a choice as she's already gotten up and started walking over.

'Someone's a bit eager.' Katie chuckles to Caitlin.

'Yeah.' The aussie responds, though her voice is only a mumble as her thoughts were still thinking about her and Steph's conversation from earlier.

When the trio reached the pull up machines, you and Vic were mid argument about who was going to go first. 'I won last time so I should get to pick.' You stated, restating your argument for the 100th time.

'Exactly.' Vic sighs, 'You won, so you don't need an advantage.' Everyone groans, some people who had gathered round to watch debating walking away if the two of you were going to keep going back and forth arguing the same points.

'Do you want to do this or not?' Manu asks the two of you, standing in between you to temporarily stop your bickering. 'Because if you carry on we're going to have to go outside before you can actually do the comp.'

'Fine.' You spit giving Vic a nasty glare 'You can go first, but you'll still lose.'

'Will not.'

'Will so.'

Will not.'

Will s-'

'Can the two of you shut up for once?' Lotte interrupts and you look around noticing that Lia, Sabs and Stina had all returned to their workouts.

'Sorry guys.' You apologize before walking over to the bar and getting your grip ready. When Manu says go you start, at first its easy and you breeze past the first 10, but then your arms begin to ache and you slow down each pull up becoming harder and harder.

'C'mon Sunny!' People begin cheering, their shouts getting louder as you get to your 20th, you use all your leftover strength to do one more before collapsing.

After catching your breath, you get up, sending Vic a cheeky smile as she gets on the bar ready to have her turn.

You spot Kyra watching from afar with Caitlin and Katie, not knowing that the girl was replaying your pull ups in your mind. The whole time she had been practically drooling over you, mainly your biceps that were on display.

No one had noticed the midfielders lovestruck expressions as she watched her girlfriend work out.

Everyone except Steph.

When Kyra notices you staring she smiles, dimples forming on her cheeks. She walks over to you and you've completely forgotten about the competition, unbeknownst to the loud cheers as Vic also reaches 20 pull ups. People sighing as she's unable to complete a 21st.

'Maybe I should get some bars so I can see you do that every day.' Your girlfriend whispers in your ear when she reaches you a small smile breaking onto your face.

'You enjoyed that did you?' You tease flexing your muscles causing Kyra's cheeks to get a light pink tint and her to stumble on her words.

You pull your sleeves back down when Vic wraps her arms around you. 'Were you even watching Sunny?'

A feeling of guilt washes over you as you realise you were too caught up with Kyra to watch Vic have her turn.

'Yes...'

'You little shit.' Vic gasps when you fail at lying 'I think you should be disqualified...' She turns around to everyone else 'Who else thinks Sunny should be disqualified?' she shouts everyone immediately agreeing.

'You guys.' You wine, hurt by their betrayal 'You don't even know why Vic thinks I should be disqualified.'

'Yeah but it's worth it to see you mad.' Katie laughs causing you to flip her off. 'I wouldn't be doing that if I were you.'

Later, when everyone was outside doing drills Steph and Kyra were distanced from the the others. The older girl asking Kyra about how she was settling in so far.

The left back, who had not been able to stop thinking about how you and Kyra had been acting strange decided now would be a good time to ask about you.

Steph leaned forward slightly, her expression curious yet casual. 'You and Sunny seem to get along really well. Do you like her?'

Kyra felt a pang of panic shoot through her. She hadn't expected Steph to pick up on anything. She tried to keep her voice steady, hoping that Steph was just being curious. 'Oh, um, Sunny? Yeah, she's… she's nice. We get along.' Kyra's words stumbled over each other, her mind racing for a suitable explanation.

Steph raised an eyebrow, her gaze penetrating. 'You seem a bit flustered,' she remarked softly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. 'Is there something you're not telling me?'

Kyra's heart sank. She hadn't planned for this conversation to take such a turn. You would kill her if Steph found out. She glanced around nervously, hoping no one else was listening in. 'I… I don't know what you mean Steph.' she managed finally, trying to keep her voice light despite the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

Steph leaned back, still smiling knowingly. She knew Kyra was hiding something. 'Come on, Kyra,' she said gently. 'I can tell when something's up. You can talk to me.'

Kyra sighed inwardly, knowing she couldn't keep denying it. She glanced over at Sunny, who was engrossed in her phone, oblivious to their conversation. 'It's… it's not like that,' Kyra began awkwardly, her cheeks flushing. 'We're just got along straight away.'

Steph's smile turned into a grin of amusement. 'Uh-huh,' she teased lightly. 'Sure, just friends.'

Kyra felt a mix of relief and nervousness. She hadn't intended to reveal anything, but now it seemed Steph was onto something. "I… I really mean it, I think that we're going to be close, that's all.' Kyra insisted, hoping her voice sounded convincing.

Steph chuckled softly, shaking her head. 'Okay, Kyra,' she said, her tone affectionate. 'Whatever you say.'

As they continued the drills, Kyra couldn't help stealing glances at you, when you looked up and caught her eye, you gave her a happy smile. Kyra thought Despite the awkwardness of the moment, Kyra couldn't deny the warmth she felt knowing that Steph suspected something, even if she hadn't outright admitted it.

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[deakyjoe]

Arranged & Absolute

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Reader (fem, afab)

Category: arranged marriage, smut

Summary: To strengthen his new position as Papa, Copia agrees to marry someone he’s never met.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, desk sex, you get cum on the paperwork, vaginal fingering, grinding/dry humping, kissing, groping, arranged marriage, unspecified age gap, awkward first meeting, Sister Imperator being a supportive mother (but not because Copia doesn’t know she’s his mother), dead Papas (all of them, even Nihil), guilt, self esteem issues, parental issues, loneliness, poorly translated Italian, reader vaguely described as being shorter than Copia but nothing else, let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: I chose the gif specifically because he looks hot in it. This fic went from “huh maybe one day I could write about an arranged marriage thing with Copia but I don’t know what exactly yet since I don’t have any solid ideas” to “what the fuck have I done” in the space of less than 24 hours! Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Copia had thought it was a stupid idea. But Sister Imperator had insisted. So here he was. On his wedding day. Having never met his bride.

His foot tapped against the floor at a rapid pace, nerves radiating out of him, as he stood at the head of the chapel and watched the guests flood in to take their seats. He didn't fail to notice that almost everybody there was there for him, so many of them arriving in fact that they had to start sitting on the pews that were supposed to be reserved for your friends, family and kin. But he knew you'd travelled a long way, practically the only information he knew about you, so maybe no one from your home was willing to make the journey. Still, Copia found it sad.

Sister Imperator stood at his side, attempting to be supportive. "Calm down. The ceremony will go smoothly."

That wasn't what he was worried about. He knew the wedding itself would go smoothly, Sister would make sure of it, but everything else about it seemed all wrong. For starters, he'd never met his future wife. Which was bad enough by itself. But what if you hated him? From what he'd understood, you weren't too thrilled about the pairing either but your father had managed to convince you. Copia had met your father at least but he wasn't a particularly nice man.

When Imperator had initially come to Copia with the idea he'd laughed it off thinking it was a joke. An arranged marriage in the 21st century? And in the Satanic church where they encouraged freedom of all places? He thought it was nonsense. But then when she'd explained that a well thought out match would be put in place to strengthen his new title of Papa Emeritus IV... he started to realise that she was being serious.

He'd refused at first, saying that his position was enough. He was Papa now. And there was no taking that away, especially with his three predecessors dead and Nihil also in the grave. Who was there to question his authority? But Imperator pointed out his lack of legitimacy, he wasn't really an Emeritus, and how Papa Nihil had been reluctant to let him be the face of the clergy when he was still a mere Cardinal. Then he saw the cracks in his status.

So he agreed. A spouse would be found for him, to stand by his side and bring more power to his Papacy. He'd only allowed himself a brief second of panic when Imperator had mentioned in passing the need for an heir.

Copia looked at Sister, who had changed out of the usual skirt suit she wore and had chosen to adorn a dress in a nice green colour that suited her. Despite insisting that the whole thing was a formality, Copia appreciated her effort in making the day nice. "What if she doesn't like me?"

The older woman's face softened for a moment, how hadn't she realised that was what he was nervous about? He was a sensitive soul after all, constantly seeking approval. "She will adore you, C. Don't worry."

Copia looked down at his outfit, what if he wasn't dressed well enough? First impressions mattered after all. And the paints on his face itched more than usual. What if they started sweating off? But it was too late to dwell on that now. The last few people settled in the pews and silence descended over the chapel. It was time.

The large double doors at the back of the room swung open with a creak and the quartet in the corner started playing, what Copia believed to be, some sort of twist on the wedding march. He froze as his eyes landed on you, the reality of the situation dawning on him fully and sending him into a spiral. He was about to marry somebody he'd never met.

He tried not to let it show as you started walking towards him down the aisle, a train of lace following you. Nobody was walking you to him, ready to give you away, he noticed. Your father hadn't come to the wedding? Copia drank you in, the black wedding dress sweeping down the curves of your body and the matching veil covering your face. At least he had a moment to compose himself before he had to make eye contact with you.

You walked quickly, like you wanted to get the whole thing over and done with, and you were stood at the base of the steps in front of Copia before he could blink twice. He offered a gloved hand to you to help you up, which you took after a brief moment of staring at it through your veil. Copia squeezed it gently, hoping to offer some support and solidarity. He didn't know if it translated well.

And then you were in front of him, and the ceremony was beginning.

Imperator coughed quietly behind him. "C, the veil."

"Oh." He gasped and reached up the take the bottom of it in his fingertips, pausing for a second to allow you a moment to stop him if you wanted, before lifting it and pushing it back over your head.

The moment he met your eyes, Copia felt all oxygen leave his body. You were beautiful.

You sent him a nervous smile. "Hi."

Your voice was barely a whisper, so small and worried, that he barely heard you.

"Hi." He replied, sending a smile of his own and taking your hands in his.

Sister Imperator relaxed behind him, she could tell that he was smitten with you already. She’d chosen well.

The officiant ran through the ceremony with ease, the two of you repeating all the necessary parts when needed. Then suddenly it was over, the 'I do's' were said, rings were exchanged and Copia was a married man.

"You may kiss the bride." The officiant said.

Copia looked at you for confirmation that it was okay and when you gave a small nod of approval, he shuffled towards you and rested a gloved hand on your cheek. You leaned in first, which he was glad for as he felt as if his heart was about to beat up and out of his mouth, and met him halfway. Your lips pressed together for a second or two before the both of you pulled away with shy smiles.

The room cheered, a clear mix of real elation and dubious celebration. It wasn't a love match after all. But Copia didn't care, he had high hopes about the pairing now. You seemed nice enough and he found you breathtaking, he just hoped you could feel a fraction of the same about him. Which he feared you didn't, what could he possibly offer you?

The thoughts left him as Sister Imperator patted him on the back. "Well done, C."

"Thank you." He nodded at her before looking back towards you again.

Imperator looked at you as well. "And congratulations, it's lovely to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Sister. My father speaks very highly of you." You bowed your head at her before glancing at your new husband. "I think we're supposed to run out of here now. Like the wild newlyweds people expect to see."

Copia grinned, liking your attitude, and nodded his head in agreement. "That is exactly what people expect, shall we?”

You took the hand he offered to you and the two of you trotted down the few steps before speeding towards the doors of the chapel. People shouted words of praise and felicitations as you passed them which you could only smile at in return.

Once the both of you had burst out of the exit and the doors had swung shut behind you, a moment of peace was found. You turned to each other breathless, bashful looks gracing your faces.

“Hi.” You said, louder than the first time at the altar.

“Hi.” He repeated back to you. “You look beautiful in your dress, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you.” You looked down at the garment before looking back at him. “You look handsome too. I like your jacket.”

“This old thing?” Copia replied before wincing. Why did he make it seem like he’d worn an old jacket for his wedding?

But you didn’t seem to notice his slip up as you continued to smile at him. “What happens now?”

“I believe Sister Imperator has organised a banquet for us.” He pulled you closer to him as guests started to file out of the chapel and guided you in the direction of the ballroom.

“A banquet? That’s pretty fancy.” You chimed, looping your arm through his so the two of you could walk together.

“She pulled out all the stops.” Copia looked over at you, surprised at how well you seemed to be taking it all. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” You glanced over your shoulder at the crowd of people that was emerging steadily. “Can we just walk a little faster? I don’t want to be bombarded by all those people just yet.”

“Sì, sì.” He increased his pace, making sure you were tightly secured to his side the whole time. “What made you agree to this marriage? I heard at first that you said no.”

“Ah.” You paused. “I did say no at first. Nothing personal against you, I promise.”

“We did not know each other. It’s okay.” He assured before letting you carry on.

“I didn’t want to marry a stranger. But I did want to escape my father. You know who he is, correct?”

Copia nodded. “I’ve met him.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” You winced. “He’s not a nice man. But holds a high position in the clergy. I’m his only child, you see. And he’s always drilled into me that I am useless because I am a daughter. What use is a daughter? I cannot be an heir and inherit anything from him.”

“That’s not true!” He gasped. “The clergy dictates that-“

You cut him off by laying a hand on his arm. “It’s not the clergy’s doing. It’s my father’s. It’s okay, I grew used to his archaic ways. Anyway he said the only good I would be was marrying me off. At first I said no because I thought he was going to marry me off to an old, ugly man who was unkind. Then he told me that you seemed sensitive when he met with you which translates to nice. And he also told me that no Emeritus has ever been ugly. I believed him. He used to keep a portrait of Papa Emeritus III before he died so I knew there was some truth in that at least.”

Copia’s stomach twisted at the reminder of Terzo’s death, a sense of guilt still ate away at him when he thought about him and his older brothers. But he didn’t let it show in front of you. “Well, I am glad that you decided to believe that I was not unkind nor ugly. However, considering you didn’t mention anything about me not being old I am going to assume that you consider me to be ancient.”

You gasped out a laugh. “I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t need to. It was implied.” He laughed along with you as you reached the ballroom, pushing the door open to allow you to go in first. When he joined your side again, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth as you linked your arm with his again.

“Wow.” You mumbled as you took in the expanse of the room. “You weren’t kidding when you said Sister Imperator pulled out all the stops.”

Copia led you over to the table designed for the newlywed couple. It held four chairs. One for him, one for you, one for Sister, and one meant for your father. He guessed that chair would remain empty for the evening.

You made no comment on it as you took your seat, watching your new husband closely as he sat next to you. “What about you? What made you agree to this marriage?”

He sighed deeply before looking at you. “I feared my place as Papa would be easy to shake. I didn’t inherit it officially through the Emeritus line like my predecessors. Marrying a family member of a high upper clergy member is meant to solidify my status.”

“Ah, a power play.” You nodded.

“Yes, a power play.” He frowned at that term. “But I only agreed once Sister promised she would find me a good match.”

“And what constitutes as a good match to you?” You asked, wondering what he’d requested in a wife.

A smile lit up his face. “The gorgeous woman who is sitting in front of me.”

“Smooth.” You replied, reminding yourself to interrogate him on the topic later.

Guests started flooding in, finding their seats at the various tables that filled the room. You just watched with barely concentrated attention.

You turned to Copia once the room was about three quarters of the way full. “How many of these people do you actually know?”

“I recognise most of them. I would say I probably know a third of them personally.” He shrugged. “How many do you know?”

“None of them.” You shrugged. “I didn’t have any guests come.”

“What? None of them?” He couldn’t quite believe that. He’d assumed that the people he didn’t recognise were your half of the wedding party.

“I don’t know many people back home. Those I do know… I wouldn’t want them here.” Your nose scrunched at the memory, the people you’d grown up around were not people you needed ruining what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

Copia looked at you sadly for a moment, wondering whether you were upset by the ordeal. But you seemed fine. “Well, now you have me.”

You looked at him, surprised, before a gentle smile settled on your face. “Now I have you.”

He returned the smile, picking up your hand and placing a soft kiss on the back of it. He mumbled an apology when he noticed the black kiss print he’d left on the skin there. You stopped him when he reached for a napkin to wipe it away, insisting he leave it there.

The moment was disrupted by Sister Imperator collapsing into the seat next to Copia. “You two seem to be getting along well.”

You exchanged a slightly giddy look with Copia before looking back at the older woman.

“We are.” He clarified. “You matched us well.”

“Knew I would.” She said smugly before looking at the empty chair next to you. “Your father did not attend.”

It was a statement more than a question.

A neutral smile settled over your lips, like you were prepared to discuss this. “No. I didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here. It was an easy enough decision.”

Imperator respected that response so said no more on the matter, only glancing towards the door to the kitchens where a group of servers were bustling about. “Food should be served soon. Then the day’s celebrations will be over.”

“No after party?” Copia sounded disappointed.

“That’ll be held next weekend. After all official marriage business has been taken care of. Ah, the food!” She sat up straighter in her chair as a waiter suddenly appeared and placed a plate in front of each of you.

You stared down at the appetiser salad that was about the size of your big toe. You hoped there were more courses to come. A lot more. Nevertheless, you picked up your fork and stabbed at a crunchy piece of lettuce before popping it in your mouth.

Copia did the same next to you before looking back towards Imperator again. “Official marriage business? Like what? We are married.”

She looked at him like it was obvious. “Well, you know what happens on the wedding night.”

He only looked more confused. “People getting drunk?”

Imperator rolled her eyes before practically hissing at him. "You must consummate the marriage."

Both you and Copia stopped chewing, forks being lowered to your plates with a clatter.

You swallowed the mouthful, straining slightly to force it down. "How- how soon?"

"Well, tonight preferably." Imperator said calmly. "To solidify your union."

"Sister, we've only just met." Your husband croaked.

The older woman looked at him unimpressed. "Are you trying to tell me you've never had a one night stand with someone you just met?"

"Well-" Copia choked. "That's- that's different."

"Different how?" She questioned, eyes flicking between the two of you. "Treat it like a one night stand. If it's terrible then you do not have to touch each other again. Well, until an heir is expected. But if it is good then see it as a lovely start to your marriage."

You ignored the talk of an heir, the thought of having a man you just met's baby being too much for you to handle in that moment. "Okay."

"Okay?!" Copia whirled on you, surprised you'd agreed that easily.

"Ah, beloved husband, do you find me that repulsive?" You grinned at him, only a hint of genuine worry in your voice.

"No, no. Of course not." He rushed out, thinking about how it was quite the opposite in fact. "I just did not expect you to give in so quickly."

"Give in?" You asked, eyebrows raising in question. "It might surprise you that the concept of sleeping with you does not sound so bad to me, Copia."

His heart, and cheeks, warmed at the use of his name. It was the first time you'd done so. It sounded nice coming out of your mouth. Out of his wife's mouth. "Eh, very well. We shall consummate the marriage."

"Wonderful." Sister Imperator clapped her hands together before standing up. "I shall inform the clergy of this joyous news."

The two of you watched her walk away, abandoning her salad, the knowledge that a group of old men now knew about your future sex lives playing in the back of your minds.

You shook the thought away as you scooted your chair closer to Copia's, lowering your voice for only him to hear. "You sound elated at the concept of sleeping with me."

His eyes widened as he looked at you. "Um, I uh-"

You smirked. "It's okay. We can just pretend if you'd like. They'll never know the difference."

"No, that's- we don't have to do that. Do you want to do that?" He took a deep breath. "To pretend?"

You looked him up and down. "No."

His ears and neck burned red with a flush. "Really?"

You let out a short giggle. "Yes, why is that so surprising to you?"

"Because I'm- and you're-" He gestured at your face but said no more.

You smiled softly. "Well, to me you are-" You mimicked his gesture to his face.

"Oh." He squeaked and you grinned widely at him. "But you're sure? So soon?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Although I would maybe like to see what's underneath all this paint first." You said, letting your eyes roam his face.

"Of course, of course." He babbled. "Maybe you will find yourself disappointed and change your mind."

You rolled your eyes. "Unlikely."

Copia liked your confidence in assuming you were going to find yourself attracted to his face underneath the makeup. He wasn’t so sure himself but at least you’d given his ego a slight boost.

The two of you exchanged idle conversation as more food was served, bigger portions to your relief, and the occasional guest came up to your table to wish you congratulations. You didn’t fail to notice the looks of envy that were sent your way by several people who eyed up Copia hungrily as they approached. You could only laugh to yourself, finding it even funnier that your new husband seemed to lack faith in his looks despite there clearly being a long line of people who wanted him.

A couple of hours passed by and soon enough the guests started clearing out, which you were thankful for. You couldn’t wait to take your shoes off or to ease up the laces on your dress. It had been a long day. But you knew it wasn’t over yet. The time was slowly approaching. The time when you were supposed to sleep with your new husband for the first time.

You weren’t nervous exactly. But there was still an element of apprehension deep inside you.

Once the last few people had departed and Sister Imperator had wished you both a good night, a very suggestive look on her face, you and Copia were left in an empty ballroom.

“Would you like me to give you a tour of the building now? Or in the morning?” He asked you as he took your hand in his, rubbing his gloved thumb over your knuckles.

“In the morning.” You decided. “It will give us something to look forward to. Besides, I can see that you’re tired.”

“Not too tired for you, I promise.” He sighed. “It’s just been a long day.”

“I know.” You agreed and stood up. “Let’s go to bed.”

The words weren’t suggestive in the slightest which is why Copia didn’t feel nervous as he joined your side and the two of you made your way out of the ballroom. He pointed out a few landmarks of the place as you walked in the direction of his rooms but everything went largely unexplored. It could wait for tomorrow.

Anxiety set in as you reached the corridor that led to his bedroom. What if you didn’t like his space? He was willing to change things, to accommodate, as he wanted you to feel welcome. But what if you hated it? And didn’t want to share a room, or a bed, with him. He supposed he would find you your own place to stay. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would make him sad.

“And these are my rooms.” He said as he pushed his door open and ushered you in. “Our rooms, if you’d like. But if not then I’m sure we can find you somewhere of your own to stay.”

You looked around as the doors were closed behind you. It was nice. Very him from what you’d gathered so far. There was a book case, overflowing with volumes, next to a desk covered in paperwork in one corner. A large bed took up almost an entire wall, four posters with a curtain hanging around it. Fancy. He had an ornate oak wardrobe teeming with sparkly jackets that poked out of the open doors, you’d have to ask him to model some of those for you at a later date.

You turned towards Copia with a timid smile. “I don’t want to intrude. This is your home.”

He rushed towards you, taking your hands in his to reassure you. “It’s your home now too. I want you to be comfortable here. Well, not right here if you don’t want. Or if you do want.”

You couldn’t express how relieved you were at how sweet he was. “I do want. For now at least.”

His face lit up. “You’ll stay here? With me?”

You nodded, matching his positivity. “Yes.”

“Wonderful, hehe.” He paused and glanced over your shoulder towards the bed. “I will go wash my face and then… then we can…”

“Consummate the marriage?” You offered with a sarcastic smile. “It’s okay, we can take it slow.”

Copia nodded before turning and disappearing into the bathroom. You took the opportunity to snoop around a little, to get a feel for your new husband some more.

In the bathroom, he washed his face meticulously, careful not to be too harsh on his skin. He wanted to look clean and fresh for you, not like a ripe tomato from being too aggressive with a washcloth.

Once he was done Copia stared at himself in the mirror, face only slightly red from where he’d scrubbed the paint away. Faint traces of black had been left around his eyes but he knew no amount of rubbing his eyes raw with a washcloth would clean it away so he left it there. His fists clenched around the edge of the basin, nerves setting in. What if you were disappointed by what was revealed to be under his paints? You said it was unlikely you would be but a part of him still worried. The day had been going smoothly, almost too smoothly, that he thought something was bound to go wrong. And what if it turned out to be his appearance.

Pushing all of that away, he realised that he wouldn’t know any of it for sure until he just went for it. So, after letting the murky grey water wash away, Copia opened the bathroom door and stepped out with an air of faux confidence that quickly dissipated.

He found you stood next to his desk, eyes scanning his book shelves as you had a good look at all of the titles. You glanced over your shoulder at him, doing a double take when you saw him. He was standing in the arch of the bathroom doorway, backlit with light that made him glow. If you weren’t a Satan worshipper you would have said he looked angelic.

Copia shifted from foot to foot as you stared at him silently. The panic was starting to set in again as you continued to say nothing. Why weren’t you saying anything? That feeling vanished when you held out a hand to him.

“Come here.” You said quietly, tipping your head back to invite him over.

He practically ran to you, taking your hand in his but still keeping his distance by a foot or so.

You closed the distance yourself, lifting your spare hand to cup the side of his face in it. “You are so beautiful.”

His shoulders relaxed, tension leaving them, as he leaned into your touch and turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “That is high praise coming from you.”

You shook your head playfully. “Oh, my husband’s a charmer.”

My husband. He was your husband. He liked that. “Only for you, amore mio.”

“Don’t go making promises you might not be able to keep.” You teased, warmth flooding through you at the term of endearment he’d used. “What if we hate each other?”

“I think we made a promise when we recited our vows.” He kissed your palm again before leaving one on your wrist as well, quickly making his way down your arm until it was wrapped around the back of his neck. “And I cannot imagine myself ever hating anyone as lovely as you.”

You hummed in response, not being able to form a coherent reply as his face drew nearer to yours. His free hand reached for your waist, winding his arm around you and pulling you flush against his chest. Your intertwined hands stayed connected beside you.

He looked down at you with a half smile curling the edges of his mouth. “Cat got your tongue, amore mio?”

You shook your head slowly. “Just wondering where the shy Copia of a few moments ago disappeared to.”

“Ah, well, my gorgeous wife told me I am beautiful so I decided to toss the nerves aside.” He tilted his head to the side innocently.

“Your wife sounds wise.”

“Oh, she is.” His eyes flickered downwards. “She is also driving me crazy in this dress.”

You averted your own eyes in embarrassment. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

“Oh, amore mio, I do. I really do.” Copia decided then to push towards where the night was inevitably going to end. “However, I think I’d like it even better on the floor.”

Your eyes widened at that. But you liked it. “We better get to work then because it has a lot of buttons and a lot of lace up.”

“You are in luck. I am good with that, you see.” He grinned and gestured downwards.

You followed the angle of his hands and saw that he also had a lot of lace up. Over his crotch. “I guess we can help each other then.”

“Sì.”

And with that he kissed you. It was a lot different to the one kiss you’d shared at the altar. That had been shy and slightly awkward, hundreds of people had been watching after all. But this kiss left that one behind. It was sweet and tender, just as you expected from your new husband. But it was also hungry, like he’d been waiting all day for it. Which he had.

The arm around your waist tightened as he craned his neck to meet you halfway. He tasted vaguely of the soap he’d used to clean his face but it wasn’t unpleasant. You hummed against his lips in approval which only spurred him on, his tongue now licking into your mouth. You let your hand card through his hair before sliding it down onto his cheek again, to keep his face close to yours even when you broke apart to breathe. Your connected hands swung lowly by your sides, his fingers twitching against yours and tangling them further together.

You pulled away from him, breathless, and lifted your joint hands. “Can I ask about the gloves? It’s just I noticed that you kept them on when we did the ring exchange. It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh, right.” He looked down at his hand, specifically to where his new wedding ring was sitting over the top of the leather. “I don’t know really. I’ve always just liked them.”

You hesitated before answering, taking in the way he was looking at you with pure open honesty, before nodding. “Okay. Would you like to keep them on now?”

Copia shook his head rapidly. “No, I will take them off.”

“You don’t have to.” You assured, not wanting to pressure him in to anything.

“No, I will. And then you can put my ring in its rightful place on my finger. Sì?”

You nodded and stepped back a pace as he slid the gloves from his fingers. You bit back a comment about how his hands were beautiful just like the rest of him and only watched until he looked up at you again. He handed you his wedding ring and offered his left hand out to you.

“You sure? No backing out after this.” You joked.

He chuckled. “I think I signed that right away when I said ‘I do’.”

You hummed and slipped the ring onto his finger, bending down to place a kiss over it once you’d done so. “Ah, perfect. See?”

“Yes, perfect.” He whispered.

When you looked back up you found that he was looking at you. You tried not to swoon.

“Are you going to help me get my dress off now that your fingers are free from leather?” You asked to distract yourself from the way he was looking at you.

“Sì, turn around.”

You did as you were told, exposing your back to him. He unfastened all of the buttons slowly and carefully, being gentle with the fabric of your dress, before exposing the section underneath with all of the ribbons that laced up your dress.

“How long did this take you to put on this morning?” He grunted as he untied the first ribbon and loosened it.

“Too long.” You sighed. “I really needed to pee by the end of it.”

Copia huffed out a laugh, his breath fanning against the back of your neck. “All for me? Amore mio, you shouldn’t have.”

“First impressions matter.” You retorted, letting out a quiet groan of relief once the second ribbon was loosened.

He reflected back on his own thoughts of first impressions only hours previously. They did matter, he agreed. He paused when you let out another quiet groan. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes.” You sighed. “This dress may be pretty but it sure is uncomfortable.”

“Should have said something. Would have ripped it off you in the ballroom if it was going to make you comfortable.” He pulled more quickly at the next ribbon, eager to get it off you now.

“Would have been a sight for your guests.” You said over your shoulder.

“No, would have got them to leave. My naked wife is not for them to see.”

“Ah, so possessive already?” You giggled quietly.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “Would prefer it if your body was reserved for me only, yes.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut. “It is, don’t worry.”

His hum of approval vibrated against the skin of your neck. “You’re free by the way.”

Your eyes snapped open and you turned to him again, dress falling loosely around you. You clutched at the neckline for a moment, grasping it to keep you covered. “Um, this dress doesn’t really allow for underwear. So I am actually naked underneath this.”

Copia’s eyes darkened as he glanced towards where you were pressing the fabric against your dress. “Do you want me to look away?”

“No, I was just warning you.” You clarified.

“Warning me?” He took a step closer to you, hand lifting to cover your own. “Amore mio, drop the dress. Please.”

There was only a split second of hesitation before you let go and the dress floated to the ground and created a pool of black lace at your feet. Copia tried desperately to keep his eyes on yours but the temptation was too strong. And when he looked down, there was no looking back up again.

He drank you in slowly but ravenously, eyes taking in every inch of your exposed form. When he started babbling words of appreciation to the Dark One, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“It’s only fair.” You stated before reaching for his own laces at his crotch.

Copia just batted your hand away from him, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning the two of you around. Before you could ask what he was doing, he slid his hands down to the back of your thighs and lifted you the couple of inches onto his desk.

“Your paperwork-” You started but he cut you off.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffed and kissed you again.

You moaned into his mouth when he started pawing at you, hands gliding over your body and squeezing at the handfuls of flesh he was finding. He seemed to be doing it more for his own enjoyment than yours. But you didn’t care, happy that he was just appreciating your body.

Your hips jumped forward when his clothed pelvis met yours, a mewl tumbling from your mouth at the friction. Copia took note of that and hooked an arm around the back of your ass and scooted you forward towards the edge of the desk.

“Did that feel good?” He asked and smiled when you nodded enthusiastically. “Hm.”

He bucked his hips towards yours again, using his hand at the small of your back to guide you closer to him and encourage your own movements. You whimpered into his mouth, desperate for more. It felt good but you needed more. You needed him.

“Copia…” You whined, hoping to get the idea across.

“I know, amore mio, I know.” He huffed, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders. “Can you get the buttons on my shirt please?”

Your hands flew to unfasten it as quickly as possible, not questioning why he wasn’t doing it himself. Not until one of his hands drifted from your waist to your inner thigh at least. You paused momentarily, toes curling, when his thumb brushed against your clit. Watching your reactions closely, Copia did it again.

You cried out, forehead dropping to meet his chest. “Please.”

“Please what, amore mio? Tell me, hm?” He kissed the top of your head gently to encourage you, the confidence he had when performing as Papa now helping him take charge now.

“More. Please more.” You didn’t have the words to describe what you needed.

But he knew. He lifted your head with his free hand, kissing you again, before rubbing a tight circle against your clit with his thumb. The noise you made cemented what he already knew. So he did it a few more times before re-angling his hand to slide a finger inside of you.

It felt so good that you bit down on his bottom lip by accident.

“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry.” You grumbled against him.

“No apologies necessary.” He replied softly, pulling his finger back out before pumping it back in again. This time joined with a second one.

Your eyes closed in pleasure, head dropping backwards and legs circling around the backs of his.

“Amore mio, you didn’t finish with my shirt.” He reminded you in a playful tone.

Your eyes shot open again, your hands racing to get the last of the buttons undone and the garment off of him. When it was done, pushed off his shoulders, slid down his arms, his hand momentarily retracting from you to get it fully off and on the floor, you immediately leaned forward and started exploring his chest with your mouth. You kissed, you licked, you sucked, you bit, you were insatiable. Copia enjoyed your enthusiasm.

So he doubled down in his own actions, pumping his fingers into you at an even faster speed, thumb circling your clit even harder. And soon enough it had you crashing over the edge and collapsing backwards on the desk, back flattening against the piles of paperwork.

Copia licked his hand clean, sucking your essence from his skin, with a satisfied hum. He then finished undressing himself, having no trouble with his own laces, before grabbing your hips to get your attention.

You lazily lifted your head, shooting straight up when you saw what he’d been hiding between his legs. “Are all Papas this hung?”

He barked out a laugh. “Yes, it’s a requirement for the position.”

You watched as he pumped himself a few times before stepping forward and running his tip through your folds, gathering your slick to lube himself up. Your jaw hung open the whole time.

Copia rested a hand on your cheek to get your attention again. “Amore mio, are you ready?”

You nodded at him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He slid into you with ease, face falling to meet your shoulder as you swallowed him in. He groaned lowly at the feeling, you were so warm and wet and felt so good. You made your own desperate sounds next to his ear that he couldn’t even take a moment for himself, too eager to please you. So he pulled back out slowly before thrusting in again. Your hands flew to his back, keeping him near as your nails scratched into him. He didn’t care.

Lifting his head to see the two of you meeting between your bodies, he noticed that you were doing the same thing. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you when you made eye contact. Thoughts ran wild through his head, wondering how’d he been lucky enough to be granted you as his mystery wife. The universe must have messed up somehow, right? No, it hadn’t. Because here you were. On your wedding night. And he was inside of you as you kissed.

The kiss made mobility difficult but neither of you wanted to pull away. Copia had an arm around your waist to keep you steady and a hand on the back of your head to keep you close. You, on the other hand, just clung onto him like your life depended on it. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at a fast pace to keep the friction going but not too harshly as to disturb the meeting of your mouths. Your tongue licked into his mouth hotly and Copia could taste the desire on you. It reflected what he already felt in himself.

“Close.” You managed to gasp out during a break for oxygen.

But Copia knew that, he could tell by the way you were clenching around him. So he didn’t switch up the pace, just kept going with what he knew felt good for you. And soon enough, he had you falling over the precipice again.

He wasn’t far behind, hips rutting forward frantically a few more times before he pulled out and spilled himself over your thighs and the stacks of paperwork you were sitting on.

You giggled tiredly at the sight and looked up at him. “It’s our wedding night and we didn’t even make it to the bed.”

He hadn’t even realised that, glancing over at his large bed with fresh sheets. “We still have time.”

The fatigue washed away at that answer. “Oh?”

Copia offered a hand out to you. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

You took his hand and hopped off the desk, following him into the bathroom where he washed your thighs off. After that, Copia led his wife to your shared bed where he planned to keep you for the foreseeable future.

A/N: me staring at the title of this fic knowing full well I already have an Obi-Wan fic titled “Absolution”. It bothers me a little but not enough to come up with a new title since this one took me almost as long to come up with as it took me to write the fic itself.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.ii

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

summary: While performing your latest heist, you unexpectedly cross paths with Jenna again.

word count: 4.6k

————

You seriously considered getting a job at the warehouse. Ever since the race three weeks ago, your confusion had only deepened. For starters, those brown eyes still haunted you, lingering in your thoughts more than you'd like to admit. And then there was Anton—if you thought he was relentless before, now he was downright impossible. Constant messages about everything going on at the race club, endless invites to group meetups, even asking for your measurements so he could get you a custom jacket. He was acting like you were already one of them.

You finally do something you should've done a long time ago, and put his messages on mute as you make your way to Summer Valley. One of your contacts tipped you off about a luxury car ripe for the taking, with security that could easily be bypassed and minimal risk of trouble. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Glancing down at your watch, you take notice of the time: 3:24a.m. Everyone in this neighbourhood should be asleep by now.

"Twenty-four, twenty-six, twenty-eight..." you mutter under your breath, eyes scanning the street for the address with the Aston Martin. As you take in the houses, you can't help but feel a sense of awe. Each one is a mansion, towering at least three stories high—your own place barely scrapes one. The bricks alone on these estates probably cost more than your entire home. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it'd be like to own something like this one day, a life so far from what you're used to. You can't help but wonder if your mystery girl lived in a place like this, hidden behind grand gates and perfect lawns.

"—ah! Thirty Oakmont Boulevard."

You look up at the house, tugging the hood on your head down. This house put all the others to shame, just who owned this house? You quickly shut down your curiosity, you were about to steal the owner's car. Curiosity only means guilt that will eat you up later.

You glance up at the cameras, fully aware you've already taken care of them. The only thing standing between you and that car is the garage door—and you just happen to have the code. With measured steps, you walk up the driveway, eyes locked on the garage door opener mounted to the brick wall just a few feet away. Almost too easy.

"Greaser?"

Shit—wait...Greaser?

You turn around fast and you see her. Walking down the side walk towards you with a confused look. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You scramble for an excuse, your mind racing. "Uh, just... taking a walk," you manage to stammer, trying to sound casual while your heart pounds, not knowing if it was because you got caught or because of the girl standing before you. You glance nervously toward the garage door, knowing you shouldn't be lingering here.

"Right," she says, crossing her arms. "You just happen to be out here in the middle of nowhere, staring at houses?" She takes a step closer, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "You looking to steal a car or something?"

Your cheeks heat up, and you can't help but chuckle nervously. "Actually, I'm just... uh, admiring the architecture." You try to sound nonchalant, but the look in her eyes tells you she sees right through you.

She narrows her gaze playfully. "Architecture, huh? I'm sure that's what everyone does at three in the morning when it's pitch dark." Her eyes squint, dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but admire her wit.

"Let me help!" she suddenly says, walking past you to the garage opener. "Tell me the code," she turns around looking at you expectantly.

Just who is this girl? You consider all the things you can say to get her to leave, but you find yourself saying something else, "0926."

She turns back around, and you finally take a look at her. She's wearing a simple, cute white dress that flows just above her knees, its fabric light and airy, with delicate lace trim along the sleeves and hem. A stark difference to the red viper jacket. This softer look reveals another side of her—one that feels almost disarming and invites you to know more.  You were surprised that she seemed happy to see you.  With the way you just left her in the alleyway at the race, you expected her to grimace at the sight of you.

Suddenly you hear the garage door open, and you're met with the beauty of the Aston Martin, its sleek curves glinting under the soft glow of the automatic garage lights. The car looks almost regal, standing there like a prize waiting to be claimed. Your heart races at the sight, but the girl's presence beside you adds an unexpected layer of excitement.

She glances at the car, then back at you, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Well, I suppose you didn't just come here to admire the architecture after all." Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and you can't help but feel the thrill of the moment pulse between you.

"Are you really going to steal it?" she asks with genuine curiosity. The question hangs in the air, and you decide to show her rather than answer.

You walk into the garage and approach the car, every instinct telling you to be cautious. You've done this before but this is the first time you had an audience, making you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you kneel beside the driver's side door, your fingers dancing over the sleek frame as you check for any security features.

After a moment, you spot the lock mechanism and pull out your slim jim—a 24 inch long thin metal tool.

"What the fuck, you just had that in your pants?"

You laugh at her question, and with precision you carefully slide it into the gap between the door and the frame, wiggling it just right until you hear a satisfying click.

You fought the urge to turn back and see if she was impressed with your abilities. Opening the car door, you slide inside, the plush leather seat enveloping you like a warm embrace.

Like it's muscle memory, you fumble with the ignition as you reach for the steering column. With a bit of twisting and pulling, you manage to bypass the ignition system. The engine starts, a deep growl that sends a thrill down your spine.  The excitement gets to you and you start fiddling with all the foreign buttons.

You accidentally hit something, and suddenly the entire car unlocks with a soft click.  Without missing a beat, the passenger door swings open, and before you can even react, the gorgeous Viper slides into the seat beside you.

"Uhm—absolutely not. You can't come," you blurt out, shaking your head immediately.

She turns to you with a slight frown, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  "What? Why not?"

Why not? Is this girl serious?  You two are far from being friends—hell, you're from completely different sides of the track.  You're not about to start committing crimes with a Viper riding shotgun.  Getting buddy-buddy with someone like her? Yeah, that's not happening.

"Are you insane?  We talked for maybe ten minutes three weeks ago, and now you want to be my accomplice?" you snap, frustration bubbling over.  If it weren't for her, you'd already be on the highway by now.

Her demeanor shifts instantly, and you see an attitude rise to the surface that you hadn't seen before.  Her eyes narrow, and her voice takes on a sharp edge.  "I don't want to be your anything," she snaps, her tone dripping with sass.  "But you better get this car moving, Greaser." Her words cut through the tension like a challenge, and for a split second, you see just how serious she is.

You grit your teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly.  This wasn't part of the plan—none of it was—but you're losing time, and every second she's sitting there, you're closer to getting caught.  You weigh your options, but her fiery gaze tells you she's not getting out without a fight.

"Fine," you mutter under your breath, throwing the car into gear.  You pull out of the driveway, you feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.  You shoot her a quick glare as you hit the gas, tires squealing as you tear down the street.  Your mind is racing just as fast as the car, trying to figure out who this girl really is and what she wants. This whole thing just got a lot more complicated.

Twenty minutes pass in tense silence, the kind that feels heavier with every kilometre. It's then you realize—you're heading straight for the Sinner's garage. And there's no way you can take her there.

"Hey," you murmur, quieter than intended, breaking the awkward stillness between you.

From the corner of your eye, you see her glance over at you. "I can't take you to the Sinner's garage. Tell me where I can drop you off," you say, keeping your voice as even as possible, hoping to avoid another argument.

"I'm not getting out."

Oh. My. God. Any calm you had vanishes in an instant, replaced with a fresh wave of frustration. "Why are you even here? Do you want the car for yourself?"

She raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you forget I'm from Summer Valley? We Vipers can actually afford our cars—we don't have to steal them."

That struck a nerve. "Then why are you torturing me like this?"

Instead of answering, she shoots back a question of her own. "Why did you freak out on me at the race?" You stay quiet, but she presses on. "I thought we had something going on," she says, her voice softening slightly. "And then you just ditched me."

Her eyes flicker with something like hurt, but you refuse to get drawn in.

"There was nothing going on between us," you lie smoothly.

"Oh bullshit!" she scoffs. "What changed your mind?"

"It's a long story," you respond, making it sound boring.

"We've got time," she retorts.

"Look I'm not telling a stranger my life story."

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"What?" you say confused.

"0927," she says randomly.

You take your attention off the road for a second and glance at her. You raise a brow, urging her to explain herself.

"The code for the garage wasn't 0926—you had the last number wrong."

Huh. "Why do you know that?" you say cautiously, your heart starting to race.

"Because the code was my birthday," she reveals, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

"Why would the code be your birthday?" you murmur, almost to yourself. Then it hits you, and your eyes widen as your heart stops. "Is this your car?!"

"My dad's," she corrects you quickly.  "It'd be weird if I didn't know the code to my own house right?" she starts laughing to herself, studying your reaction.

You should've listened to the warning bells blaring in your ears as soon as you laid your sights on the girl. She was different, there was something about her you found intriguing about her immediately. But you didn't know intriguing meant insane until this very moment.

Deciding it's not the best idea to drive in shock, you exit the highway, now in your territory, Brimstone, and park alongside a lowkey street.

You put the car in park and turn your entire body to face her. "So if I don't tell you my life story, you're going to snitch?" you ask looking deep into her brown eyes, trying to find any sign of a bluff. "I took care of the cameras," you suddenly say, remembering that she didn't have any tangible proof of you stealing this car if you returned it. "It's your word against mine," you smirked feeling as though you got the upper hand.

"All of them?" she questioned. "Even that one?" she smiled, pointing to the horn on the steering wheel.

You turn to look at what she's pointing to and see absolutely nothing. You turn back to her, you catch her glancing at an app on her phone displaying multiple surveillance feeds. One of them showing your face live, in perfect view from the steering wheel.

What kind of rich people technology is this? You look back to the wheel and still couldn't see the camera. You were trapped and this stranger had the upper hand on you.

You sigh, your mind running through millions of different possibilities on how to leave this situation unharmed. "Okay I'm sorry. Let me return the car then. I can't afford to get arrested," you plead, embarrassed to be caught in such a ridiculous situation.

"Greaser, I don't care about the car. I want to know why you ditched me. I want to know you."

Your heart flutters at her declaration. She wants to know you? All of this is just to get to know you? You may be a little twisted, but you're intrigued by the lengths she's gone to for answers.

"Okay. I'll answer. But can you please turn the camera off now. I don't want this to be documented."

She nods, tapping on her phone to disable the camera. She then turns to you, looking at you expectantly, waiting for your response.

So you begin.  You open up for the first time in your life—not entirely by choice, but because you feel like you have to.  You verbalize the inner turmoil, the impending doom that clouds your mind when you think of the life you've been dealt.  The choices you make—the choices you must make.

You tell her about Anton. How your father's founded the Sinners. How your cousin's the leader and you're not a member, but rather a mechanic who makes her living off of stealing, working and selling cars. How Anton's been trying to make you join the crew, fulfill your legacy.  How you're conflicted because you don't know if that's what you want.  How your father died during a race, and that's deterred you from joining the crew and driving in general. How you don't agree with the illegal activity the group partakes in. How your mom has also conditioned you to hate and avoid anything racing related.  How you feel trapped in the confines of Brimstone and stuck in the narrative of another poor Brimstoner who has to work themselves to the bone for the rest of their life.

When you finally finish, you realize you've been rambling, but you don't apologize.  She asked the question, and the entire time, she listened intently, nodding and showing understanding.

"And here I thought you were more than just a pretty face," she shakes her head disapprovingly.

You're shocked. You open up to someone for the first time and they're calling you stupid?  You narrow your eyes at her, not knowing what resulted in this response from her.

"So from what you've told me I've gathered that, you hate doing illegal shit, yet you steal cars. You hate racing, but you speed away from cops. You hate Brimstone, yet you're still here? You do realize you're the reason why you're playing the typical narrative."

You narrow your eyes, your blood beginning to boil. How dare she? After everything you just laid bare, she's making it sound like it's all black and white, like you're choosing this life.

"You think it's that simple?" you snap, your voice dripping with frustration. "You think I haven't tried to get out? I'm stuck here because I don't have a choice. My whole life has been about surviving—making sure I don't end up like my father. You think I want to be in this mess?"

She doesn't flinch. In fact, she barely reacts, just keeps looking at you with that infuriating calmness.

"Survival's one thing," she says calm, "but you're not just surviving—you're making excuses. You let the people around you make choices for you because it's easier than standing up to them."

You grit your teeth. "You don't know me."

"Maybe not," she admits, leaning back in her seat, eyes flickering with something like challenge. "But I know enough to see that you're scared. Scared of breaking away. Scared of what happens if you do. So you settle, and teeter on the edge, never crossing the lines—never pushing the limits."

The truth of her words stings, more than you care to admit. But you've never had anyone call you out like this before, and you don't know whether to be furious or impressed.

"You think I can just walk away from everything?" you ask, voice low but trembling with barely contained anger.

She tilts her head, considering you. "Maybe not. But you could try. Stop running from yourself and start making decisions for your own damn life."

The silence that follows is thick with tension.

You pull out your phone, scrolling through the flood of texts from Anton. From the string of messages, you piece together that the crew is busy on the opposite side of town, partying it up. The garage should be empty. You clench your jaw, too frustrated with the girl sitting beside you to even ask her to leave. You don't have the patience right now, and you need to make sure no one sees you bringing her to the garage. If anyone caught wind of this, it'd be a mess you couldn't afford.

Putting the car into drive, you embark on the ten minute journey to the garage where you mod your cars. Neither of you two say a word the entire way.

The garage comes into view, glancing over your shoulder, you double-check the coast is clear—no crew, no unwanted eyes.

As you cut the engine, the weight of the silence emerges again. You exhale sharply, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary before turning to her.

"End of the line. You can get out now," you say, trying to sound firm, though your frustration is laced with exhaustion.

She doesn't budge. Instead, she leans back in the seat, crossing her arms casually, like she's not about to leave anytime soon.

You roll your eyes. Instead, you decide to step out of the car first, feeling her gaze follow you as you make your way to the tool bench.

You hear the car door opening softly behind you, and shut a second after.

"Why are you still here?" you ask tiredly, turning around leaning against the tool bench. "I've told you my story."

She doesn't answer immediately, just watches you with those damn unreadable eyes of hers, arms still crossed leaning against the car you just stole, like she's perfectly comfortable in your world. After a moment, she tilts her head slightly, studying you.

"And yet, you still don't get it," she finally says, her voice low, but firm. "I'm not here for your story. I'm here for you."

Her words hit you harder than you expected, and you blink, thrown off guard.

"For me?" you scoff, shaking your head like it's the most ridiculous thing you've heard all day. "You don't even know me." You say again for the second time today.

"But I want to," she admits, pushing off the car and taking a step closer, "And I think you want me to, too."

Your heart skips a beat, but you try to ignore it, turning away to focus on anything but the intensity in her gaze. You're not about to let her see how much that statement rattled you.

That smirk is dangerous. You feel yourself slipping for a moment but catch yourself before you fall. She steps closer, her attention shifting to the workbench in front of you both. She picks up a wrench, but you can tell right away—it's too heavy for her. Her grip is awkward, and the strain on her flimsy wrists is almost comical.

You chuckle at her struggle. "That's not how you hold it."

Before you think twice, your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers into the right position around the wrench. The touch lingers just a second too long, and you catch the faintest hitch in her breath.

You notice the brief flicker in her eyes. You quickly pull your hand away, pretending it didn't happen, and step back. "There. Now you won't drop it," you say, clearing your throat, trying to steer the moment back to neutral.

You swear you saw the faintest tinge of red on her cheeks, but she quickly looks away, trying to play it off. The sight of it sends a ripple of satisfaction through you, knowing you've managed to chip away at that confident exterior, if only for a moment.

"What's your name?" you suddenly ask, realizing you couldn't even address the girl who's been the bane of your existence.

"Jenna."

"Jenna," you repeat back softly, testing the name out on your lips. "It suits you."

"And what about you Greaser?" she asks with a smile, the rouge tint still on her face.

"Y/n," you reply, a hint of a smile creeping onto your lips as you say it. You know the weight of a name. It was the very reason you ditched Jenna at the race. Now that she's given her name and she's got yours, you know that means connection, connection means vulnerability and vulnerability means complications.

"Well, I'm calling it a night," you yawn, stretching your arms wide. You notice her gaze trailing over you, your shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin at your waistband.

"How are you getting home?" you ask, catching a glimpse of the playful spark in her darkened eyes.

"Uber? Or I could just crash at yours," she muses, wiggling her brows teasingly.

You know she's half-joking, but the idea lingers in your mind longer than you'd like. Honestly, it wouldn't be the worst thing. But you're relieved she's not serious; the last thing you want is for her to see how you really live.

It suddenly dawns on you that the home you were just at is hers, along with that stunning car. She leads a lavish life, one you can barely fathom. You can only imagine what she'd think of your own living conditions—a stark contrast to her world of luxury.

You sigh, cursing yourself for what you're about to do. Grabbing a key off the table, you walk towards another car in the garage. "Come on, I'll take you home," you call out.

Jenna tried her hardest to hold the smile on her face in. You cared about her, that's what that had to mean right? You didn't want her getting in the car of a stranger, and would rather have to drive her all the way back to Summer Valley, then potentially have her at harm's way.

Before you knew it you were back on the highway to Summer Valley. In the silence, you realized that the girl knew so much about you, yet you knew little to nothing.

"So why didn't your boyfriend drop you home?" you ask her, shifting the conversation you two were having about which crew had the better jackets.

The question catches her off guard, and she does a double take. You remember how she startled you earlier when you were about to steal the car—she was walking home. "Boyfriend?" she repeats, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah Percy," you say looking straight ahead.

"Oh my god ew! He's not my boyfriend," she retorts, shuddering at the thought.

You can't help but chuckle at her reaction. "That hug you shared with him at the race says otherwise."

"You saw that?" she asks, her voice softening with a hint of embarrassment.

You nod. "So, you're not into him, then?"

"Not even close," she replies, crossing her arms defiantly. "He thinks he's so cool, but I can't stand him. It's all just an act."

An act? Posturing?

You fall silent for a few moments, weighing whether to voice the thought swirling in your head. Something tells you that asking this question could open a door between you two, or perhaps it already has.

"Okay," you sigh, glancing over at her. "What do you need my help with?"

Jenna's expression shifts, seriousness replacing the playful glint in her eyes. She realized that you finally picked up on the tension and underlying problem under her words.

"I need to get some dirt on Percy," she reveals getting right to the point.

You didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. But for some reason it does make sense to you that this asshole's crew member did not like him. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because he has some serious leverage over me," she explains, her tone steady. "If I can find something on Percy, maybe I can turn the tables and protect me and my family."

Your heart races at the revelation. You want to press for details, want to know what exactly does Percy have on her, but you decide better against it. She'll tell you with time. "So you're with the Vipers because of him?"

Frustration flashes across her face. "Yeah, something like that," she sighs not elaborating. "He thinks he can control me. And he has been all this time," she frowns. "But I want to show him he's wrong!"

You can't help but admire her determination. "Why me? You couldn't find someone else to help you?" you ask, genuinely curious about her choice.

Jenna meets your gaze, her expression resolute. "Because you're not like the others in the crew—you're different. I can't turn to any of the other Vipers incase they rat me out. I can't ask any of the Sinners for obvious reasons, but I had a feeling about you. And its perfect now that I know you aren't a Sinner. You're close enough to the race world but not too close. Plus, I saw how resourceful you are when you stole that car. If anyone can help me, it's you."

Her faith in you feels like a heavy weight and a warm glow all at once.  You take a moment to process her words. "And you trust me?"

She bites her lip, contemplating her response. "Trust is a strong word, but I believe you understand what it's like to feel trapped.  I need someone who gets it, someone who wants to fight back against the odds."

"I know I'm throwing a lot at you right now. Just... talk to me about it later, okay? It's 4am and I get that this is a lot to take in."

All you can do is nod. You can't believe you're even considering this for even a second. Why would you help a Viper? Especially one who's been so disrespectful and always seems to challenge you.

She grabs your phone which isn't password protected, and starts putting her number in it. "I really hope you help me Y/n. I need you."

You don't respond. As you approach her street you see a swarm of cops in front of her home. Knowing exactly why, you pull over about 12 houses away from hers.

"Wait won't your dad also have the camera footage of me—"

"Don't worry, I already took care of it," she smiles, proud of herself. "Consider that car a friendly offering for our potential alliance."

A four-hundred thousand dollar car, as an offering is baffling. But maybe this is how the rich operate.

While you're lost in thought about everything that's happened tonight, you suddenly feel a soft brush of lips against your cheek.

It's gone as quickly as it came, and you're left stunned.

"Thanks for the ride, Greaser. I'll be waiting for your text."

With that, she steps out of the car and strides toward her home, toward the police, her distraught father, and a world so different from your own.

You already knew your answer to her request. You could've told her right then and there, but you wanted her number and kept silent. You also didn't want to seem too eager.

As you watch her walk off, you realize you never answered her question.

I want to know why you ditched me.

"Because I think you're the answer to all my problems. I need you too."

next chapter

[lowkeyrobin]

HII so I was reading your who you write for and saw you write for Charlie Bushnell, so I was wondering if I could get like reader and Charlie at like the an interview???

Thank you -🍄

hell yeah of course 🙏🙏 ; thank you 🍄anon, hope you enjoy 🫶🫶 ; i dunno how but this got a little off topic?? I apologize

CHARLIE BUSHNELL ; the interview

summary ; youre a journalist, he's an actor

warnings ; language, little cringe kissing scene (totally sfw dw)

disclaimers ; I said "scandalous ankles" because back in the olden days ankles and showing any skin was considered scandalous, for anyone who didn't know. reader is described to be not into fitness stuff, also don't mind me not knowing shit about fitness/weightlifting

word count ; 883

masterlist

"Hi, welc-hum inside." You smile, waving to Charlie as he enters the room. You then cringe at yourself in embarrassment. "Sorry, hi, welcome." You awkwardly chuckle, "I apologize, my words are all tangled today"

"You're good" He waves, a comforting smile on his face. He wears a black t-shirt with a logo in the corner and design on the back, paired with some jorts and sneakers like he just came from the gym. You didn't mind though, you urged your guests to come comfortable over casual.

Video interviews that weren't in front of a live crowd were the best for both of you, thank God. Meeting this Godsend of a man nearly gave you a heart attack. Just looking at his gorgeous eyes and his perfect features, nothing was wrong with him whatsoever. He was genuinely a 10/10.

He sits down in the guest chair across from yours, watching you sift through a desk a few feet away, looking for something. Your dress pants rise at the ankles every time you make a step, revealing more of your scandalous ankles, covered by socks.

You finally sit down, apologizing for taking so long to find your notebook where you held a few questions and conversation starters. The cameras begin rolling, and you introduce yourself and Charlie as per usual.

"So, what's it like being on set, with all the cameras, lights, props, and green screens? What are the action scenes like?"

Charlie lightly smiles as he gives you an answer, using his hands to talk a little bit. He seemed a little tense and nervous, but you didn't point it out or blame him, it took you years to be fully comfortable where you sat.

"What even are you? Cause like, you're an interviewer but also a journalist, what do you prefer being called?" The curly haired boy asks you.

You shrug, "Journalist, I guess. Interviewer could be put like, inside the circle of journalism, I'd say. I'm a journalist before I'm an interviewer"

He nods, giving you a gorgeous smile that you had to quickly look away for. You discreetly hide your flushed face, looking down at your notebook.

You write down some memorable quotes as you sit and chat with him, bringing up some interesting conversation and learning more about being on set and the production behind media.

After the cameras are off, you thank him and invite him to stay for some aftertalk and lunch. You came in with a large bowl of taco salad you needed to finish before it went bad and were offering it to anyone who wanted it. He accepts the offer, staying back in the break room with you to eat some of that salad you'd brought in. In his words, it was very much better than whatever fast food he was going to go get before returning home.

Your conversation quickly turns into one regarding music and working out, although you weren't too into fitness, the occasional jog here and there keeping you healthy, apparently.

You both stand up, setting your bowls and forks in the dishwasher to get them cleaned. You stand against the counter as he leans his hand against it a couple feet away.

He pulls up his t-shirt sleeve, flexing his arm to show off his muscles. He's trying to impress you, mostly, but you had asked how frequently he worked out. Not his fault.

"Usually lift about 145"

You nod, paying more attention to his face than his muscles. Not exactly your question, but you'd take it.

"You okay?" He asks, seeing you zoned out staring at him.

"Yeah, sorry-"

"Am I that handsome to you?" He asks, lightly teasing you.

"Wh- I mean, hey now-"

He lightly giggles, stepping forward a bit.

You stare into his brown eyes, colored like a dark chocolate mocha. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, seeing your eyes almost glimmer as they stare into his.

He's just a guy, you're an interviewer, a journalist. This is weird, isn't it? Is it not?

"May I?..." He whispers, looking down at your lips, then up at your eyes.

Triangle Theory.

You nod, a soft smile painting your face.

He quickly embraces your lips with his, hands resting on your waist. You melt into his kiss, your bodies tied together. He picks you up, hands resting behind your thighs, placing you on the counter.

You quickly pull away, hands on his shoulders as he stands between your legs. "Okay, what the fuck? Do that again"

He smiles, looking up at you. His arms are now loosely wrapped around your hips and waist area, his curls falling into place like dominoes.

"You're an interesting one"

"Says you, actor guy"

"Don't try and play me at my own game"

You open your mouth to speak, but shut yourself up, seeing the smug look on his face.

He holds your left hand in his right, a slight panic running through both of your heads as he rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

You speak up now, finding your stomach filled with butterflies.

"You make me want to grab a dictionary and manually find the words I'm looking for to describe you and how attractive that was."

He lightly laughs, kissing your hand.

"Whatever you say, journalist"

[bookished]

( a collection of starters. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post 💛 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"The rain fell in heavy sheets, and I knew it was the day that would change everything."

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we'd made different choices?"

"You promised you'd never leave, and now you're telling me you have to go?"

"What's the one thing you've always wanted to do but haven't had the courage to try?"

"Why are you always pushing me away when all I want to do is help?"

"I never thought I'd see you here."

"We used to be so close. What happened to us?"

"Sometimes, I feel like I'm living someone else's life."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"I thought I'd lost you forever."

"The clock struck midnight, and with it, my life took an unexpected turn."

"The dusty, forgotten diary I found in the attic held secrets I never could have imagined."

"I can't believe you said that to them. Do you realize the impact of your words?"

"What do you want from me, after all this time?"

"You were always the one who got away."

"Why did you come back?"

"I've been keeping something from you, and I don't know how to tell you."

"Remember when we used to dream about the future together? What happened to those dreams?"

"You're not the person I thought you were."

"I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I'm not so sure."

"It's never too late to change, you know."

"Let's make a pact: no matter what happens, we'll always find our way back to each other."

"I've been searching for you my whole life, and now that I've found you, I don't know what to say."

"Why did you do it? Why did you betray us?"

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd come back."

"You've changed so much since the last time I saw you."

"We used to be best friends. What happened between us?"

"I have a secret, and I need your help to keep it."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?"

"I never thought I'd miss something so ordinary until it was gone."

"You were always the one who understood me, even when I couldn't understand myself."

"I can't keep pretending that everything is fine."

"Life has a funny way of bringing people back together, doesn't it?"

"I thought I knew who I was until I met you."

"What's the worst mistake you've ever made, and did you ever make amends for it?"

"We're in this together, no matter what."

"You're the only one who knows the real me."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I need your advice."

"Why do you always push people away when they try to get close to you?"

"Sometimes, the hardest part is forgiving yourself."

"No matter where life takes us, I hope we'll always have this moment."

[stellophiliac]

you should make a website!

"my favorite social media site is shutting down!"

"the CEO of the site i use just committed another atrocity!"

"i want a webspace that's all my own!"

if any of these sound like you (and if you're on tumblr, i know at least one applies) you should make your own website!

why make a website?

incredibly customizable

you can put whatever you want on it

it's, well, your own! like a house you build with your own hands

things you'll need

a computer. you can maybe get away with doing this on a mobile device, but i have zero experience there

a code editor. i like VScodium, which is a de-microsoft-ed version of VScode.

a will to learn ;)

site hosting

neocities. everyone knows neocities. at this point i do feel like it's become a bit too centralized, but it's a good option nonetheless. do note that there are filetype restrictions for free users, but that shouldn't be a huge issue for most. what may be an issue, though, is that there's a content security policy that prevents sites made after jan 1st, 2024 to use outside scripts. also, you have to pay to use your own domain

nekoweb. similar to neocities, but there's no filetype restrictions or a content security policy. some differences are outlined in the FAQ (thinking about moving here... i am a traitor...) i'm not sure if domain support is free or paid.

github pages or codeberg pages. you'll need an understanding of git for this

pages.gay: run by besties.house, uses git

teacake: free hosting is currently closed, but paid hosting starts at 2 bucks a month.

leprd.space: i know next to nothing about this.

a web server. don't recommend this if you don't know computer stuff but it is an option (you'll likely have to provide your own domain though)

gripes & solutions (?)

i'm not comfortable maintaining pages in pure HTML / templating with JS sucks!

with a static site generator, you can write pages in markdown and they'll be converted into HTML and (if you'd like) be put into a template of your choosing. my personal choice is 11ty but there are tons of options!

static site generators can be a bit of a learning curve (and you will have to write some html for templating) but if you're making a lot of pages or blogging regularly it's something to consider

there are starters for 11ty online but i might make a more beginner-proofed starter and/or guide in the future? don't count on it

i don't want to write/maintain CSS

simpleCSS is a tiny CSS file you can use to make semantic HTML ("naked" HTML) look nice. it's got decent customization options too. it's not particularly fancy or opinionated, but it's a good starting point if you need something

i don't know what to put on my website!

small list of ideas:

weblog

art/writing/music gallery

movie/show/book tracker

place to store bookmarks/links

scary! i'm scared!

my askbox/messages/e-mail inbox/etc. are open to anyone who'd like to ask for help!

[crownmemes]

Friendship Starters, Vol. 2

(Sentences for friends, with an assortment of feelings. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"That look in your eye is a pain in my ass. You know that, right?"

"You're an only child, aren't you?"

"Take it from me, you need some fun!"

"You're too much of a nice boy. Let's let the bad boy out for a bit!"

"What sort of trouble are you up to now, hm?"

"I've always thought of you as one of the good ones."

"It's my birthday today."

"Now, whatever you do, don't get excited."

"You know, you don't have to keep humouring me like this."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Is it your plan to stay a while?"

"Do you remember the day we met?"

"What I don't understand is why my best friend can't be happy for me!"

"Oh, I was going to say, we should do something for your birthday! A proper party!"

"You know I'll find out what you're up to, don't you?"

"You have to admit that your social life has been a bit anaemic as of late."

"I'm your best friend, and half the time, I don't understand you!"

"You're more like him than you want to admit."

"I just wanted to be your friend."

"If you'd like, you could stay here"

"I was wondering when you'd grow bored of ignoring my calls!"

"Never would have figured you for a motorcycle guy."

"Is everything okay? You seem annoyed about something."

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"Am I ever going to live this down?"

"I'm sorry my mum asked so many rude questions. Don't take it personally."

"You know, in some cultures, it’s considered almost rude for one friend to spy on another."

"You value our friendship more than your ethical responsibilities."

"Are you going to ignore me all day again?"

"Hey, you know what you need? A night out on the town!"

"Why are you being weird with me again? I thought we weren't doing that anymore."

"We've always done things together. Why does that suddenly have to stop?"

"You're trying to objectively measure how much I value our friendship?"

"Every time I go to one of your parties, I end up embarrassing myself in some new and unexpected way."

"Let's play truth or dare!"

"We make rather a good team, you and I."

[denaliwrites]

Road to Hell

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Of all the subjects Crowley thought he might walk in on you researching in the bookshop, demonology was probably at the bottom of the list.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Crowley is a dick (affectionate).

"What're you reading today?" Crowley asked, towering over you with a contemplative look. You lifted the book for him to see and in return he offered a shocked choking sound in the back of his throat. "Demonology, huh? What... inspired you to read that?"

He hadn't told you anything about him and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel, respectively. As far as he knew, Aziraphale hadn't broached the topic with you, either. To him, there was absolutely no reason for you to be reading about anything even remotely connected to his or Aziraphale's status as supernatural beings.

Yet here you were.

Reading a book on demonology.

You shrugged in response to his question, bringing the book back down to your lap to read comfortably. "I'd never checked out the occult section before, so I decided to read something from there and this was the most interesting looking book on the whole shelf."

"Ah, right." That did, to Crowley's immense relief, make sense. You'd read at least one book from nearly every section in the bookshop -- why wouldn't you, at some point, venture into the occult?

"Can't help but wonder how accurate it is, though," you mused aloud. "Pretty sure we've all collectively decided that demonic possessions are all just mentally ill people being misunderstood and abused by the church, right? Or I guess sometimes maybe people seeking attention? So how much of this is, like... considered true, I guess?"

"Do you... believe in demons?" Crowley asked carefully.

"Not really. I mean, I feel like if they were real, we'd have more evidence than just... the church saying so? Like, surely atheists and Satanists would've met a ton of demons by now, but I don't see any atheists or Satanists ever talking about meeting demons."

Crowley had to admit that was a fair cop. Maybe a little... small-minded, at least cosmically speaking, but you were but a human. That could be excused.

"What if they were real?" he asked, coming to sit on the arm of the chair you occupied. "What if you met a demon? Knew a demon, even?"

You made a sound at the back of your throat that sounded an awful lot like the one he made. "I'd have a lot of things I needed to reconsider, for starters."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well," you started, closing the book and turning so that you were facing him. "If demons were real, then I think the next logical step would be that angels were real, and if angels were real then the next step from that point would be that God's real."

He rocked back slightly to better look at you, clicking his tongue curiously. "Is that so bad, really?"

You sighed dramatically. It was a sound he loved -- it usually came before something remarkably human. Something remarkably You. "Anthony Janthony Cranthony," you lamented, "I cannot ever, under any circumstances, let my parents know that I regret not going to church more."

Anthony Janthony Cranthony? Why had you called him that? Of all things, to go with Anthony Janthony Cranthony...

He supposed that wasn't really the point to what you were saying. Something about your parents and church, though, that was the point.

"Not sure why they'd have to know," he said casually with a shrug.

Your eyes widened in shocked realization. "Oh, fuck, you're right! They'd never have to know. You're brilliant," you said, to him -- you'd called him brilliant! He beamed at that. "Going to Hell anyway, if all that were real, may as well add 'disrespecting my parents' to my list of sins."

Oh.

"Why do you think you'd go to Hell, darling?"

"It's not like I've been living a pious life, y'know?" you said, blinking up at him. "I curse, I've fucked out of wedlock, I'm reading all about demons and witchcraft and shit. I don't believe in God? I'm pretty sure that's one of the big no-nos."

It was his turn to blink, but his was followed up with a laugh. "Oh, love, God does not care about any of those things. Trust me."

"Oh, God, are you a Christian? Have you been this whole time? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend--"

"No, no, nothing like that. I..."

How did he tell you? Should he even tell you? He was sure Aziraphale might have something to say on the matter, but right now he couldn't be fucked, because you were here, looking up at him so innocently, so adoringly.

"What is it, Crowley?" And you sounded so concerned, so ready to take him into your arms and comfort him and apologize for a crime you hadn't even committed.

"I'm a demon."

The words tumbled forth from his lips before he could stop himself, and they hovered in the air for several silent and tense moments after, where all you did was stare at him.

And then you laughed -- and he wished he could laugh too. Hell, he wished he could hear even a trace of joy in your laugh. But it was all nerves and fear, like you weren't sure if this was some sick joke or if he was delusional.

When his expression didn't change, when he didn't yell out "sike!" or "gotcha!," your laugh died and then you just looked scared of him.

It nearly broke him, because if this was how you reacted before proof, how would you react when he showed you the truth?

But you didn't run away, so he carefully removed his glasses and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Yours were locked onto the yellow irises, the slitted pupils that contracted and dilated at will.

He could tell you wanted to deny the reality of them -- that you wanted to write them off as contacts, but they wouldn't let you, because contacts couldn't dilate.

The only other things he could do -- well, within the confines of the bookshop, were show you his wings or turn into a snake. He wasn't huge on the latter option, at least not right now -- it definitely put him at a disadvantage, made him easier to discorporate.

So, instead, he moved to a stand. And his wings fanned out as you watched, and then, he figured, you'd run out the door screaming, never to be seen again. He hoped you lived well. He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to watch you walk away.

You got up -- he could hear the rustling of fabric, the relieved groan of the chair, the book falling onto the cushion. He expected the little bell above the door to signal your departure at any moment.

Instead, he felt your hands on his face, pulling him nearer to you. His eyes opened, stared into yours. The fear had gone, replaced by unabashed curiosity and deep, untamed love.

He expected many things to come out of that lovely mouth of yours. So God is real? Am I going to Hell? I don't want to go to Hell! What did I do to deserve going to Hell???

(You weren't going to Hell -- but after the initial question, people tended to panic and vomit the others out uncontrollably.)

He expected those questions. A handful of a select few others. He did not anticipate what you actually asked --

"Do you have a cool demon name?"

"A... Sorry, a what?"

"You know... Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Belial. What's your demon name?"

"O-oh... No... no 'cool' demon name, I'm afraid. Just... Just Crowley..."

He hadn't expected to be embarrassed and doubly hadn't expected to see a beaming smile on your face.

"I think Crowley's the coolest demon name, personally."

He could see in your eyes that you meant it -- and that made him smile.

"Isn't it just?" he asked with a relieved laugh.

"Now I gotta know what all you've done as a demon. I mean -- how old are you?"

"Old as the universe, darling."

He could see the moment your brain started trying to process that unfathomable information, and he could also see the moment it gave up. You moved on as if nothing happened, but Crowley took a moment to appreciate he wouldn't have to miracle your memories away before your brain went into nuclear meltdown.

"Why aren't you in Hell?"

"It's dreadfully boring."

"Why are you here?"

"I just think humans are neat... and your lot is very good at making booze."

"Have you done anything cool as a demon?"

"I met Shakespeare, I stopped some Nazi spies, I tempted Eve, I stopped Armageddon..."

"You what!?"

"Oh, yeah..." He made that sound in his throat. You copied it, seemingly from instinct. He wasn't even sure you noticed that you did it. "Long story, but Aziraphale and I convinced the Antichrist to just... not do the whole ending the world thing."

"Who's Aziraphale?"

"Oh. Right. Mr. Fell."

"... Mr. Fell? This Mr. Fell?" You motioned to the bookshop at large and Crowley nodded. "Is he a demon too?"

Crowley laughed -- an uproarious, barking laugh, that lasted much longer than was strictly necessary.

"Oh, you better not let him hear that," he said once he'd calmed down.

"... So he's not a demon?" you mumbled, and Crowley realized he'd accidentally made you feel bad.

He took one of your hands in his and guided it away from his face so that he could kiss the palm. "No, darling, he's not." He kissed your palm again. "He's an angel."

"I'm sorry -- he's a what?"

"An angel, of course. Really, like he could be anything else."

Nothing against him, of course, but he very much was what he was.

"So why are an ageless angel and demon wasting their time with me, a human who'll wither and die? Why go through that for me?"

"Well, it's not exactly our fault you weaseled your way into our lives," he said with an indignant hgk. "But now that you're here, we can't really imagine the place without you."

"I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, and I can't believe it came from a demon."

"Don't let the angel know I let you get away with calling me sweet. He'd never let me live it down."

[crusty-chronicles]

I have no idea if this is how u want me requesting but I'm gonna haunt u like a ghost now in ur asks (said with love ❤️) I noticed that u do yu yu hakusho requests which i'm like 🥰 anyways, Kurama and Hiei (already friends) reacting to reader suddenly approaching them and acting like they're their bf bc some guy was trying to hit on em? U can choose if how u wanna write it (headcannon or drabble ❤️)

An: Brief Warnings: Harassment/ unwanted advancements

Kurama 🦊🦊🦊

He didn't have to look to know it was the sound of your footsteps behind him. Your familiar footfalls followed by someone else's. 

“Hey, Shuichi! There you are!” You called out.

His human name. It'd made sense considering the both of you had just been let out of school. And as he turned around to address you, he noticed one of your classmates trailing you. 

He could hear the frantic heartbeat in your chest as you got closer. Your entire demeanor uncomfortable. Then there was the way your classmates seemed to eye you with an unsettling intensity. 

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“You said you were gonna walk me home, remember?”

He never promised you such a thing. But the pleading look in your eyes was enough for him to go along with it. As long as you explained things later.

“Shall we get going then?” He extended his hand towards you to take.

Instead, you'd rushed to his side. Clinging onto his arm for dear life while your classmate seemed to glare. Kurama could feel you shake against him. Fear mingling in with your scent. Then you did something that shocked him.

You'd placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for being such a great boyfriend.” Putting emphasis on ‘boyfriend.’

But before he could process it, your classmate had snapped.

“Boyfriend??? But Shuichi’s never been interested in anyone before! What do mean he's your boyfriend?!?”

He silenced them with one look. Green eyes flashing an eerie golden in warning.

“I don't recall my personal life being anyone else's business. Now if you'll excuse us.” Kurama shut down, already leading you away.

He made sure you were far enough away before questioning you. Though he had a good feeling about what it was.

“What was that all about?”

So you told him about how your classmate started flirting with you. How, even though you told them you weren't interested, was still adamant about you giving them a chance. Becoming touchy in the process. Before things could escalate any further, you'd spotted Kurama. Coming up with the first excuse you thought of to get your classmate away from you. 

Which just so happened to be saying you were already taken.

He wasn't upset with you for using him as a scapegoat. But he did make you promise to walk with him from now on going to school. A protective measure in case your classmate tried to make another move.

And even though he was furious with them for what they did, he wouldn't hurt them. No, he wouldn't stoop that low. But scaring them with a few vines and roots, that he could do.

—-------------

Hiei ⚔️⚔️⚔️

The situation you were in at the moment wasn't a favorable one. For starters, you were a human on an island surrounded by demons. Only being here to cheer on your friends fight. Then there was the fact that you had gotten separated from Botan and the rest of the girls. And now, a demon was currently salivating over you.

“Haven't you heard? We demons take what we want.” After trying to flirt with you for the past thirty minutes, it had resorted to threatening you.

Saying since you clearly didn't have a ‘mate’, you were fair game. It made you sick. Looking for any way out for your safety. Then you saw it. A flash of black hair with a spot of white.

“Hiei!” You called out.

He paused his movements and turned around. Surprised to see you separated from the rest. Then his surprise turned into annoyance. Of course you'd managed to get separated, you always were careless.

He'd barely registered the demon looming over you until you spoke.

“We're mates, right?” You asked.

His first response was to quickly shoot that idea down. A ‘hell no’ on the tip of his tongue. But there was a primal fear in your eyes when he looked closer. And that was when he noticed the other demon. Its hand wrapped tightly around your arm to the point of bruising.

Knowing you'd never ask him something like that unless you had a good reason. This, would be a very good reason considering you weren't a fighter able to take care of yourself.

“It would appear so.”

The demon quickly let go of you and scampered away with a glare. But not before Hiei could commit its face to memory just in case.

He startled at the feeling of your arms wrapping around him. Your body trembling along with your voice.

“Thank you.” you whispered.

He gave a hum before lightly pushing you away.

“If that oaf gets near you again, let me know and I'll handle him personally.” Because while Hiei could've ended it's life right then and there, he didn't want to panic you further.

But that didn't mean he'd let that demon go a second time if he ever came across it again.