#I’ve been playing around with the idea for a while

[gottencents]

Can’t Wait - Yu Jimin

pairing. idol!karina x chaebol!reader

synopsis. a chaebol daughter, Y/N, unexpectedly finds herself drawn into a whirlwind connection with Karina, a top idol who’s never felt anything close to love—until now.

“No.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her cold gaze fixed on her phone screen as she read the group chat.

Manon: Guys, aespa concert for my birthday. You’re all coming. No excuses.

Yves: Finally! I’ve been dying to see them live 😭

Manon: I got VIP tickets. We’ll be right next to the stage 😌

Yves: Omg, front-row seats? Count me in!

Manon: Y/N? 👀

Y/N: Absolutely not.

Her fingers hovered over her phone as the typing bubble from Manon popped up. Y/N already knew what was coming—a relentless string of messages filled with emojis, persuasive tactics, and an unhealthy amount of guilt-tripping.

Manon: Come on, it’s my birthday! You can’t say no to me on my birthday. 🥺

Manon: Besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do. 😏

Manon: Live a little, Y/N.

Yves: She has a point… It’s for Manon. Just this once?

Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning back on her couch. Of course, they’d gang up on her like this. She didn’t even dislike aespa—it was just that being dragged into the K-pop frenzy wasn’t exactly her idea of fun. But Manon wasn’t going to let it go.

Her phone buzzed again.

Manon: Y/N, I already got you a ticket. You’re coming whether you like it or not. 😘

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh. “Typical Manon.” There was no escaping her once she set her mind on something.

The venue was packed, buzzing with energy as fans filled every corner, lightsticks waving in unison. The air felt electric, anticipation hanging thick in the atmosphere.

Y/N glanced down at her outfit and frowned. She tugged at the edge of her jacket—an exact replica of Karina’s “Supernova” MV outfit, complete with the silver detailing and edgy vibe.

“I still can’t believe you made me wear this,” Y/N muttered, shooting a glare at Manon, who was grinning ear to ear.

“Relax,” Manon said, tossing an arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “We look amazing. Plus, it’s part of the experience. Trust me, we’ll get noticed for sure.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Yves, standing next to them, laughed. “Come on, Y/N, loosen up a bit. It’s not every day you get to be front row at an aespa concert.”

The lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted in deafening cheers as the stage lit up with vivid colors. The members of aespa appeared, their energy filling the venue instantly. Y/N couldn’t deny how impressive they were live—Karina especially, who seemed to command the stage effortlessly.

As the show went on, Y/N found herself momentarily forgetting her discomfort. The music was good, the performances captivating. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Until it happened.

“Let’s play a little game,” Karina’s voice echoed through the arena, a playful smile on her face. “We’re going to play I Spy with the crowd!”

Y/N froze.

“No, no, no…” she whispered, her eyes widening as the camera began panning across the audience.

“Look for something silver,” Karina said. “Hmm… Oh!”

The giant screen above the stage zoomed in on Y/N.

“Oh my God,” Manon whispered excitedly, shaking Y/N’s arm. “She’s looking right at you!”

Y/N’s heart stopped as Karina’s eyes locked onto hers.

“Is that…?” Karina’s voice faltered for a split second before she smiled, tilting her head slightly. “I like your outfit. It’s… stunning.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but it wasn’t until Karina’s next words—accidentally whispered into the mic—that chaos truly erupted.

“Absolutely stunning.”

The crowd exploded. Fans screamed, lightsticks waving furiously, while the other members of aespa glanced at Karina, some laughing, others wide-eyed with surprise.

Y/N blinked, heat rushing to her face. “What just happened?”

“She called you stunning,” Yves said, barely containing her laughter. “In front of thousands of people. And everyone heard it.”

“It’s fan service,” Y/N said quickly, brushing it off as her heart thumped in her chest. “That’s all it is.”

“Uh-huh,” Manon smirked. “Sure. Fan service.”

The screen lingered on Y/N a second too long, catching Karina’s lingering gaze before it finally cut away.

Y/N exhaled, forcing herself to ignore the curious stares from the people around her. “I am never listening to you again, Manon.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Manon said with a wink. “Trust me.”

But Y/N had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning of a much bigger mess.

The concert had ended hours ago, but the chaos that followed Karina’s little slip-up was far from over. Y/N sat on the couch in her penthouse, phone in hand, scrolling through a never-ending stream of notifications. Her name was all over Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok—clips of Karina calling her stunning had already gone viral.

“Y/N L/N spotted at aespa’s concert!”

“Karina’s reaction is priceless. She’s totally starstruck.”

“Did Karina just call Y/N stunning in front of thousands? Gay panic much?”

Y/N sighed, tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to go.”

The door to her penthouse burst open, and Manon strolled in, holding two iced lattes and a mischievous grin. “Good morning, viral sensation!”

Y/N glared at her. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You never do.” Manon plopped down beside her and handed her a drink. “But I thought you might need caffeine after last night’s… performance.”

“It wasn’t a performance,” Y/N shot back, taking the latte. “It was a disaster.”

Manon chuckled. “Disaster? Please. You’re trending. Everyone’s obsessed with you—and Karina, apparently.” She pulled out her phone and started reading tweets. ”‘Karina’s reaction to Y/N is giving soulmate energy.’ Oh, this one’s good: ‘Karina called Y/N stunning? I ship it.’ There are already fan edits of you two.”

Y/N groaned. “It’s fan service, Manon. That’s what idols do. They say things like that to go viral. She probably didn’t even mean it.”

Manon raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But let me remind you—she wasn’t supposed to have her mic on when she said it.”

Y/N froze for a second. That part she hadn’t really thought about. Karina’s reaction hadn’t felt… rehearsed. It had felt almost genuine, like the words slipped out before she could stop herself.

“Doesn’t matter,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I’m not getting involved in this idol drama. I have my own life, and it doesn’t include being the center of some K-pop shipping war.”

Manon shrugged. “Fair enough. But good luck ignoring it. You know how relentless fans can be.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but she knew Manon was right. No matter how much she tried to brush it off, the internet wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon.

Karina sat in the practice room, phone in hand, staring at the screen with a blank expression. She’d watched the clip a dozen times by now—her voice whispering stunning into the mic, Y/N’s surprised expression on the big screen, and the crowd’s reaction.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I’m such an idiot.”

“An idiot for what?” Winter asked, walking into the room with a curious look. “What happened?”

Karina peeked at her from between her fingers. “Did you see the clip from the concert?”

Winter smirked. “Oh, you mean the part where you called Y/N L/N stunning in front of thousands of fans and the whole internet? Yeah, I saw it. Everyone saw it.”

Karina groaned louder, dropping her head onto her knees. “It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. My mic was supposed to be off!”

“Mm-hmm,” Winter teased, plopping down beside her. “Sure, it just slipped out. I’ve never seen you that starstruck in my life. You couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

Karina shot her a glare. “I wasn’t starstruck. I was… surprised.”

“Surprised by her beauty?” Winter said with a mischievous grin. “It’s okay, Karina. We all know Y/N is gorgeous. Even I’d call her stunning.”

Karina leaned back against the wall with a frustrated sigh. “You don’t get it. This is a problem. She’s a chaebol, Winter. She’s not just some random celebrity we can casually talk to. She’s way out of our league, and now people think I’m obsessed with her.”

Winter chuckled. “Out of your league? Please. You’re—Karina of aespa. If anything, she’s probably out there wondering how to get your attention.”

Karina opened her mouth to argue, but a thought stopped her. What if Y/N was thinking about her? No, that was ridiculous.

“I just have to lay low until it blows over,” Karina muttered. “The fans will find something new to obsess over soon.”

“Good luck with that,” Winter said, scrolling through her phone. “The fans aren’t letting this go anytime soon. Look, someone already made a fan page for you two—‘Karina x Y/N.’ They’re calling you the perfect power couple.”

Karina snatched the phone and stared at the page. It was filled with pictures, clips from the concert, and countless comments speculating about their relationship. Her face flushed. “Oh my God.”

“Oh, and get this,” Winter continued. “Someone claims they saw Y/N liking one of the edits on TikTok.”

Karina’s eyes widened. “What? Are you serious?”

Winter shrugged. “Could be fake, but wouldn’t it be funny if it wasn’t?”

Karina leaned back again, suddenly feeling ten times more anxious. If Y/N had actually seen one of the edits… did that mean she was paying attention?

Y/N sat at her desk, her laptop open, pretending to focus on work while her thoughts kept drifting back to Karina. She hated to admit it, but Manon’s words were stuck in her head. What if it wasn’t fan service? What if Karina actually meant it?

Her phone buzzed with a notification. Another message from Manon.

Manon: Did you see Karina’s Weverse post? 👀

Y/N frowned and clicked on the link.

It was a simple post—just a picture of the crowd at the concert with the caption:

“Last night was unforgettable. Thank you, MYs. 💖”

But what caught Y/N’s attention was the timing. It had been posted just a few minutes after the concert ended, and the comments were filled with fans speculating about her.

Y/N stared at the screen, her heart beating faster than it should have. “Unforgettable,” she repeated softly.

She shook her head, shutting her laptop. “Nope. Not getting sucked into this.”

But deep down, she knew it was already too late.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to another flood of notifications. Apparently, her accidental rise to internet fame was nowhere near dying down. If anything, it was picking up speed.

Her phone buzzed again—a message from Yves.

Yves: Girl, you’re basically the main character on K-pop Twitter right now.

Yves: I’m serious. Look at this.

Y/N clicked the link Yves had sent, and a video edit loaded on her screen. It was one of those overly dramatic TikTok fan edits. Slow-motion clips of her on the big screen at the concert were mixed with Karina’s stunned expression, paired with emotional music. The caption read: “Karina x Y/N – meant to be?”

The next clip played Karina’s whisper: “Stunning,” followed by a close-up of her face as she tried to recover from the slip.

Y/N blinked. “Oh my God.” She turned the phone off and tossed it onto the couch. “This is getting out of hand.”

Her phone lit up again—this time, it was Manon calling. Y/N sighed and answered. “What now?”

“You’re welcome,” Manon said in a sing-song voice.

“For what?” Y/N asked, already regretting picking up.

“For making you the hottest topic on the internet. This is a PR dream, babe. You’re unstoppable right now.”

“I don’t want to be the hottest topic on the internet,” Y/N shot back. “I want this to blow over so I can go back to my life without people thinking I’m secretly dating an idol.”

Manon chuckled. “Who said anything about secret dating? But hey, if Karina happens to slide into your DMs, you’d better not leave her on read.”

“Manon,” Y/N warned. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking,” Manon said seriously. “You know how K-pop idols can be super private. If she’s curious about you, she might reach out through a back channel. It happens all the time in this industry.”

Y/N paused, unsure how to respond. The idea of Karina actually reaching out seemed absurd… but not entirely impossible.

“Relax,” Manon said, breaking the silence. “Just enjoy the attention while it lasts. You’re already on top of the world, Y/N. Own it.”

Y/N hung up, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

Karina sat cross-legged on the floor of the practice room, scrolling through her phone with a mixture of dread and curiosity. The internet had exploded overnight, and she couldn’t stop herself from checking the reactions.

The fan edits. The ship name. The endless comments about her “gay panic” moment.

Winter leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’ve been on your phone for two hours. Let me guess… Y/N?”

Karina didn’t bother denying it. “It’s out of control. They’re acting like we’re soulmates or something.”

Winter raised an eyebrow. “And how do you feel about that?”

Karina hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen. How did she feel about it? She barely knew Y/N, but something about her had thrown her completely off balance.

“I don’t know,” Karina admitted quietly. “I’ve never felt like this before. It’s… confusing.”

Winter smirked. “Sounds like you have a crush.”

Karina shot her a look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” Winter said, sitting down next to her. “Look, you’re one of the most focused, controlled people I know. You never react like that. But the second you saw her, you froze. It’s not just some random thing. Trust me.”

Karina leaned back, lost in thought. Was Winter right? Had she really developed a crush on Y/N from one brief interaction?

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from her manager.

Manager: We need to talk about the Y/N situation. Call me.

Karina sighed. “Great. This is just what I needed.”

“Looks like it’s time to decide how you want to handle this,” Winter said with a grin. “You gonna ignore it, or are you gonna make a move?”

Karina bit her lip, the wheels in her mind turning. For once in her life, she wasn’t sure what the right move was.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, trying to focus on a report, when a notification popped up on her phone. She ignored it at first, but something about it caught her eye.

It was a follow request on Instagram. From katarinabluu.

Her breath caught in her throat. “No way.”

Y/N stared at the request, her mind racing. What does this mean? Is this some kind of mistake? Or is she really trying to reach out?

Her finger hovered over the Accept button.

“Manon’s gonna lose her mind,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

And just like that, with one tap of her finger, everything changed.

Y/N couldn’t stop staring at her phone. Karina’s follow request sat there, mocking her with its simplicity. After a few deep breaths, she hit Accept—half out of curiosity and half out of a strange desire to know what would happen next.

Not even a minute passed before her phone buzzed again.

katarinabluu: Hey.

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She reread the message twice, wondering if it was a prank or if she was hallucinating. Was Karina really messaging her?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She started typing, erased it, and tried again. Finally, she settled on something casual.

Y/N: Hey. Didn’t expect to hear from you.

The three little dots indicating Karina was typing popped up almost immediately.

Katarina: Yeah, sorry if this is weird. I just… wanted to check in. After last night, things got a little crazy, huh?

Y/N: You could say that. My notifications are still blowing up.

Katarina: Same. I thought it’d die down by now, but… guess not.

Y/N chuckled softly to herself. “Of course not,” she muttered.

Y/N: You kinda caused the chaos, you know. Calling me ‘stunning’ with your mic on? Bold move.

Karina read the message and winced, though she couldn’t help but smile at Y/N’s teasing tone.

Katarina: Totally unintentional, I swear. My mic wasn’t supposed to be on.

Y/N: Uh-huh. Sure.

Katarina: I’m serious! But… I mean, it’s not like I was lying.

Y/N froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began to race again. Did Karina just… admit that?

Y/N: …So you meant it?

There was a pause. The dots appeared and disappeared several times before Karina finally responded.

Katarina: Yeah. You were stunning. Still are.

Y/N stared at the message, her face heating up. She was used to compliments—she’d been in the public eye long enough to brush them off—but something about Karina’s words felt different. They felt real.

Before she could overthink it, another message popped up.

Katarina: Look, I know we don’t really know each other, but… would you want to grab coffee sometime? Just to talk. Away from all the cameras and chaos.

Y/N’s heart skipped again. Coffee? With Karina? It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, but it was… intriguing.

Y/N: You’re serious?

Katarina: 100%. No fan service, no cameras. Just us.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before typing back.

Y/N: Okay. Coffee sounds good.

Katarina: Great. I’ll message you the details. Looking forward to it. :)

As soon as the conversation ended, Y/N leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair.

“What did I just agree to?” she whispered.

Her phone buzzed again—this time from Manon.

Manon: Did Karina just follow you? And DM you? Are you KIDDING ME?!

Y/N sighed, already bracing herself for the interrogation that was about to come.

Y/N stood in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting her outfit for the third time. She wasn’t usually one to stress over casual meetings, but this felt different. She kept telling herself it was just coffee, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t just coffee.

Her phone buzzed.

Katarina: I’m here. Outside the café. No rush.

Y/N grabbed her bag and took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

The café was small and tucked away in a quiet neighborhood—intimate and unassuming. When Y/N stepped inside, her eyes immediately locked onto Karina, who was sitting at a corner table, wearing a simple black hoodie and a baseball cap.

For a second, Y/N forgot how to breathe.

Karina looked up and smiled, standing to greet her. “Hey. You made it.”

“Hey,” Y/N said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Nice disguise.”

Karina chuckled, adjusting her cap. “Had to be careful. Didn’t want to attract too much attention.”

“So… what’s this about?” Y/N asked, leaning forward slightly. “Not that I’m complaining, but it’s not every day that a K-pop idol asks me out for coffee.”

Karina smiled, a little shyly this time. “Honestly? I just… wanted to get to know you. Without all the noise. Last night was kind of a wake-up call for me.”

“A wake-up call?”

“Yeah,” Karina admitted. “I’ve been in the industry so long that I kind of forgot what it’s like to be genuinely curious about someone. And after seeing you… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. She hadn’t expected that level of honesty.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Y/N said softly. “But I guess I’ve been thinking about you too.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the noise of the café fading into the background.

“Then maybe,” Karina said, her voice steady but her eyes hopeful, “this doesn’t have to be just coffee.”

Y/N took a sip of her iced latte, trying to mask her nervousness. The tension in the air wasn’t heavy—it was surprisingly light—but the unspoken words between them made her heart race.

“So,” Y/N began, placing her cup down. “Do you do this often?”

“Do what?” Karina tilted her head, a playful smile on her lips.

“Track down random chaebol daughters and ask them out for coffee.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Karina laughed, her shoulders relaxing a little. “You caught me. I’m secretly building a collection of chaebol friends.”

Y/N smirked. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Not great,” Karina admitted, leaning in slightly. “Turns out, most of them don’t agree to coffee. But you did.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the slight blush that crept up her neck. “I’m sure you could’ve had your pick of anyone, but you chose me.”

Karina’s smile softened. “I told you, Y/N. You stood out. And… I don’t want this to sound weird, but I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

Y/N looked down at her drink, swirling the ice around with her straw. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that—Karina was unexpectedly sincere, which threw her off completely.

“You’re really bad at fan service, you know,” Y/N said, finally meeting her eyes. “You’re supposed to make it sound fake.”

“I’m not interested in fan service with you,” Karina said without missing a beat. “I’m just… interested in you.”

Y/N felt her breath hitch. For a moment, the world around her seemed to pause.

“That’s… bold,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been bold since last night,” Karina replied with a slight shrug. “Might as well keep it going.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Fair enough. So what now, Ms. K-pop Idol?”

Karina leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the table. “Now? We finish our coffee. Then maybe we go for a walk… or talk about something other than the industry or what’s trending on social media.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Karina said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s a dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous.”

Y/N took a moment to think before leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Okay… but only if you go first.”

Karina nodded. “Deal.” She paused, thinking for a second. “I hate roller coasters.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s it? That’s your deep secret?”

“Hey, it’s a serious phobia,” Karina defended herself, holding up her hands. “I went on one when I was a kid, and I cried for an hour afterward. Haven’t gone on one since.”

Y/N chuckled. “Noted. No roller coasters for you.”

“Your turn,” Karina said, leaning in with anticipation.

Y/N hesitated, then finally said, “I once skipped a huge charity event and hid out at a theme park all night. No one ever found out.”

Karina’s eyes widened. “Wait… seriously? The media didn’t catch that?”

“Nope.” Y/N grinned. “I’m better at sneaking around than you’d think.”

“Impressive,” Karina said, her admiration clear. “We’re both full of surprises, huh?”

“Seems like it,” Y/N agreed, feeling more relaxed than she had in days.

The conversation continued, flowing effortlessly between lighthearted banter and deeper confessions. Hours passed without either of them noticing, the initial awkwardness long forgotten.

Eventually, Karina glanced at her phone and sighed. “I hate to say it, but I have to go soon. Schedule stuff.”

“Back to the idol life,” Y/N said with a soft smile.

“Yeah.” Karina stood, adjusting her hoodie. “But… this was nice. Really nice.”

“It was,” Y/N agreed, standing as well.

They lingered for a moment at the door, neither quite ready to say goodbye.

“So,” Karina said, her voice soft. “Can I see you again?”

Y/N smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Karina said, her eyes locking onto Y/N’s. “I’ll text you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Y/N replied.

With that, Karina gave a small wave and disappeared down the street. Y/N watched her go, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

As Y/N walked home, her phone buzzed with a new message.

katarinabluu: I already miss you. Just saying.

Y/N grinned, typing back.

Y/N: Same :)

Little did she know, this was just the beginning of something neither of them had expected.

The days following their coffee date passed in a whirlwind, but Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Karina. Her presence lingered in every quiet moment—a message here, a picture there, and more than a few late-night conversations that stretched until dawn.

She wasn’t sure how they’d slipped into this routine, but it felt effortless. Natural.

It had been a week since their first meeting when Y/N found herself scrolling through her phone late at night, staring at Karina’s latest message.

katarinabluu: Are you awake?

Y/N: Yeah. Can’t sleep. You?

Katarina: Same. Want to go for a drive?

Y/N hesitated for a split second before typing back.

Y/N: Pick me up in 20.

Karina’s black SUV idled quietly outside Y/N’s building. Y/N slid into the passenger seat, her pulse quickening at the sight of Karina in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, her hair tucked beneath a cap.

“Midnight drive, huh?” Y/N said, buckling her seatbelt. “Sounds suspiciously like something out of a K-drama.”

“Maybe,” Karina replied with a grin, pulling away from the curb. “But I promise there won’t be any dramatic rain scenes or tragic confessions.”

“Good,” Y/N teased. “I left my umbrella at home.”

The streets of Seoul were quiet, the usual buzz of the city muted under the glow of streetlights. The radio played softly in the background, filling the silence with a calming melody.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked, watching the city blur past.

“Nowhere specific,” Karina said. “Just wanted to escape for a bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” Y/N said softly. “I could use a little escape too.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of the engine almost lulling Y/N into a sense of peace. It wasn’t until they reached a quiet overlook on the edge of the city that Karina finally stopped the car.

“Wow,” Y/N said as she stepped out, taking in the stunning view of Seoul’s skyline. “This is beautiful.”

“One of my favorite spots,” Karina admitted, leaning against the hood of the car. “No one ever bothers me here.”

Y/N joined her, their shoulders brushing as they stood side by side. “You come here often?”

“Sometimes,” Karina said, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “When things get overwhelming.”

“I get that,” Y/N said quietly. “The whole world watching your every move… it’s a lot.”

Karina glanced at her, her eyes soft. “Yeah. But being here with you… it feels different. Easier.”

Y/N turned to meet her gaze, their faces closer than she’d realized. “It does,” she agreed. “Like we’re not those people for a little while.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them standing in the quiet night.

“Y/N,” Karina said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you… afraid of this?” Karina gestured between them. “Of what’s happening here?”

Y/N hesitated, her heart pounding. “A little,” she admitted. “But not enough to stop.”

Karina smiled—a small, genuine smile that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best way. “Good. Me too.”

Y/N laughed softly, the tension melting away. “Look at us. Two scared idiots trying to figure this out.”

“At least we’re figuring it out together,” Karina said, nudging her gently.

Y/N nudged her back. “Yeah. Together.”

They stood there for a while longer, the city lights twinkling below them like stars. For the first time in a long time, everything felt… right.

Y/N woke up to her phone buzzing relentlessly. Groggily, she reached for it, blinking at the notifications flooding her screen.

Trending on Twitter: #KarinaAndY/N

Her stomach dropped.

“Oh no,” she muttered, sitting up in bed.

Manon’s name lit up her phone, followed by several frantic texts.

Manon: You’re trending. AGAIN. What did you do this time?!

Manon: Wait. Were you with Karina last night?

Manon: CALL ME.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “This can’t be good.”

Her phone buzzed again—this time, it was Karina.

Katarina: Don’t panic. We’ll figure this out.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment before typing back.

Y/N: Too late. I’m already panicking.

Katarina: I’ll call you in 5. Just breathe.

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart racing. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

[soulofapatrick]

The Fourth Wing Boys and their Reactions to you being Pregnant

Summary: Just what I think the boys' reactions would be

Words: 7.5K words

Warnings: some angst but mostly fluffy and cuteeee

Xaden Riorson, the man who has made a career of maintaining control in a world that crumbles around him, has never looked more vulnerable than in this moment. His eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that see everything and give nothing away—widen as the words I just spoke settle between us. The smirk that usually dances on his lips, the one that makes him seem untouchable, vanishes as if it’s never been there at all. His expression, typically guarded and enigmatic, is now a map of raw emotion, impossible to ignore.

I watch him, unsure of whether I’ve just shattered the air between us or opened a door we aren’t ready to walk through. His hands, always confident and steady, grip my waist with a force that seems born of instinct, as if the weight of what I just told him threatens to pull him down. He inhales sharply, and in the way his breath catches in his throat, I can feel it—a tremor, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. The sound of it—soft, like a whisper of disbelief—breathes life into the moment, making it real, making it unavoidable.

His eyes dart to my stomach, that small curve, barely noticeable but unmistakably there. Then, without warning, they flick back to mine, as if trying to find some confirmation that this isn’t a cruel joke, some twisted play to see him unravel. His jaw tightens, his muscles go taut, and for the briefest of seconds, I think he might not believe me. But then he whispers, his voice low and edged with something I’m not ready to identify. “You’re sure?”

I nod, unable to contain the mix of fear, anticipation, and joy that floods through me, and that’s when everything shifts. The tension in his body cracks, splintering apart like ice breaking under the weight of an ocean. His breath, shallow and uneven, spills out in a rush, and his gaze—normally so calculating, so indifferent to everything around him—softens, transforming into something I’ve only seen glimpses of: vulnerability. There, in that look, I see the faintest flicker of hope, a light that barely dares to exist in the shadows of his usual guarded composure.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity, a moment stretched so thin it could shatter at any second. But instead, he moves. His hands, which had been trembling ever so slightly, find their place around me, pulling me close as if I’m the only thing holding him together. His lips brush against the side of my face, pressing against my temple in a gesture that feels oddly fragile for someone like him—someone who has built walls taller than any fortress, whose every breath is calculated, every action precise.

His voice, when it finally comes, is raw—thick with emotion I didn’t know he was capable of showing. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmurs, his words a promise. His hands slide down slowly, reverently, until one rests on my stomach. His thumb begins to trace circles, soft at first, like he’s afraid to touch too firmly, as if afraid he might shatter something precious. And maybe he’s right—because in this moment, something shifts inside him, and I’m not sure he’s ready to face it yet.

The man who once seemed so untouchable, so impenetrable, is unraveling in front of me, but not in a way that makes me want to run. Instead, I find myself holding him just as tightly, afraid that if I let go, he might slip away. He isn’t just holding me—he’s holding onto something else. Something bigger than both of us.

We stay like that for a long while, the world fading into the background. His hands, still tracing slow circles over my stomach, seem to speak volumes without words. Each pass of his thumb is a vow—a promise to protect, to fight for, to love the life growing inside me with the same fierce, unrelenting devotion he’s always given to me. Only now, there’s something new in his gaze—something deeper. The promise isn’t just to me anymore. It’s to the little one we’ve yet to meet, the one who has already captured his heart in a way I never could have expected.

We’re lying in bed, the early morning sunlight spilling through the window, painting Garrick’s bare shoulders in a soft, golden glow. The light dances across his skin, highlighting the muscles in his back as he sleeps, his breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest like a calming rhythm. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, holding me close but not tight, as if he’s still half-anchored to the world of dreams. The warmth of him presses against me, a comfort I never want to lose, but something stirs inside me—something I can’t ignore, something that needs to be said.

I shift slightly, the flutter of nerves in my chest making my heart race just a little faster than it should. His eyes crack open, barely more than a sliver, and he blinks up at me through the haze of sleep. His lips twitch into the softest of smiles, and I can’t help but feel a warmth spread through me, even as my own pulse quickens.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep, a teasing note in the words.

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment, the gravity of the words I’m about to say. “I have something to tell you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, thick with nerves. I watch his expression shift as he processes my tone—sleep fading from his eyes as they focus on me, sharpening with concern, alertness creeping in. His brows furrow slightly, his grip on me tightening just enough that I can feel the change, the instinctive need to protect, to hold me steady.

The air between us thickens, and I take a steadying breath before finally letting the words escape. “I’m pregnant.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing—no sound, no movement. Just the steady beat of my own heart, pounding in my ears. His blue eyes lock onto mine, and I see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to make sense of what I’ve just said. It’s as if he’s searching for any sign that he’s misunderstood, trying to find some hint that this isn’t real. And then, slowly, so slowly that it feels like time itself holds its breath, a grin begins to spread across his face. It starts small, like disbelief, and then grows—grows until it’s nothing short of radiant, the kind of grin that could light up the world. It’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds, a warmth that fills the space between us, and I feel myself melt under it.

A quiet, breathless laugh escapes him, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, what he’s feeling. He sits up then, pulling me with him, his movements fluid, confident, like he’s always known he’d be here. His hands come up to cradle my face, and his thumbs gently trace over my cheekbones, each touch reverent, as though I am the most precious thing he’s ever held. His touch is tender, full of wonder. His gaze never leaves mine.

“We’re having a baby?” he whispers, voice hushed, awed, like the very idea of it is too beautiful to fully comprehend. His eyes search mine for any hint of doubt, any sign that this might not be true, but all I can do is nod. And when I do, he kisses me—deep, lingering, filled with everything he feels, overflowing with love and joy in a way that takes my breath away.

The kiss is everything—the kind of kiss that promises a future, the kind that says we’re in this together, no matter what. When he finally pulls away, his hands slide down to rest over my stomach, his touch slow and careful, like he’s handling something fragile, something sacred. His voice is thick with emotion as he murmurs, “I’m going to love them so much.”

I can feel the sincerity in his words, hear the depth of his commitment in every syllable. He presses his forehead to mine, the grin never fading, and I can feel his joy radiating off of him, filling me up. There’s no hesitation, no doubt in him, just a certainty that this moment, this new chapter of our lives, is exactly where we’re meant to be. He holds me close, his hands still resting gently on my stomach, as if he’s already thinking of all the ways he’ll love the little life growing inside me.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmurs, and the wonder in his voice makes my heart swell. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And for the first time in a long time, I’m certain too. In his arms, with his heart beating against mine, I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be the best parents we can be. Because this moment—this shared joy—is only the beginning.

Liam is in the middle of fixing his dagger, the rhythmic glide of the whetstone over the blade a comforting sound, familiar and steady. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he works, his fingers steady and sure. There’s a certain ease to his posture, though—a quiet confidence in the way he holds the dagger, in the way he moves. I watch him for a moment, the soft light from the window casting shadows over his strong features, and something stirs deep in my chest.

I know what I’m about to say will change everything. It will shift the balance of us, of this quiet, simple life we’ve built. It will disrupt the calm. And yet, in this moment, with his presence so solid and steady beside me, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the words to leave my lips.

“Liam,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me. My heart is racing, a thudding pulse in my ears, but I push through it. He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes still focused on the blade in front of him. But when I don’t continue, when the silence stretches between us too long, he finally stills. His sharp green eyes flick to mine, reading me in an instant. And in that moment, I feel like he’s already seen it all—the hesitation, the fear, the joy that fights its way to the surface.

The dagger is forgotten, carefully set down on the table beside him, and he stands in one smooth motion, crossing the distance between us in two quick strides. The energy between us shifts, and his hands frame my face, warm and steady, his breath unsteady as he studies me. I can see the question in his eyes, and I know he’s waiting for me to speak again.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, steady. But I can hear the uncertainty beneath it—the flicker of confusion, of concern, because he knows something is coming, something big.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself, gripping the edge of the table as though it’s the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment. I whisper the words, barely above a breath, but I feel them settle between us like a charge in the air. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang there, heavy, charged, electric. I watch as his body locks up, the shock rippling through him, a brief stillness in the air before everything changes. He blinks once, then twice, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the right response but no words come. The seconds stretch out, thick and heavy, as though we’re suspended in time, before he inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with an effort that betrays his calm.

Without another word, he steps closer, closing the gap between us. His hands are on me in an instant, cupping my face with a tenderness that makes my heart catch. He’s searching my eyes, his expression intense, as though he’s trying to read me, to make sure this is real. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice thick, as if the words themselves are something he needs to hear once more to believe.

I don’t hesitate this time. I say it again, the words rolling off my tongue with a clarity I didn’t know I had in me. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest rises again, this time in a sharp inhale, and his fingers tighten around me as if to pull me even closer, as if he never wants to let go. The moment feels suspended, timeless, and then suddenly—he laughs. It’s a quiet, disbelieving sound, almost as though he can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and the laugh shifts into something softer, something deeper. Something filled with wonder.

He presses his forehead to mine, the weight of his hands on my face grounding me, and then slowly, reverently, his hands slip down to rest over my stomach. His touch is warm, careful, as though he’s holding something delicate, something precious. The moment stretches between us, full of a new, tender energy, and I know without a doubt that everything has changed.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, raw and genuine, like he’s trying to find the words to hold all of it—this moment, this future, this life we’re about to create together.

And then, without another word, he kisses me. It’s slow, deep, and everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of futures and dreams, of everything we’ve built and everything we will. I can feel the weight of it, the depth of it, and as he pulls me close, as his hands rest gently on the life growing inside me, I know that this moment is the beginning of everything. Everything has changed. And somehow, it feels like it always was meant to.

Bodhi is pacing, his boots scuffing against the cold stone floor with every angry step. The rhythm of his movement is frantic, almost like he's trying to outrun the frustration boiling inside him. His hands are thrown up in exasperation, his voice sharp with bitterness. “Of course, Xaden gets the good shit. Again. Powers? Sure. Now Violet... First in line for the throne? Why the hell not?” His voice cracks with sarcasm, the words biting through the air like daggers. “They both get the good fucking shit.”

I watch him, my heart beating wildly in my chest. It’s not the anger that rattles me; I’ve seen him like this before. But the weight of it all—the frustration that pours out of him—makes my stomach twist with something deeper. It’s all too familiar, this endless cycle of feeling overlooked, dismissed. His voice is thick with old grievances, with wounds that never quite heal, and I know well enough to recognize when he’s spiraling.

He’s about to explode, and I can’t let him. Not this time. If I don’t stop him, I know he’s going to hurt himself in more ways than one. So I step forward, my footsteps silent but determined, and before he can throw his next bitter word into the air, I grab his wrist, holding it firmly but gently.

“Bodhi.”

My voice cuts through his storm of frustration like a calm in the eye of the hurricane, sharp and steady. He freezes mid-step, his body tensing as my name slides past my lips. His hazel eyes, blazing with unresolved anger, snap to mine, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, feeling the weight of the words that have been resting on the edge of my tongue for what feels like an eternity. "I’m pregnant."

The shift is immediate, like the world tilts on its axis. His body locks up, rigid and uncertain, and his expression flickers through anger, confusion, and something else—something raw, vulnerable, and unguarded. His lips part, but no sound escapes. For a long moment, he just stands there, staring at me like I’ve just ripped the ground out from under him, like he’s trying to process what I’ve just dropped into the space between us.

The air in the room feels thick, charged, like time itself is holding its breath. Then, as if he’s been holding onto something for too long, the tension in his shoulders suddenly drains away, replaced by something softer, almost fragile. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s unsure of what to do, like he wants to reach for me but is afraid of the weight of what this means.

“You’re—” He stops himself, blinking hard as if he’s trying to shake off the fog of disbelief. “You’re serious?”

I nod, and when I do, his whole body seems to collapse inward. His breath comes out in a sharp exhale, ragged and uneven, and a shaky laugh bursts from him. It’s low, almost disbelieving, like he can’t quite catch up to the reality of it all. His hands tremble as he reaches for me, pulling me close like I’m the only thing holding him together in this moment. His fingers land on my waist, steady and desperate, as if he needs to feel me beneath his hands, solid and real.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, shaking his head with a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Xaden can keep his damn throne." And then, without warning, he’s kissing me. It’s not soft or gentle—it’s desperate, a kiss that’s full of raw emotion, of relief, of something far too big to name. His hands tighten around me, anchoring himself to the moment, to the realisation, to us.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t let go, his hand sliding down to rest over my stomach, warm and steady. His touch is a promise, a grounding force. He’s breathing heavily, still trying to catch up to the reality of everything, but there’s a clarity in his eyes now. A certainty that wasn’t there before.

“This?” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is ours.”

And for the first time in a long while, I see it—the shift in him, the release of all that frustration, all that anger, replaced with something I can’t quite name. But I know this is the moment everything changes. This is the beginning of something far greater than the chaos we’ve both been drowning in.

Violet slides a glass toward me, the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes as she smirks. “Come on, you’re not seriously turning down a drink, are you?” Her voice has a playful edge, teasing me, but something’s different in the way she looks at me, like she senses that something is off. I hesitate, the words swirling in my mind, threatening to spill, and that’s when I push the glass away.

Her smirk falters. “Wait. What?”

Before she can press further, I feel it—the weight of Ridoc’s gaze on me. I turn, and there he is, standing a few feet away, brow furrowed and head tilted just enough to show he’s putting pieces together. I’ve been trying to hide it, but I can’t. His sharp eyes meet mine, and I know he’s already suspicious. He sees the way my fingers twitch, the way my breath hitches just a little too sharply when Violet teases me. He knows something’s coming.

I swallow hard, grip his wrist, and tug him away from the table. The murmurs of the others fade as I pull him further from the group, needing space to breathe. My pulse is racing now, my heart pounding louder with each step. I know damn well I can’t hold this in any longer, but the moment I say it, things will never be the same.

We stop just outside the circle of laughter and conversation, where no one can overhear us. Ridoc stands there, arms folded, eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Alright,” he says, drawing out the word. “You’re acting weird, you turned down alcohol, and you’re pulling me aside like you’ve got some massive secret. Should I be worried?”

The weight of it all presses against me, suffocating, but I manage to look him in the eye. This isn’t something I planned to tell him so soon, but I can’t carry this any longer. I take a deep breath, the words burning on my tongue, and whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

The world seems to stop.

Ridoc blinks once, then twice, as if he didn’t hear me right. His mouth opens, and then shuts, his brain visibly scrambling to process what I just said. His eyes dart to mine, searching for any hint of a joke, but there’s nothing. His hands, once folded tightly across his chest, now hang at his sides, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

For a moment, he’s completely still, like the world around us has fallen silent and we’re the only ones who matter.

And then, his face shifts. The shock gives way to confusion, and that’s when I see it—the joy. The raw, unfiltered joy that bursts through his expression. His lips part, the corners twitching upward in disbelief. He can’t quite believe it. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

In the next breath, before I can say another word, he spins around, his body moving with a force that’s both desperate and excited. And then, as if he’s claiming the moment for himself, he calls out across the room, loud enough for the entire squad to hear.

“I’M GONNA BE A DAD!”

The room goes completely still. Every single person freezes. A glass hits the floor with a dull thud. Violet chokes on her drink. Rhiannon’s jaw nearly hits the floor. Xaden, of course, looks like he already knew, his gaze unamused but somehow fond. Ridoc, meanwhile, is still grinning like the world is his to conquer. He doesn’t even care that we’re the center of attention.

The chaos erupts. Cheers, whoops, congratulations from every corner of the room. The sound of people scrambling to get to us, laughing, offering their well-wishes. But I can’t help but bury my face in my hands, overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Ridoc’s laughter, though, it’s pure, unrestrained. He pulls me into his arms, lifting me off the ground in a tight, dizzying hug. His grip is firm but gentle, as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“You really thought I’d keep that to myself?” he says, his voice muffled in my hair as he chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. “Oh, love, you should know me better by now.”

I can barely breathe, laughing in spite of myself. The entire world feels like it’s shifting around us, and yet in this moment, I don’t care. I’m lost in him, in the joy he’s radiating, in the life we’ve just begun to build together. For the first time, I feel like nothing can touch us.

And when he finally pulls back, his hand slides over my stomach, slow and reverent, as if trying to memorise the change that’s already started to take place.

“This?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is going to be the best thing thats ever happened to us.”

The soft sound of footsteps echoes through the quiet hallway, but it's the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open that pulls me from my thoughts. I'm sitting at the edge of the bed, a thousand things running through my mind, but when I hear it, I freeze.

The door clicks shut behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. I can already hear Sawyer’s quiet, steady steps, the way he moves with that lazy confidence, like nothing in the world could make him rush. He's always been like that—unfazed, comfortable in his skin, but also the first one to notice when something’s off.

He leans against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and one brow arches slightly, like he's in on some joke I haven't figured out yet. He watches me for a long moment, his gaze knowing, waiting for me to speak. But I can’t. Words are stuck in my throat, heavy and thick.

I open my mouth, then close it again, trying to find the courage. My fingers brush against the edge of the bed, and it feels like the room is shrinking, the weight of what’s coming making my chest tighten.

Sawyer, ever perceptive, notices the shift in my demeanor instantly. Without hesitation, he pushes off the doorframe, his movements slow but purposeful. His voice is low, calm, but laced with concern. "What’s wrong?"

I glance at him, my heart hammering, and for a second, I almost wish I could keep this to myself just a little longer. But I know I can’t. Not with him. Not now.

I take a deep breath, avoiding his gaze as I stand up from the bed. My stomach churns again, a nauseating wave rising in my gut, but this time, it's different. I press a hand to my stomach, fighting against the bile that threatens to rise.

And that’s when I feel it—the low, guttural sound of me retching. I stumble toward the bathroom door before the first wave of nausea hits, pushing the door open just enough to avoid the inevitable disaster. I’m barely able to make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees, my body doubling over as I empty my stomach. The burn in my throat makes everything spin, and I try to steady myself, but it’s no use.

Then I hear it—the sound of Sawyer’s footsteps behind me, closer now, much closer. The door to the bathroom creaks open, and I don't need to look up to know he’s standing there. I can feel his presence, solid and unwavering. His hands press against the doorframe as he leans in, his gaze searching for me in the dim light.

“Hey… hey, you okay?” His voice is soft but urgent, his concern bleeding through the calm tone. He steps closer, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck, his touch warm and steady, like he’s trying to pull me back to earth.

I try to swallow, my breath still shallow, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out raspy and weak, not even close to convincing. The words fall flat, like they’re already on their way to breaking.

Sawyer doesn’t buy it. He crouches down beside me, his fingers brushing through my hair as he presses a damp cloth to the back of my neck. It’s soothing, but it’s also him, grounding me in a way that only he can.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, voice low and calm.

And that’s when it happens—the dam breaks. I feel the weight of it, everything I’ve been holding back, and it spills out before I can stop it. “Sawyer, I’m pregnant.”

The words hang between us for a moment, and I can see it in his eyes—surprise, confusion, maybe even a little disbelief. His expression shifts like he's trying to process it, his brows furrowing for a fraction of a second before they smooth out, replaced by a gentle, almost stunned smile.

"You’re what?" he asks softly, his voice thick with the disbelief of the moment. But there’s something else there now, something warmer, a flicker of excitement, and maybe even hope.

I nod, my heart thudding in my chest as I try to steady myself, the nausea still lingering. His hands, once gently cradling me, tighten around me now, pulling me closer as if he’s trying to keep me anchored in the moment.

He blinks, then laughs softly, the sound almost disbelieving. “Holy shit,” he breathes, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

I nod again, the words tumbling out like they’re finally free, but I can feel the tension lift from my shoulders, replaced by something new, something lighter.

Sawyer’s expression shifts from disbelief to joy. It’s like the moment the words left my mouth, everything clicked for him. His arms tighten around me, pulling me into a warm embrace as he presses a kiss to my temple, the action soft, tender. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeats, voice thick with emotion.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hand coming up to gently cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. “You just made me the happiest guy alive, you know that?”

I lean into his touch, feeling the sincerity in every word, every action. The chaos of the moment, the whirlwind of emotions, all start to settle in a way I didn’t expect. I’ve been carrying this secret, but now, in this moment, it feels like everything is going to be okay. Together.

Sawyer grins, his eyes sparkling with a joy that’s impossible to miss. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out. Together.” And just like that, the weight of everything shifts. It’s no longer a burden. It’s a promise.

Dain is already watching me when I step into the room, his eyes flicking over me with that overly cautious, ever-concerned expression that only he can pull off. It's like he has a sixth sense for when something is off. I can feel the weight of his gaze, like he's reading me before I even open my mouth. But this time, I can tell—he has no idea what's coming.

I shift on my feet, trying to steady my racing heart, and exhale sharply. The words feel stuck in my throat, but I can’t keep them in any longer. I have to say it, no matter how much it makes my palms sweat or my stomach churn.

“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be.

For a full five seconds, Dain doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. It’s like time has stopped, and I’m caught in this endless moment, waiting for him to process what I’ve just said. His face is completely blank, like his brain just short-circuited, like I’ve just dropped an impossible bomb on him and his system is still rebooting.

Then, panic. Pure, unfiltered panic. “You’re what?!” His voice jumps an octave, his eyes going wide as his hands fly up in the air, like he’s physically trying to keep reality from sinking in. “How—? I mean, I know how, but—this isn’t—what are we going to—?”

I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, like he’s trying to work out a hundred different scenarios all at once, his mind moving faster than he can process. He starts pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s already mentally drawing up battle plans for a war he didn’t see coming. “We need a plan. I need to—fuck, what if—what about Xaden? Does he know? And the squad? And—”

Before he can fully spiral, a sharp smack echoes through the room. Dain jerks forward slightly, his eyes snapping up in shock, and I can’t help but let out a breath of relief at the interruption.

Behind him stands Sloane, one hand on her hip, the other still raised from the smack she just delivered upside his head. She’s unimpressed, as always, her expression a mixture of disbelief and mild annoyance.

“Pull yourself together, Aetos,” she deadpans, like she’s heard enough. “She just told you she’s pregnant, not that the kingdom is burning down.”

Dain blinks rapidly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he tries to process what just happened. “Did you just—?”

Sloane doesn’t even flinch. She just raises an eyebrow and gives him an almost bored look. “You were being dramatic.”

I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes my lips at the exchange. I’m still reeling from the words I just said, but Sloane’s dry humor is like a lifeline, and Dain’s still-freaked-out expression helps ground me.

Something shifts in Dain’s face then. The panic is still there, lingering, but it begins to break apart, bit by bit. He exhales sharply, like he's realizing just how deep into this he’s about to dive. His gaze flicks back to me, and this time, he really sees me—really sees me. The fear is still there, but it's quieter now, and there’s something else in his eyes. Something steadier. Something that tells me he’s starting to process it, even if he’s still not sure what the next step is.

Dain steps forward slowly, almost cautiously, like he’s afraid I might slip away from him if he moves too quickly. His hands reach for mine, his grip warm, a little shaky. For a moment, the world feels like it narrows to just him and me, the chaos of his thoughts receding into the background as he pulls me into his orbit.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats softly, his voice a little raw. The words still feel strange in the air, like he's still getting used to them, but there’s something comforting in the way he says them. Like he's finally letting the weight of it sink in.

Then, to my complete surprise, a small, almost reverent smile tugs at his lips. The kind of smile I’ve never seen from him before. It’s not the typical confident, strategic grin he wears when he’s solving a problem or taking charge. No, this smile is softer, more awed, like he’s realizing something bigger than both of us.

“We’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s filled with something more. A promise. A reassurance.

Just as I feel myself starting to breathe again, Sloane claps Dain on the shoulder with enough force to almost send him stumbling forward. She doesn’t even look back at us as she starts to walk away, her voice cutting through the moment with a sarcastic edge.

“About time,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

Dain huffs out a quiet laugh, clearly unbothered by her comment. He squeezes my hands tighter, his grip grounding me as his other arm slides around my back, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“I’ll be better at this,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his breath warm against my ear. “I promise.”

I rest my head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against mine, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him. Together, we’ll figure this out. One step at a time.

The meeting room is tense, filled with whispers and the clink of metal as people adjust in their seats. Violet is leaning forward, her usual soft smile replacing any hint of concern, while the others are deep in debate about who will go on the next mission. The stakes are high, and it’s clear that everyone wants to make sure they’re well-prepared. My heart is pounding in my chest, a tight knot forming as I feel the weight of what’s coming. The group is discussing the flying assignments, who’s going to be paired with Violet on her dangerous mission, and I can’t help but feel like something’s off. There’s a restlessness in me, a hesitation that I can’t shake.

Then, as expected, the moment comes. They call my name.

I stand, my legs feeling heavier than usual as I move toward the front of the room, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. I haven't even had the chance to tell Aaric yet. Haven’t had the chance to figure out what to say, how to handle it, how to let him in on something that already feels like it might be too much for us to process together.

But then, just as the silence begins to settle in the room, his voice cuts through, clear and commanding.

“No.” Aaric’s tone is sharp, his presence suddenly filling the room with an authority that demands attention. All eyes snap toward him as he stands from his seat, his jaw tight, a flash of something determined in his eyes. “She’s not going.”

Everyone blinks in confusion, unsure of where this sudden interruption is coming from. I glance over at Violet, who raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. She’s known Aaric for years, but she’s never seen him this... intense, this protective.

“What do you mean, she’s not going?” Xaden’s voice is incredulous, his hands on her hips as he challenges him. “We need her there. She’s more than capable—”

Aaric cuts her off, his gaze never leaving me. “I’m not letting her go. Not when—” He pauses, his expression tightening, like he’s struggling to hold back the words. But then his gaze flickers over to me, and the moment shifts. He knows. His eyes soften, just for a second, and I realize that somehow, without me even saying a word, he’s already figured it out. He’s seen it.

Before anyone can react, Aaric strides toward me, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me. “You’re pregnant,” he announces, his voice thick with the weight of his knowledge. The room falls into stunned silence.

I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up as his words hit me like a physical blow. I hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet. I hadn’t even figured out how to tell him. And now, here he is, pulling me into the center of attention, revealing something so personal that I feel like my entire world is shifting beneath me.

There’s a brief moment of chaos, with murmurs spreading through the room, eyes flicking between us. Some of the squad members look concerned, others confused, and a few seem like they’ve been expecting this. But I can’t focus on them. I can’t focus on anything except the look in Aaric’s eyes.

“I…” I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not angry at him, not exactly. But I feel exposed, raw. How did he know?

Aaric’s gaze softens as he watches me, but his tone is firm. “I saw it.” His voice drops, quieter now, only for me to hear. “My signet... It showed me. I can’t... I can’t let you put yourself in danger. Not now.”

The sincerity in his eyes is almost enough to break me. His instinct—his foresight—has always been a double-edged sword. It’s saved us more times than I can count, but now, it’s exposing a vulnerability neither of us were ready for. He’s not just thinking about the mission or the war. He’s thinking about me. About us.

Violet is staring at us, disbelief on her face, but Aaric isn’t looking at her. His attention is fully on me, and the way he holds my gaze makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his hand slipping from my shoulder to gently take my hand. “I know this isn’t easy. But I’m not letting you go out there. Not like this. Not with...” His voice falters for a moment, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. “We’re going to be a family.”

His words hit harder than I expected. He hasn’t even had time to process the gravity of what he’s saying, yet somehow, he’s already stepping up in ways I hadn’t anticipated. There’s no panic in his voice, no second-guessing. Just a quiet certainty that, in this moment, makes me feel like maybe everything will be okay.

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that I’m capable, that I’ve handled worse, but something in his eyes stops me. The truth is, I’m scared. Scared of what this means, what it changes between us. But at the same time, there’s something about Aaric’s confidence, his protectiveness, that makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

He squeezes my hand, his smile a little softer now, though still full of that unshakeable confidence. “You didn’t have to tell me. I knew.”

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m carrying this burden alone.

The war room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of candlelight and the rustling of parchment as Brennan pores over the map before him. His shoulders are taut, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He hasn’t come to bed yet. Again.

I watch him from the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed, my heartbeat an insistent drum against my ribs. He’s been lost in his own mind for hours, drowning in battle plans and strategy, and if I don’t pull him out of it, I know he’ll stay here all night.

So, I move.

The air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink, the remnants of a half-finished cup of tea gone cold at his elbow. He doesn’t look up as I approach, not even when I step behind him and press my hands against his tense shoulders, kneading gently.

“Brennan.” My voice is soft, coaxing.

A quiet hum is the only response I get. He leans into my touch, just barely, but his eyes stay fixed on the map.

Stubborn man.

I exhale sharply before shifting, slipping into his lap with ease. That gets his attention. His hands move instinctively to my hips, steadying me, but his gaze flickers only briefly to my face before returning to the table, as if I’m just another part of the world he’s trying to control.

I huff in frustration, threading my fingers through his auburn hair, tugging gently. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m working,” he murmurs, voice distant, distracted.

“Brennan.” This time, there’s warning in my tone. When he still doesn’t look at me, I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze.

He startles, his breath catching, and for the first time tonight, I have his undivided attention.

“Look at me,” I whisper.

His lips part slightly, confusion flickering in the depths of his amber eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. My thumbs brush over the sharp lines of his jaw, tracing the tension there, the weight he carries like armour.

I exhale, slow and measured, before I finally speak the words that have been pressing against my ribs all night.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

A long, breathless pause where the world seems to still, time stretching between us like something fragile. Brennan doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is utterly unreadable, carved from stone.

Then—his hands tighten at my waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt like he’s grounding himself, like he’s afraid to let go.

“What?” The word is barely a whisper, hoarse with something I can’t quite name.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest rises and falls sharply, the only sign that he’s actually processing what I just said. For a long, terrifying moment, he just stares at me—like I’m something impossible, something too precious to be real.

And then, the breath he’s been holding rushes out of him all at once. His hands move without thought, sliding up my sides, over my stomach, reverent and almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid he might break me.

“You’re serious?” His voice is raw, stripped of all its usual certainty.

I nod.

Something in him shatters.

He exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh, but his eyes are bright, almost feverish with emotion. And then he’s kissing me—fierce, desperate, like he’s trying to press this moment into my skin so he’ll never forget it. His hands tangle in my hair, pull me closer, his breath warm and unsteady against my lips.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against mine, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken. His fingers skim over my stomach again, slower this time, lingering.

“We’re going to have a child,” he murmurs, like he’s only just allowing himself to believe it.

I nod again, my own breath shaky.

Brennan closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling against my skin. And when he looks at me again, it’s different. The storm inside him has quieted, replaced by something deeper, something unshakable.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice rough with promise. “And I swear to you—I swear on everything—I will protect you both.”

Tears burn at the edges of my vision, but I blink them away, letting my fingers trace the strong lines of his face. “I know.”

And for the first time in hours, Brennan forgets about war.

For the first time in weeks, he lets himself hold something other than duty.

Me. Us. Our future.

And for now, that’s enough.

[heartsforjh]

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ɢɪʀʟ

pairings: luke hughes x fem!reader

warnings: none

word count: roughly 2.2k

summary: luke plans a special day for his special girl

a/n: this is my first ever fic that’s actually being posted as a fic and not just changed into one later! it’s made in honor of my sweet emmy’s birthday TODAY! happy birthday @emsdevs ! 🧡

The sun shines through your window curtains, spilling soft light into your bedroom, as gentle kisses are peppered onto your face. Stretching your arms and legs, you try your best to shake off sleep, only to hear your boyfriend, Luke, let out a small chuckle.

“Good morning, birthday girl,” he says softly, his voice tender as he looks down at you. He leans closer, covering your face in even more kisses, making you giggle sleepily.

“Shhh,” you sigh, settling back down and shutting your eyes, clinging to whatever bit of sleep you can preserve.

You don’t need to look to know Luke is offended by that, his tone making it obvious. “Shhh? It’s your birthday, baby. You can’t go back to sleep! I’ve been waiting all morning for you to wake up, and now you’re already trying to go back to bed?”

“Lu, you’re the one who woke me up,” you mumble, stifling a yawn. “I didn’t do that on my own.”

He huffs, dramatically. “Yeah, because I have a surprise for you! You have to get up!”

Before you can protest, he grabs your hands and carefully pulls you up into a sitting position, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You groan, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Don’t give me that look, baby. I can’t let you sleep through your birthday,” he insists, brushing your hair back from your face.

When Luke finally gets you up and moving he’s buzzing with excitement. He slowly guides you out of the room and across the apartment, using his hands to to cover your eyes.

Based on the route you’re moving, you can only assume he’s leading you into the dining room. He shifts to covering your eyes with just one hand, fumbling around for a moment before returning his stray hand to your eyes.

“Okay, baby. Are you ready for this?” he asks, his voice filled with eagerness.

You laugh at how much more elated he is than even you are for your own surprise. “I’m ready for this.”

He pulls his hands away, immediately craning his neck to watch your reaction. When you open your eyes you see a pile of questionably wrapped gifts sitting on the table. Your heart instantly melts, as a warm smile spreads across your face.

“Luke… babe. You’re so sweet,” you say, pouting slightly at his thoughtfulness. You reach out your arms, and he wastes no time pulling you into a tight hug.

He’s absolutely beaming with pride, thrilled that he was able to make you happy. “You can only open one of them right now, though. Is that okay?”

“One?!” you exclaim, surprised.

“Yeah, just one. It’s special for today. You can open the rest later tonight,” he explains nervously. “I promise it’s worth it.”

Your smile softens when you notice his nerves. “Of course, babe. I can wait. But let me open the one I’m allowed to now, please!”

He laughs, grabbing a floppy, rectangular gift wrapped in beige paper with a pretty bow.

“Ooh, I think I know what this is!” you say innocently, reaching for it.

Luke immediately shakes his head. “Hush. No, you don’t. Pretend you don’t, baby.”

You’re amused but also feel a little bad for pointing out that it’s not much of a surprise. So naturally, you decide to play along. “I’m kidding. I have no idea what it is.”

“Wait, really?” he asks, genuinely believing you’re clueless over this suspiciously clothes-shaped gift.

You give an innocent nod, trying not to laugh as his face lights up. “Mhm.”

When he finally hands it over, you begin unwrapping the gift, your smile widening with each tear of the paper. As the contents come into view, you see a cute outfit—the very same one you sent Luke months ago during your rant about needing to revamp your wardrobe.

“I bought it a while ago,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was hoping you wouldn’t buy it for yourself… or stop liking it before now. Do you… like it?”

You place a hand on his cheek, leaning in to press two meaningful kisses to his lips. “I love it. Thank you, baby.”

His shoulders relax with relief. “I’ve got more things planned. We’re gonna have a good day today.”

You fold the outfit neatly, smiling up at him. “We have a good day every day.”

“Alright well, today’s going to be an extra good day,” he corrects himself, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Oh yeah, and don’t get dressed for the day yet.”

“Lu… you know we could’ve made this from scratch, right?” you ask curiously, picking up the box of cake mix and turning it over to read the instructions.

Luke laughs, shaking his head as he scrolls through a recipe on his phone, and shrugs. “No way. It would’ve been all messed up, baby. We don’t know how to do that!”

You raise a brow at him, amused. “We? You mean you don’t know how to do that! I do. We are not the same buddy,” you tease, gently taking his phone from him, you power it off and set it aside. “Look babe, I got this.”

He chuckles, loving your confidence. “Oh yeah? You gonna impress me with your baking skills?”

“Yup,” you say, as cocky as possible.

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he watches you get to work. “Alright, then. Show me how it’s done.”

The kitchen quickly fills with laughter and playful banter as you take your chance to boss him around. Luke’s “help” mostly consists of him sneaking tastes of the batter and throwing in the occasional ridiculous comment that makes you laugh so hard your sides ache.

“Um… are you sure an egg goes in there? Like, the full wet egg yolk?” he asks, peeking over your shoulder with a concerned expression.

You pause, staring at him in disbelief. “Babe… you cannot be serious right now. Have you never made a cake before?”

“What do you mean have I never made a cake before? Of course not. Nobody just makes cakes, honey,” he shoots back, defensively.

You burst into laughter, completely baffled. “Lukey, yes they do! People make cakes at home all the time.”

“I don’t think so, but it’s your birthday so I’ll just act like I believe you,” he nods.

You playfully roll your eyes, an amused smile stuck to your face. “I guess I’ll take it.”

“That’s not fair! My brain is tired!” Luke whines, throwing his head back against the headboard dramatically.

You can’t help but laugh at how worked up he’s getting. “Babe, baking a cake was not that hard! Your brain is fine!”

Luke gives you a wide-eyed, incredulous look. “Not hard? What about decorating it? That was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. Be honest—that was hard!”

You shrug playfully, fighting back a grin. “You’re the one who wanted to play this game, so no excuses.”

“I only wanted to play because it’s your birthday and I know you love it,” he says, his voice taking on a pitiful edge as he tries to justify his sixth Scattergories loss in a row. “I just wanted to make sure you have fun.”

You laugh even harder, shaking your head at his misfortune. “Then quit whining and keep playing, crybaby!”

“No cause you’re just gonna beat me all over again, and have no remorse about it!” he says, deadpanning. “Actually, let’s go shower and get ready for dinner instead. It’s almost time for what I have planned anyway.”

Your teasing tone quickly turns excited. “Ooooh! I’m so ready! What’s for dinner?”

He gets up off of the bed, refusing to give anything away. “It’s a surprise baby. But you can wear your new little outfit… gonna look so pretty.”

After a relaxing shower, slipping on your new outfit, and a short car ride filled with Luke chatting about everything and nothing all at once, you finally arrive at the restaurant he’s been so secretive about.

As you step inside, your breath catches. The restaurant is stunning—soft lighting casts a warm glow across the elegant decor, and everything feels effortlessly luxurious.

“Luke, this place is so beautiful,” you say, looking around in awe.

He smirks, pleased with you reaction. “Not as beautiful as you.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Please, don’t start with the corny lines right now.”

“I’m not being corny. I’m being nice! You look amazing,” he says, his gray eyes scanning you with pride.

You’re touched by his words, and you lean into his side. “Aww, thank you. You can be so sweet sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” he teases, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“Don’t ruin it for yourself,” you reply with a laugh as he leads you to the host stand.

Once Luke verifies the reservation, the host leads you to a cozy, elegant table. He pulls your chair out for you—earning another playful “aww” from you—and then sits down across the table with a big smile on his face.

“Okay, baby. So, me and the team ate here once, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to bring you. The food is so good,” he starts, his tone adorably enthusiastic. “I already know what’s good on the menu. Do you want me to help you pick?”

You nod, amused by how much thought he’s put into this. “Sure, tell me everything. I trust you.”

That confirmation is all the encouragement he needs. Luke launches into a passionate rant about the menu, describing every dish he tried at his dinner with the team in detail. You listen with a fond smile, soaking in just how happy he looks. After minutes of careful consideration, you both decide what you want to order.

“You’re gonna love this, baby,” he promises, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

The two of you pass the time with easy conversation and laughter, though Luke’s mood grows increasingly impatient every time a waiter walks by with food that isn’t yours.

When your meals arrive Luke doesn’t even touch his own, watching for your reaction. You take a bite and you can gladly say that Luke hyping this place up was not an exaggeration. The food is incredible, but honestly, it could be the worst thing you’ve ever tasted and you’d never tell him so he could keep that proud smile on his face.

The moment you step back into the apartment, a new wave of excitement rushes through you. The cake you both worked on earlier that’s in the fridge, and the pile of gifts sitting on the table are practically calling your name.

“Let’s do uh… cake first,” Luke announces, heading straight to the fridge. He carefully pulls out the cake, still looking pleased with his lopsided frosting job. “Sit down, baby,” he says, gesturing towards the dining table.

You listen, sitting down at the table, and watching as he sets the cake down in front of you. Then, with a sly grin, he opens a drawer and pulls out a pack of birthday candles.

“Oh no, Luke, you did not,” you laugh, already knowing where this is going.

“Oh, I did,” he says, sticking the candles into the cake with zero regard for symmetry. As he lights them, he pulls a chair up next to you and plops down with a grin. “But you have to sing with me. It’s already awkward enough, I can’t do it alone.”

You giggle at his straightforwardness. “Okay. We’ll sing it together. Team effort.”

With that you both painfully start a hilariously off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” You can barely get through the song without bursting into laughter, but somehow you manage. By the time the final, awful, note rings out you’re both grinning like fools.

“Now make a wish, baby.” Luke says faintly, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself soak in the pure joy of the day. When you open them, you blow out the candles and glance over at Luke, who looks completely pleased with himself.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “You know I love you, right?”

You turn to face him, smiling as you reach for his hand. “I know. And you know I love you too, right?”

His thumb strokes gently over your knuckles as his eyes search yours. “I do know that. You have a good day?”

The question feels almost silly to ask, considering all the thought he’s put into making this day special. From the moment you woke up to now, every thing he’s done has made you feel more loved and appreciated than ever.

You nod, your heart full. “I had the best day. Thank you for everything, Luke.”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “Thank you for being born,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

tags: @beenucks @mainly-miracle @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @r0wdymaize86 @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle

join the taglist here! :)

[grifffins]

🚬 Say Yes 🚬

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.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Kiwi's Masterlist

Here you’ll find all things I’ve written! Requests, one-shots, and multiple part fics all at your disposal!! Master list will be updated over time- <3 Wiwi

᯽ = sfw / fluff ꕥ = nsfw / smut

The symbols are there to give you a general idea of the fic- whether it’s sfw and not involving overly sexual themes or nsfw and involving smut or sexual themes. Be aware that each fic comes with its own ‘warnings’ section to please read those before reading the fic!

ꕥ Third Times a Charm: Taste Test 1/3 , Oral Fixation 2/3 , Body Talk 3/3

Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader - you first meet him at a club. After one taste he’s hooked, coincidentally running into you two more times

ꕥ It’s Just Business, Baby: Workplace Conflict 1/4 , Overtime 2/4 , After Hours 3/4 , Professional Provocation 4/4

The Salesman / The Recruiter x Recruiter!Fem!Reader - you’re the new hire that he hates with a passion. He’s always in competition with you. When you enrage him so much he begins to track you down, trying to find you outside of work, you play along.

᯽ Dates with Nam-Gyu

Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader - Drabble about what dates with Nam-Gyu would be like

᯽ Captured in Low Resolution

Thanos / Choi Subong x Fem!Reader - while in your boyfriends music studio you finally ask about the low quality image he has taped to the corner of his computer screen

ꕥ Pill Poppin!

Thanos / Choi Subong x MusicProducer!Fem!Reader - your client Choi Subong comes by the studio late at 2am. Figuring he’s up to no good, you snap at him. Turns out he comes bearing gifts

᯽|ꕥ What’s Better Than One Boyfriend?! TWO Boyfriends!!!: I , II ,

Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader x Thanos / Choi Subong - a collection of answered requests regarding my thoughts on the relationship dynamic between thangyu and you! Mix of in the games and no games au

ꕥ I Like ‘em Weird

Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader - there’s just somethin’ delicious about the socially awkward and standoffish guy you’ve been seeing in the club

ꕥ Passed Around

Thanos / Choi Subong x Fem!Reader x Nam-Gyu - smoke seshes with your boyfriends always end up this way…you’re passed around like the blunt you all were smoking

ꕥ More to Love and Double the Fun!!

Nam-Gyu x Thick!Fem!Reader x Choi Subong / Thanos - while at a party you want nothing more than go go home. The two of them scout you and answer your pleas; you just don’t go to your home

ꕥ You Can Take It

Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader - you seem to take him as a fool and not take him for his word he decided to visit your bunk during lights out to teach you a lesson

ꕥ Introvert Meets Innocence

Awkward!Loser!Nam-gyu x Fem!Reader - after Thanos and your friend decide they have had enough of you and Nam-Gyu acting like nervous high schoolers talking to their crush, they treat you like high schoolers; locking you in a room for a round of ‘60’ minutes in heaven

[starvingnarcissistmusic]

I've had this drafted forever and I'm not entirely sure why I didn't post it. Oh well, better late than never!

MAL DU PAYS (the song) fun facts:

(Like the original post, spoilers for Act 5 ((and also 2hats)))

- Originally, after finishing the game, I wanted to write a song about Loop. They're one of my favorite parts of the game and I really loved their character, but I ended up scrapping that idea very early on, as I couldn’t really find a personal tie to anchor the song to me. While I did want to write a song about the game, I didn’t want to write something that didn’t resonate with me and my musical “mythos” in some way. It's a fan song, but it's also a Starving Narcissist song, and I felt it was important to strike that balance. MAL DU PAYS (Monophobia) only got released because I felt that it was something that fit into the larger body of my works even without the context of the game. So in the end, I chose to write about Siffrin, as I found them a lot more personally relatable. The final version, lyrically, is almost like I’m using Siffrin as a vehicle to write about my own feelings. Some lyrics are his, some are mine, a few are both of us, it’s a weird sort of style I’ve never really written in before.

I do have some leftover lyrics from the scrapped Loop version, though!

“There’s a you you’ll never be, across the cosmic sea / Who has everything you wanted, now it’s everything you need; is it over yet?”

- I think originally the song had a lot more of an exhausted vibe, but with most of the stuff I write, the tempo usually gets faster the more I play it. At some point in the writing process the song channeled more of a manic energy than I had originally intended it to. Loud and shouty is kinda just my default lol.

(The first ever demo for the song, recorded September 15, 2024. Features some slightly altered lyrics!)

- The title was also subject to change! I think for a while I was going back and forth on just calling it Homesickness, mostly because I was a little nervous that my song’s name was technically a late game spoiler. Half the reason I wanted to even write the song was because I thought MAL DU PAYS would make a great song title though, so in the end I just sucked it up and went with my gut. The alternate title was also not set in stone, I think originally I was considering just calling it Mania or Paranoia, but I thought those would be a bit generic. Eventually, I settled on Monophobia, because I felt it was apt in describing the song as a whole. I write a lot about loneliness, and Siffrin is afraid of being alone, so it felt fitting to name the song after the fear of it. (And also, a bit more superficially, I thought Monophobia made a better song title.)

- The song is the only Starving Narcissist song on a nylon string guitar, and it's also the second song in a completely non-standard tuning (third if you count ITWYW?, but that's just a half step down from standard). MAL DU PAYS (Monophobia) in DADF#BD, with a capo on 1.

- THIS SONG HAD SO MANY REVISIONS. I don't think I've ever had this many versions to a song ever. It got so bad that I made a specific folder just to hold all the different variations I had for the song. They're not all too different from each other, and they're all built on the same take of the song, but I was playing around with mixing and structuring and vocal layering and its a whole mess. Honestly, the fact that it's a song about a timeloop makes it probably the funniest song this could have happened to.

- And that's about it! To end off this little fun fact post, here's a little something I wrote for Genius (where lyrics for this song and all my others are posted! plus annotations I write! <3) about the song. The response to MAL DU PAYS (Monophobia) has been pretty wild, and I'm glad it managed to resonate with people, even some who don't even know the game it's about.

That's all. While I guarantee this year will probably be slower for Starving Narcissist, rest assured that I am working on stuff, just very slowly. There's a very low chance I'll ever do something as flagrantly self indulgent as this song, but whatever I do end up doing, I hope you're around to see it.

In the meantime, stream the song on spotify! or buy it on bandcamp! or even just go watch the lyric video i made for it (please i spent like a week on this)!

Thanks for everything, see you later <333

Happy one year anniversary to In Stars And Time! tldr; i wrote a song about it. if you wanna skip all the gushing and just listen to it, click here. (spoilers for act 5) If not, behold this big rambly mess of a thing i wrote:

So funny story, I kind of wasn’t planning on releasing anything for the rest of the year. The album wore me out, and the only other idea I had sort of fell through, so I was content on just letting the album be the only thing of note I would make in 2024.

… and then, in September, I played a little RPG called In Stars And Time. beat the whole thing over the course of three days, then spent the next couple weeks ravenously consuming all the fan content I could get my hands on. my friends have been forced to stare at my siffrin pfp every day for two months straight at this point and frankly i think they are tired of me talking about it.

i love the art, i love the story, i love the music, i love the characters, i love the world. siffrin sort of immediately became one of my favorite protagonists like,, ever. and it definitely did not help that i am also a scrawny forgetful person who has to regularly fight off the part of my brain that convinces myself that All My Friends Secretly Hate Me.

I’ve never really been so called out by a character before. The spiraling, the deflection, and the agony of being a stranger to yourself. the yearning for something you cant even name, because how could you? you cant even find the words on your tongue. not being able to tell anyone how you feel because its just easier to live with it, easier to let it eat you from the inside out then to bother anybody else. its easier to keep the mask on, stick to your lines, let the show go on.

all that hit just a bit too close to home. so i did what I usually do When Things Hit and wrote about it.

(like i said, spoilers for Act 5; It’s pretty devoid of context but they’re spoilers nonetheless)

MAL DU PAYS (Monophobia) is a song about cyclical burnout, self-estrangement, and homesickness. It’s half about Siffrin, half about me, but mostly it’s a rumination on loneliness and the hell that is the self.

Out now wherever you listen to music.

“How can you be homesick if nowhere is home?"

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Abstract Love~

NSFW

Pairing: Rafayel x fem! Reader

Warnings: Rafayel tops, smut, scissors used to cut clothing.

Summary: What had started out as a wholesome idea of becoming Rafayel’s human canvas quickly shifts into sexual tension and a passionate night.

AN: I haven’t written a fic in like over a year so bare with me if there’s any mistakes or it’s just bad lol 😭

“Hold still, Cutie.” Rafayel gently commands as he grips your wrist.

His tongue just barely pokes past his normally pouting lips in concentration as he angles the paintbrush carefully over your skin.

You let out a small giggle as the brush fibers danced across your ticklish arm. “It tickles though.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh and grips your wrist a little tighter.

You see, the day just started with him painting a commission and you stopped by to spend time with him and wind down after a long week. But after many little snarky comments and teasing each other, he managed to splatter you with paint as a joke.

Unfortunately for you, the paint splatter (according to Rafayel) looked just like a specific species of coral that grew in Lemuria. To you, it looked just like what it was; a paint splatter. He's the artist, though.

So now, you’re being held hostage and yelled at to hold still by your dramatic boyfriend while he finishes your new armpiece on the round ottoman in his living room.

“Ya know, people would kill for me to paint on them.” He says and his gaze shifts from your arm to your eyes. “You could be just a little grateful.”

Blowing a stray piece of hair out your face, you roll your eyes at his comment but stay silent.

He continues working in silence after that. A bit of annoyance runs through you as he continues to trail the paintbrush higher up your arm until the strokes hit the edge of your t-shirt sleeve.

Rafayel grabs your sleeve and tugs at the material impatiently. “Off.”

“No, Raf, I just wanna relax and you still have to finish your piece-”

“Please, baby?”

Fuck, now Rafayel sits there with the saddest puppy dog eyes as his eyebrows curve up. He even adds a lip wobble in there to really get under your skin.

You let out a sigh, a lazy smile playing on your lips as you agree. “Okay, okay. Big baby.” Your fingers curl underneath your top to take it off.

Rafayel’s hand quickly grabs you before you can tug any further. “Wait, you’re gonna smudge the paint.”

And just like that, your blood pressure rises again. Your arms drop down to your sides and wait for more directions, cause apparently you aren’t doing it right.

“Please don’t hate me.” He stands up and walks over to a nearby cabinet with his back turned towards you. All you can hear is junk rattling around as he rummages in one of the drawers.

As he turns around, you don’t miss the shiny glint in the basking sunlight of what he is holding in his hands.

You quickly sit up straighter and your mouth drops open in shock. “You are not cutting off my shirt.”

Rafayel sits down beside you again, yet you back away as he moves closer.

“Please? I’ll buy you like ten more,” he begs as if he were asking you for a piece of candy. Rafayel stares at your glare in dismay, and then the begging continues.

“Raf, I like this shirt.”

“My love,” his arms wrap around your waist and he nestles his head into your lap. “I’ve been working on that commission for hours. I just need a little break.”

Rafayel’s warm breath fans over the exposed skin on your tummy and lets out a soft groan as his arms tighten around your body.

“My rock, my inspiration, my muse. I’ll never ask for anything again.”

You let out a laugh knowing damn well that wasn’t true in the slightest.

He pouts again at your reaction and lets out a huff. “What’s it gonna take?”

Your fingers thoughtfully stroke your chin as if you were a wise man with a beard. “I want you to take me to that nice restaurant with the fancy classical music.”

He goes to respond but you cut him off before he could even let out a sound.

“And a trip to the arcade. They have a new plushie collection.”

“Done.” Rafayel pushes your body against the ottoman as he moves to straddle you and makes sure to push all of your hair away from your shirt. “Hold still, baby.”

If circumstances were a bit different, this would be so sexy.

He grips the bottom of your top, the cool metal of the scissors gently grazing your skin sending shivers up your body. The thin fabric easily slices as he gets closer to your neck.

“Tilt your head back.” His free hand grips your chin and gently pushes back, exposing your neck. With a final snip, the fabric now hangs loosely off your body, leaving just your bra exposed. He helps you out of it and discards the ruined shirt and scissors to the side.

Rafayel continues to hover over you, his breath growing ragged at the sight of your breasts straining against your bra from the position. He leans down and places a lingering kiss on your lips. His tongue glides over your bottom lip before slowly dragging his lips down your jawline and neck.

“R-raf…” you breathe out. What the heck is he doing? Is he trying to make you horny or trying to make art? If he continues, you’d know you both would be too turned on and needy for each other to continue.

“I know, I know.” His head falls on your chest in defeat. “I won’t be able to stop if we keep going.”

There’s a silence for a few moments before he lets out a sigh, the air flowing between the valley of your breasts.

Letting out another groan, Rafayel focuses on finishing you- well, his art on you.

“Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny.” The muffled words ring from him like a prayer and it sends you into a laughing fit.

“C'mon finish up.” You tap at his arm and he reluctantly sits up and grabs the paintbrush again.

The next 20 minutes were spent in silence. Your eyes were closed as you didn’t think you'd find this activity as relaxing as you originally thought. The occasional hums and steady breathing fill the void in the meantime. Rafayel had managed to paint his way up your arm, across your clavicle, and back down to the other arm. The original coral piece he had started with had expanded into various designs of foliage, all oceanic of course. Vibrant colors littered your body as different designs of seaweed, shells, and even bubbles coated most of your top half.

You feel the tip of the brush swoop down between your cleavage before abruptly stopping. Blinking your eyes open at the pause, you look down and see Rafayel’s eyes sadly staring at the front band of your bra that connects the cups. His bottom lip was stuck between his teeth as he hesitantly met your eyes.

Sitting up carefully, your hands reach back to unclasp the garment and you don’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the sight of your now naked chest.

“Are you excited that my bra is off cause of my tits or so you can continue painting?” You tease and wave the dangling bra in front of his face.

He tosses the garment away and it lands helplessly on one of his easels across the room. The blue and pinky irises were now glazed over with something you couldn’t quite catch.

“Both.”

Rafayel moved his palette stand closer to his new position. The veins in his hands flexed as he twirled the brush between his fingers and dipped it back in his colors.

“Ooh,” you shiver slightly as the cold paint bleeds from the paintbrush down your breasts and your nipples start to grow perky. “Can I put on some pasties?”

Rafayel lets out a small snicker at your words. His eyes never leave your body as he continues to paint. His eyes flick to yours and he raises an eyebrow, “Did you really just ask me that?”

Your hands move your hair off your neck and you go to rub your shoulders for warmth but remember the wet paint coating your skin.“Yes, didn’t I buy some when I wore that dress with the open back for your last exhibition? I could’ve sworn I left them here.”

“I threw them out.” Rafayel’s words were quick. Too quick. Not to mention his focus had immediately shifted back to painting your chest. Your boyfriend is not smooth, he just wants to see your boobs.

“Rafayel.” Your tone is playful as you draw out your next words, “I’m cooold.”

Rafayel’s eyes lock onto your hard nipples. His lips parted slightly as a wicked idea filled his brain. Wordlessly, he lowers his head and quickly suctions his lips around the left bud. You moan out in surprise, your hands immediately coming up to entangle into his purple locks. His tongue swirls around the bud, lips squelching against your skin and his teeth lightly graze it.

Rafayel pulls off the swollen bud with a harsh pop and dips his head to latch onto your other nipple. Your body squirms in response with little breathy whimpers leaving your mouth.

After giving the same treatment, he pulls off the other nipple, and a smirk forms on his face. “Warm enough now?”

And just like that, he continues painting, while you try to ignore the wetness forming between your legs.

Oh, this son of a bitch is evil.

Rafayel stretches the artwork down to your naval and his left hand starts to grip your hip. You couldn’t help but continue to squirm and writhe a bit as the soft bristles kiss your skin. Not to mention the now heated sexual tension building up.

You squeeze your legs together in hopes of ignoring the growing heat.

“If you keep moving, I’ll tie you down.” He threatens.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Rafayel is not normally this… bold. The sex you two have- you wouldn’t call it vanilla at all, but usually you’re the one initiating anything freaky so to have him start to tease you like this so nonchalantly is turning you on badly.

“Is that a threat?” You ask.

“That’s a promise.”

Finally, the brush stops at your pants.

“You know the drill,” he says as he tugs at the belt loop of your jeans. His fingers quickly unbutton the front and he gradually pulls them off with your panties.

“Wait, Raf, everything?” A gasp escapes you as you’re now fully bare in front of him. Another shiver runs through your body as his eyes are fixated on your cunt. You’re just hoping he can’t tell how aroused you are. Silence is his only answer. Your jeans are tossed carelessly with the rest of your clothes, but he keeps a hold of the lacy panties in his hand.

“Someone’s a little hot and bothered, isn’t she?” He asks as his thumb brushes over the wet patch on the fabric. Rafayel gives a small chuckle before dropping the panties and kneeling in front of your body.

You go to sit up only for his hand to quickly stop you.

“Stay there, paint isn’t dry yet.”

His voice had gotten a bit raspier it seems, the tone dropping as his eyes started to cloud with desire. You’re able to catch sight of his half-hard cock behind his pants and you exhaled shakily, but obey nonetheless.

Once again, the cold bristles touch your skin, making it even harder to stay still as he trails them down to your hip bones. “R-Raf…”

“Hmm?” His eyes never meet yours, too invested in focusing on finishing his creation so he can ruin the fuck out of it.

And you.

After only hearing silence from you, he finally looks over to meet your needy expression. He knows that look, he practically invented it. Your eyes had shifted to match a puppy’s and your mouth formed a pout as small huffs of air left your parted lips. The same stupid look he gave you earlier when he wanted to start this project. Oh, how it came to bite him in his Lemurian ass.

“Lemme finish up and I’ll fuck you, cutie. I promise.” His now quivering hand goes to continue painting down your thighs and you jerk abruptly as the brush kisses your inner thigh.

When Rafayel looks over, he can see the wetness start to travel down the lips of your pussy, a small puddle staining the furniture underneath you. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and his breath hitches in his throat. His hands hook underneath your thighs and pulls you closer to him before diving in like a hungry shark.

You let out a surprised whine as you feel his tongue slide into your folds and start to lick. Instantly, your leg curls around his neck and he groans into you. His tongue circles around your clit and suctions to it, much like he did to your nipples. Dirty moans leave your lips as small beads of sweat start to accumulate on your forehead.

“Hu-agh!” Your fingers grasp the edges of the ottoman fiercely as you start to slowly grind your hips into his face.

Rafayel slurps at your cunt, the filthy noises filled the once-silent room and his groans send vibrations straight to your core. After one more long suck on your clit, he pulls away, much to your dismay.

Ignoring your whines of protest, he looks at the puffy bundle of nerves and he can feel his cock fully hardening. The golden rays of the setting sun through the windows glow onto Rafayel and you can see your juices coating the lower half of his face.

“Baby, let’s stop painting,” you reach for his hand that rested on your thigh. “Please, I need you.”

Rafayel would love nothing more than to take you right here and now. To smear every piece of furniture in this room with the paint from your body, but he has a better idea in mind. An idea that required him to finish painting you.

“Soon, my love.” He leans over once more to lift your chin and he brings his face closer to yours as he seals your mouths together. You could taste yourself on his lips and you moan into his mouth when he slips his tongue in briefly. He pulls away and ruffles a hand through his hair.

Rafayel tells you to stay sitting up as he works on finishing your thighs and legs.

Soon enough, your front half is covered in paint. His detailed masterpiece swirls down your body and he swears you look so ethereal. Rafayel holds out a hand to help you up and he guides you to one of the floor-length mirrors resting on the wall.

He stands behind you as you take in his work, hands settling on the outside of your hips as he presses your body against his. A soft kiss is placed on your shoulder blade.

You really did look beautiful.

“If you give me at least twenty minutes to do your back, I promise you, my queen, I will worship you.”

A frown appears on your lips in response to his words.

More waiting?

“How would you even paint my back?” You ask since you risk the possibility of smearing or cracking the creation down your front.

“Just stand, okay? I’ll be quick.” Rafayel promises.

Bracing your hands against one of the walls in his studio, your hair was now pulled up, as Rafayel continued to paint your body.

Within only a short time, your back and the rest of your arms were completely painted. Rafayel had already planned out the rest of the piece in his mind while he was eating you out. How to enhance your figure and beauty without taking up too much time. Because, let’s face it- he wanted you, needed you. So, he had decided to go with larger and simpler designs instead of going as small and intricate as he did with your front.

You weren’t squirming as much even though it tickled as he continued lower and he wasn’t stopping as often either, his strokes deliberate and quick. Both of you guys had one goal in mind and you were eager to achieve it.

Rafayel kneeled on the ground, just barely finishing your calves.

Almost there.

Finally.

The last brush stroke was done.

Rafayel slowly got up, placing the paintbrush on the easel where your bra hung from. His hand entertained with yours. Standing in front of the mirror again, he turns you to the side so you can see his creation.

"Wow, Raf, it's beautiful."

Underwater floral patterns flowed gracefully across your body, each vibrant hue—deep blues, soft pinks, and rich greens—complementing your skin tone beautifully. Intricate details danced in the designs, tracing from the curve of your neck down to your ankles, creating a stunning tapestry of the ocean's beauty enveloping you completely.

"I wanted you to take a good look at it before it's totally ruined."

Your eyes flit down to his pants and that's when you notice how hard he is.

With that, he practically drags you to his bedroom.

“Wait,” you stopped halfway through the doorway. “I’ll get paint all over you and the bed. Shouldn’t I go wash up really quick?”

Rafayel scoffs and a smirk crosses his features as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “Cutie, that’s the whole idea.”

He reaches underneath his bed and pulls out a large folded white tarp. Quickly throwing off the pillows and duvet, he placed the tarp on top of the sheets.

You stand there, slowly getting the idea. You watch as he takes off his shirt, slacks, and boxers, tossing them in the corner. His cock was still hard as it curved upwards and the tip grazed his stomach.

Rafayel walks over to you with a new look of determination in his eyes. His hand locks with yours as he leads you to the bed.

“Let’s make art.”

Without waiting for your reaction, he gently pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. His lips fiercely locked onto yours in a sloppy kiss as you both let out needy whimpers and groans.

Rafayel attaches his lips to your neck and starts to nibble at the sensitive skin. You let out needy whimpers when he hits your sweet spot and you curl your leg around his waist, your deprived pussy needing friction- anything.

His hard cock hits your cunt and you both react with breathy whines. The tarp crinkles and the material squeaks a bit when Rafayel leans down and lowers his head by your throbbing clit once more, his tongue darting out and circling the bundle of nerves. Not holding back anymore, your back arches off the tarp as your moans fill the air.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

Rafayel's bare arms lock against your legs, keeping them spread as he feasts on you. His tongue trails lower and swirls around the entrance of your eager hole, his whole face practically buried between your folds.

“Augh- right there…” you whisper breathlessly. “N-no, where are you going?”

Your fingers curl into his hair when you feel him start to pull away. He hovers over you again and places his hands beside your head. His lips find yours and he starts to rut himself against your cunt.

“F-fuck.” Rafayel whimpers against you and lets out a long hum. He becomes annoyed at the thought of ending so soon when you two just barely started. “I wanted to savor this moment, but baby, I can’t. I need you. Please.”

He pulls back slightly, the intensity of his dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours with a passion that ignites a fire deep within. They seem to plead silently, urging you to utter the words that linger on the tip of your tongue, a promise of unspoken desires hanging in the air between you.

“Please, Raf, don’t make me wait.”

His hand trails down between your naked bodies and grasps his aching cock. He slides it up your folds, coating it in your wetness before slowly sliding in.

You both moan in unison as your gummy walls envelop his cock. Rafayel’s face is buried in your neck, as one hand holds up his weight and the other tangles in your hair.

He starts to thrust in and out, and your toes start to curl. The room becomes heated fast as the sinful sounds of skin slapping mix with filthy moans.

“Mm, fuck, you feel… so good.” He pants in your ear and his tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. “My beautiful muse.”

His words help tighten the knot in your lower tummy with your cries become louder with every thrust as you desperately try to chase your release.

Sloppy kisses are placed along your face and his moans become ragged groans as he too is close to cumming.

“I— augh!.”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too.”

Words are really hard right now. Your mind was too cock drunk to even think straight. Rafayel lets out a choked noise and his thrusts start to falter slightly.

Dazed, your hand brings his face in front of you so you can see his pretty eyes. “F-finish with me.” Though your words are slurred and lazy, he understands completely.

His hips thrust even deeper into your hole as his body starts to shake. Your orgasm washes over you and you cry out, muscles tensing.

Before you can even recover, Rafayel pulls out of you, emitting a small noise at your sensitive walls. He roughly grabs your hips and turns you over on your stomach. The sweat on your body smears the once beautiful artwork covering your skin. The tarp shifts at the movement.

“One more, cutie, please,” Rafayel bends over your form and places another tender kiss behind your ear. “Can you do one more for me?”

You nod tiredly and he picks up your legs and spreads them once more. His fingers are placed in front of your mouth and you close your lips around them. Your tongue swirls around his digits for a good few seconds before he pulls them out.

“Good girl.”

You let out another breathy moan when his hand reaches down to finger your already stretched-out hole, ensuring you’re wet enough for another round. His long fingers are buried deep within you and your sore hips push back to rut against them.

When Rafayel pulls his hand away, there’s a long strand of cum connected to his fingers. He takes them in his mouth, humming in satisfaction at the taste.

It’s slippery when his cock finds its way to your slit again. With a slow push, he enters you again and bottoms out.

His thrusts are sloppier this time as he lays on top of you in the prone bone position. Your mind is hazy and blurred from pleasure and borderline overstimulation. The way his vulgar words are quietly whispered in your ear as if he wants to ensure you those words are for you and only you.

“You like it when I top, huh?” His words are a bit broken as small gasps and grunts are caught in between. His hand brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead from sweat and he places a tender kiss to your temple, while his other reaches under your stomach, forcing you to arch your hips.

“Mhm!”

Rafayel’s fingers find your clit once again, a broken cry escaping you in the process. The familiar coil in your tummy appeared again as your second orgasm of the evening was quickly approaching.

Loud whimpers started to leave Rafayel as well and he whines at his own orgasm building up.

“T-together, my love?”

That’s all it took to send you over the finish line. Both of you cry out in ecstasy as you finish together.

You can feel his hips stutter from his release, but Rafayel quickly pulls out before he can cum inside you a second time. Rafayel watches in a euphoric bliss as his cum shoots out all over your back in spurts before lazily trailing down your ass. The colors he had painted on you earlier were heavily faded, smeared, and now mixed with his white seed.

A content sigh escapes him as he rolls off of you and gathers you into his arms. Rafayel places loving kisses over your sweaty forehead and hair. Your fatigue quickly caught up to you and you felt like a limp noodle in his arms.

“Do you want me to start cleaning you up or would you rather lay down for a while?” He asks as he grabs a small rag sitting on the nightstand and starts to wipe the cum and sweat off your body.

"Can we just stay for a moment?" Your hand finds his resting on top of your hip, and you lock your fingers together.

"Of course, I'll start the bath in a few minutes." Rafayel brings your locked hands to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. "I love you, my muse."

----------

Bonus:

"So like... now what?"

The next morning, after freshening up, Rafayel laid the fully dried tarp against the bed. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he studied the tarp covered in paint.

The once-pristine white tarp had transformed into a chaotic canvas, splattered with vibrant paint that danced across its surface. The delicate designs he had painstakingly created were completely obscured, lost beneath the bold colors. Only a few faint handprints and the rough outlines of your limbs remained, turning the simple canvas into a wild abstract masterpiece.

The glass of cold-brew coffee in your hands jingles and Rafayel turns to you.

"What do you mean 'now what'?"

"I mean do we throw it out now? Or fold it up maybe?"

"We can't throw it out! This is art, this is our love, this is-"

"Porn."

[realhotgirlshitah]

Baking up Trouble (Preview)

Brother’s best friend Luigi x fem reader

This is a preview because I’m too lazy to write a summary LMAO. (Yes this will be smut. Probably the smuttiest smut I’ve ever written so stay tuned idk).

Also lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for when I actually finish and post 🧍🏾‍♀️🫶🏾

It was rare for you to have the house to yourself.

Whether it was your mom bustling around the kitchen, your dad bellowing on the phone with some poor soul on the other end, or your older brother Caleb shouting over his headset at his friends while playing whatever dumbass game he was obsessed with that week, your home was never quiet.

So, when you finally got the chance to experience true, undisturbed silence, you weren’t about to let it go to waste.

Your parents were out of town on some business trip, dragging Caleb along under the guise of “preparing him for the family empire” or whatever grand plan they had for him. You had to admit you were grateful he was their golden child and not you because the idea of taking over the family business bored you to death. You respected it, sure, but you knew from a young age that it wasn’t for you. So when they extended the invitation—well, demand—to come along, you’d firmly declined, claiming you needed the downtime.

And oh, what a glorious decision that had been.

The house was finally quiet. Peaceful. Blissful. No one was yelling. No one was stomping around. It was just you, your favorite playlist blasting through the speakers, and a baking project you hadn’t been able to tackle since midterms swallowed your life.

You’d opted for comfort, slipping into your comfiest pajama set—a tiny pair of soft cotton shorts (the ones your best friend had gifted you as a joke, with the words “Best Ass on Instagram” emblazoned across the back) and a matching cami. You figured no one would see you, so what did it matter? With Megan Thee Stallion’s music fueling your every move, you danced around the kitchen as you whisked, measured, and kneaded your way into what you were sure would be the best cookies and cakes you’d ever made.

Life was good.

Until it wasn’t.

“CALEBBBBBB! DUDE, WHERE ARE YOU?”

The loud, grating voice shattered the peaceful bubble you’d created, making you jump so violently that the whisk you were holding clattered onto the counter. You froze, your heart sinking as recognition dawned.

There was only one person on Earth capable of being that loud and that irritating at the same time.

Luigi. Fucking. Mangione.

You groaned, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you prepared yourself for the chaos about to descend. Luigi had been Caleb’s best friend since they were kids, practically living at your house during summer breaks and any weekend they didn’t have plans elsewhere. He was obnoxious, smug, and always seemed to derive way too much joy from making your life difficult.

Before you could even think of hiding, he sauntered into the kitchen like he owned the place, his trademark smirk plastered across his face. He looked the same as always—big brown puppy-dog eyes that didn’t match his sharp tongue, short brown curls that were in DESPERATE need of some hair oils and curl cream, and, of course, that fuckass shirt.

“The Bali shirt… again?” you glared, gesturing at the faded blue tee he wore. “What is this, Day 527 of you refusing to buy new clothes?”

His grin widened, unbothered as ever. “What can I say? It’s comfortable.”

“Your family owns like half the town, Luigi. Maybe splurge on a shirt that doesn’t look like it’s been run over by a truck.”

“Why would I? This one drives you crazy. Can’t put a price on that.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of your head. “What are you even doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Shortcake.”

You bristled at the nickname he’d been calling you since you were kids. You hated it then, and you hated it now, mostly because it only made you feel shorter.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.

“What, you don’t like my nickname for you?” he teased, leaning casually against the counter like he didn’t notice (or care) that you were glaring daggers at him.

“No. I don’t, it’s inaccurate, i’m above average height,” you deadpanned.

“Well, too bad. It’s cute. You’re cute. Deal with it.”

You let out a sharp exhale, trying to ignore the way his words made your stomach do something infuriatingly close to flipping.

“Luigi,” you started, crossing your arms, “Why. Are. You. Here?”

He blinked innocently. “Looking for Caleb.”

“Well, Caleb isn’t here, genius. He’s in D.C. with my parents.”

Luigi frowned, his expression briefly falling into confusion before that damn smirk returned. “Huh. Guess I missed the memo, I really thought he’d be here,”

“Well, he’s not,” you said, your tone sharp. “So you can leave.”

He didn’t move. Instead, his gaze flicked over you, taking in your outfit with a slow, deliberate once-over that made your skin heat.

“Cute shorts,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to send an annoying tingle down your spine.

Your face burned. “Excuse me?”

“They’re… festive,” he continued, clearly amused. “What’s it say? ‘Best Ass on—’”

“Don’t.”

“Instagram?” he finished anyway, grinning as your glare deepened. “Fitting.”

“Get out.”

“Why? I’m complimenting you.”

“Luigi.”

“Yes, Shortcake?”

“Get. Out.”

He sighed dramatically, but instead of leaving, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen island and plopped himself down. “Nah, I think I’ll stick around. You look like you could use the company.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?”

“Very.”

“Caleb isn’t here. You have no reason to be here.”

“You’re here,” he said simply, propping his chin in his hand as he stared at you.

You scowled. “That’s not a reason.”

“It is for me.”

You groaned, turning back to your dough in an attempt to ignore him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he shot back without missing a beat.

Your hands stilled, the words catching you off guard. You hated how smooth he could be, how effortlessly he could make you flustered with just a few words. And worse, he knew it.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, not bothering to look at him.

“Not really.”

“Go find something. Or someone. Literally anyone but me.”

“Why would I do that when I’ve got the best view in town right here?”

You froze, your stomach flipping as the weight of his gaze settled on you. Slowly, you turned to face him, narrowing your eyes.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” he countered, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating grin still firmly in place.

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“Like what? Charming? Handsome? Irresistible?”

“Annoying. Obnoxious. Full of yourself.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Admit it, Shortcake. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”

You scoffed. “In what universe?”

“This one,” he said easily, his eyes locked onto yours.

The tension in the air thickened, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more charged. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. His gaze was intense, almost searching, and it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to examine too closely.

Finally, you broke the silence, turning back to your dough with a sharp exhale. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I’m not wrong.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on kneading the dough with more force than necessary. The sound of the music filled the space between you, but it did little to drown out the weight of his presence.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Alright, my beloved hoes, we’ve officially hit the halfway mark for Valentine's Day request submissions💕!!

You have until February 14th to send in your asks, so if you’ve got an idea, now’s the time to share it!

A couple of updates for you:

1️⃣ I’ve received so many amazing asks, and I’m so grateful for yall's enthusiasm and all your sweet words ❤️. While I may not be able to answer every single one, I’ve noticed that many of them are beautifully similar or fit together perfectly (we're all one horny hivemind aren't we). So, I’ll be combining some of them to make sure I can bring as many of your ideas to life as possible!

2️⃣ I’m giving the green light for asks featuring other Arcane characters (Silco, Vander, Vi, Sevika, Mel, and Renata as a bonus) and MHA/BNHA characters (any +18 characters, like the Big 3, pro-heroes, and villains). These won’t be my top priority or the first ones released, and I may write them separately from the event, but the few I’ve received so far are super exciting, so I’d love to see what else you’ve got hidden in those lil brains of yours✨!

3️⃣ Viktor and Jayce are still the stars of this event, so you can keep sending in requests for the two of them! If you’re unsure what’s already been asked often, check my post on the event trends. And don’t be afraid to mix and match! Try some different locations and play around with different objects. Get as creative as you want 🔥!!

That’s it for now! The first fic of the event should drop around Sunday/Monday (I may or may not have gotten a little carried away with the 1K limit I set for myself I WAS IN THE ZONE). Hope y’all enjoy💖!!

❤️🌹Arcane Valentine's Day 2025 - Rules❤️🌹

Happy Valentine's Day, my sweethearts ♥️🌹♥️!!

In honor of the day of love, I’ll be opening my requests for a short while to let y’all go WILD with Viktor and Jayce from Arcane. I’ve written 100 prompts for you to choose from, separated into 5 categories (Kinks, Objects, Sentences, Places, and Actions/Positions).

You can send in your request through my inbox (or my comment section on Ao3 if you don’t have Tumblr), and I’ll write a drabble/one-shot of a few hundred words to 1K, either during or after the event.

Find the rules and prompts below!

──⋆⋅𓍢ִ໋ RULES ⋅⋆ ──

1- You may choose between 2 to 5 prompts maximum, from all categories combined. You can select more than one prompt from the same category. I will use she/her and AFAB Reader by default, but you can specify if you would like gender-neutral pronouns and/or non-specified genitalia.

2- The number of requests I get can be overwhelming, so I may not be able to answer them all. I might also skip some if they don’t resonate with me at the moment. Please don’t take it personally if I don’t get to yours—I adore you all with my whole heart! 💕

3 - This event is centred around Viktor x Reader, Jayce x Reader, or JayVik x Reader. I will accept requests for the following characters, but they will not take priority over Viktor and Jayce asks: Silco, Vander, Vi, Sevika, and Mel.

(If you follow me for my MHA content, you may send a request with any +18 characters, like the big 3, pro-heroes, and villains. These asks won't take priority over the Arcane ones for this event, but I might be able to revisit them later ❤️)

4- Requests will be accepted from February 1st to February 14th inclusively. Anon will be on for anyone who feels more comfortable using it. You can contact me by DM if you have any additional questions.

──⋆⋅𓍢ִ໋ PROMPTS ⋅⋆ ──

🔥Twenty Kinks:🔥

1 - Dom/Sub Dynamics

2 - Biting / Marking

3 - Edging

4 - Clothed Sex

5 - Hate Sex

6 - Age Difference (starting from 18+)

7 - Virginity

8 - Creampie / Breeding

9 - Consual non-con / Dub con (specify)

10 - Somnophilia

11 - Exhibitionism / Voyeurism

12 - Fuck or Die / Sex Pollen

13 - Strenght Kink / Muscle

14 - Choking Kink

15 - Praise Kink

16 - Humiliation Kink

17 - Size Kink (you can specify a body part)

18 - Rough Sex / Pain Kink

19 - Blood Kink

20 - Dacryphilia

🎁Twenty Objects:🎁

21- Dildo / Vibrator

22 - Cane / Whip / Belt

23 - Lingerie / Corset

24 - Stockings / Tights

25 - Role-play Costume (you can specify, ex: nurse)

26 - Food (you can specify, ex: chocolate)

27 - Fucking Machine

28 - Onahole / Pocket pussy

29 - Handcuffs / Restraints

30 - Blindfold

31 - Camera / Cellphone

32 - Jewelry (you can specify, ex: choker)

33 - Gloves

34 - Animal Ears / Tail

35 - Mirror

36 - Weapon (you can specify, ex: knife)

37 - Candle / Wax

38 - Ice

39 - Heels / Shoes

40 - Strap On

💬Twenty Sentences:💬

41 - “P-please fuck me harder.”

42 - “What are you gonna do about it?”

43 - “So eager, so desperate for me… a little pathetic, don't you think?”

44 - “Sit on my lap.”

45 - “I'm going to make you regret this.”

46 - “What would X think if they could see you like this?”

47 - “I promise I'll be a good boy/girl.”

48 - “Please let me touch you.”

49 - “Get on your knees.”

50 - “How many times can I make you come?”

51 - “Quiet, they'll hear us…”

52 - “No one else will ever fuck you this good.”

53 - “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

54 - “How many others do you do this for?”

55 - “Don't worry, I'll kiss it better.”

56 - “You suck at this. Let me show you how it's done.”

57 - “Don't move until I say you can”

58 - “Are you close, baby?”

59 - “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget how to walk.”

60 - “This doesn't mean I like you.”

🏖Twenty Places:🏖

61 - Store / Changing Room

62 - Car

63 - Public Transport

64 - Class / School

65 - Lab

66 - Council Room

67 - Couch / Chair

68 - Cemetery

69 - Shower / Bath

70 - Public Restroom

71 - Jacuzzi / Sauna / Hot Springs (you can specify private or public)

72 - Beach

73 - Hospital

74 - House Party

75 - Bar

76 - Strip Club / Brothel

77 - Library

78 - Music Festival

79 - Camping / Woods

80 - Alleyway

🫶Twenty Positions/Actions:🫶

81 - Missionary

82 - Cowgirl / Reverse Cowgirl

83 - Doggy Style

84 - Standing

85 - Solo Masturbation

86 - Mutual Masturbation

87 - Eiffel Tower (Jayvik x Reader exclusive)

88 - Countertop

89 - Fingering

90 - Boob Job

91 - Hand Job

92 - Ass Job

93 - Foot Job

94 - Thigh Sex

95 - Chair Sex

96 - Oral Sex

97 - Humping / Grinding

98 - Cock Warming

99 - Premature Ejaculation

100 - Author’s Special (You let me choose!)

((Example of a potential ask: Viktor with 4, 17, 18, and 65))

[kathlare]

old rivalries

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Charles and Amelie reunite in London for a night that takes an unexpected turn. What starts as a simple dinner plan shifts into a playful but competitive karting rematch, reigniting old memories and teasing banter.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

April 2nd, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

Charles tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited outside Amelie’s apartment building, glancing at his phone to check the time. London traffic had been a nightmare, but he had made it, ready to spend the evening with her after months of not seeing each other.

The passenger door swung open, and Amelie slid in, a playful grin on her lips.

—About time, Leclerc. I was about to order takeout and call it a night.—

—You’re dramatic— Charles rolled his eyes, shifting the car into drive. —I told you I was five minutes away.—

—Five minutes is a lifetime in the cold.—

She rubbed her hands together for emphasis, and Charles snorted.

—You live in London. You should be used to it by now.—

—Doesn’t mean I like it.—

Charles just shook his head with a smirk, eyes focused on the road. They were supposed to be going to dinner, but at the last second, he changed his mind. It had been too long since they’d properly hung out, and he wanted to do something fun—something that wasn’t just sitting at a table.

Amelie, oblivious to the change of plans, sat beside him, humming along to the music playing through the speakers.

—So, how’s everything been?— Charles asked, making a turn. —Haven’t seen you since… what? February?—

—Yeah, it’s been a while. I’ve been good. Busy, as always. You?—

—Same. Ferrari never lets me breathe.—

—I can tell. You’re getting new wrinkles.—

Charles gasped in mock offense.

—I am not.—

—No, you totally are. You should invest in a good skincare routine.—

—Shut up.—

She cackled, leaning back in her seat.

They fell into comfortable conversation as Charles drove through the city, but when he finally pulled into their destination, Amelie froze.

—No.—

Charles turned off the engine and looked at her, amused.

—What do you mean, no?—

—There’s no fucking way I’m getting in a kart again.—

Charles burst out laughing.

—You’re still mad about that?—

Amelie turned to him with an incredulous look.

—You sent me into a wall at full speed! I broke a rib, Charles!—

—It wasn’t on purpose!—

—You literally pushed me off!—

Charles laughed harder, reaching over to pat her shoulder.

—Oh, come on. Stop being a pussy.—

She scoffed, arms crossing over her chest.

—I should make you drive me home right now.—

—But you won’t— he smirked. —Because deep down, you’re dying to prove you can beat me.—

Amelie narrowed her eyes at him.

—You’re a dick.—

—You love me.—

—Unfortunately.—

She sighed dramatically before unbuckling her seatbelt.

—You better promise you’re not gonna try to kill me again.—

—I promise.—

—Say it like you mean it.—

—I promise, Amelie— Charles said, overly serious.

Amelie rolled her eyes but opened the door to step out.

She pulled her jacket tighter around her as they walked toward the entrance of the karting facility. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the track that stretched beyond the glass windows. The scent of burning rubber and motor oil filled the air, and the distant hum of engines sent a shiver down Amelie’s spine.

—This is a terrible idea.— she muttered as she followed Charles inside.

—No, it’s a great idea.— Charles corrected with a smirk.

A staff member greeted them, recognizing Charles instantly, and after a few pleasantries, they were led toward the changing area. Amelie hesitated, staring at the row of racing suits hanging on the wall.

—You don’t have to do it if you really don’t want to.— Charles said, softer this time.

Amelie turned to him, her lips pressing into a thin line.

—I’m not scared.— she said, grabbing a suit. —I just don’t trust you.—

Charles grinned. —That’s fair.—

She disappeared into the changing room, emerging minutes later in full gear.

—How do I look?— she spun around, arms outstretched.

—Like you’re about to lose.—

Amelie flipped him off, making him laugh as they were handed helmets.

—Alright, let’s do this.— she sighed, securing the strap under her chin.

Once they were on the track, sitting in their karts, Charles glanced over at her.

—Ready?—

Amelie exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel.

—No. But let’s go anyway.—

The lights counted down, and the race began.

At first, Amelie was cautious, gripping the wheel tightly as she got used to the feel of the kart beneath her. But as the laps went by, the old thrill kicked in, and soon she was pushing harder, chasing after Charles with determination.

He was fast—annoyingly so—but she managed to keep up, weaving through the turns, her competitive side fully taking over.

Charles was laughing through the entire thing, throwing teasing glances her way whenever he overtook her.

Amelie, in response, muttered a string of curses under her breath and pushed even harder.

But, of course, Charles won.

—Unbelievable.— Amelie huffed, yanking off her helmet as they pulled into the pit lane.

—Some things never change.— Charles smirked, climbing out of his kart.

—You’re insufferable.—

—And you still have a broken ego.—

Amelie rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips.

They made their way to the benches on the side, flopping down as they caught their breath.

—Admit it, you had fun.— Charles nudged her.

—Whatever.— she mumbled, sipping from the water bottle someone had handed them.

Charles chuckled, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Silence settled between them, comfortable but thick with unspoken words.

Amelie glanced at him, tilting her head slightly.

—So... how are you?—

Charles gave her a confused look.

—What do you mean?—

—You know— she shrugged. —With everything. I know we don’t talk as much anymore, but I figured I should ask.—

Charles let out a small hum, leaning back against the bench. He appreciated Amelie's concern, but he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to get into.

—I'm alright. Busy. Tired. The usual.—

Amelie eyed him, unconvinced.

—You sure? You look a little... how do I put this nicely?— she tapped her chin in thought. —Worn out. Like you need to sleep for a year.—

Charles scoffed. —Merci. Very nice of you.—

She smirked, nudging his arm. —I'm just saying. F1 is brutal, and you’re always too hard on yourself.—

Charles exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. —It’s been a rough start to the season. The car is unpredictable. I feel like I’m driving at 110% just to keep up with Red Bull. It’s exhausting.—

Amelie nodded in understanding.

—Yeah, but if anyone can handle it, it’s you. You always bounce back, Charles.—

—Let’s hope so.— he muttered.

They fell into a comfortable silence, both watching as a group of kids ran toward the track, their excitement contagious.

—And you?— Charles asked after a moment, turning to look at her. —How’s life outside of being sent into walls by me?—

Amelie laughed. —You’re never letting that go, are you?—

—Never.—

She rolled her eyes, then shrugged. —Life’s been... interesting. Good, mostly. Busy. I’m working on some music, and, well... I’ve been seeing someone.—

Charles raised an eyebrow. —Oh? Who’s the lucky guy?—

—Shawn.—

Charles blinked. —Shawn as in Shawn Mendes?—

—Yeah.—

His lips curled into a smirk. —Damn, back to your first love? That’s very movie-like of you.—

—Shut up.— Amelie laughed, nudging him.

—No, seriously, that’s cool. Is it weird, being with him again after all these years?—

—A little. But in a good way. It feels... familiar, but also different. We’ve both grown up a lot.—

Charles nodded. —Well, I’m happy for you.—

—Thanks.— she smiled, then hesitated before adding, —You’re one of the few people who doesn’t have some dramatic reaction when I say it.—

Charles frowned. —Why would people react badly?—

—Because it’s me. And people love to have opinions about my life.— she sighed, leaning back. —But whatever. I’m happy, and that’s all that matters.—

Charles hummed in agreement.

They sat in silence again, but this time, Amelie’s expression shifted slightly, something contemplative crossing her features.

—Can I ask you something?— she said.

—Of course.—

She hesitated for a second before speaking.

—Have you talked to Lando recently?—

Charles’s brows furrowed slightly at the mention of his name.

—Not really. We see each other at races, but you know how it is. Everyone’s busy.—

Amelie nodded slowly.

Charles studied her for a moment before asking, —Why? You two still not talking?—

Amelie scoffed, shaking her head. —Nope. Not even a little bit.—

Charles didn’t press immediately, but he was curious. He knew something had happened between them, something bad enough to completely destroy their friendship.

—What even happened?— he finally asked. —You guys were inseparable, and then suddenly... nothing.—

Amelie exhaled through her nose, looking straight ahead.

—It’s complicated.— she muttered.

Charles raised an eyebrow. —That’s the most bullshit answer I’ve ever heard.—

Amelie let out a dry laugh. —Yeah, well. It’s all I’ve got.—

Charles didn’t push further. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t force her.

—Fair enough.— he said.

Another silence settled between them, and after a few moments, Amelie turned to him with a small smile.

—Thanks for tonight, by the way. Even if you’re an ass and made me relive my trauma.—

Charles chuckled. —Anytime. We should do this more often.—

—Yeah, we should.—

And with that, the night carried on, laughter and teasing filling the air, just like it always had between them.

[sunwoniie]

REVENGE

Pairing: idol!virgin!soft dom!Jay x idol!virgin!brat!Isabella

Synopsis: Lately, Isabella has been ignoring Jay, which is pretty weird considering she usually loves messing with him until he’s absolutely furious. At first, he’s just confused, but when he finally figures out why she’s avoiding him, he realizes it’s the perfect chance to get back at her. And he’s not about to let it go to waste.

Warnings: virgin jay and isa, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (pulling out before coming), bathroom sex

Old scenario

English is not my first language

Lately, I’ve been getting familiar with cold showers. They’re known for their health benefits, but that’s not why I take them. Cold showers are also used to calm people down—especially when their urges become overwhelming. Like me. Right now.

I’m ovulating, and it’s driving me insane. The need is so intense that I might actually call an escort just to get some relief.

My ovulation periods have always been wild, but things got worse when I practically started living with a bunch of ridiculously attractive guys. And yet, despite being surrounded by them, my fixation is on Jay. When that started, I have no idea.

Jay and I have always had this bickering dynamic. I don’t hate him—if anything, I love to annoy him. Seeing that irritated expression on his face is pure entertainment. Pranking him is my specialty, and nothing amuses me more than watching him turn red with frustration when he realizes it was me. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and the moment he spots me, he yells my name before chasing me down.

Running while laughing? Impossible. He always catches me, pinning me down against whatever is closest—the floor, the wall—before tickling me until I can’t breathe.

It’s fun.

But not when I’m ovulating.

When he pins me down, holding my wrists above my head with one hand while tickling me with the other, my thoughts spiral into something else entirely. Something not-so-innocent.

That’s why, from the moment my ovulation started, I began avoiding him. No teasing, no pranks. I knew exactly where it would lead, and I didn’t trust myself to handle the consequences.

It’s late at night, and the boys are having a sleepover in our apartment. I can’t sleep—not with these thoughts clouding my mind—so I decide to take a cold shower, hoping it will help.

I step out of the tub, wrapping my bathrobe around me before opening the bathroom door—only to freeze.

A sharp gasp escapes my lips before I slap a hand over my mouth, as if that could undo what just happened.

Jay is standing right in front of me, his messy hair and relaxed posture making it clear he just got up. His hands are buried in the pockets of those gray joggers I hate—because he looks so damn good in them, and I would never admit it—but also love, because they fuel my fantasies about something I’ve never seen.

“Y-you scared me,” I stammer, lowering my gaze to the floor, unable to handle the intensity of his stare. The normal me would be mortified at how easily he’s intimidating me right now.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t let me pass.

I shift to the side, hoping he’ll take the hint and enter the bathroom so I can leave, but he remains planted in place.

“Jay… are you okay?” I whisper, mindful of the others sleeping in the living room.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” he finally speaks, his voice low.

I swallow. “W-what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?”

His words make me tense. “Jay, can we talk about this later? The others are sleeping.” I try to keep my voice quiet.

He moves at last, but not the way I want. He steps toward me. Instinctively, I step back.

My breath hitches when he enters the bathroom, swiftly turning around to shut the door behind him.

“Jay—w-what are you doing?” My voice trembles, my pulse racing at the thought of being alone with him in a closed space while I’m barely dressed.

“You’re not leaving until you tell me what I did wrong,” he says, arms crossing over his chest.

I exhale sharply, playing with my fingers, eyes glued to the floor. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Jay steps closer.

“Stop,” I blurt, taking another step back. “D-don’t come near me. Please.”

His eyes search mine. “Why?”

I sigh, my shoulders dropping. It’s too awkward to tell him the truth. That I’ve been fantasizing about him. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance.

“I’ve been… feeling weird lately,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “Especially around you.”

Jay watches me carefully. “What do you mean?”

I force myself to meet his gaze, inhaling deeply before confessing, “I’m ovulating.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I shut my eyes, hating how vulnerable I feel.

Silence.

I peek through my lashes to find him smirking. His lips curl into that maddeningly smug grin, his expression laced with amusement.

“Are you masturbating to the thought of me?”

My breath catches. My whole body stiffens.

Jay steps forward, closing the distance between us inch by inch.

“Jay…” My voice is shaky, betraying my rising panic—and something else I refuse to name.

His gaze darkens with mischief. “Are you having nasty thoughts about me?”

I keep retreating until my back meets the sink. There’s nowhere left to go.

“Jay,” I breathe, barely able to get the words out. “D-don’t come any closer.” My hands lift instinctively, a feeble attempt to stop him.

His smirk only deepens. “Why?” His voice drops to a husky murmur. “I can help you. But you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

I stop breathing altogether.

“Jay.”

“Yes, Isabella?”

The way he says my name—slow, deliberate, seductive—sends a shiver down my spine.

He never calls me by my full name. Never.

It’s always Isa like the rest of the group. Or Bella, when he’s feeling playful.

But Isabella?

That’s new.

And it’s dangerous.

I feel wetness slowly dripping between my thighs as I instinctively press them together. My breathing is uneven, and before I even realize it, Jay has already closed the remaining distance between us.

His hands gently cradle my face, tilting it upward so our eyes meet. “Aw, look at you… so red,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “It must be really hard, huh?” His smirk deepens, clearly satisfied with the effect he has on me. Now, it’s his turn to tease, to watch me squirm.

Annoyed, I slap his hand away. “S-stop playing with me,” I stammer, turning my head to avoid his gaze.

“Who said I was playing?” he counters, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him again.

His voice is low, teasing, dripping with control. “Tell me… how can I help you?” His lips hover just inches from mine, and I know he’s enjoying every second of my struggle. He knows exactly what I want—he just wants to hear me beg for it.

“I-I need you,” I breathe, leaning in, desperate to close the distance between us. But he pulls back at the last second, his smirk widening. He loves this. Loves watching me writhe, loves making me desperate.

“What do you need me to do, Bella?” His voice is a taunt, a challenge.

I let out a shaky sigh, surrendering to the inevitable. “I need you to fuck me… please.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s all he was waiting for.

His smirk turns predatory. “Took you long enough to say it,” he murmurs before crashing his lips against mine.

The kiss is messy, desperate—our first, but I don’t care. His hand slides down my back, pulling me against him as we devour each other, tongues tangling, teeth grazing. My hands grip the sink behind me, my knees weak, barely holding me up.

I’m already addicted—to the taste of him, to the way his lips move against mine, to the heat radiating from his body.

He pulls away, leaving us both breathless, but he doesn’t stop. His mouth moves to my neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, sucking, teasing. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, and in embarrassment, I slap a hand over my mouth.

Jay halts immediately, his darkened gaze locking onto mine. He reaches up, prying my hand away. “Don’t hide those pretty little noises from me,” he murmurs.

His fingers move to the knot of my bathrobe, untying it with excruciating slowness before sliding the fabric off my shoulders. It pools at my feet, leaving me bare before him.

His eyes finally break away from mine, traveling down my body. I watch as his pupils dilate, his jaw tightening. His gaze is hungry, devouring every inch of my exposed skin—from my round breasts and hardened nipples to my wide hips and thick thighs.

I shiver as his fingertips ghost over my stomach, tracing a slow path upward until he cups one of my breasts. A soft groan escapes me at the sensation, and he watches, fascinated, as my chest rises and falls under his touch.

His thumb brushes over my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. My thighs press together instinctively, desperate for friction.

“W-why are you acting like that? Haven’t you ever seen a—ahh—a woman’s body before?” My voice is shaky, my breaths uneven.

He smirks, his hands kneading my breasts, applying just the right amount of pressure. “No, I haven’t.” His voice is calm, but there’s something darker beneath it.

I let out a breathy chuckle. “Y-yeah, I… ahh… I kinda figured.”

His head tilts slightly, amused. “Oh?”

“You’re always so irritated,” I manage between gasps, my body arching into his touch. “I just assumed it’s ‘cause you’re a virgin… and you just needed to get fucked.”

He chuckles at my state—flustered, desperate, unraveling under his touch. But instead of responding, he pinches my nipples, drawing a strangled moan from my lips.

“I find it funny how you’re still being a brat,” he muses, “when I’m here to help you.”

Then, without warning, he leans down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. A sharp gasp leaves me as he sucks, his tongue flicking, teasing, driving me insane.

I’m losing myself in the pleasure, my body greedy for more. “You can play with my body another time,” I pant, barely able to form words. “Just hurry up and get this done before someone wakes up.”

Jay pulls back slightly, licking his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So… you’re planning on doing this again?”

Realizing what I’ve implied, I quickly look away. “Shut up and hurry up.”

He chuckles again, the sound deep and rich, before I feel his hands leave my breasts. When I glance down, my stomach tightens—he’s sinking to his knees, eyes never leaving mine.

A thrill of anticipation runs through me as he lifts one of my legs, placing it over his shoulder. My heart pounds when I realize how close his mouth is to my dripping heat.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” I stammer. “Just go straight to—ahh!”

My sentence is cut short as his tongue flicks over my clit, a low groan vibrating against me. The sensation sends a shockwave through my body, making me moan.

What starts as soft, teasing licks quickly turns into a full-blown assault on my pussy. His tongue moves with precision, alternating between slow, sensual strokes and intense, desperate sucking.

“Jay~ ah! Jay~ ngh! Please!” I can’t control the words spilling from my lips, my head thrown back as pleasure overtakes me.

His grip tightens on my thigh as his tongue dips lower, teasing my entrance before sliding inside. His fingers replace his tongue on my clit, rubbing circles that have my legs trembling.

A wave of pleasure crashes over me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My fingers tangle in his hair, my hips moving against his mouth, desperate for more. “Fuck, it’s so good!”

Then, without warning, he slides two fingers inside me.

I cry out, the sudden intrusion sending a jolt of sharp pleasure through my core. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust—his fingers pump into me, curling, stretching, filling.

I’m overwhelmed, completely at his mercy, my walls fluttering around his digits. The coil in my stomach tightens, my breaths turning ragged.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant mindlessly, gripping his hair harder as my body starts to tremble. The pressure builds higher and higher, an unstoppable force surging through me.

“Jay—ahh! I’m—I’m gonna—ngh!”

My orgasm crashes over me, violent and all-consuming. My body jerks, pleasure detonating in my veins as I come undone around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he continues—licking, sucking, fucking me through the aftershocks. My body twitches, my nerves overstimulated.

“Ja—Jay, stop, stop! I can’t take it anymore!” My voice is high, desperate, as I try to push his head away.

But he just smirks against me, completely ignoring my pleas.

Because Jay doesn’t give a fuck if we get caught.

Eventually, I stop feeling any movement inside me—the friction of his fingers, the warmth of his tongue on my clit. He withdraws his hand, and I hear the slick sound of him licking his fingers. My head is tilted back as I try to regain my senses, so I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can picture it in my mind. The thought alone sends a shiver through me.

Slowly, he stands, taking his time to admire my body. When I lift my head, I find his eyes locked onto mine.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I ask, struggling to believe he’s really a virgin after what he just did.

"YouTube tutorial," he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, pulling down his joggers.

I watch, my gaze trailing down to where his erection strains against his boxers.

"Yeah, right," I scoff, rolling my eyes at his broken humor.

"I'm just naturally good at this," he says, his dark eyes never leaving mine as he slides his boxers down, revealing his thick, veiny length. My breath catches. How is that supposed to fit inside me?

"Wait, we don’t have condoms," I say, snapping back to reality as he steps closer, his bare chest now fully exposed. He’s fit—lean, toned, perfect.

"I’ll pull out before I cum," he assures me, positioning himself between my legs.

His gaze flickers down to my chest, rising and falling with my heavy breathing, before meeting my eyes again. He can tell I’m nervous. But I’m not scared—at least, not in the way he thinks. I’m more excited than anything, overwhelmed by the anticipation of something so unfamiliar.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asks, his voice softer now.

I swallow hard. "Yes. Keep going."

But he still doesn’t seem convinced, so I lean forward, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. When I pull away, I whisper again, more confidently this time, "Keep going."

"Alright, but this time, try not to be too loud—"

"Hey, you’re—"

Before I can finish, he presses forward, the thick head of his cock stretching me open.

"Ah," I gasp, my body instinctively clenching around him.

It hurts, of course—just like any girl's first time—but the need for him overshadows the pain.

"Does it hurt?" Jay groans, his voice strained as if he’s holding himself back.

"Just a little, but I’m fine. Keep going."

He sinks deeper, my walls fluttering helplessly around him. I bite my lip hard, my gums aching from how tightly I clench my teeth.

A low, guttural moan escapes him. "Can you—ah… can you try not to clench so much?" His eyes remain shut, his brows furrowed as if he's using every ounce of willpower to keep himself together.

"S-Sorry, I-I can’t control it… but I’ll try."

He pushes in further, stretching me open inch by inch. The more he fills me, the harder it is to breathe.

By the time he’s fully inside me, I can feel his cock twitching slightly, making me clench around him even more. His breath is shaky against my ear as he wraps one arm behind my back, pulling me closer while his other hand keeps my leg hooked around his waist.

We stay like this for a moment, giving me time to adjust—or maybe giving him time to focus, to keep from losing control too soon.

I feel his warm breath ghosting over my skin. "Jay… y-you can start moving now," I murmur, my hips rocking unconsciously to create some friction.

Instead of answering, he straightens, his arm still bracing my back as he slowly thrusts forward.

"Ah," I moan, louder than I intended, before quickly covering my mouth.

I try to stay quiet, but it’s impossible. The way he moves—the way he fills me—makes it feel too good. Too good.

"Fuck, you’re clenching so much," he groans, voice tight with restraint.

"Mmnh… fuck, fuck, fuck," I whimper under my breath.

Jay suddenly lifts my other leg, leaving me completely at his mercy. The new angle makes him reach deeper, thrusting faster, harder, hitting a spot inside me that makes it absolutely impossible to keep quiet.

"Jay! Jay!" I whimper, feeling an intense, familiar pressure building deep in my core.

"Yes, Bella," he groans, voice raw, his thrusts growing more desperate. His cock twitches inside me.

"Don’t stop—I’m going to cum~" I cry, my walls spasming violently around him.

"Fuck—I-I’m not planning on stopping, Bella," he rasps, pounding into me a few more times before I shatter around him, pleasure crashing over me in waves.

My body shakes from the intensity, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps fucking me through it, chasing his own release.

"J-Jay—too m-much," I whimper, my body twitching from overstimulation.

"I—I know, I’m sorry. I’m about to cu—ah—ah," he groans, pulling out at the last second.

His breath stutters as he strokes himself frantically, his release spilling hot and thick across my stomach. His head drops against my shoulder, both of us struggling to catch our breath.

"Do you still think my dick is small?" he asks after a moment, a teasing smirk creeping onto his face.

"Yes. Very much," I lie, refusing to feed his ego.

He chuckles, lifting his head. "Ngh, so big," he mimics, tilting his head with a playful smirk. "Isn’t that what you said?"

"Shut up," I mumble, smacking his arm lightly, making him laugh.

Suddenly, he hooks his hands under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly.

"What are you doing?" I yelp.

"We’re taking a shower," he says simply, carrying me toward the bathroom.

Once inside, he sets me down gently before turning on the water. The warm spray cascades over us as he grabs a washcloth, squirting body wash onto it before rubbing it across my skin, cleaning away the sweat and the mess he left on my stomach.

His touch is slow, deliberate, almost tender. And as he moves the cloth over me, I can’t help but think—I never expected this from him.

And yet, I never want it to stop.

[dr-skazka]

I’ve realised I’ve never posted this silly meme here aksksks

What if my Stanley…. But he trans…

[detectivelokis]

she’s mad but she’s magic. there’s no lie in her fire.

[x]

[akkivee]

ichiro➡️❤️hatsune miku

kuukou➡️💜urameshi yuusuke

🆕nemu➡️🩷riza hawkeye

is what i’m thinking lol

[arolesbianism]

Some more team captain ids! This time with the middle layer gang 👍

[r0semultiverse]

I wanna make a new Youtube bio and things that feel less “this person just calls themselves an ally” because times have changed and language, phrases, and attitudes change too.

I kinda want to do something casual?? Like “hey what’s up I’m Rose, I voice act and just kind of post whatever I want whenever I want. If you’re here for consistency you’ve come to the wrong place! If you’re here for personality then welcome, I hope you’ve found something you enjoy and if not, that’s okay too!”

Anyone got ideas on what I should do or should I just leave it as is? 🧐