#Avis Amberg
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end0r4 · 3 days ago
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I've been sent home. To make dinner.
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grifffins · 2 days ago
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🚬 Say Yes 🚬
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Avis Amberg x fem!reader
tags: power play, submission, smut, p!rn with a little plot, overstimulation, vag!nal f!ngering, mommy k!nk
summary: Everyone at ace studios knows better than to cross Avis Amberg, but when she invited you to one of her parties, you should’ve known it wasn’t just for drinks. It was always going to end like this.
wc: ~ 23k
a/n: I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for a while, but I was so critically scared to post it. 😭 Big shoutout to @ahsfan05 for reading it first and reassuring me that it wasn’t complete insanity, love you forever. 💕
also on ao3
taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The office is quiet, save for the steady scratching of your pen against the script in front of you, the distant hum of typewriters had long stopped clacking away in another room. The usual buzz of Ace Studios has long since faded, leaving only the occasional echo of footsteps down the hall and the soft rustle of paper.
You should have gone home hours ago. The overhead lamp casts long shadows across your desk, illuminating the chaotic sprawl of coffee stained pages, discarded cigarette butts, and rejected ideas. Your eyes are heavy, your mind clouded, but still, you push forward. Hollywood isn’t for the faint of heart, and you’ve clawed your way this far, another night alone in the office is just the price of making it.
And then, something shifts.
You notice it before you hear it, the air itself seems to change, thickening like smoke curling through the room. The faintest trace of perfume hits you first. It's decadent, expensive, and undeniably feminine, notes of something dark and sweet, like bourbon and crushed velvet. It’s not a scent that belongs in an office like this. It belongs draped over fur coats in a crowded ballroom, whispered between red lips at a dimly lit bar.
You glance up, your pen stilling in your hand.
She’s standing in the doorway. Avis Amberg.
It takes you a second longer than it should to react, because seeing her in person, really seeing her, is different from the fleeting glimpses around the lot or the black and white glamour of her photographs. She’s... stunning. Imposing. Dripping in the kind of effortless elegance that makes time itself slow down around her.
The tailored silhouette of her dress hugs her frame in all the right places, cascading down her body like a second skin. Auburn curls frame her face, pinned back to reveal the elegant curve of her neck, and those lips, deep crimson, precise, almost too perfect to be real. Her eyes, sharp, dark, and laced with a knowing amusement, lock onto yours, and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of everything.
She’s never looked your way before, never given you the time of day. No exchange of pleasantries, no nods in passing. And yet here she is, staring at you like she’s known you forever, like she’s been watching from the shadows. You can’t help but wonder what brought her here, of all places, looking at me sitting here under the unforgiving glare of an office lamp, drowning in rewrites and a half empty coffee cup. But then she steps inside, and every doubt you have about yourself evaporates under the weight of her attention.
"You’re the only one left," she says smoothly, voice low and velvety, the kind of tone that suggests she’s amused by something only she understands. She takes a slow step forward, her heels clicking against the polished floorboards. 
You sit up straighter, suddenly aware of the mess of scripts and the cold coffee at your elbow. "I lost track of time," you admit, a little sheepishly.
Avis hums, unhurried. "Time," she repeats, like she’s turning the word over in her mind, as if it’s a concept she finds faintly ridiculous. "Seems to be a common affliction in this place."
Your heart races. What is she talking about? You’ve never spoken to her before. You keep to yourself, stay out of the way. So why is she looking at you like she’s known you forever?
She doesn’t move toward you, not exactly, but there’s a shift in the air, a subtle rearranging of power. You feel it immediately.
She casts a glance over your desk, fingers just brushing the edge of the nearest script. "Hard worker, aren’t you?" It’s not really a question. More of an assessment.
You shrug. "I like to keep busy."
"Mm. That’s what they say about women like us, isn’t it? Hardworking. Dedicated." She exhales sharply through her nose, something like amusement flickering across her features. "And yet, somehow, it’s never enough to get anyone in the room where it actually matters."
You swallow, unsure how to respond. Unsure if you should.
Avis doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she looks faintly entertained by your silence. She reaches into her cigarette case, tapping one against her palm before lighting it with the same ease she does everything else.
Your mouth goes dry. Her presence is suffocating, every word she speaks making you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.
She exhales a plume of smoke, her gaze never leaving yours. 
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until she finally breaks it with her next words, almost too casually. "I’m hosting a party tonight," she says, taking another slow drag from her cigarette. "Something... exclusive. And I think you should come."
You blink, unsure if you’ve heard her right. "Me?"
Her laugh is soft, almost affectionate, like she finds your confusion charming. "Yes, you." She leans in just enough to make your heart skip a beat. "You’ve been noticed," she adds, voice low, and the words hit you like a confession you weren’t prepared for. "Unless you'd rather stay here... with your scripts."
Wait, what?
You’ve never been on her radar, never been someone she would even give a second glance. But here she is, telling you she’s noticed you, you, out of all the people in this place. And now, she’s inviting you to a party?
You’re not sure whether to say yes or run in the other direction. But something tells you she wouldn’t be here, saying these things, if she didn’t already know exactly what she wanted. And maybe... just maybe... you're exactly what she's been looking for.
You should say no. You should.
But instead, you find yourself nodding. "What time?"
Avis smiles, slow and satisfied, like she’s just won a game you didn’t know you were playing. She exhales another cloud of smoke before flicking the cigarette into the ashtray on your desk, embers smouldering against paper.
"Midnight," she says, and the way she says it feels like a promise.  "Don’t be late."
And then she’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the room feels colder somehow, emptier, despite the lingering scent of her perfume hanging in the air like a whispered promise. You stare at the cigarette she left behind, the soft curl of smoke rising lazily into the dim light, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.
Midnight.
The word echoes in your head, looping over and over, settling deep into your bones. Midnight feels like a turning point, a knife edge you’re about to step over. Your grip tightens on your pen, but the ink barely stains the paper now. Your mind is elsewhere, stuck on the way she looked at you, on the invitation that shouldn’t have come your way at all.
Avis Amberg doesn’t waste her time on nobodies. That’s the rule. And yet...
You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly, trying to steady yourself. Everyone at the studio talks about Avis with a mix of reverence and hushed scandal. Her parties are legendary, whispered about in the corridors and over coffee breaks, the kind of gatherings that people pretend they weren’t dying to be invited to. But the guest list is always the same, actors, producers, politicians, men with too much power and too little restraint.
And boys. Always the boys. The boys from the gas station.
They’re part of the whispered stories, part of the intrigue surrounding her. You’d heard the rumours, the late night tales of her indulgences, of the young, eager things who came and went, bought and paid for, eager to please the formidable Mrs. Amberg.
They bragged, of course. Loose lipped in dim lit bars, cigarette smoke curling from their mouths as they talked about her like she was some urban legend made flesh. How she liked them a certain way. How she preferred to keep things simple, clean, no strings, no questions. How they were nothing but a momentary amusement before she discarded them like an empty pack of cigarettes.
You weren’t an actor, or a politician, or some eager boy who had the privilege of being used and forgotten. So what did she want?
You weren’t naive enough to think you were special. But the question lingered, curling in the back of your mind.
Because if you weren’t a transaction, if you weren’t some pretty thing bought for a night’s pleasure…
Then what the hell did Avis Amberg want with you?
You glance at the clock, half past eleven.
You should go home, forget all about it. You should stay in your lane, keep your head down, and do what you came to Hollywood to do. But instead, you find yourself standing, smoothing down your clothes, and staring at your reflection in the dusty office window. The face that stares back at you looks unsure, hesitant, but beneath it, there’s something else, a flicker of curiosity.
Curiosity will be your undoing.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab your coat and head for the door, your heart hammering in your chest.
The address Avis had murmured, soft and teasing against your ear, leads you to an estate that looks like something ripped straight from a film reel. The driveway alone is longer than the entire block you live on, lined with towering palm trees that sway lazily in the evening breeze. The house itself is all sharp lines and grand columns, the glow from the windows spilling onto the manicured lawns like golden honey. Expensive cars are parked in neat rows, and you recognise a few faces slipping inside, faces from the silver screen, the kind of people you’d usually only see in black and white.
You pause at the entrance, nerves twisting in your gut. What the hell are you doing here?
And then, before you can rethink everything, she’s there.
Avis.
She’s standing just inside the entrance, champagne flute in hand, dark eyes sweeping over the gathered guests with that same quiet authority she carried in your office. Her dress tonight is different, satin, liquid gold against her skin, clinging in all the right places. The cut of the neckline is designed to ruin men, and perhaps even you.
For a moment, you consider slipping away before she notices. But Avis catches your eye like she’s been waiting for you all along, her lips curving into that same slow, knowing smile.
You swallow hard and step inside.
She meets you halfway, her gaze flickering over your attire, amusement dancing behind her eyes. “I must admit,” she murmurs, tilting her head, “I half expected you to come up with some excuse.”
“I thought about it,” you admit, trying to keep your voice steady. “But I figured you’d just hunt me down tomorrow if I didn’t show.”
Avis chuckles, the sound low and rich, like the champagne she swirls in her glass. “Smart.” She leans in just slightly, her perfume wrapping around you again, and your knees feel weaker than you’d like to admit. “You don’t belong here,” she says, her voice smooth, knowing.
Your pulse spikes, but you keep your expression neutral. “You invited me?”
Her lips curl at the edges, a slow, measured smirk. “I did.”
The weight of it lingers between you, pressing against your ribs. She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t explain. Just watches you with that unreadable glint in her eye, as if daring you to ask.
“Because I’m not rich?” you say finally, testing the waters.
Her gaze flickers, just for a moment. “Because you’re not like them.”
It’s not a compliment. It’s not an insult, either. It’s something else, something that sinks into your skin, unsettling in a way you can’t quite place.
She takes another sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving yours. “That’s why you’re here.”
And you have no idea if she means tonight, at this party, or something else entirely.
The implication lingers between you, heavy and undeniable.
Before you can say anything, someone calls her name from across the room, a producer, one of the old ones with a face like a bulldog and an ego to match. Avis’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of irritation in the way she sighs, like she’s already bored with the night.
“Enjoy yourself,” she murmurs, brushing a hand lightly down your arm as she steps away. “We’ll talk later.”
And just like that, she’s gone, melting into the crowd with the same effortless grace she always carries.
You exhale sharply, feeling the lingering heat of her touch burning through the fabric of your sleeve.
You should leave.
You should definitely leave.
Instead, you find yourself taking a drink from a passing tray, watching Avis from across the room as she smiles and charms her way through the sea of important people, and you wonder, just for a moment, if you’ve just stepped into something you can’t escape from.
The party swallows you whole.
You blend into the crowd, clinging to the edges of the room with your drink in hand, letting the sound of laughter and clinking glasses wash over you. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the heady scent of expensive perfume, mingling with the distant sound of a jazz record spinning somewhere beyond the grand staircase. The guests move like silk through the lavish space, slipping between conversations with practiced ease, actors, directors, studio executives, and socialites draped in jewels and whispered secrets.
This is a world you’ve only ever seen from a distance, through the crack of an office door or in fleeting glimpses on set. You shouldn’t be here. But Avis invited you, and here you are, trapped between the pull of curiosity and the gnawing fear that you’re completely out of your depth.
You steal a glance across the room and find her almost immediately. Avis stands at the centre of it all, holding court with an air of casual authority, cigarette poised elegantly between her fingers as she listens to some executive drone on about box office numbers. She doesn’t even look bored, she’s perfected the art of appearing interested, a slight tilt of her head, a slow blink, the barest ghost of a smile curling at the edge of her lips.
And yet, even surrounded by a sea of admirers, she still notices you.
Her dark eyes flicker in your direction, and for a heartbeat, it’s like the entire room fades away. The corner of her mouth lifts in a small, private smile,  one that feels like it’s meant for you and no one else.
Your breath catches in your throat. You take a sip of your drink, hoping the burn will steady you, but all it does is make your head feel lighter, more off balance. You’re not used to being looked at like that, like you’re something interesting, something worth pursuing.
Especially not by Avis Amberg.
The night moves in a blur of faces and conversations you can barely follow. You speak to a few people, some actors whose names you vaguely recognise, a screenwriter who complains about the studio system with too much wine in his hand,  but your thoughts keep drifting back to her.
Each time you catch a glimpse of Avis, you feel that same slow pull, like gravity bending toward her effortlessly. She moves through the party like she owns it, because she does. A touch here, a glance there, laughter slipping from her lips like it was meant to be bottled and sold.
And then, just when you think she’s forgotten about you entirely, you feel it.
A touch at your back.
Soft. Barely there.
But unmistakable.
You turn sharply, and there she is, Avis, closer than you expected, her presence overwhelming in the low light. Up close, she’s even more devastating. The curve of her lips, the way the gold chain at her throat catches the light, the cool amusement flickering in her dark eyes.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asks, and the way she says it, low, intimate, sends a shiver down your spine.
You nod, because you can’t trust yourself to speak without giving too much away.
Avis hums in approval, her fingers grazing your wrist for a fraction of a second too long before she pulls away. "Good. I’d hate to think I invited you for nothing."
Your pulse is racing. "I—"
She cuts you off with a smirk. "Come with me."
And just like that, she’s walking away, expecting you to follow. And, of course, you do.
Avis leads you through the crowd with effortless ease, past laughing guests and glittering chandeliers, until you find yourself in a quieter corner of the house, a secluded alcove with plush seating and dim lighting, far removed from the noise of the party.
She settles onto one of the velvet sofas, crossing her legs with a languid grace that makes it impossible to look away. She gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the heat of her gaze on you the entire time.
Avis studies you for a long moment, idly swirling her drink. "You're not easy to read."
You blink, caught off guard. "I-what do you mean?"
She leans in slightly, her gaze sharp, searching. "Most people telegraph their intentions. You can see them coming a mile away." Her lips curl, amused. "But you... you're harder to pin down."
Her fingertip glides along the rim of her glass, slow and deliberate. "It's interesting."
Your heart is hammering now, loud enough that you’re sure she can hear it.
"I—I’m not sure what to say to that," you admit, swallowing hard.
Avis smirks. "Say yes."
You blink. "To what?"
She leans back, her gaze heavy, unreadable. "To whatever comes next."
And with that, the room tilts just slightly, because you realise, this isn’t just flirtation. This is something far more dangerous. And you? You’re standing right on the edge.
You should hesitate. You should think this through. But none of that happens.
Instead, the word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“Yes.”
Avis’s lips curve into something slow and indulgent, as though she expected nothing less. She doesn’t react with surprise, doesn’t blink, just watches you with that same quiet amusement, letting the weight of your answer settle between you.
A part of you wonders if you should have played it cooler, if you should have pretended to be unfazed by the invitation hanging in the air. But you’re not cool. You’re not unfazed. Because Avis Amberg is beautiful in the way that makes the air thick and your skin too warm under the weight of her gaze.
And because... well, she’s Avis Amberg.
Your brain still hasn’t caught up to the reality of it, the fact that she’s not just teasing, that the woman with a reputation for leaving a trail of starry eyed boys in her wake is standing before you, interested. And you? You’re very much not a boy.
Avis shifts slightly, leaning back into the plush sofa with a grace that should be illegal. She takes a slow sip from her drink, her dark eyes still locked on yours over the rim of her glass. “Good,” she murmurs after a beat, as though your answer had been inevitable.
Your pulse thrums in your throat, and you try not to fidget beneath the weight of her gaze. “You—” you start, then stop yourself, unsure if you even have the right to ask the question circling in your head.
Avis notices, of course she does. “Something on your mind, darling?” she asks, her voice dripping with lazy amusement, like she’s enjoying this far too much.
You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around your glass. “I just... I didn’t realise you were...”
Her dark brows arch ever so slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. “Interested in women?”
You feel your face heat. “I mean—”
She laughs, low and rich, tilting her head as she studies you. “Is that really so surprising?”
Your throat tightens. “Well... yes.”
Avis hums thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid in her glass before setting it down with a soft clink. She leans forward then, elbows resting on her knees, and the sudden closeness makes your heart stutter in your chest.
“You know what I think?” she muses, her voice dropping to something softer, something dangerously intimate.
You shake your head, swallowing against the lump forming in your throat.
"I think," she continues, idly tracing the rim of her glass with a single finger, "that people see what they want to see. A woman like me, in a place like this.." She pauses, her lips curving in something unreadable. "It's easier for them to believe certain stories."
You know exactly which ones she means, the whispers that slip through studio corridors, tales of pretty boys and late nights, carefully crafted illusions that keep everyone at ease.
"It keeps them comfortable," she murmurs.
The air between you is suffocatingly thick, and your fingers tremble slightly against the cool glass in your hand. You try to speak, to come up with something clever, something that doesn’t make you sound completely out of your depth, but Avis beats you to it.
“Do I make you nervous?” she asks, and you can tell she already knows the answer.
You open your mouth to deny it, but the words get caught somewhere along the way.
Avis laughs again, softer this time, like she’s found something about you particularly delightful. “That’s alright,” she murmurs, sitting back against the sofa once more, watching you like a cat watching a mouse. “I have that effect on people.”
You take a slow, steadying breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “And what exactly happens now?”
Avis watches you for a long moment, like she’s deciding just how much to give away. Then, with a slow, languid stretch, she rises to her feet. The satin of her dress shimmers under the dim light, and you have to fight the urge to stare.
“That depends on you,” she says simply, extending a hand towards you.
You stare at it for a beat too long before finally placing your hand in hers. Her fingers are warm, steady, and the simple contact sends a shiver down your spine. She pulls you up with effortless grace, guiding you through the winding hallways of her estate like she’s done it a hundred times before.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, your mind racing with possibilities.
Because you said yes. And now, there’s no turning back.
The room she leads you to is quieter, a stark contrast to the thumping noise of the party below. It’s dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the dark walls. The atmosphere is intimate, velvet furnishings scattered around the space, heavy curtains drawn tight against the world outside. The faint scent of her perfume clings to the air, making everything feel a little too close, a little too personal.
Your eyes fall to the bed in the centre of the room, its heavy, ornate frame adding to the feeling that you’ve just entered a private world, one that’s far removed from the chaos of the party. The plush, dark bedding invites you in, its soft folds promising comfort, or something else entirely.
You can’t help but wonder if she’s planned this moment.
Avis closes the door behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the world outside feels very far away. She watches you for a moment, gauging your reaction, her eyes sharp and calculating.
“Are you alright?” she asks, a hint of genuine curiosity threading through her voice.
You nod, your throat too dry to form words.
Avis steps closer, her fingers tracing lightly down the length of your arm before settling at your wrist. “You don’t have to be nervous, darling.”
“I’m not nervous,” you say quickly, but it’s a lie, and she knows it.
Her lips curve in that infuriating way of hers. “Of course you’re not.”
You swallow, trying to ground yourself, but it’s difficult when she’s this close, when her scent is wrapping around you like a blanket, when her touch is light but deliberate, drawing small circles against your skin.
“I’m not like them,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her.
Avis tilts her head, her gaze flickering over your face. “I know.”
And somehow, that makes it worse.
The muffled thrum of the party downstairs is a distant pulse beneath your feet, a steady reminder that the world outside this room still exists. Voices rise and fall beneath the music, laughter spilling through the cracks in the floorboards. It’s grounding in a way, tethering you to reality just enough to remind you that this, whatever this is, is happening under the noses of everyone down there.
You glance toward the closed door, then back at Avis. “Aren’t you worried we’ll get caught?”
She watches you, her lips curving in that slow, knowing way. “Should I be?”
You exhale, shifting slightly under the weight of her gaze. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
Avis steps closer, deliberate but unhurried, her fingertips ghosting over your wrist. “They only see what they want to see, darling.” Her voice is a warm hum against your skin. “And no one looks too closely when they think they already know the story.”
Your stomach twists at the implication.
She tilts her head, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Are you afraid someone will come looking for you?”
You shake your head, but the thought lingers. You should be more cautious. You should be thinking about the people downstairs, about the fact that this is reckless, that someone could knock on that door at any moment.
But you don’t move.
Avis watches your hesitation with quiet satisfaction, her hand trailing up to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing just beneath your jaw. “Tell me something,” she murmurs, her voice low, coaxing. “Have you thought about this?”
Your breath catches. “I… I don’t know.”
Her smile deepens, just enough to make your pulse stutter. “I think you have.”
And the worst part? She’s right.
You can’t deny it. Not when she’s looking at you like that.
You exhale shakily, leaning into her touch without thinking, and Avis watches you with quiet satisfaction, like she’s just confirmed something she already knew.
And then, finally, she kisses you.
It’s slow at first, teasing, like she’s savouring the moment, the taste of your hesitation. Her lips are soft but insistent, and when you don’t pull away, when you can’t pull away, her hand tightens slightly in your hair, drawing you closer.
You’re not sure how long it lasts, only that when she finally pulls back, you’re breathless and aching, and Avis looks entirely too pleased with herself.
“There,” she whispers against your lips. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
You laugh, a little breathless. “No.”
Avis’s fingers trail down your arm, slow and deliberate. “Good,” she murmurs. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
And somehow, you know you don’t want her to be.
Your heart is still racing, your lips tingling with the ghost of her touch. Avis watches you with a quiet intensity, her dark eyes drinking you in as if she’s committing every inch of your reaction to memory. It’s unnerving, the way she looks at you, like she’s already won, like she knew exactly how this would play out the moment she stepped into your office.
And maybe she did.
“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, fingers still ghosting down your arm, light and teasing, never quite settling.
You swallow hard, attempting to regain some semblance of control. “I’m just... processing.”
Avis smirks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that feels far too intimate for how little you know each other. “Take your time, darling,” she says, voice dripping in amusement. “I do love watching you think.”
You let out a shaky breath, your gaze darting around the room in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. The space is luxurious, a rich blend of velvet and gold, the kind of room that reeks of indulgence. It’s intimate without being stifling, the lighting low, the air heavy with the scent of her perfume.
“You really do live like a queen, don’t you?” you say, your voice steadier than you expected.
Avis hums, stepping back slightly, giving you a moment to breath, or perhaps just enjoying the view. “Darling, I don’t just live like one. I am one.” She tilts her head, considering you. “And queens always get what they want.”
Your stomach flips. “And what exactly do you want?”
Avis doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she picks up the cigarette she’d left resting in a nearby ashtray, bringing it to her lips with practiced ease. She inhales slowly, her gaze never leaving yours, and when she exhales, the smoke curls lazily between you, thick and intoxicating.
“I think,” she finally says, tapping ash onto the crystal tray, “I want to know more about you.”
The statement takes you by surprise. You expected something else, something bolder, something teasing, but this? This feels... dangerous.
You shift under her gaze. “There’s not much to know.”
Avis chuckles, low and knowing. “Oh, I doubt that.” She steps closer again, her free hand tracing idle patterns along the neckline of your dress. “You intrigue me. I don’t take that lightly.”
Your throat tightens. “I... I’m not one of your boys.”
Avis’s eyes darken, and the hand at your collarbone stills. For a moment, you worry you’ve crossed a line, but then her lips quirk in amusement. “No,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, almost reverent. “You’re not.”
And there it is again, that unspoken acknowledgement hanging between you, thick and weighty. You’ve spent so long hearing whispers about Avis’s conquests, about the way she collected men like trophies, discarding them once their shine wore off. But here she is, standing before you, something more than idle curiosity flickering in her gaze.
It’s enough to make your head spin.
“Why me?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Avis tilts her head, a smile playing on her lips as she studies you. “Why not?”
You open your mouth to argue, but she presses a single finger to your lips, silencing you effortlessly. “Don’t overthink it,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Just enjoy it.”
And then she kisses you again.
This time, it’s different. There’s no teasing, no hesitation, just the press of her lips against yours, confident and demanding. Her hand tangles in your hair, pulling you in closer, and all you can do is let yourself be drawn into the heat of her, the taste of expensive champagne lingering on her tongue.
You melt into it, your hands finding purchase against the smooth silk of her dress, and Avis hums in approval, pressing you back against the velvet cushions with effortless ease.
You let her take the lead, let her pull you deeper into her world of whispered secrets and stolen moments. You don’t think about tomorrow, about the studio, about what people might say.
Right now, there’s only the feel of her lips against your skin, the soft sighs that escape between kisses, the way she holds you like she’s always known exactly how this would play out.
And perhaps she did.
Avis’s lips are soft but insistent, pressing against yours with a hunger that catches you off guard. There's no prelude now, no teasing dance, just the slow, deliberate weight of her body against yours, the heat of her hands mapping out the lines of your waist, the curve of your hips.
The room tilts around you, the distant hum of the party beyond the heavy door fading into nothing but the sound of your own breathing, shallow and quick. Avis’s perfume wraps around you like a second skin, cloying and decadent, making it hard to think, hard to do anything but feel.
She pushes you back gently, the velvet of the bed soft beneath you, and her gaze, dark and smouldering, holds you in place far more effectively than any touch could. Her fingers trace a slow path down the side of your neck, featherlight, before she leans in again, her lips trailing lower, pressing against the pulse hammering beneath your skin.
A soft sound escapes you before you can stop it, and you feel her smile against your throat, wicked and knowing. "Mm," she hums, the sound vibrating through you. "I do love when they make noise."
Your fingers clutch at her waist, the silk of her dress slipping beneath your hands like water, and she takes it as an invitation, pressing closer, her body a perfect fit against yours, warm and demanding. She’s all confidence, all control, and it makes your head spin in the best possible way.
Her mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, and you don’t hesitate to match her. Your hands roam, fingers tracing the exposed skin of her back, sliding beneath the fabric where it dips low, feeling the tension in her muscles as she moves against you. Avis sighs into your mouth, a soft, indulgent sound, and the way she reacts to your touch sends a thrill down your spine.
She’s intoxicating, more than the champagne, more than the cigarette smoke that lingers in the air. The way she moves, the way she takes what she wants with such ease, it’s almost unfair.
Her nails drag lightly down your arm, and then her hands are at your waist, pulling you up, closer, until your legs are tangled together and there’s nowhere else to go. The heat of her mouth, the deliberate press of her thigh between yours, it’s overwhelming.
Your breath comes faster, and she notices, of course she does. "Easy, darling," she murmurs against your lips, her voice a lazy drawl, full of amusement. "We've got all night."
You whimper at the promise in her words, your body arching instinctively into her touch. Avis chuckles, trailing kisses down your collarbone, her fingers slipping beneath the edge of your dress, dragging the fabric down with deliberate slowness.
You shiver beneath her, your body taut with anticipation, heat pooling low in your stomach. Avis pulls back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes heavy lidded, her lips glistening.
"Tell me you want this," she says, and for once, there’s no teasing in her tone.
Your breath catches, the words sticking in your throat. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you, like she’s giving you the space to decide, to step back if you want to.
But you don’t.
You nod, breathless. “Yes.”
Avis tilts her head slightly, her fingers skimming your jaw, her nails scraping just lightly enough to make you shudder. Her lips curve, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.
“Yes what?” Your brows furrow for half a second, confusion flickering across your face before she leans in again, her breath warm against your skin. “Yes, mama,” she clarifies.
The words send a shock through you, a heat that curls deep in your spine, leaving you dizzy.
Your lips part, your breath shaky. You swallow hard, your fingers gripping onto the sheets, grounding yourself.
“Yes, mama,” you whisper. Your voice comes out softer than you intend, breathless, but it does exactly what you knew it would. Avis stills for just a moment, lips hovering at the base of your throat, and then you feel it, her slow, pleased exhale, warm against your skin. A shiver rolls down your spine at the way she hums, low and satisfied, like she’s just found something worth savouring.
Avis hums in satisfaction, her fingers trailing lower, her touch both soothing and possessive. “That’s my girl.” She murmurs, and the praise sends heat pooling low in your belly.
Her smile is all satisfaction, and then she's on you again, lips and hands and silk soft touches that unravel you piece by piece.
You let her take everything. And she does.
Avis’s hands are everywhere at once, trailing slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, your waist, the delicate line of your collarbone. Each touch feels intentional, practiced, like she’s taking her time learning every inch of you. Her fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress, pushing it higher inch by inch, her nails grazing your skin just enough to leave you gasping.
You clutch at her, trying to ground yourself, but she’s relentless, her mouth finding yours again, deeper this time, hungrier. She tastes like champagne and something sweeter, something distinctly her, and you melt into it without thinking, letting her take whatever she wants.
Her thigh presses between yours, firm and unyielding, and you gasp into her mouth at the sudden pressure. Avis pulls back just enough to watch you, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Sensitive, aren’t we?"
You can’t find your voice, only manage a sharp intake of breath as her fingers drag slowly up your bare thigh, teasing and unhurried.
She chuckles, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I like that."
The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you can feel the smug curve of her smile as she continues her slow, torturous exploration. Her hands push the straps of your dress down your shoulders, the silk pooling at your waist, exposing more of you to the cool air and the warm press of her lips against your skin.
She kisses a path down your neck, lingering just above your racing pulse before moving lower, her mouth tracing the swell of your chest with maddening patience. Every brush of her lips, every teasing flick of her tongue leaves you trembling beneath her touch.
"Avis..." you whisper, unsure if it’s a plea or a warning.
She pulls back slightly, looking down at you with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Patience, darling," she murmurs, dragging her thumb over your lower lip, watching as you part your lips instinctively for her. "We’re just getting started."
Your head falls back against the plush velvet, your body arching into her touch despite your better judgment. Avis takes her time, mapping out every inch of you with meticulous care, her touch alternating between feather light caresses and firm, possessive strokes that leave you aching for more.
Her thigh presses harder between yours, and your hips move without thinking, chasing the friction she offers. Avis hums in approval, her hand slipping beneath the last barrier of fabric, teasing at the edge of where you need her most.
"So eager," she murmurs, her lips ghosting over your flushed skin. "I love it."
You whimper, your fingers digging into her arms, trying to pull her closer, needing more. Avis obliges, pressing her body fully against yours, her mouth claiming yours again with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt.
You’re lost in her, completely, utterly lost. The world outside this room, the party, the whispers... none of it matters anymore.
There’s only the heat of her body, the press of her lips, and the slow, torturous way she’s taking you apart piece by piece.
And God, you don’t want it to stop.You gently pull away and stand up, helping her to her feet. You’re still warm from her touch, your body slightly unsteady as you both rise, but you can’t ignore the desire to move things forward.  You kiss her neck, soft and slow, careful not to leave a trace, no marks. Just you, your lips pressed against the warm skin beneath her jaw, savouring the way she sighs, the way her fingers tighten in your hair.
Avis tilts her head ever so slightly, granting you silent permission, but there’s control in it, a reminder that she’s letting you have this, for now. You kiss lower, your mouth trailing to the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling the way she shivers under your touch.
"You’re being good," she murmurs, her voice a lazy drawl laced with something darker, more indulgent. 
Her praise sends a shiver down your spine, desire pooling low in your belly, but it’s not enough. Those boys at the gas station, she paid for their time, their attention. But you? You want her. Not for what she can offer, not for the allure of power or wealth, but for her, the way she looks at you like she’s measuring your worth, the way she commands a room without saying a word, the way her lips taste of champagne and control.
Your hands find the silk belt of her dress, and you hesitate, your fingers trembling slightly against the fabric. Avis notices, of course she does, and she chuckles, low and knowing, tilting your chin up with a single, perfectly manicured finger.
Her eyes darken, approval flickering across her features, and she steps back just enough to give you space to move. Your hands move slowly, reverently, slipping the silk from her shoulders, watching with wide eyes as the fabric pools at her feet, revealing the intricate corset beneath, black lace and boning hugging her curves, accentuating everything in a way that has your knees feeling weak.
You can’t help the way your breath catches, your gaze drinking her in like she’s something untouchable, something holy.
Avis smirks, reading every thought flashing across your face, and steps closer, tipping your chin up once more. "On your knees, darling," she purrs, and your body obeys before your mind can catch up.
You sink down onto the plush rug beneath you, your hands trembling as they trail along the curve of her thighs, over the delicate lace garters holding up her stockings. You kiss along the tops of them, your lips brushing the soft skin just above the lace, and you feel Avis’s breath hitch, just for a second.
"Good girl," she murmurs, her fingers threading through your hair, tugging lightly, just enough to make you look up at her. The hunger in her gaze nearly undoes you. "But I think you can do better than that."
Your lips part, your breath warm against her skin, and you kiss higher, your mouth mapping a path up the curve of her inner thigh, your hands smoothing over the soft lace and silk as you go.
Avis hums in approval, her grip in your hair tightening slightly. "That’s it," she murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction. "I do enjoy watching you like this."
You burn under her praise, your desire only growing as she tilts her head back slightly, exhaling a slow, indulgent sigh. Every soft gasp, every pleased hum she lets out fuels you, makes you want to prove that you’re different, that you’re not just another passing amusement to be forgotten by morning.
Your hands glide up, fingertips teasing against the edges of her corset, and you press a kiss just above the swell of her hip, the faintest taste of her moisturiser lingering on your tongue. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and you can’t get enough.
Avis chuckles softly, her lips curling in amusement. "You’re raring to go, aren’t you?," she observes, and you feel the delicious weight of her power pressing down on you, making you ache for more.
You kiss higher, tracing the delicate line of lace with your lips, your hands trailing slowly along her hips, mapping her out like you have all the time in the world. And for tonight, you do.
Avis pulls you back suddenly, her hands firm against your shoulders, in one fluid movement she bends down her lips crash against yours, and this time, it’s all consuming, teeth, tongue, and a desperation that leaves you dizzy.
"Let’s see if you can keep up, darling," she whispers against your lips, and you know with absolute certainty, you're about to give her the time of her life.
Avis watches you from beneath heavy lidded eyes, a satisfied smirk playing at the edges of her lips as she feels the way your breath trembles against her skin. Her fingers slide through your hair, a gentle yet possessive touch, and the weight of it sends a thrill down your spine.
You lower your head again, pressing your lips to the inside of her thigh, letting your tongue flicker over the delicate lace garter before trailing higher, slowly, reverently. The anticipation coils between you, thick and heady, and Avis hums in approval, her grip tightening just enough to ground you, to remind you exactly who’s in control here.
Your hands skim up the curve of her hips, tracing the silk of her corset as your lips follow suit, lingering along the delicate curve just above the boning, tasting the faint salt of her skin mixed with the lingering traces of expensive perfume. She sighs above you, a soft, indulgent sound that makes your stomach tighten with need.
“Such a lovely little thing,” Avis murmurs, her voice thick with amusement and something darker, richer. Her nails scrape lightly against your scalp, urging you on. “Let’s see what that mouth of yours can really do.”
Your lips part around a shaky breath, your hands finding the clasp of her garter belt, undoing it with practiced ease. Avis chuckles softly, clearly pleased, and steps back just enough to give you room, watching with that ever present, wicked glint in her eye as you guide the sheer fabric down her thighs, pressing kisses to every new inch of exposed skin.
You trail your fingers up the inside of her thighs, featherlight touches meant to tease, and Avis lets out the softest sigh, her hips shifting ever so slightly in response. You press your mouth to her again, lower this time, your tongue flicking out, tasting her heat through the last barrier of silk and lace.
Avis lets out a soft, breathy moan, her fingers tugging your hair just enough to make you gasp against her. “Patience,” she purrs, though the slight hitch in her breath betrays her own. “I do like them eager, but I like them obedient even more.”
You drag your tongue over her slowly, teasing, and she groans, low and throaty, her hips shifting in response. Encouraged, you press a little harder, your fingers slipping beneath the lace to finally touch her properly, feeling how warm and wet she is, how ready.
Avis’s grip tightens, her breath catching in her throat, and when you flick your tongue against her in just the right way, she curses softly under her breath. “Oh, darling.”
Slowly, deliberately, you slip the fabric down her legs, tossing it aside, your breath catching as your hands now have complete access to her. And you dive back in.
Your fingers work in tandem with your mouth, teasing and stroking with deliberate precision, finding the rhythm that makes her tremble under your touch. Avis’s composure slips, just a little, and the sound she makes, low and desperate, is enough to send a rush of heat straight to your core.
You revel in it, in the way her breath stutters, in the way her thighs tense around you. Every moan, every whispered curse fuels you, makes you bolder, hungrier. You take your time, savouring the way she responds to you, the way her hips roll against your mouth, her fingers threading tighter through your hair.
Avis’s voice is a breathless murmur above you, her dominance never wavering even as she begins to lose herself in the pleasure you’re giving her. “Just like that... yes, that’s it,” she breathes, her head tipping back as her body shudders beneath you.
Your fingers work deeper, curling just right, and you feel it, the sharp tension in her muscles, the way her breathing grows ragged, her moans louder, more insistent. You keep your pace steady, relentless, pushing her higher and higher until she gasps your name, her body arching into you as she comes undone.
Avis rides it out with a grace that’s entirely hers, her fingers tightening in your hair before finally releasing, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. You pull back slowly, pressing a final kiss to the inside of her thigh, your lips damp, your hands still lingering against her skin.
For a long moment, Avis says nothing, only watches you with dark, hooded eyes, her lips parted, her body still humming from the aftershocks. Then, with a languid stretch, she reaches down and cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers.
Her smirk is slow, indulgent, and utterly satisfied. "Well," she murmurs, voice husky and warm. "I think you just might be my favourite after all."
Your heart pounds at the praise, at the way she’s looking at you like she’s already decided to keep you. You let out a breathless laugh, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I aim to please,” you whisper, and Avis grins, pulling you to your feet with surprising ease. She presses her lips to yours again, slower this time, tasting herself on your tongue, and it’s intoxicating in a way that makes your knees weak all over again.
“Careful, darling,” she murmurs against your lips. “I just might not let you leave.”
And you? You’re not sure you’d want to.
“You look divine,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip, slipping beneath the last remnants of fabric still clinging to your body. “But I think you’d look better without these.”
You swallow hard as she steps closer, her lips ghosting over your jaw, her hands working with deliberate precision to strip away the barriers between you. The sensation of silk sliding down your skin sends a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through you, and you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes your lips.
Avis smirks against your ear, her breath warm and teasing. “I do love when they fall apart so easily,” she whispers, and the words make your knees threaten to give out all over again.
She steps back, just enough to take in the sight of you, bare, trembling, utterly at her mercy. Her eyes darken, and you feel the weight of her desire pressing down on you like a tangible force.
"On the bed," she says, and there’s no question in it, no room for hesitation.
Your legs move on their own, carrying you to the lavish bed. You sink onto it, your breathing shallow, your body aching with anticipation. Avis follows at her own pace, leisurely and in control, watching you with a predator’s gaze.
And there she stands, corset clad and exquisite, looking at you like she’s about to devour you whole.
She crawls onto the bed with a grace that has your breath catching, her knees settling on either side of your hips as she pins you beneath her, the weight of her a delicious pressure you never knew you needed until now. Her fingers dance lightly over your skin, teasing, tracing, making you arch into her touch.
"You’ve been so good," she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down your stomach, making you shudder. "But now it’s my turn."
Her mouth follows the path of her hands, warm and wet against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses and bites that never quite mark, but still make your breath catch with every scrape of her teeth. She revels in the way your body responds to her, the way you tremble beneath every calculated touch.
"Tell me what you want," she murmurs against your collarbone, her tongue flickering out to taste the salt of your skin. "I want to hear you say it."
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you."
Avis chuckles, low and dangerous, her lips ghosting lower, leaving you breathless. "You already have me," she murmurs, pressing a kiss just above your navel before moving lower still. "But I do love hearing you beg."
Your body arches instinctively as she drags her tongue along your skin, teasing, tasting, taking her time. Every touch, every flicker of her fingers and lips is deliberate, calculated to drive you to the very edge without ever letting you fall.
She makes you wait. Makes you feel every second of it.
And when she finally gives you what you’ve been aching for, you cry out, your hands tangling in her hair as she works you open with devastating precision. Avis hums against you, a satisfied sound that vibrates through your core, and it’s almost too much, too perfect.
"You taste divine," she murmurs between slow, torturous strokes, her voice thick with satisfaction.
You gasp, your body arching into her, desperate for more, for everything. Avis’s hands grip your thighs, holding you down with an authority that leaves no room for argument, no room for escape. She builds you up slowly, surprisingly expertly, her mouth and fingers working in perfect tandem, leaving you a trembling mess beneath her.
You moan her name, breathless and raw, and it only seems to spur her on, her tongue flicking against you in just the right way, her fingers curling inside you with unerring precision. You can feel the pressure building, the heat pooling low in your belly, and you know you’re close, so close you can taste it.
"Come for me, darling," she purrs against your skin, and it’s not a request.
Your body obeys, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your cries muffled against the silk pillows as you fall apart beneath her. Avis doesn’t stop, not right away, drawing out every last tremor, every last shudder, until you’re gasping for air, your entire body trembling in the aftermath.
She pulls back slowly, watching you with satisfaction as she presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, her fingers still trailing idly across your skin.
"You’re exquisite," she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your hip, then your stomach, and finally your lips. "I should have done this sooner."
You laugh breathlessly, your fingers tracing the delicate line of her corset, your body still humming with the aftershocks of her touch.
"I’d say you’ve made up for lost time," you murmur, and Avis grins, her dark eyes gleaming with something wicked.
"Oh, darling," she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down your spine. "We’re just getting started."
The air between you is thick and heavy, saturated with the scent of her perfume and the lingering traces of what just happened. Your body still hums with the aftermath, a lazy warmth spreading through your limbs as you lay back against the silk sheets, trying to catch your breath.
Avis, ever composed, leans back against the headboard, her fingers idly tracing circles along your bare shoulder. There's something smug in the way she looks at you, satisfied, yes, but also contemplative, as if she's already planning the next time she'll have you beneath her.
“I’d like to see you again,” she says, her voice softer now, but no less commanding.
You glance up at her, surprised by the directness, though you know you shouldn’t be. This is Avis Amberg, she doesn’t waste time with uncertainty.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I think I’d like that too.”
Avis hums, clearly pleased. She reaches for the cigarette case on the nightstand, flicking it open with one graceful motion. “Good,” she says, lighting it effortlessly and exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “I don't do... complications.”
You sit up slightly, running a hand through your hair as you watch her through half lidded eyes. “Just sex, then?”
She smirks, tapping ash into the crystal tray beside her. “Precisely. No strings, no expectations.” Her eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. “Do you think you can handle that?”
You bite your lip, considering. The truth is, you’ve never been very good at keeping emotions out of things, but for Avis... you'd be willing to try.
“As long as you can,” you counter, raising a brow.
Avis laughs, low and rich, smoke curling between you. “Darling, I invented it.”
There’s something almost thrilling about how simple it is. No promises, no messy emotions, just this. The pull of desire, the satisfaction of knowing you can have her, even if it’s only in these stolen moments.
You nod, reaching for your dress on the floor. “Alright. Just sex.”
She watches you as you slip the silk back over your shoulders, her gaze lingering with that same lazy interest that makes your skin prickle. “Smart girl,” she murmurs, taking another slow drag of her cigarette. “We’ll make it work.”
You smile, slipping your heels back on, feeling the weight of her gaze as you smooth your dress down. Avis, always effortless, stands with a languid grace, putting her dress back on with a practised flick of her wrists.
For a moment, you consider kissing her again, just to see if she’d let you. But instead, you settle for watching her from across the room as she checks herself in the ornate mirror, smoothing a hand down her hair before turning back to you.
“Come,” she says, gesturing toward the door with an air of authority that makes you want to obey without question. “Let’s not keep the party waiting.”
You nod, following her out of the room and down the dimly lit hallway, the distant hum of conversation growing louder with each step. The moment you step back into the party, it’s like slipping on a mask, Avis is back to being the cool, untouchable queen of Ace Studios, and you? You’re just another guest.
No one suspects a thing.
She disappears into the crowd with effortless ease, her smirk lingering in your mind long after she’s gone.
You grab a drink from a passing tray, your heart still racing as you weave through the guests, stealing one last glance at her across the room.
Avis meets your gaze briefly, her lips curling in a small, knowing smile before she turns away, already engaged in another conversation.
And just like that, you know you’ll be seeing her again.
You leave the party a little dazed, a little breathless, and very much aware that you’ve just stepped into something dangerous.
And you can’t wait for more.
The weekend passes in a blur, each hour melting into the next, your thoughts tangled up in traces of Avis that refuse to leave you. You swear you can still smell her perfume on your skin, even after long showers and restless nights. It lingers in the folds of your clothes, in your sheets, in the quiet moments when you’re alone and your mind drifts back to the way she felt beneath your hands, the way she tasted, the way she owned you.
And the worst part? You don’t want it to fade.
You spend Saturday lost in the haze of it, replaying every moment, every touch, every whispered command. You find yourself reaching for the telephone more times than you care to admit, your thumb hovering over the number she slipped into your pocket before you left her party.
Call when you want more.
The words echo in your head, taunting, teasing. You consider it. You want to. But something about Avis, her confidence, her control, makes you hesitate. She’d know, just from the way you said hello, how badly you wanted her again. And you weren’t sure you were ready to give her that much power over you.
So instead, you distract yourself with work, throwing yourself into your scripts, hoping to drown out the lingering traces of her. But it doesn’t work. It never does.
By Sunday night, you’re no closer to clearing your head than you were when you first walked out of that house. Something dangerously close to longing, won’t let you sleep.
Monday morning comes too soon.
You drag yourself into the studio lot, the bright California sun doing little to chase away the cloud hanging over your thoughts. Everything feels too loud, too sharp, the chatter of passing secretaries, the clatter of typewriters, the distant hum of conversations about budgets and deadlines. It all blends together into a dull buzz beneath the only thought looping in your mind: when will I see her again?
You barely make it to your desk before the news hits.
“Did you hear?” someone whispers nearby, their voice a conspiratorial hush that instantly grabs your attention.
“Hear what?” another voice asks, papers shuffling hastily.
You glance up, already feeling the knot forming in your stomach.
"Mr. Amberg," the first voice says, hushed and grave. "Heart attack. Late last night."
The words hit you like a slap, knocking the air from your lungs. Your pen slips from your fingers, rolling across the desk as the world around you tilts slightly.
No.
No, no, no.
“Is he…?” The second voice falters, hesitant.
“He’s alive,” the first says quickly, leaning in. “But it’s bad. The doctors aren’t optimistic. They say it could be any day now.”
You sit frozen, your heartbeat thudding in your ears as the conversation fades into a murmur. The weight of it settles on your chest, heavy and suffocating.
Avis.
Your mind races, images flashing through your thoughts, the way she looked at you that night, the way she touched you with such confidence, such certainty. Avis Amberg doesn’t lose. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t break. But this… this could change everything.
You grip the edge of your desk, your knuckles whitening as you stare blankly at the pile of scripts in front of you, the words blurring together into meaningless ink.
Your stomach twists at the thought of her sitting in that grand house, surrounded by marble and silk and emptiness, her husband’s fate hanging in the balance. What would she do? How would she react? Would she cry? Would she rage? Or would she sit there, still and composed, like she always does, sipping her champagne while the world around her crumbles?
You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. You shouldn’t care. You told yourself this was just sex, that it was supposed to be simple. No strings, no expectations.
But it doesn’t feel simple now.
Your fingers itch toward your pocket, toward the number still folded neatly inside. You told yourself you wouldn’t call. Not yet. Not so soon.
But now?
Now, you’re not so sure.
The news spreads like wildfire. By noon, everyone in the studio lot is whispering about it, behind closed doors, in the corners of the commissary, in hurried phone calls to reporters who are already sniffing around for a story. Ace Studios in limbo. A king without his throne.
And sitting at the top of it all now, with her perfectly manicured hands wrapped tightly around the reins?
Avis Amberg.
It shouldn’t be surprising, not really. Even with her husband alive and well, it was an open secret that Avis had been the true power behind the scenes for years. She knew which deals to cut, which strings to pull, which rumours to spread to keep Ace Studios on top. But now, with him lying in a hospital bed, weak and vulnerable, she wasn't just whispering in his ear anymore, she was the studio.
"Mrs. Amberg will be assuming full control for the time being," one of the producers announces in a meeting that afternoon, his voice carefully neutral, his expression tight. "We expect business as usual."
There’s a collective murmur of disbelief around the table. No one dares to voice their doubts outright, but you can see it in their eyes, concern, uncertainty, maybe even a little fear. Avis was ruthless on the social scene, yes, but business?
Everyone’s waiting to see if she’ll sink or swim.
You sit in the corner, watching as the conversation unfolds, barely able to focus on the shifting power dynamics around you. Your thoughts are stuck in a loop, playing over the last time you saw her, her lips on your skin, her voice in your ear, the way she commanded you with nothing more than a look.
And now? Now she’s commanding an entire empire.
The meeting drones on, voices blending into a low hum of speculation and nervous chatter. Someone suggests pausing production on a few major pictures until things settle, but the idea is quickly shot down.
“Mrs. Amberg made it clear, everything moves forward.”
Of course she did.
Avis never let anything stall. Not a film, not an affair, and certainly not the impending death of her husband.
Your chest tightens at the thought, an unfamiliar pang of something dangerously close to concern curling in your gut.
You shouldn’t care.
It was just sex.
And yet, before you can stop yourself, your hand slips into your pocket, fingers brushing against the folded slip of paper that holds her number.
You haven’t called her yet. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You’d wait for her to make the first move, let her be the one to decide if this was worth continuing.
But now, the circumstances have changed.
Later that evening, the studio lot is quieter than usual. The frantic energy of the day has settled into a low murmur, the kind of hush that always follows bad news. You find yourself wandering the empty corridors, drawn toward the executive offices where you know she’ll be.
The door to Mr. Amberg’s office—no, her office now, is closed, but the light is on, spilling a soft glow into the hallway.
You hesitate, fingers hovering just above the polished wood.
And then, before you can decide against it, you knock.
A beat of silence. Then—
"Come in."
Her voice is steady, composed, but there's a sharpness to it, an edge of something you can’t quite place. You step inside, closing the door behind you, and there she is, seated behind the massive oak desk that once belonged to her husband, looking every inch the queen of Hollywood.
She’s shed the usual silk and lace tonight. Instead, she wears a perfectly tailored suit, dark and sleek, the crisp lines of it hugging her body in a way that feels almost too powerful. Her hair is pinned back, not a strand out of place, and her red lips stand out starkly against the dim lighting of the office.
She doesn’t look surprised to see you.
"You’re working late," you say, your voice softer than you intended.
Avis leans back in the chair, swirling the amber liquid in her glass before lifting it to her lips. She takes a slow sip, her eyes never leaving yours. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
You hesitate, unsure of what to say. 
"I heard about... everything."
Her lips curl in a wry smile. "Of course you did. Everyone has." She gestures to the drink in her hand. "Are you here to offer your condolences?"
You step closer, leaning against the edge of the desk, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at her proximity. "I just wanted to check on you."
Avis arches a perfectly shaped brow, as if the very idea of someone checking on her is amusing. "That’s sweet," she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. "But unnecessary."
You search her expression, looking for some sign of what’s going on behind that composed facade, but she’s as unreadable as ever. "How are you handling it?"
She exhales softly, setting her glass down with a quiet clink. "Handling it?" she repeats, her fingers toying idly with the rim. "I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, darling. The studio doesn’t run on sentiment."
You nod, feeling foolish for asking. Of course she’s handling it. Avis Amberg doesn’t fall apart.
She studies you for a long moment, then reaches out, tracing a slow line down your wrist with the tip of her finger. "Tell me," she muses, voice soft but laced with something darker, something knowing, "is that why you came? To see if I’d crack?"
You shake your head, swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat. "No," you say honestly. "I just... I wanted to see you again."
Avis’s smile sharpens, and for the first time tonight, you see a flicker of something familiar in her eyes, something that reminds you of that night, of the way she looked at you when she had you beneath her.
"Mm," she hums, tapping a manicured nail against the desk. "And here I thought we had an agreement."
"We do," you say quickly, shifting under her gaze. "Just sex. No complications."
Her lips curve. "Good. Then let’s not make this anything more than what it is." She stands slowly, stepping around the desk, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of her perfume, still intoxicating, still completely her.
"You want me?" she asks, voice low and inviting.
You nod, unable to form words.
"Then take me," she whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering just enough to leave you aching. "But understand this, darling, I'm not the type to fall apart. And I don’t need saving."
You exhale shakily, nodding. "I wouldn’t dream of it."
Avis smiles, stepping back and smoothing down the lapels of her suit. "Good." She gestures to the door. "Now, go home and get some rest. You’ll need it."
You hesitate for a moment, wanting to say something more, but instead, you nod and head for the door.
As you step back into the hallway, the weight of her presence still clinging to your skin, you realize something with absolute certainty.
This thing between you and Avis?
It’s only just beginning.
The days that follow are a whirlwind, endless scripts, whispered speculation in the hallways, and the looming presence of her. Avis Amberg may have always been the force behind the throne, but now? Now she is the throne, and everyone knows it.
She’s in meetings from dawn until dusk, reshuffling entire productions with the flick of her wrist, cutting budgets, signing off on new talent, and making it very clear that Ace Studios will not be slowing down, not for her husband’s illness, and certainly not for anyone who doubts her.
You try to focus on your work, to keep your head down, but it’s impossible. Every conversation, every hushed voice in the studio commissary inevitably circles back to her. And worse than that? You can still feel her.
Even now, late in the evening, as you sit at your desk trying to get through a script rewrite, the ghost of her perfume lingers in your mind. It’s driving you insane, the memory of her touch, the weight of her against you, the taste of her lips.
You're halfway through a cigarette, staring blankly at the typewriter in front of you, when the phone on your desk rings. You jump slightly, the sudden noise breaking through your thoughts.
You hesitate for just a moment before picking up, pressing the heavy receiver to your ear.
"You’ve been busy," her voice purrs through the line, rich and unmistakable. The sound of it sends a shiver down your spine.
You swallow hard, sitting up straighter. "I—uh, I’ve been working."
"Mmm," Avis hums, unimpressed. "Too busy to pay me a visit?"
You bite your lip, your fingers curling around the cord of the phone. "I didn’t think you'd have time for... this."
Avis laughs softly, low and indulgent, and you can practically picture the smirk tugging at her lips. "I always have time for you, darling." There's a pause, and then, with that same commanding ease, she says, "Come to my office."
You glance at the clock, late enough that most people have already gone home, but not too late to raise suspicion.
"I—"
"Now," she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument.
And just like that, the line goes dead, leaving you gripping the receiver with a heart pounding far too fast for your liking.
Your footsteps echo down the deserted hallway leading to the executive offices, the dim lighting casting long shadows against the polished floors. The studio feels different at night, hushed, eerie, as if all the glamour has been stripped away, leaving only the bones of the empire Avis now rules.
You hesitate outside her door for just a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing it open.
Avis is seated behind her husband’s—her—desk, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The glow of her desk lamp casts sharp angles across her features, highlighting the perfect curve of her lips and the sharp glint in her eyes. She looks utterly unbothered, completely at ease, as if she isn’t carrying the weight of an entire studio on her shoulders.
And yet, when she sees you, something flickers in her expression, something dark and satisfied.
“Close the door, darling,” she says smoothly, taking a slow sip of her drink. “I don’t bite.”
Not unless you ask her to.
You do as she says, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, sealing you both inside the dimly lit office.
Avis leans back in her chair, crossing her legs with a slow, deliberate movement that has your mouth going dry. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You swallow, shifting under her gaze. “I—no, I’ve just been busy.”
"Busy," she repeats, as if tasting the word and finding it amusing. She sets her drink down, standing with a grace that should be impossible in those heels, stepping around the desk with the same lazy confidence that always leaves you breathless.
She stops just inches away, her perfume wrapping around you, and tilts your chin up with one perfectly manicured finger. “I don’t like being ignored.”
You exhale shakily. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”
Avis hums, clearly unconvinced. “No?” Her thumb drags lightly over your lower lip, teasing. “Then why did I have to call you?”
You don’t have an answer for that, not one that won’t sound pathetic. Instead, you lean into her touch, and Avis’s smile curves in satisfaction.
“That’s better,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the corner of your mouth, the same ghost of a kiss she’d given you that night at the party. “I do enjoy your obedience.”
Your breath hitches as her hands skim down your arms, slow and deliberate. “We agreed,” you murmur, more for yourself than for her. “Just sex. No complications.”
Avis pulls back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes glinting with something wicked. “Oh, darling,” she purrs, fingers curling around your waist, “I never said anything about keeping it simple.”
And just like that, your knees go weak.
You’ve been waiting for this, aching for it. It’s been days, but it might as well have been years for how much you've thought about her, how much you've wanted her.
And now, here she is. Avis Amberg, standing before you, wrapped up in her skirt suit and a confidence that could bring nations to their knees.
You take your time. You have to. You don't want to rush this, don't want to squander a single second of having her in your hands again.
Your fingers find the buttons of her jacket, slow and deliberate, sliding each one through its hole with care that borders on reverence. Avis watches you, her dark eyes half lidded, heavy with amusement and something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface.
“I do love a girl who knows exactly what she wants,” she murmurs, the rich velvet of her voice sending a shiver down your spine.
You don’t answer. Instead, you slide the jacket from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of fabric. The silk blouse beneath clings to her in all the right places, and you trace your fingers along the line of buttons, feeling the heat of her body seeping through the delicate material.
Your lips follow where your hands lead, brushing soft kisses along her collarbone, letting the warmth of her skin settle on your tongue. She smells like jasmine and whiskey, an intoxicating combination that fills your senses and leaves you dizzy.
Avis hums softly, her fingers tangling in your hair, guiding your mouth lower.
"You've been thinking about me," she whispers, and you don't bother denying it.
"Every second," you murmur against her skin, letting your teeth graze lightly over the delicate curve of her neck.
A quiet, breathy whimper escapes her lips, and the sound is enough to drive you wild. Your hands move of their own accord, sliding down her sides, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath your touch.
The blouse is next. You unfasten the buttons one by one, excruciatingly slow, dragging your fingertips along the exposed skin as you go. Avis sighs, her body arching ever so slightly into your touch, and you revel in the power you hold, just for now, just in this moment.
When the last button slips free, you push the fabric aside, revealing smooth, bare skin beneath, the faintest hint of lace peeking through. Your breath catches at the sight of her, exquisite, effortless, everything you imagined and more.
Your lips trail lower, pressing open mouthed kisses across the swell of her chest, teasing, lingering. She tastes like desire, like something forbidden and indulgent, and you can't get enough.
Avis tilts her head back, her fingers still tight in your hair, guiding you where she wants you, and you follow eagerly, your mouth tracing the curve of her collarbone, the dip between her breasts.
The sound she makes when your tongue flicks out to taste the delicate hollow of her throat, is nothing short of sinful. A soft, helpless whimper, slipping past her lips and breaking the heavy silence that fills the office.
You smirk against her skin. “You like that?”
Avis’s laugh is breathless, tinged with the slightest edge of impatience. “Shut up and keep going.”
You grin, obliging without hesitation, your hands sliding behind her back to unhook the intricate laces of her corset. The corset falls away easily, and you pull back for just a moment, just to look.
God, you love her breasts.
Full and soft, perfect in every way, they fit into your hands like they were made to be there. You run your thumbs across her nipples, watching with satisfaction as they harden under your touch. Avis shivers, her lips parting in a quiet gasp, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
You dip your head, pressing kisses to the swell of one breast, then the other, your tongue tracing delicate patterns across her skin. Every touch, every flicker of your tongue draws a new reaction, soft sighs, quiet moans, the way her body presses into yours, demanding more without words.
Her legs part instinctively, wrapping around your waist, and the warmth of her so close, so eager, has you biting back a groan of your own.
You lift her, effortlessly, guiding her onto the desk, and she lets you, settling against the polished wood with a grace that makes your head spin.
Leaning over her, your hands slide up her thighs, inching the hem of her skirt higher, exposing smooth skin and silk stockings that cling to her legs in a way that leaves you breathless.
"God, Avis," you murmur against her skin, kissing down her sternum, lingering between the valley of her breasts.
She hums, pleased, her fingers curling under your chin, lifting your face until your eyes meet hers. There's something dangerous in the way she looks at you, something possessive, something that says she knows exactly how much you want her.
And she loves it.
Her nails trail down your jaw, her voice a sultry whisper. “Keep going.”
You don’t need to be told twice.
Your tongue flicks over one nipple, drawing it into your mouth with a slow, deliberate pull, and Avis’s head falls back with a sharp intake of breath. Her fingers tangle in your hair again, tugging, urging you on, and you indulge her, lavishing attention on her breasts with lips and tongue, alternating between teasing and torturous.
She’s unraveling beneath you, slowly but surely, and the power of it is intoxicating. The way her body arches, the soft sounds that escape her lips, the subtle, needy roll of her hips against yours.
Your hands move lower, tracing the lace edge of her garter belt, your fingers slipping beneath it to feel the smooth heat of her skin.
"You’re so beautiful," you murmur, your voice reverent, breathless.
Avis chuckles, though it’s weaker this time, more affected. "You’re getting better at saying the right things."
You press a kiss just above her heart, your hands squeezing her thighs. "I mean it."
For a fleeting moment, something raw, something vulnerable flashes in her eyes, it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. She exhales sharply, her head tilting back, exposing the graceful curve of her throat to you once more. “Then show me.”
And you do.
With every kiss, every touch, every whispered sigh that fills the office, you show her exactly how much you've been wanting this, wanting her.
But you're not finished with her yet.
Not even close.
You stand back for a moment, eyes tracing the curve of her body, the way the fabric of her skirt clings to her hips. Slowly, deliberately, you reach for the waistband, fingers brushing against her soft skin as you peel the fabric away, the garter slipping easily from her legs. You take your time, removing each piece of clothing as if savouring the moment, letting the air linger between each move.
Once she's fully undressed from the waist down, you step closer, your hands resting on her thighs, feeling the heat radiate from her.
You bend forward, your lips press against the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Avis’s breath hitches, a soft, anticipatory sigh escaping her lips as your fingers trail teasing patterns along the smooth expanse of her legs.
But this isn’t enough, not for you, not for her. You want her spread out for you, laid bare, fully open and vulnerable beneath your touch.
You straighten, grasping her thighs with deliberate care, and bend her legs, placing them wide apart on the polished wood of the desk. The way she lets you, the way she offers herself up so willingly, makes your pulse race.
Avis Amberg, naked and sprawled out before you, the soft light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across her body, highlighting every tempting curve, every inch of her skin. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, eager breaths, her lips parted, dark eyes watching you with that same commanding heat, even when she’s the one surrendering.
You take your time, your fingers gliding up the inside of her thighs, before finally, finally leaning in and pressing your lips to the sensitive skin there.
Soft kisses first, then teasing flicks of your tongue, inching closer. Avis moans, a frustrated little sound, and you smile against her thigh.
"Darling," she breathes, her voice heavy with warning and desire, her nails grazing through your hair with just enough force to make your scalp tingle. "Don't test my patience."
But you do. You love to.
You hum against her skin, ignoring the implied threat and dragging your mouth higher, slower, letting your tongue trace along the soft, sensitive crease of her thigh before pulling away again.
Her breath comes quicker now, her body tensing beneath your touch, hips shifting restlessly against the desk. You can feel her frustration mounting, the way she needs more, but you aren’t done playing yet.
"You're so eager," you murmur, echoing words she’s said to you before, your lips ghosting over the heat radiating from her core. "I think I like you like this."
Avis groans, a low, desperate sound that shoots straight to your core, and before she can protest, before she can take control, you finally give her what she wants.
Your tongue flicks out, teasing over her centre, tasting her with a slow, deliberate stroke that has her thighs trembling against your shoulders. You press deeper, your hands gripping her thighs tightly as you work her with your mouth, slow and unrelenting.
Avis gasps sharply, her fingers twisting in your hair as your tongue swirls around her clit, soft and teasing at first, before you build the pressure, working her up with careful precision. You drag your fingers down, slipping them inside her, feeling the way she clenches around you, already so desperate and wanting.
"Yes," she moans, her head falling back, her back arching beautifully off the desk. "Just like that."
You love the way she unravels under you, the way her breath comes in shallow gasps, the way her body moves with each calculated flick of your tongue. You curl your fingers just right, stroking that perfect spot inside her, and she lets out a cry that’s music to your ears.
"You taste so good," you murmur against her, the vibrations making her shudder beneath you.
Avis's grip on you tightens, her hips lifting, desperate for more, and you give it to her, your tongue circling, flicking, teasing until she's writhing on the desk, her polished control slipping away with every breathless moan.
You push her higher and higher, your tongue working in tandem with your fingers, relentless and focused, knowing exactly what she needs.
And then, finally, you give the finishing touch, one precise insistent suck on her swollen clit  sends her over the edge.
She cries out, loud and unrestrained, her body convulsing beneath you as waves of pleasure crash through her. Her thighs clamp around your head, trembling, and you don’t stop, not until you’ve pulled every last shudder, every last moan from her lips.
Her body goes lax against the desk, her chest heaving, her hand still tangled in your hair as she slowly, slowly comes back down to earth.
You lift your head, your chin glistening, a smug smile tugging at your lips as you press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. "Worth the wait?"
Avis lets out a breathless laugh, her head rolling to the side as she gazes down at you with dark, satisfied eyes. 
You grin, dragging your tongue across your lips, tasting her once more. The weight of her release still lingers between you both, the heat of her skin against yours, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the air. Avis remains sprawled against the desk for a moment longer, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm as she regains her breath. But then, with the fluid grace that only she possesses, she shifts, sitting up, her dark eyes locked onto you with something wicked simmering beneath their depths.
You expect her to say something teasing, something smug, but she doesn't. Instead, she stands, and steps toward you with a deliberate slowness that makes your pulse skitter.
“Lose the clothes,” she says simply, her voice low and commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.
Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the buttons of your blouse, the anticipation thick between you. You’re painfully aware of her gaze, the way she watches every movement with a quiet, predatory hunger. The silk slides from your shoulders, pooling onto the floor, followed quickly by your skirt.
You stand before her in nothing but your slip, feeling entirely exposed beneath her calculating stare.
Avis’s lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her fingers skimming lightly over your shoulder before pressing firmly down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
Without another word, she switches your positions in a blink, you against the desk now, your back hitting the polished wood with a dull thud, and she stands between your legs, crowding into your space.
Her touch is different this time.
Softer. More deliberate.
She works you slowly, with a care that surprises you, tracing gentle circles over your thighs, her lips pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your neck. The tenderness is unexpected, and it nearly undoes you right then and there.
You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, but it's not enough. You're too desperate, too wound up from waiting, from wanting her for days.
“Avis,” you whisper, arching into her touch, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”
She hums in amusement, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So impatient,” she muses, dragging her nails lightly down your stomach, making you shudder beneath her. She pauses, her fingers lingering just above where you ache for her touch, then slowly, deliberately, drags them lower. Her fingertips trace teasingly, checking, gauging just how ready you are, before finally pressing lightly, testing the heat and wetness of your skin.
Your head falls back against the desk, frustration pooling low in your belly. "I've waited too long," you murmur, your voice breaking. "Please, Avis, I need—"
Avis clicks her tongue, leaning back slightly to study you, her dark eyes flickering with something dangerously close to pity. “Poor thing,” And before you can process it, she grips your thighs firmly, spreading you wider, pinning you beneath her gaze.
Your breath catches, anticipation burning, your body aching for what comes next.
"Since you asked so nicely," Avis murmurs, her voice a velvet promise.
And then—oh.
She plunges her fingers into you without warning, deep and unrelenting, and you cry out, your back arching off the desk as the sudden, ruthless pace leaves you breathless.
Avis holds you there, one hand splayed against your stomach, keeping you down as her fingers work you with precision, dragging in and out, curling in ways that have you trembling. The desk creaks beneath you, your body reacting to every thrust, every relentless push that leaves you gasping for air.
Your fingers curl against the wood, gripping onto anything to ground yourself, but it’s impossible when she’s touching you like this, taking you like this.
She leans over you, her breath warm against your throat, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you,” she murmurs, her fingers never slowing, never relenting. “So desperate for me.”
You whimper, your hips grinding down against her hand, chasing the pleasure that’s building too quickly, too intensely.
Avis’s lips trail down your collarbone, lower, teeth grazing over the swell of your breast, and it sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how to unravel you.
"More," you gasp, and Avis chuckles, the sound rich and indulgent.
"Greedy little thing," she murmurs, and then, oh God, her thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, teasing you with featherlight touches that have you on the edge in an instant.
You're close, so close, the pressure coiling tight in your core, every nerve in your body alive and burning under her touch.
"Please," you beg, your voice wrecked, barely a whisper. "Please, Avis."
She doesn’t warn you. Doesn’t slow down. One final stroke, just right, just perfect, and suddenly, you’re gone, completely, helplessly undone.
Pleasure crashes through you in a violent, consuming wave, tearing a full on scream from your lips as your body shudders beneath her touch, your release pulsing through you in relentless, shattering waves.
Avis doesn’t stop, not yet.
She works you through it, drawing out every last tremor, every last ragged moan, until you’re boneless against the desk, trembling and spent.
Finally, she withdraws, her hands smoothing over your shaking thighs in a rare moment of gentleness, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
Avis stands back, watching you with that familiar smirk, her fingers tracing lazy circles over the inside of your thigh. “You look rather stunning like this,” she muses. “Utterly wrecked.”
You can’t even muster a response, too lost in the lingering aftershocks of what she’s done to you.
Avis chuckles, stepping away, leaving you sprawled across the desk as she reaches for her cigarette case, lighting one with a practiced flick. She takes a slow drag, exhaling smoke with a satisfied hum.
The weight of what just happened hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the ever present jasmine of Avis’s perfume. For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside the office window.
Avis sits down back against the desk, still bare, the glow of her desk lamp casting golden light over her skin. She watches you with a lazy satisfaction, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
Your body is still humming, your legs unsteady as you push yourself upright, brushing a hand over your flushed face. You glance down at your clothes, crumpled and scattered across the floor, a stark contrast to the usually pristine office.
Avis lifts a perfectly arched brow. “You’re not going to just stand there all night, are you?” Her voice is low, indulgent, and full of amusement.
You swallow, bending down to gather your clothes, your fingers trembling slightly. “I—no,” you murmur, trying to collect yourself, but Avis’s eyes never leave you, making it nearly impossible to focus.
She picks up her discarded blouse from the desk chair, shaking it out with effortless grace before slipping it back on, the silky fabric sliding over her skin like water. You watch, entranced, as she buttons it slowly, each movement precise, deliberate, a performance in its own right.
Your blouse feels less refined in comparison, your hands fumbling with the buttons as you attempt to regain some semblance of composure. You can feel her gaze on you, heavy and assessing, and it makes your skin prickle with awareness.
Avis steps closer, reaching out to adjust the collar of your blouse with an infuriating gentleness, smoothing down the fabric before letting her fingers linger at the hollow of your throat. “You should wear red more often,” she murmurs, her nails dragging lightly across your skin. “It suits you.”
Your breath hitches, and you catch her smirk before she turns away, reaching for her skirt with the same ease that makes you ache. She slides it up her legs, fastening it at her waist with an elegance that seems effortless, but you know better. Everything about Avis is calculated, deliberate. Even now, as she straightens the hem and fixes her hair, she radiates an untouchable confidence that leaves you breathless.
You glance down at your skirt, wrinkled and hastily discarded, and hasten to pull it back on, smoothing it over your hips. You can still feel the ghost of her touch there, the way her hands had gripped you, how her nails had left their invisible marks.
Avis watches your struggle with a knowing look, running a hand through her dark hair, tousling it just enough to look artfully disheveled. “Darling, you look like you’ve been ravished,” she muses, tapping a cigarette from her silver case and lighting it with a flick of her lighter. “Which, of course, you have.”
You glare at her, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re not exactly subtle yourself.”
Avis exhales a slow curl of smoke, tilting her head as she surveys her reflection in the mirror behind the desk. “Oh, I never need to be,” she says smugly, adjusting her lipstick with the tip of her finger. “People expect a certain... glow from me.”
You roll your eyes, slipping your heels back on and attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt, but it's hopeless. You sigh in frustration, running a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself presentable enough to step back out into the world without everyone knowing exactly what you’ve been up to.
Avis watches you struggle, clearly entertained. “Here,” she says, reaching for the comb tucked neatly in the drawer of her desk. She steps close, too close, and begins combing through your hair with careful, deft strokes, the intimacy of it making your heart stutter.
“You don’t have to—”
“Hush,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your scalp. “Let me enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
You let out a soft laugh, closing your eyes for a moment as she fixes your hair, her touch lingering longer than necessary. The moment feels... odd. Softer than you expected.
When she finishes, she steps back with a satisfied smile, pressing the comb into your hand. “There. Good as new.”
You glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the slightly flushed cheeks and the telltale glint in your eyes that no amount of fixing can hide.
Avis smirks, as if she can read your thoughts. “Not too obvious,” she teases, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “Just enough to keep people guessing.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.
As you both finish dressing, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The tension is still there, of course, it is, but something about the way she buttons her cufflinks, the way she watches you from the corner of her eye, feels different.
Like you’re standing on the edge of something, something far more dangerous than just sex in her office.
Avis finishes first, adjusting the cuffs of her blouse with a satisfied hum before stepping toward the door. “I’ll see you around,” she says smoothly, her fingers grazing the back of your hand as she passes.
You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”
But just before she leaves, she turns back, her gaze locking onto yours. “Oh, and darling?”
You blink. “Yeah?”
Avis smirks, exhaling one last cloud of smoke before crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. “Try not to think about me too much tonight.”
And with that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in her office, your pulse still racing, your thoughts a tangled mess of anticipation and something dangerously close to longing.
You stare at the closed door for a long moment, your fingers trailing absently over the edge of the desk, the same spot where she had unraveled you moments ago.
With a deep breath, you gather the last of your things and head out into the cool night air, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, her voice echoing in your head.
The cool night air hits you the moment you step out of the office building, a stark contrast to the warmth still simmering beneath your skin. The lot is quiet now, the earlier bustle of actors, directors, and executives reduced to a few lingering stragglers, crew members packing up, secretaries rushing home, and the faint hum of distant conversations fading into the night.
You walk briskly, the echo of your heels tapping against the pavement the only sound that fills the space around you. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind is racing, filled with fragmented flashes of what had just happened in that office, of Avis.
Your legs feel weak beneath you, the ache between your thighs a delicious reminder of her, of how thoroughly she had taken you apart. You should feel satisfied, sated, but instead, there's a gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach that refuses to subside.
The weight of what you’ve done, what you are doing, starts to settle in as you slip into the waiting cab. You give the driver your address in a voice that’s quieter than usual, staring out of the window as the city passes by in blurred streaks of neon and headlights.
You should feel guilty. You should feel something other than the intoxicating thrill that’s still coursing through you.
But all you can think about is her.
Her voice. Her touch. The way she had looked at you when you begged.
God.
You rest your head against the window, exhaling shakily.
By the time you arrive at your apartment, the city feels quieter, lonelier. You slip out of your heels the moment you step inside, tossing your coat over the back of the sofa and heading straight to your bedroom.
Your reflection catches your eye in the mirror as you pass, and you pause.
You look different.
The smudged lipstick, the tousled hair, the faint flush still lingering across your chest. Avis’s touch is all over you, in ways that won’t wash off so easily.
You bring your fingers to your lips, tracing the outline of them, remembering the way she had kissed you, slow and consuming, like she had all the time in the world.
A frustrated sigh escapes you, and you turn away from the mirror, stripping out of your clothes as you head to the bathroom. The hot water does little to wash away the weight of tonight, but you let it scald your skin anyway, standing beneath the spray with your hands pressed against the tiles, your head bowed.
You can still feel her fingers on you. Still hear the way she had whispered your name.
No amount of water can rinse that away.
The studio was silent, save for the faint hum of distant lights and the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in the background. You stepped into the dimly lit hallway leading to Avis’s office, your movements deliberate, quiet. The polished wood beneath your feet reflected the faint glow of the overhead lamps, and the cool air carried the faint scent of old paper and cigarettes.
It had been a week. A week since you’d last seen her properly. A week since you’d touched her, since the memory of her moans and trembling hands had been etched into your mind. You’d given her space, time to deal with the relentless demands of running Ace Studios and weathering the constant scrutiny over the new film. But your patience had worn thin.
This wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance. It was concern.
You couldn’t keep watching her run herself ragged, pushing through endless days and sleepless nights without pause.
The door was unlocked, just as you expected. You didn’t knock.
The door creaked open, and there she was, she stood with her back to you, one hand braced on the edge of the desk, the other holding a cigarette. Her head was slightly bowed, her posture tense as she stared at the scattered papers in front of her. The soft glow of her desk lamp cast a warm light over her, highlighting the curve of her waist, the arch of her neck. 
You shut the door behind you. Locking it. “You’ve made it a habit to work late shifts, I see.” Your voice cut through the stillness, low and husky, carrying the weight of your frustration and worry. 
Avis turned sharply, her dark eyes meeting yours as soon as she registered your voice. She didn’t speak at first, didn’t even move, she simply stared at you, her usual sharpness dimmed by exhaustion. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people, darling,” she said smoothly, though there was an edge to her voice, worn, tired.
Your gaze dropped, sweeping over her slowly. She looked as perfect as ever, her blouse crisp, her skirt hugging her hips, but you could see the faint redness in her eyes, the tired lines she couldn’t quite hide.
You took a few measured steps closer, inhaling deeply as her scent reached you. Jasmine, smoke, and the faintest trace of whiskey clung to her skin. It enticed you in ways you couldn’t explain, and it angered you for reasons you could.
She said nothing, but the way her eyes darted to your lips and back again told you everything.
You licked your lips, staring down at her, and you saw the exact moment she realised. Her breath hitched, her hands flexing slightly at her sides as she turned abruptly, moving to unfasten her skirt, but you weren’t about to let her take control.
You were faster.
You stepped behind her in an instant, grabbing her hands and pinning them firmly against the desk. She gasped sharply, her body tensing under your touch, but she didn’t resist.
Her breathing was shallow, uneven, and for a moment, she froze, as though caught between instinct and surrender.
Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in, your chest pressing against her back, your breath hot against her neck. She shivered, her hands twitching beneath yours, and you felt the faint tremor running through her body.
You guided her hands to the edge of the desk, pressing them down firmly. “Don’t move,” you murmured, your voice rough, and she obeyed without question.
Her body quivered as you spun her around, her back hitting the desk. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her dark eyes wide and unguarded as she watched you.
You didn’t waste any time.
Dropping to your knees, you let your hands trail up her thighs, lifting the hem of her skirt inch by inch. Her breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling as you worked the fabric higher, exposing the delicate lace of her panties. 
Your lips pressed against the inside of her knee, trailing slow, deliberate kisses up her thigh. When you reached her centre, your teeth grazed the waistband of her panties, hooking the lace between them. 
Avis gasped, her hands flying to grip the desk, her knuckles turning white at the force of her hold. You didn’t stop, dragging the fabric down with your index and your teeth, the sensation sending a shiver through her body.
Her thighs were trembling now, her breathing ragged as your lips trailed higher. When your tongue finally flicked against her, she let out a loud, broken gasp.
You didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath.
Your mouth moved with relentless precision, your tongue stroking her with a rough, unyielding rhythm. You sucked hard, pulling another sharp cry from her lips, your fingers digging into her thighs to keep her steady. You wanted to eat her out until she was on the verge of tears, you only wanted to hear her tonight.
Avis’s moans filled the room, desperate and breathy, her hips bucking against your mouth. You matched her movements, your tongue and lips working her with an intensity that left her trembling.
But it wasn’t enough.
Sliding one hand between her legs, you pushed two fingers inside her without warning, curling them just right. She nearly screamed, her back arching as her body jerked against you, her cries turning into frantic whimpers.
Her hands were clawing at the desk now, her nails scraping against the wood as she tried, and failed, to steady herself. Her thighs clamped around your head, her body tightening with every rough thrust of your fingers and every flick of your tongue against her clit.
You could feel her breaking, feel the tension building in her body as you pushed her higher and higher.
“Let go,” you growled against her, your voice muffled, and with one final stroke of your tongue, she shattered.
Avis came with a loud, breathless scream, her entire body convulsing as her release tore through her. Her hands slipped from the desk, clutching desperately at your shoulders as her legs shook violently.
You didn’t stop, your tongue and fingers dragging out every last tremor, every last broken cry, she slumped forward, her body going slack.
There was no escape for her.
Even as her body trembled and sagged against you, her orgasm still echoing through her shudders and sharp breaths, you didn’t stop. The cruel, relentless motions of your tongue against her soaked cunt continued, driving her higher even as she tried to catch her breath.
She gasped, her voice breaking on a moan, her thighs shaking violently around you. Every flick of your tongue dragged more out of her, and you took all of it, every drop, every tremble, every desperate whimper. You tasted all of her, drank her in, her juices coating your lips and chin as you worked her with merciless precision.
“Fucking h-hell—” she stuttered, her voice raw, barely above a gasp.
“There you go, mama—there you go—” you murmured against her, the vibrations of your voice making her shudder anew.
Before she could come down fully, you shifted, lowering yourself until your back was flat against the floor, pulling her with you. Her thighs quivered as you guided her atop your face, her hips hovering just above you for a moment before she realised, too late, exactly what you intended.
Her body shivered as the weight of her fully pressed against you, your mouth immediately resuming its feast. You felt her hesitation, the fleeting tension in her muscles as she realised she was sitting completely on your face.
And then the sound of your tongue sliding against her centre ripped a loud, broken moan from her throat, and the hesitation was gone.
Her hands flew to your hair, gripping it tightly as she moved instinctively, grinding herself down against you. Her moans spilled out uncontrollably, each one louder, messier than the last, her hips rocking over your face with a desperate, uneven rhythm.
You held her steady, your hands gripping her hips firmly, guiding her movements as your tongue delved deeper, flicking and stroking her most sensitive spots. Every motion was chaotic, unsteady, her hips jerking erratically as she chased her high, but her need was raw, overpowering.
Her breath hitched with every additional flick of your tongue, her cries growing higher, sharper. She pushed herself down harder, her thighs trembling violently against your cheeks as she rode your face, the pressure and heat overwhelming.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice ragged, trembling with the edge of her need. “Don’t you fucking—ah—stop—”
Her nails dug into your scalp, her grip desperate as she pushed herself down even harder, grinding herself against your mouth with abandon. You didn’t stop, didn’t slow, your tongue and lips working her relentlessly until she was falling apart again.
Her hips stuttered, her entire body tensing as a guttural cry tore from her lips. She came a second time, her release crashing over her in waves as she cussed, her words a broken, incoherent mix of gasps and moans.
You didn’t relent, letting her ride out every second, her body shaking uncontrollably as her orgasm spilled over you, smearing your face with her wetness. Her hips rocked against you, her movements erratic and desperate as she milked every last tremor, her cries echoing off the walls of the office.
When she finally slumped forward, her body going limp against you, her hands trembling as they slipped from your shoulders to the floor. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her thighs quivering as she tried, and failed, to regain control of herself.
Your hands gently stroked her thighs, your lips brushing against her overstimulated centre in one last teasing kiss before you finally pulled back, your face glistening with her arousal.
For a moment, the room was silent save for her shaky breaths and the faint hum of the desk lamp. You could feel her body trembling above you, her weight pressing into you as she let herself collapse fully, her hair falling in wild waves around her flushed face.
“Fucking hell,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice barely audible.
You smirked, pressing your lips to her thigh once more, your voice low and teasing as you murmured, “There you go, Avis.”
She didn’t respond, her only reply a shaky exhale as she slowly slid off you, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.
You guided her off of you slowly, your hands steady as you helped her find her balance, not that she had much left. Her body barely shifted before she collapsed beside you, her back pressing against the desk as her legs sprawled out. Her chest still heaved, her dark eyes hazy and unfocused as she tried to catch her breath, the weight of what just happened settling between you.
You rose to your feet, your movements unhurried, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.
The air was thick with the scent of her, warm and heady, mingling with the faint trace of jasmine still clinging to her skin. The sound of her soft, shaky breaths filled the room, the silence between you stretching, charged but comfortable.
You gave her a moment, watching as she leaned back against the desk, her hands braced on either side of her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed with colour, her lips swollen from the cries you’d pulled from her.
Your eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before you stepped away, crossing the room in search of something. She watched you silently, her gaze heavy, following every movement.
You returned a moment later, a pack of cigarettes in your hand.
Avis’s eyes flicked to it immediately, a flicker of intrigue crossing her expression as you pulled one out, lighting it with a practiced motion. The sharp scent of smoke filled the room as you placed it between your fingers, taking a slow drag.
She stared at you, absorbed, her lips parting slightly.
“I want one,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, soft.
You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as you stepped closer, the cigarette still balanced between your fingers. She looked up at you, something curious and expectant in her gaze.
Without a word, you took another drag, the smoke curling lazily from your lips as you crouched down in front of her. Avis stiffened slightly, her dark eyes watching you carefully as you reached for her, your fingers brushing against the side of her neck.
Her breath hitched as your hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping it firmly but not roughly, tilting her head back to meet your gaze. Her lips parted instinctively, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
You leaned in, bringing your face closer to hers until your mouths were almost touching. Slowly, deliberately, you exhaled, the smoke curling from your lips into hers.
Her mouth opened wider, her lungs pulling in the smoke immediately, her body reacting to the act with a soft gasp. She exhaled seconds later, the smoke spilling from her lips, the motion too sensual, too intimate for something so simple.
You didn’t say anything, your fingers still gripping her neck as you watched her, your gaze heavy.
“Again,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly but filled with need.
You didn’t hesitate.
Bringing the cigarette to your lips, you took another long drag, the smoke burning hot in your lungs before you leaned in again. This time, your lips pressed against hers as you exhaled, the smoke pouring into her mouth as you kissed her deeply.
She moaned softly against you, her fingers reaching out to clutch at your arms, pulling you closer as she inhaled the mix of smoke, nicotine, and something distinctly you. Her lips parted wider, allowing you to deepen the kiss, her body leaning into yours as though she couldn’t get close enough.
When you finally pulled back, she exhaled slowly, her breath shaky, the smoke curling from her lips like a whispered secret.
The act was simple and yet it felt much too sensual for someone in that kind of situation.
Her gaze locked onto yours, her lips still parted, her body still trembling slightly. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension, with heat.
Without a word, you leaned in again, your lips brushing against hers, softer this time, your tongue flicking against the seam of her mouth. Letting her taste herself on your tongue. 
Avis sighed into the kiss, her body relaxing against you, her hands sliding up to rest lightly on your shoulders. Her lips were warm, soft, pliant beneath yours, and you couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, pulling her closer.
When you finally broke apart, her eyes were half lidded, her lips swollen and glistening.
She exhaled another breath of smoke, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re dangerous,” she murmured, her voice low and raspy.
You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over her cheek as you leaned back slightly. “And you’re trouble.”
Avis’s smirk widened slightly, her fingers trailing down your arms before she leaned back against the desk, her gaze still fixed on you.
The tension between you lingered, crackling like the ember of the cigarette still burning between your fingers.
You rose slowly, helping her up, your hands trailing up her sides, gripping her waist as you steadied her. Her hair was now a mess, falling out of her updo around her face, and her dark eyes were glassy, her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath.
You reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, your thumb grazing her cheek. She leaned into your touch, her fingers curling lightly around your wrist, her breathing still uneven.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with the scent of her, the sound of her soft, shaky breaths the only thing breaking the silence.
“You’re going to take care of yourself now,” you said finally, your voice low but steady.
Her eyes flickered, something unspoken passing between you, and she nodded, her fingers tightening briefly around your wrist.
There was no escape for her.
The news breaks early in the morning, spreading through the studio lot like wildfire. Mr. Amberg is dead. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, he had been clinging to life for weeks, his heart attack leaving him more a ghost than a man in that hospital bed. But even so, hearing it out loud feels like a sudden shift in the ground beneath your feet.
It’s different now.
Avis isn’t just acting as the head of Ace Studios anymore. She is the head. No more signatures under his name, no more whispers behind closed doors about how she’s “really the one in charge.” Now it’s official. No more pretense. No more illusion. Avis Amberg reigns alone.
And yet, the lot feels like it’s holding its breath. Conversations hush when you walk past, the tension crackling through the corridors like static electricity. People mill around in little clusters, murmuring in low voices about what happens next, as if they don’t already know the answer.
You sit at your desk, staring blankly at the script in front of you, but none of the words make sense. Your thoughts are tangled, circling around the same thing over and over again. Has she eaten? Is she sleeping? Is she okay?
It’s a ridiculous thing to wonder about someone like Avis. She’s always been composed, always untouchable, always three steps ahead of everyone in the room. But grief... grief is different. Even for her.
You haven’t seen her all day, and it gnaws at you. Normally, she’s a constant presence—gliding through the halls with that razor sharp confidence, her heels echoing against the marble floors, her voice cutting through the air like silk wrapped steel. Today? Nothing.
You tap your fingers against the desk, restless. Maybe she’s home. Maybe she’s locked away in her office, chain smoking in the dark, refusing to let anyone see the cracks.
You shouldn’t care this much. You shouldn’t.
But the memory of her pressed against the desk, breathless and bare beneath you, lingers too heavily in your mind. The way she had looked at you in the aftermath, soft, unguarded, something flickering beneath the surface that you couldn’t quite place.
With a sigh, you push away from your desk, grabbing your coat and stepping outside. The evening air is cool, the distant hum of traffic a reminder that the world keeps moving, even when everything else feels frozen in place.
You find yourself in one of the darkened soundstages, cigarette in hand, watching the distant glow of the city skyline through the high windows.
You don’t hear her footsteps, but you know she’s there the moment the air shifts.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Avis’s voice cuts through the silence, and you turn, exhaling smoke through your nose.
She stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest. The usual perfection of her appearance is slightly undone tonight, her lipstick slightly smudged, her hair not as tightly pinned. And yet, she still looks like she could rule the world with a glance.
You flick ash to the ground, studying her carefully. “I could say the same to you.”
Avis smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose you heard.”
You nod slowly. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”
She steps inside, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor, and for once, there’s no bravado in her posture, just exhaustion. “It doesn’t feel real yet,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
You watch her, uncertain of what to say. You’re used to her being the one in control, the one who never falters. Seeing her like this, stripped down to something raw and human, sends a strange ache through your chest.
“I’m sorry,” you offer softly, and it feels inadequate, but she nods anyway, her gaze distant.
Avis takes the cigarette from your fingers without asking, bringing it to her lips and taking a long, slow drag. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable. She stares off into the dark corners of the soundstage, where the remnants of old sets stand like abandoned relics of another time.
“He was a bastard,” she says eventually, exhaling smoke into the air. “And now I own his legacy.”
There’s no sadness in her tone, just a quiet sort of acceptance, but you catch the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers tremble ever so slightly when she hands the cigarette back to you.
You take it, letting the weight of her words settle between you.
“I know it’s not the same,” you say after a moment, “but... you don’t have to do this alone.”
Avis’s lips twitch, but there’s no amusement there. “Don’t I?” she muses, looking at you with something unreadable in her eyes. “Tell me, darling, who else is going to step in and run this place?”
You have no answer for that. She’s right. It’s always been her.
Still, you reach out, hesitating for just a moment before resting a hand gently on her arm. The silk of her blouse is cool beneath your fingertips, but you can feel the warmth of her skin underneath, the tension thrumming through her body like a live wire.
For once, she doesn’t pull away.
“I’m serious,” you murmur. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Avis lets out a slow breath, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling, as if weighing your words. “It’s a nice thought,” she says eventually, her voice quieter now. “But you and I both know I don’t have that luxury.”
You don’t argue, because she’s right. Avis doesn’t get to grieve. Avis doesn’t get to break down. The world won’t allow it. And yet, standing here in the quiet, with your hand still resting lightly on her arm, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t always have to hold it all alone.
She reaches up, covering your hand with hers briefly, her touch surprisingly gentle. Then, just as quickly, she pulls away, straightening, slipping back into the version of herself that the world expects.
“I should go,” she says, smoothing down the front of her blouse as if to erase any sign of vulnerability. “Long day ahead tomorrow.”
You nod, watching as she steps toward the door, her movements calculated once again. But before she leaves, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and it catches you off guard, the sincerity in it, the quiet weight.
You nod, offering her a small smile. “Anytime.”
And then she’s gone, disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone in the empty soundstage with the ghost of her touch lingering on your skin and the knowledge that this, whatever this is between you, is far from over.
The days that follow feel different, heavier. The air at the studio is thick with tension, not the usual stress of productions running over schedule or actors throwing tantrums, but something quieter, something weightier. There’s an unspoken awareness now, a collective understanding that Avis Amberg is no longer just playing the role of the head of Ace Studios. She is the studio, and with that, the weight of expectation has doubled.
She moves through the halls with that same effortless grace, her posture never slipping, her voice always poised and commanding. But you see it, the way her fingers grip her cigarette a little too tightly, the slight tremor in her hands when she thinks no one’s looking.
She’s always been good at playing the part, but now it’s not a performance. It’s survival.
You watch her from a distance, feeling that familiar ache creep back into your chest. You want to reach out, to offer more than fleeting touches and whispered reassurances, but Avis is a fortress, and you’ve learned that pushing too hard only makes the walls rise higher.
Instead, you wait.
It’s late when you finally see her again—really see her.
You’re working late in your office, drowning in revisions and cigarette smoke, when a familiar knock echoes through the quiet.
Avis doesn’t wait for an invitation. She never does.
She steps inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click, and for the first time in days, you see past the carefully curated mask she’s been wearing. Her shoulders sag just slightly, her usual immaculate hair slightly out of place, and there’s a tiredness in her eyes that no amount of powder can conceal.
She doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she crosses the room, picking up the drink you left on your desk, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. She hums in approval, setting it back down with a quiet clink before finally looking at you.
“Come to my house,” she says, and it’s not a question.
You blink, caught off guard. “Now?”
Avis arches a brow, as if the idea of you refusing is ridiculous. “Unless you have somewhere better to be?”
You shake your head. “No, I—of course.”
Her lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t far from it either. “Good. I could use some company.”
There’s something in her voice, something beneath the nonchalance that tugs at you, but you don’t push. Not yet.
You grab your coat, flicking off the desk lamp as you follow her out into the dimly lit corridors of the studio, the silence between you comfortable but charged with something unspoken.
Avis’s estate feels different at night.
You’ve been here before, at the party where it all started, where you first saw her without the carefully constructed distance she usually kept around herself. But now, the grand halls feel quieter, more intimate. There’s no music, no laughter echoing through the rooms, just the soft shuffle of your feet against the polished floors.
She leads you into the study, the one room in the house that feels the most like her. Heavy bookshelves line the walls, filled with novels and ledgers alike, and a crystal decanter sits on a tray by the leather armchairs.
Avis shrugs off her coat, draping it over the back of a chair before pouring two glasses of whiskey, handing you one without a word.
You take it, watching as she sinks into the chair opposite you, kicking off her heels and tucking one leg beneath her. She looks... tired. But beautiful, as always.
For a while, neither of you speak. You sip your drinks, letting the silence stretch, until finally, Avis sighs, rolling the glass between her fingers.
“It’s done now,” she says, more to herself than to you. “No more waiting, no more pretending.”
You nod slowly, watching her carefully. “How does it feel?”
Avis smirks, but it’s a pale imitation of her usual self. “Like I’ve inherited a kingdom of sand.” She takes another sip, her gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “Everyone’s waiting to see if I’ll crumble under it.”
You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “You won’t.”
Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, the cool façade slips. There’s something raw beneath it, something uncertain. “No,” she agrees softly, “I won’t.”
It’s strange, this quiet honesty between you. You’re used to the push and pull, the teasing, the control she so easily wields over everyone around her—including you. But tonight, she’s letting you see more, letting you glimpse the cracks she works so hard to hide.
You reach out, covering her hand with yours, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she stares at your fingers, tracing them lightly with her own before sighing, her eyes drifting closed for a brief moment.
“I don’t do this,” she murmurs.
“Do what?”
“This.” She gestures vaguely between you, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Let people... linger.”
You squeeze her hand gently. “I’m not most people.”
She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No. You’re not.”
The weight of that acknowledgment sits between you, heavy and full of meaning neither of you are quite ready to say out loud.
Instead, you sit there, hands intertwined, sharing the quiet and the whiskey, and it’s enough.
For now.
The whiskey sits warm in your stomach, but it does nothing to dull the awareness you have of her. Avis, sitting across from you, looking smaller in the dim light of her study. The usual armor she wears, the poise, the sharp tongued wit, the unwavering confidence, feels thinner tonight, like a veil just barely holding her together.
Your hand still rests over hers, your fingers tracing absent patterns against her skin. She hasn’t pulled away, and that alone feels like a victory, like a secret she's letting you in on, just for tonight.
She swirls the whiskey in her glass, watching the amber liquid with a distant gaze. “I keep waiting,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you. “For it to feel different. For it to feel... real.”
You study her, the faintest flicker of vulnerability creeping into her expression. “What doesn’t feel real?”
She lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “All of it.” Her fingers tighten slightly around yours, grounding herself. “The power, the control. The fact that it’s mine now, no strings attached.” A pause, then: “That he’s really gone.”
There it is. The thing neither of you have said out loud.
You watch her carefully, choosing your words. “You didn’t love him.”
It’s not a question, and Avis doesn’t treat it like one. She lifts the glass to her lips, taking a slow sip before meeting your gaze, her dark eyes unreadable. “I did at the beginning. But towards the end? No,” she admits finally. “Not in the way a wife should.”
You nod, expecting the answer, but it doesn’t make it any less heavy. “But it’s still a loss.”
Avis hums in agreement, leaning back in her chair, her free hand tracing along the edge of the armrest. “A loss of what, though? I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
You can’t help but watch the way her lips purse slightly, as if she’s debating how much more to give you. It’s rare, this side of her, unguarded, unsure. It makes something deep in your chest ache.
“You’ve got a hell of a lot more than most people ever will,” you say softly, offering the faintest hint of a smile. “But it’s okay to admit that it’s not enough.”
Avis regards you for a moment, something flickering behind her eyes—something that looks dangerously close to gratitude. Then, she smirks, and just like that, the Avis you know so well slides back into place. “Oh, darling,” she drawls, taking another slow sip of her drink. “I’d never admit that out loud.”
You grin, shaking your head. “Of course not.”
She watches you carefully, the smirk lingering, but there's something softer beneath it now. “You’re quite good at this,” she murmurs.
You raise an eyebrow. “At what?”
Avis gestures between you, lazy and indulgent. “Sitting there. Listening. Not asking for anything.”
You chuckle softly. “Maybe I like listening to you.”
“Dangerous habit,” she muses, swirling the whiskey in her glass again. “I might keep you around.”
Your stomach twists at that, a quiet thrill curling beneath your ribs, but you keep your expression carefully neutral. “I might not mind.”
The air between you shifts, the easy banter settling into something heavier, something charged. You watch as she stands, moving to pour another drink, but instead of returning to her chair, she stops behind yours, her fingers ghosting lightly over your shoulder.
Her touch is different now, less teasing, more deliberate. She lingers, her nails tracing the line of your collarbone, her voice softer when she finally speaks.
“You’re dangerous too, you know,” she murmurs, and you feel the heat of her breath against your skin. “Caring. It’s a weakness.”
You tilt your head slightly, looking up at her. “Or a strength.”
Avis smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not in my world.”
For a moment, neither of you move, the weight of her hand on your shoulder feeling heavier than it should. Then, just as quickly, she steps away, retreating back to the bar cart and refilling her glass with a smooth, practiced motion.
The absence of her touch leaves you cold.
You clear your throat, breaking the tension. “So, what now?”
Avis glances at you over the rim of her glass, considering the question. “Now,” she says, her voice returning to its usual crispness, “I go back to work. I run the empire. And you... you keep being my delightful distraction.”
It’s meant to be teasing, but there’s an edge to it, an unspoken understanding that distraction is far from an accurate description of whatever this is between you.
You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “I think you’re more distracted than you care to admit.”
Avis narrows her eyes at you, but there's no real bite behind it. “Careful, darling. I could have you fired.”
You grin, unbothered. “But you won’t.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head, but there’s something fond in the way she looks at you, something almost... soft. And for a moment, you wonder if you’ve managed to slip past her carefully placed defenses in a way no one else has.
The thought is dangerous.
Avis finishes her drink and sets the glass down with a quiet clink. “It’s late,” she says, stretching lazily. “I should get some sleep before I start running this circus again tomorrow.”
You nod, rising to your feet, but you hesitate for just a second too long. Avis notices, of course she does, and instead of ushering you out, she reaches for your tie, fingers curling around the fabric.
“You could stay,” she says, and it’s not an invitation. It’s a statement. A fact.
Your heart stutters in your chest, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Is that what you want?”
Avis tilts her head, studying you carefully, and then, finally, she answers. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
It’s not a declaration of love. It’s not even an admission of need. But it’s honest, and it’s enough.
You nod, stepping closer, your hands settling at her waist. “Then I’ll stay.”
Her lips brush yours, soft and slow, nothing like the urgency of before. It’s different now, something gentler, something real.
And as she leads you upstairs, the weight of what this means settles deep in your chest.
You might not have the words for it yet, but this—this—is something worth staying for.
The morning sun spills through the curtains, painting the bedroom in soft, golden hues. The world outside is already awake, cars hum in the distance, the faint murmur of the city filtering through the open window, but in here, everything feels suspended in time. Warm. Quiet. Intimate.
You lie still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of Avis’s breathing beside you. It’s different from last time, no hurried goodbyes, no slipping out before dawn. No illusion that this was just another late night indulgence.
Avis stirs, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she shifts against you. Her hair is tousled, curling over her shoulders in lazy waves, and her face, free from its usual layers of artifice, looks softer in the morning light.
You can’t help but watch her, letting yourself linger in this moment, this rare stillness. A part of you wonders if she’s ever let anyone see her like this, unguarded, vulnerable in the soft embrace of morning.
Eventually, she opens her eyes, blinking slowly before her gaze lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speak. She simply looks at you, as if assessing whether she should let the morning ruin whatever delicate balance was achieved last night.
“You stayed,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep but still carrying that effortless authority she never quite loses.
You offer a small smile. “You asked me to.”
Avis hums, rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as if considering that fact. “I suppose I did.”
You prop yourself up on one elbow, watching her carefully. “Do you regret it?”
She turns her head to look at you, and for once, there’s no teasing glint in her eyes, no mask of indifference. “No.” The answer is simple, quiet, but it holds a weight that makes your chest tighten.
Neither of you say anything for a while after that. She eventually reaches for the cigarette case on the nightstand, lighting one and taking a slow, deliberate drag before offering it to you. You take it, letting the smoke curl lazily between you, the shared silence speaking louder than words ever could.
After a moment, she exhales softly, tapping ash into the crystal tray. “You should go before the vultures start circling.”
You nod, even though you don’t move. “You don’t want anyone knowing?”
Avis smirks, though there’s something tired beneath it. “I don’t care what they know. I just don’t feel like hearing their opinions.”
You grin, passing the cigarette back to her. “I think they already have plenty.”
She lets out a quiet laugh, her free hand resting lightly on her stomach. “They always do.” Her gaze flickers back to you, more serious now. “But this... stays ours.”
You nod, understanding. Whatever this is, it exists in the quiet spaces between the chaos of her world. It doesn’t need a name, and it doesn’t need to be anything more than what it is.
Still, you find yourself reaching for her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, letting your fingers linger against her cheek. She doesn’t pull away.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly, and for once, you’re not referring to the studio, to her power, to her control.
Avis closes her eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch before opening them again. “I will be.” It’s the closest thing to honesty she’s ever given you.
You nod, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before finally pulling away, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The air feels cooler without her warmth beside you, but you don’t linger on it.
As you get dressed, Avis watches from the bed, cigarette balanced between her fingers, her expression unreadable.
When you slip on your coat and turn to face her, she tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her features. “You know,” she muses, “you’re awfully good at not asking questions.”
You smile. “Maybe I already know the answers.”
Avis smirks, but it’s softer this time. “I do like that about you.”
You linger at the door, hesitating for just a second too long. But before you can say anything, Avis speaks, her voice quieter now.
“Come back tonight.”
It’s not a plea, not even a request. But there’s something in her tone that makes your chest tighten.
You nod, your voice steady. “I will.”
And with that, you step out into the cool morning air, leaving behind the warmth of her bed and the quiet understanding that, while nothing has been said out loud, everything has changed.
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angeliccss · 17 hours ago
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Patti LuPone x mullet era
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leonoraart · 3 days ago
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Avis Amberg x Female reader
(Tiny little comfort fic where Reader calls Avis mama)
Hollywood was never as dazzling as it felt when you were with Avis. The city’s nightlife glittered, the neon lights shimmering against the dark sky, but there was no sparkle that compared to her. Avis Amberg was a force of nature — confident, powerful, and utterly captivating. She was your sugar mommy, yes, but she was so much more than that. She was your world. The one who always made you feel cherished, adored, and utterly irresistible.
Tonight, you were in the back of her luxurious car, the velvet seats soft beneath you, as she leaned back beside you. Her presence was magnetic, a quiet authority that made everyone around her fall in line. Her eyes were on you, as always, that subtle smile playing at the corners of her lips.
You let out a soft sigh as you reached for her hand, your fingers brushing lightly against her perfectly manicured ones. "Mama," you murmured, your voice low and sweet, the nickname slipping off your tongue like it was second nature.
Avis tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Hmm?" she responded, her voice smooth and sultry.
You couldn't help the smile that crept up on your lips. You loved how much that word seemed to affect her. "I’ve missed you today," you whispered, the words not needing to be louder to hold all the weight of what you felt.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she leaned in closer, brushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, her breath warm against your skin, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
The connection between you two had grown stronger each day, and the nickname had become a symbol of that intimacy, that soft yet intense bond. To everyone else, you were just a beautiful face on her arm, but for Avis, you were something different. Something real.
The car came to a stop, and you could feel the anticipation in the air. Tonight was another one of those nights—glittering events, flashing cameras, and endless eyes following your every move. But all that faded when Avis was near. When you called her “mama,” when she held you close, when her lips brushed over your ear and whispered promises only you could hear.
She turned toward you, her eyes dark with an unspoken challenge. "Ready to show them who’s really in charge?" she asked, her tone playful but demanding.
You nodded, your fingers curling around hers tighter. "Always, mama."
Avis smirked, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she brought your face closer to hers. “Good,” she said, voice low and sultry. “Let’s go make them wish they were us.”
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thequeerent · 1 day ago
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Avis, specifically with her hair down... step on me
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refreshingly-original · 2 days ago
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It’s official, @grifffins trying to kill us all with her Avis Amberg fics.
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multixfan · 2 months ago
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Literally just Patti Lupone on her phone but dressed as two completely different characters.
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lookadaydreamer · 2 months ago
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✨️ lilia calderu ✨️
hey, those are some of lilia's fics that i've been reading. i will try to update this list weekly ;)
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SFW
• a true love of mine (lilia x reader)
• tv static (lilia x reader)
• she loves me (lilia x reader)
• brooklyn (lilia x reader)
• drawings of you (lilia x reader)
• drunk in love (lilia x reader)
• and there was only one bed! (lilia x reader)
NSFW
• you must love me (lilia x reader)
• baby, it's colt outside (lilia x reader)
• darling (lilia x reader)
• make-up exams (lilia x agatha x reader)
• screw loose (lilia x reader)
• soy celosa, lo siento (lilia x reader)
• poison on your lips (lilia x reader)
• illicit affairs (lilia x reader)
• take me by the tongue and I will know you (lilia x reader)
• mine (lilia x reader)
• work for it (lilia x reader)
• punished (lilia x reader)
• curiosity (lilia x reader)
• that's my woman (lilia x reader)
• you are my witch (lilia x reader)
• traces (lilia x reader)
• the witches' forest (lilia x agatha x rio x reader)
• runes (lilia x agatha x rio x reader)
• magick (lilia x reader)
• timeless in your finery (lilia x reader)
• unfinished business (lilia x agatha)
• sugar, spice and everything extra ( agatha x rio x lilia x jen x alice x reader)
• maestra (lilia x reader)
• when you're good to mama (lilia x reader)
• my favourite distraction (lilia x reader)
• desire (lilia x reader)
• you're the one i want to go through time with (lilia x reader)
• hey, little song bird (lilia x reader)
• i never do anything twice (lilia x reader)
• burgundy (lilia x reader)
• the fool's journey (into trouble) (lilia x reader)
• wrong number (lilia x reader)
• see it in my mind lets fulfill the prophecy (lilia x reader)
• cards and clay (lilia x reader)
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timeforaneclipse · 3 months ago
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I'd give you my soul for some Avis Amberg fic, I swear!!! If you're up for a request, could we see Avis flirting with you the entire time out at an event, riling you up, up, up. Ik you did some light smutty stuff for Falling Apart (I loved it sm), and if you're up for it, you drag her off for quick dirty bathroom sex, but if not, just her teasing the ever loving shit out of you "Wait till we get home, you'll see just what mamma has in store for you. ;)" I have so many feelings 🫠 about this woman, and your writing is amazing! Anyway, ily have a good day 🫶
Tease. (Avis Amberg x reader)
Warnings? - Filth. Pure filth.
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Tracing your finger tips over the green fabrics that hugged your figure, you took a minute to admire the dress. It was soft. Never before had you worn something so.. expensive looking. You almost felt out of place despite of the small fond smile that you had on your face. Avis had gifted you the dress for your birthday one evening. You were quick to tell her that it was too much but the older woman was quick to hush your protests. In truth, you never would've thought that you had the need for such a magnificent piece of clothing. Giving your circumstances but Avis was insistent. And like always, The older woman was proved right. However, just seeing it on for the first time? It made your heart race in ways you couldn't explain. You could barely believe that it was you in the mirror. It was perfect. A sigh escaped your lips as you tidied up your hair and thought of the older woman. The situation... between the two of you was nothing with but a... favour. At least that's what you convinced yourself it was. But as time continued on the two of you got closer, you began to question.  
A knock came from the bathroom door and you glanced over to it like it had said something utterly horrific. "You haven't fallen down the loo, have you?" Ellen's voice rang from the other side of the door. You softened, chuckling as you remembered you were in fact not alone. You unlocked the door for the older woman and her smile became one of admiration. "My..." The blonde inspected you over. "You look.... beautiful." She hummed, a hint of pride in her voice.  "Avis will love it." She hummed deep in thought. Your heart fluttered at the thought of Avis. "Are you ready to go? This celebration won't wait for us." The older woman urged. Right, of course! The party... The whole reason you were in this stunning dress in the first place. 
You nodded with a smile. "Avis will meet us there?" You asked, curious to how the evening was to go. You knew that Ace would most likely be accompanying her tonight but for some god unknown reason, Avis wanted you there too. Ellen was quick to lead you to her car. Arriving at Vivian Leigh's mansion, you couldn't help but look for Avis' car. Nothing your wondering gaze, Ellen smirked to herself and shook her head. 
Once inside, You turned your head in the direction of the voices a head. Unsure if you could handle the massive crowd you gave a nervous look to Ellen who had returned with a supportive look in her usual soft eyes. "This is important." She hummed. "If you want to be an actress you need to network." She urged like a mother encouraging a child to do their homework. Your lips became thin. You understood her reasonings but most people here were pricks. Or rather snakes as Avis called them. So against your better judgement, You heeded the older woman's advice and began to socialize. You had spoken to a few other inspiring actors and a couple of Ellen's friends but your eyes were always drifting off to find Mrs Amberg. Wherever she was. 
It wasn't long until you felt a hand on your lower back. The soft lingering touch made your stomach flutter as you turned your head to the slightly smaller woman beside you. A wide grin appeared on your face. "Avis." You smiled like a fool. Avis looked floored as she got a full look at your dress. Her eyes darkened as she eyed your cleavage. A smirk on her red lips.  "It's good to see you." your honesty hung in the air for a moment. It had been a while since you had actually last seen the older woman. Avis' husband, Ace, began to grow suspicious of her outings and the older woman had wanted to keep things on the low for the time being. 
"I always did say green was your colour." She hummed, deep in thought. "The dress looks divine on you, baby...." She whispered, her grip on the verge of becoming possessive. Your cheeks began to glow as you held the older woman's intense gaze, heat pooling through you. "Mamma's been so lonely without you." She whispered thickly into your ear. Her other hand run down your side as she watched your reaction, entirely gleeful with the effect she was having on you.  She then walked away, leaving you utterly speechless. You shook your head and cleared your throat as she gave you a snarky cheeky smirk, putting an extra sway in her hips as she walked away. Your throat became bone dry. Oh god... 
During dinner, You manage to snatch a seat in-between Ellen and Avis. You raised an eyebrow at the talk at the table. You couldn't help but be completely lost... They were using this terminology that you had never heard of before, it was as if it were all a different language. As you ate, you suddenly felt a shoe trace up and down your calf. You swallowed and gave a light warning glare to Avis but the older woman just looked at you innocently with a small smile. Not heeding your pathetic warning, her hand began to rest on your thigh, gently tracing her feather-light touch over your upper leg. Your grip on your fork tightened. Curse her. Leaning close, the older woman scanned your flustered state. "You always look your best like this, baby." She purred and took a sip of wine.  You followed suit. Also taking a drink. "Needy and unable to do anything about it.... Just a desperate-" Without warning and without much thought, you had purposely splashed some of your wine wine onto her chest. The older woman stared, utterly baffled by the change in events. By the audacity you had to splash her. Her dark brown eyes narrowed in annoyance and she stood. "I'll be back." Her lips were tight and became as thin as a line. 
Sighing, you stood and followed her as she stormed towards the bathroom.  Once inside, you locked the door as she turned on her heel to look at you. Her eyes piercing. "Don't you think that was a bit immature." She glared heavily. "I mean what are you? Five?" Avis rolled her eyes but before she could continue to tell you off, Your lips crashed against hers. Her eyes twinkled for a moment, widening before closing. Melting into the kiss. Avis' whimpered and deepened the kiss. Desperate for more. One of her hands cupped your face while the other curved around the back of your neck. She hadn't had you in weeks. And now? Now you were finally in her arms once more. Her brows furrowed and her grips tightened. Afraid that you'd disappear. As your arms snaked around her waist, you pulled back from the kiss and began to lick and nibble at her neck. A rumble left the older woman's throat and she leaned her head back slightly, Allowing you more access. Her finger began to weave their way into your locks and she gasped as your kisses became more rough. As you bit and sucked at her pale flesh, you were cautious of leaving visible marks. Despite how much you yearned to. You wouldn't dare. Not without her permission and certainly not while Ace was circling like a vulture. 
You travelled down her neck and Licked away the alcohol that you had spilt on her. Pulling back, your eyes softened as you took a moment to admire the goddess in front of you. She raised an eyebrow at your pause but smirked like the devil when she saw that look in your eyes. She pulled you into an embrace and stroked your hair. She adored your hair. "I really did miss you..." She admitted quietly in a whisper. Her perfume invaded your senses and you hid your face into her neck... "Now come on... show Mamma how much you've missed her, Baby." She chuckled and pulled your chin so that you'd look her in the eye. It was her turn for her lips to attack yours. Her lipstick smeared all over your face as the desperation she was truly feeling became more clear. 
Continuing from where you had left off, You kissed her neck. Your hand messaging her breast. A moan nearly escaped the older woman's mouth but she was quick to bite down on her lip, eyeing you as you worked on her. Your hands found the zipper to her dress and you gave her a look. Silently asking for permission to continue. When Avis gave you an encouraging nod, you pulled on the zip. Unclipping her bra, you began to suck and above her breast a little, trying to catch her reaction. You lowered, licking over her nipple. The older woman gasped and her grip on you tightened. One of your hands went to her waist, holding onto her as the other messaged her other breast. You began to kiss her stomach. Worshipping each section of her body. Leaving nothing untouched. Avis watched you and softened. She moved some of your, now untidy, hair out of your face. "You look so beautiful, Avis..." You whispered so quietly that she almost missed it. Her breath hitched as you continued as if it was nothing. A second nature. Your words shook her to the core, despite the innocence of them. She nearly teared up. Since she had to distance herself, she hadn't those words from anyone. Especially not from Ace. It meant the world to her. To hear your praise once more. Even after so many weeks. 
Avis yelped in surprise as you lifted her onto the counter, her eyes widening almost comedically. You opened her legs and stood in between them and placed a few kisses along her jaw. Her legs pulled you closer. Your hands gripped onto her hips as you knelt down. Avis' hands went to the counter's edge, gripping onto it for dear life. You raised an eyebrow as you looked at her lace black underwear. "God, Avis your soaked." You smirked, eager to get some revenge for earlier. Her eyes sharpened like a hawk. "Here you are doing all your teasing and yet your the one whose wreck." You giggled. 
"Just you wait, baby..." She hissed, annoyed by your cockiness. You laughed and took off her underwear and spread her legs a little wider. You kissed the inside of her thighs. She hummed in pleasure. "You can leave marks, darling." She whispered. You paused for a moment as you processed her words. Your heart leaping at them. Wasting now time, You bit down and began to suck. leaving a few red marks over her inner thighs. She whimpered and leaned back. Needing more. So, You gave her your tongue. A loud slut worthy moan escaped her when your warm wet tongue go up her soaked entrance as her back arched. Needy for more. Your eyes widened at her noises. You paused and glanced to the door. She seemed to share you thoughts because her panicked eyes were also staring at the door. You shook your head in relief. Nothing seemed wrong. You turned your attention back to her and ran your tongue up her again. Trying to aim deeper as you did. Your hands gripped her onto her thighs as her hips bucked into your face. Your fingers teased over her clit causing her to gasp. You continued to eat her out. Your teeth scraping against her as you circled your tongue. 
You let one finger enter the older woman. Curling it. Her breath hitched as she breathed out your name, her head rolling before you knew it. You kept your eyes on her reactions. One of her hands left the counter and she reached down and grabbed you free hand. You stared for a moment as your fingers locked with the older woman's. She squeezed your hand as you added another two fingers. She squirmed. Rolling her hips in you hand to meet your movements fast paced. Suddenly, You stilled. Her eyes snapped open, Panting she looked to you. "Do not be a bitch." she growled as she watched your smirk. You felt her inner wall contract and removed your fingers. Gobsmacked, the brown eyed woman looked like she was seconds away from slapping you. You licked her juice's off your fingers. Breathing heavily, Avis licked her lips.
You leaned foreword with innocent eyes. Your nails scratched the back of her thighs making the older woman tremble. "Beg, Avis." Your eyes looked her over. She was.... So perfect in the moment. Despite her obvious anger but that just kept up the thrill. The older woman bit the inside of her cheeks. You raised an eyebrow and licked her clit. "Beg, Avis." You repeated, Looking Avis in the eyes. The older woman's eyes rolled back slightly she was already soaked enough. 
Swallowing her pride, She clutched your hand tighter. "Please, darling..." She whispered and pulled you towards her. "I need you... My gorgeous girl.... Come on... help mamma out?" She continued as you gave her gentle kitten licks. You settled perfectly between her legs, using your fingers, teeth and tongue to bring her closer to the edge. The older woman was a mess. Like putty in your palms. "Yes, baby..." She moaned and her gripped the counter with her spare hand. Trying to keep herself steady. Weak moans echoed in the bathroom. You continued to rub your thumb over her clit. You didn't dare to focus on breathing. Giving your all to Avis. Her walls clenched around your fingers and tongue. Her noises drove you on. Then, without warning, Everything came crashing down. She cried your name went still above you. You let her ride out her release . You licked her clean and looked to her hand. Softening when you realised her hand was still in yours. Locked together. 
You stood and held her for a moment. Keeping her close. "You did so well, baby." The older woman smirked dazed as she stroked your cheek. "Just wait until we get home." She chuckled and traced her finger over your lips. Wiping away her juices. "then you'll see just what mamma has in store for you." You went a deep shade of red and leaned into her touch. Your heart raced as her gorgeous deep eyes sucked you in. She kissed you, tasting herself on your tongue. She smiled into the kiss. Wanting to hold you for longer. It wasn't long before you helped her get changed. You had already been missing from the party for too long and you both knew it. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two when you watched her return to her husband. And leave you behind. 
Ellen frowned and eyed you. "What's wrong?" She asked softly, stroking your arm. You sighed and crossed your arms. Hugging yourself, missing Avis' presence. But then you needed to remind yourself what exactly was between you both...
"I'm afraid I've fallen in love, Ellen."
。·:*:·゚★,。·:*:·゚☆。·:*:·゚★,。·:*:·゚☆。·:*:·゚★,。·:*:·゚☆。·:*:·゚★,。·:*:·゚☆。·:*:·゚★
Hello darlings! I hope you enjoyed reading!
I would like to point out that I'm dyslexic so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
Is it good? How are we feeling? Tell me everything!! I'm always reading the comments and looking for your thoughts and taking them into account and they help a lot with motivation.
Lot's of love and I hope to see you in the future! 💜
(Remember to continue to thank and praise Patti Lupone in our prayers)
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madamspellmans-met-tet · 2 months ago
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🍸 (You Don’t) Own Me 🍸
Avis Amberg x fem!Reader
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tags: Light Dom/sub, Impact Play, Riding Crops, Extramarital Affairs, sugar mommy vibes, Cun!ilingus, Vag!nal F!ngering, Aftercare, Mommy K!nk (light), Praise K!nk, Teasing, Org@sm Denial
wc: ~ 6.2 k
summary: For a few weeks, Mrs Avis Amberg has been taking girls to Dreamland—but the girl was never you. This time will be different, you decide.
A/N: this was a request and very fun to write (yet also a lot of work). hope you like it, anon <3
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You hunched over the gas station's bill in the cold, run-down office when the black Cadillac pulled up. The one you waited for every single day, hoping the lady with the fancy hats atop her red pin curls would pick you instead of Margaret one of these days. The chances weren't that slim since she and you were the only women here who also took care of other women—and still, it had yet to happen.
At first, Mrs. Amberg had only occupied herself with the boys. One of them, Jack Costello, she had toyed with for quite a while. It was noteworthy, though, that he had been her last boy. After him, she'd only ever taken Margaret—and you suspected that the sole reason for it was that hers had been the first name Ernie had mumbled to her.
By all means, Margaret and you should be friends, considering your husbands' mutual affiliation, but you didn't. You hated the beast. But everybody assumed the two of you must be bedding each other since you both had a preference for the fairer sex. It didn't work like that, but it wasn't like you could lecture anyone in this day and age. You were glad if they didn't spit at you if anyone happened to find out.
William allowed you to work, and he didn't care what you worked as. He knew that you were more than a secretary at the gas station, considering you earned better than he did at times, but he was content with his own life and bank account, whereas you had to stash your cash under the mattress, together with a revolver you carried in your purse wherever you went.
Abandoning your paperwork, you made for the front with quick steps, parading your curves in front of Mrs. Amberg as you approached Ernie, pretending you had something to discuss with him.
"Get Margaret, girl, will you? You know Mrs. Amberg likes her."
You bit back your displeasure and nodded. "I will fetch her right away."
As you'd spoken, Mrs. Amberg, impatient as ever, had taken out a cigarette and lighter and was just about to click it when you swiftly snatched the golden lighter from her hands.
"You'll blow up the gas station if you smoke here," you said, winking as you twirled and left with one of her possessions. She didn't even have time to protest or yell after you, so quick you had disappeared back into the building.
-> continue
let me know what you think in the comments here or on ao3 <3
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end0r4 · 1 month ago
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PATTI LUPONE as Avis Amberg in Hollywood (2020)
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madamspellmans-met-tet · 2 hours ago
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such a good read! I’m a sub!avis truther actually so this is everything.
“Her red hair, once pinned with care, was now falling in loose waves around her face, making her look softer, younger, like something that wasn’t supposed to be seen. Not like this. Not undone.”
My personal favourite bit. Bravo and kudos and roses thrown on stage 🌹
🪞 Reflections &Obedience 🪞
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Avis Amberg x fem!reader
tags: power play, mirror dynamics, submission, smut, begging & Denial
summary: Avis Amberg, sits before the mirror, silk slipping, red lips parted, watching herself unravel at your command. A vision of power yielding, a masterpiece in obedience.
wc: ~ 2.3k
a/n: This is EXTREMELY NSFW, like fully unhinged, no thoughts just obedience and filth levels of NSFW. If you’re looking for a wholesome time, babe, this ain’t it. Read at your own risk 💋
also on ao3
taglist: @ahsfan05 💖
Avis sat before the long, gilded mirror, her back pressed against the edge of the chaise, her legs spread wide, her silk robe slipping from her shoulders to pool at her elbows. The dim lighting cast a golden sheen over her skin, the glow of the room making her look almost surreal, a masterpiece undone, framed by her own reflection.
She exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, her dark eyes locked onto yours in the mirror. There was something deliciously obscene about the sight. Avis Amberg, normally so composed, so untouchable, now sitting with her legs spread, her fingers gliding over herself at your command.
“Slower,” you murmured from where you sat behind her, your voice like velvet. “Don’t rush it.”
Avis swallowed, her fingers faltering for just a moment before she obeyed, trailing a teasing, delicate stroke between her folds. A soft, shuddering sigh left her lips, her body responding so beautifully to your direction.
“That’s it,” you coaxed, leaning in slightly, your breath warm against the back of her ear. “Look at yourself.”
She did, her gaze flickering downward, watching in the mirror as her fingers moved over her own slick heat, watching the way her thighs tensed, the way she came undone for you, just from your words.
Your fingers brushed her shoulders, your nails grazing her skin lightly before trailing down her arms, following the path of her own movements. “You’re so gorgeous like this,” you whispered, your eyes drinking in the sight of her reflection, the way her lips parted, the faint tremor in her breath, the desperate way her fingers curled against herself.
“Don’t stop.”
A soft whimper escaped her, her hand moving more insistently now, the slow, teasing circles becoming deliberate, needy. You could feel the way her body tensed under your touch, see the way her stomach clenched as pleasure built higher, coiling deep in her spine.
Her other hand reached up, her fingers curling into her own hair as she watched herself, utterly mesmerised by the sight of her own submission.
You smirked, tilting your head slightly as you dragged your nails lightly down her stomach, just enough to make her shudder. “You love putting on a show, don’t you, mama?”
Avis let out a soft, breathless laugh, but it was interrupted by a sharp moan, her body twitching as she rubbed slow, tight circles over her clit, following your exact instructions.
“More,” she gasped, her voice breaking slightly. “Tell me what else to do.”
Your eyes darkened with satisfaction.
You leaned in closer, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of her neck, your hands sliding down her sides before gripping her thighs, spreading them even wider.
“Let’s see just how well you can follow directions,” you murmured, your fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs, spreading her open even further.
Avis let out a sharp, stuttering breath, her hand faltering just for a moment before she caught herself. In the mirror, you watched her try to hold onto the last bit of composure she had left, but it was slipping, unraveling beautifully under your gaze.
You tilted your head, your eyes burning into hers through the reflection. “Keep going,” you urged, your voice low, controlled. “Nice and slow. Show me how good you can be.”
She swallowed hard, her fingers resuming their deliberate, torturous rhythm. Her touch was light at first, teasing herself just as you would, dragging the pleasure out until her breathing came in soft, uneven gasps.
You hummed, smoothing your hands along the insides of her thighs, feeling them tremble beneath your palms. “Now, spread yourself for me.”
Avis inhaled sharply, her dark eyes flicking to yours in the mirror, hesitant, teasing, resisting just enough to make you want to push her further.
But she obeyed.
With slow, practiced movements, she parted herself, exposing the slick heat between her legs, her fingers glistening. A soft moan left her lips as she did it, half from the sensation, half from the indulgent filth of the act itself.
You dragged your nails lightly along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, just barely avoiding where she wanted you most. “That’s it,” you purred, voice thick with satisfaction. “Keep your eyes on yourself.”
She did, though it took effort, watching herself unravel under your command, seeing the way her own body reacted, the way she looked spread out and desperate for you.
Her fingers moved faster now, dipping inside herself, her breath coming harder, more uneven. You watched her stomach tense, the way her muscles twitched beneath her skin, the way her lips parted as a soft, broken moan escaped.
You leaned in closer, letting your lips graze the shell of her ear. “Feel good, mama?”
Avis exhaled shakily, her back arching slightly against you, her body instinctively seeking out more. “Mm-hmm,” she hummed, a delicate, breathless sound.
You smirked. “Use both hands.”
She gasped softly, her body reacting instantly to the suggestion. You felt the hesitation flicker through her, a brief pause, a moment of uncertainty giving way to submission.
Slowly, she brought her other hand up, trailing soft, teasing touches over her own skin, palming her breast, her fingers rolling over her nipple. A quiet whimper slipped from her throat at the added sensation, her thighs trembling around your hands.
You dragged your nails down her legs, anchoring her, keeping her spread wide as she touched herself the way you wanted her to.
"Such a pretty sight," you murmured, watching the way she twisted beneath her own touch, her fingers growing slicker with every passing second. “Just like that. Keep going.”
Avis moaned low in her throat, her hips rolling, chasing the pleasure, her fingers moving slower, deeper, teasing herself the way you would have. Her breathing hitched, her thighs twitching under your grip.
You watched her reflection like a work of art in motion, the contrast of her flushed skin against the dark silk of her robe, her lips parted, her pupils blown wide with need.
“Faster,” you instructed, letting one hand drift up to wrap lightly around her throat, just enough to make her feel it, just enough to remind her who was guiding her through this.
Avis whimpered, her breath catching, her entire body tensing at the added pressure. Her fingers moved faster, harder, her thighs trembling as she spiraled closer and closer.
She was right there, her body taut with anticipation, her moans turning more desperate, more frantic, her hips rocking against her own touch.
And then, just as she was about to tip over the edge—
“Stop.”
Avis let out a shattered gasp, her entire body jerking at the sudden loss of permission. Her fingers stilled instantly, her breathing ragged, her chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven bursts.
She whimpered, the sound pure, helpless frustration, her thighs clenching beneath your hands as she squirmed. “No,” she breathed, her voice unsteady, her composure all but gone.
You tightened your grip on her throat slightly, enough to make her shiver.
“Not yet, mama,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss just below her ear, reveling in the way her pulse pounded against your lips. “Be patient.”
Avis trembled in your grasp, her breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts, her fingers twitching against her own skin. So close. You could feel it in the way her muscles tensed beneath your hands, the way her body ached to chase what had just been denied.
She whimpered again, her voice hoarse with need. "Need–," she whispered, the word delicate, vulnerable, a sound you'd never expected to hear from Avis Amberg.
You smirked against her ear, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin just beneath it, letting the tension in the room settle, letting the moment stretch. Letting her sit in it.
"Patience, mama," you murmured, voice low, controlled. Dangerous.
Her head lolled back slightly against your shoulder, her eyes slipping shut for a brief moment, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a frustrated groan leaving her lips.
"You were doing so well," you continued, your fingers ghosting along her thighs, featherlight, teasing. "Listening so perfectly."
Her breath hitched.
You smiled, pressing another kiss against her pulse, feeling it hammer beneath your lips. "Do you want to come?"
"Yes," she exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper.
You hummed, your fingers trailing lower, just enough to make her shiver. "Then ask me properly."
Avis stilled, her body tensing, and in the mirror, you saw the moment of hesitation flicker across her face. Pride warring with need.
She swallowed, her throat moving beneath your touch, her fingers twitching against her thigh.
You could feel her struggling against the command, could see the way her hands clenched slightly, how she held her breath just a moment too long. Avis Amberg didn't beg.
But she wanted to.
"Say it," you coaxed, dragging the moment out, savoring it. Your lips brushed the shell of her ear, your voice dropping into something lower, softer, crueler. "I know you can."
Her lashes fluttered, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror, wide and dark, her pupils blown.
She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Let me come," she whispered, voice raw.
You tilted your head slightly, fingers still tracing meaningless, torturous patterns against her inner thigh. "That’s not quite how we ask, is it?"
Avis inhaled sharply, her jaw clenching, her pride battling against her own body. She looked like she might fight you, like she might tell you to go to hell, but then, something in her broke.
She sighed, long and shaking, tilting her head slightly, exposing more of her throat, her body surrendering before her voice did.
"Please," she murmured, so soft, so quiet.
You grinned.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?"
She exhaled sharply, a frustrated sound, but before she could think to say anything else, before she could pull that control back around her like armor—
Your fingers found her, on top of her own.
Deliberate. Precise. Ruthless.
Avis gasped, her back arching against you as your fingers worked in tandem with hers, stroking, circling, pressing just right. Her thighs tensed around your hands, her entire body tightening like a bowstring.
Your fingers slowed, just slightly, just enough to make her whimper in frustration before you let go entirely, pulling back, leaving her to do the work on her own.
For a moment, she hesitated, a breath caught, a second too long before her fingers picked up the rhythm again. A flicker of something flashed across her face in the mirror, something that might have been protest, might have been need, but she didn’t stop.
She kept going.
Her hand moved with more urgency now, driven by her own desperation, her own hunger, her thighs trembling as she chased what you had left her to finish.
"Just like that," you murmured, watching her in the mirror, watching her fall apart all over again. "Keep your eyes open. I want you to see yourself."
She whimpered, her dark eyes fluttering, trying to hold onto that last shred of composure, but it was slipping fast, crumbling beneath the weight of her own pleasure.
Her fingers moved faster, her hips rolling against the motions, desperate now, messy, frantic. She was chasing it now, so close she could taste it, her moans slipping past her lips with no restraint, no hesitation anymore.
She was completely undone, for you, because of you.
You held her tighter, your own breath hot and uneven against her ear, your lips brushing her skin as you whispered, "Come for me, mama."
And she did.
Avis fell apart, a sharp, broken moan tearing from her throat, her entire body convulsing as she crashed into pleasure, her thighs trembling violently around your hands.
Her head tilted back against your shoulder, her lips parted, her fingers slipping, her body wracked with aftershocks as you worked her through it, dragging her through the waves of her own undoing, never letting up until she was left gasping, shivering, spent.
You pressed one last slow, lingering kiss against the side of her throat before finally pulling away, your hands slipping from her body, your grip easing.
Avis slumped against you, her chest heaving, her skin damp, her limbs utterly boneless.
She let out a slow hum, the kind that smoldered at the edges, her body still trembling in the aftermath. Her robe now hung loose around her shoulders, damp with sweat where it clung to her skin, though she made no effort to pull it closed. She was still pressed against you, not quite recovered, not quite ready to move, and neither were you.
You smirked against her hair, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to the top of her head.
“Now, wasn’t that worth asking nicely for?”
Avis let out a breathless, exhausted laugh, her body still twitching slightly, her skin humming.
"You," she murmured, her voice hoarse, her lips still curved into something resembling a smirk, "are an aggravating little devil."
You grinned, dragging your nails lightly along the inside of her thigh one last time, just to feel her shudder.
"I know," you teased, fully knowing it was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.
She huffed a breath, tilting her head just slightly to look at you in the mirror, her eyes still hooded, her body still bare and wrecked.
“Lucky for you,” she murmured, low and indulgent, “I happen to like aggravating little devils.”
You watched her in the mirror, taking in the way her skin flushed from her chest up to her collarbone, the faint sheen of pleasure still clinging to her. Her red hair, once pinned with care, was now falling in loose waves around her face, making her look softer, younger, like something that wasn’t supposed to be seen. Not like this. Not undone.
And yet, she let you look.
That alone was enough to make your blood hum, your fingers twitching.
She was studying herself too, gaze flickering over her own reflection as if she were still adjusting to it, still seeing what you had seen. A woman who had given in. A woman who had been told what to do and had done it.
And maybe, a woman who hadn’t hated it.
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angeliccss · 2 days ago
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This is actually where y’all can find me.
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hype-queer-fixated · 1 month ago
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i am fandom
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obnoxiouslycontemplating · 29 days ago
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Red is my favorite color
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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 1 month ago
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GIRL, I’ve been watching Hollywood with Patti LuPone, and her character literally said something like, 'Tonight you take care of Mama, tomorrow she takes care of you.' SERIOUSLY, just looking at her, I almost moaned 'Mommy' out loud in my living room. LMAOOO.
This is becoming a serious threat to my sanity—I’d completely abandon everything for her.
LOOK AT HER
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