#if you are reading this far in the tags I love you!

[siriuslylantsov]

be my valentine

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which, spencer asks you out after a hearty but incomplete info dump on the history of valentines day.

tags: fluff! idiots inlove, gn!reader, reader is briefly described as shorter than spencer, teasing!spencer, grumpy!reader, penelope is an angel and i love her so much, reader shitting on valentines day and raising some very valid points.

a/n: based on this request, second fic for the event!! i know its still four days till valentines day but! if i didnt get this done now it would've been late. i rewrote this THREE times... but i rlly like how this version came out! happy reading :)

wc: 2.1k

it's your lunch break and you’re glaring at yet another sappy couple that walks by you. grumbling, you take another bite of your blueberry muffin. spencer laughs from his seat in front of you, amused by how your lip curls into an irritated pout. the two of you had walked to a cafe, a brief reprieve away from the frenzied police department you were stationed at for this week's case. 

“motherfuckers,” you seethe, still chewing your food. “i hate valentine's day.”

he laughs again, his tone sarcastic, “really, i never would’ve guessed.”

your glare shifts to him as you cross your arms. his grin is still there, annoyingly persistent, you hate that it doesn't affect him as much as it should. if you told him this, he would’ve told you that it didn't pack much of a punch. 

you roll your eyes and continue with a heavy scoff, “it's just another fake holiday, you know. like mother's day. created by greeting card companies trying to commercialise a day that shouldn't even exist honestly. every day should be dedicated to showing your loved ones how much you care, not just 24 hours in the middle of february.”

he accepts your cynicism with a smirk, completely accustomed to it. he knows you don’t mean it, not entirely, you just like to rant. “you know valentines day actually goes back about 2000 years. i’m sure greeting card companies weren't around back then,” he corrects, biting his lip in suppression.

your eyes narrow into slits, feeling the faint shift in the air of an incoming info dump. you ignore the way you want to hear what he has to say and take a sip of your coffee instead. you stall to torture him a bit, it's funny how he squirms.

“really,” you drag out, stroking your chin in exaggerated contemplation. you stare at him knowingly, he wants to continue but he's waiting for you to give him the green light. you laugh quietly, mood already improved, “go on.”

spencer visibly brightens, sitting up straighter and hands springing into action. “well, valentine's day has a really fascinating and somewhat convoluted history,” he starts, almost giddily. “the earliest accepted theory can be traced back to the roman festival of lupercalia, which was celebrated from february 13th to 15th. it was a fertility festival dedicated to faunus, the roman god of agriculture, and it included a ritual where men would sacrifice a goat and a dog, then use strips of the goat’s hide to whip women-”

“wait, they used goat skin to whip women?” you interject, eyes widening incredulously.

“yes! they willingly lined up for it too, believing it would make them more fertile,” he explains, far too animated considering the context, but it's okay. you like his enthusiasm. 

you grimace, “weird.”

“right. however, the day of love that we now recognise was brought by st. valentine, though which valentine is unclear—there were at least three martyred saints by that name. the most famous story involves a priest in third-century rome who defied emperor claudius ii's orders by secretly performing marriages for young soldiers,” he pauses to take a breath. you use it to bring your coffee back up to your lips, hiding your smile.

“claudius believed single men made better warriors, so he banned them from marrying,” he clarifies to which you nod. “when valentine was caught, he was executed on february 14th, which is why he’s the namesake of the holiday. some versions of the story even say that he sent a letter to his jailer's daughter signed ‘from your valentine’ which could be the origin of the modern tradition.”

“huh,” you pick your lip in thought, spencer hides the way his eyes dart down to them as you do it. “but that’s still an execution, how did it-”

the shrill tone of your ringtone interrupts you. “mhm, okay,” you respond when you pick up the phone. “we’ll be right there.” 

spencer stares at you expectantly, reaching over to grab your bag. he secures it over his shoulder and stands up. 

“it was jj,” you explain, stuffing the last bits of muffin into your mouth. “wi’ness ‘howed up.”

the food-muffled words make him chuckle and hold out a hand for you to get up. you let him pull you up with a dramatic huff, still holding his hand as you dust crumbs from your lap. you realise it a little too late and let go with a start, frown returning when you realise he isn’t going to let you carry your bag.

the walk back only took about five minutes before but this time's slower pace makes it a longer ordeal. comfortable silence brackets the two of you until it doesn’t when spencer speaks up.

“so, there's actually a lot more to the history of valentine's day. for instance, how the day became one of romance instead of, as you said, one that marked a martyrdom. we could, i don't know, discuss this properly over dinner. or drinks? or ice cream, i know that you like ice cream-”

filler words... he’s nervous. amid his rambling, he doesn't realise that you’ve stopped in your tracks. 

“-we can do whatever you want, i don't mind.” when he looks beside him and doesn't find you, he turns around. he can scarcely read the expression on your face, he usually can. this causes a little bout of concern to bubble up, “what is it?”

“are you asking me out?” your question is immediate, blunt, as a confused crease forms between your eyebrows.

well shit, he was. his lips part as he processes what he just said, he looks a little like a deer in headlights the way he stares back at you. was that too much? are you mad? did you want him to ask you out? what if you say no? he should say something. what if he messes everything up? he can’t-

“spencer,” his name rings out softly, pulling him from his spiral. 

his eyes snap to yours, searching, desperate to read between the lines, to piece together what you’re thinking like he always does—except this time, he can’t. he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, “yes.”

he swallows hard and adds, “on a date.”

“i got that,” you murmur, stepping closer to him, and closing the distance that he unintentionally left.

his head dips, voice small. “i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

your head tilts slightly, studying him. “you didn’t.”

the reassurance eases him a little but not enough as the anxiety claws at him while he waits for your answer. your phone sounds again from your pocket, this time a text from morgan. you quickly type out a response–got lost, be there in 2. it's a pathetic excuse, if you focused, the station was in your direct eye line. but you needed to say something. 

“okay.”

he can't help the sign of relief that slips out of him, you giggle at the sound. when he looks at you again, he's unmeasurably happy to see your poorly concealed smile, breaking out in his own matching one. 

“yeah?” he asks sheepishly.

you nod, chewing your bottom lip, “yeah.”

your eyes squint at the corners, a side effect of the same grin that those sappy couples had been sporting, the same one that you’d been complaining about a little while ago. it makes you want to kick yourself, so you do the next best thing. you take hold of spencer's hand and drag yourself back to the pd. spencer shuffles somewhat behind you, trying to keep up with your stride. it doesn't take him long with those long legs of his.

his thumb strokes your knuckles gently–deliberately, you feel–but he pretends it's an unconscious action with the way his eyes are trained ahead. it makes you roll your eyes. when you near, you reluctantly let go of each other, the moment being the last time the two of you are alone for the rest of the day.

-

the team ends up solving the case a few hours later, taking the jet home where a valentines day baking spread is set up in the briefing room. all set up by the resident tech savvy. penelope tells you later that it took a whole week of convincing on her part, insisting that it would be quick and she’d clean up, and that everyone would get home to their own valentine's day plans in no time. 

there are a few heart-shaped helium balloons floating in the corners, and pink streamers in easy to reach places. the room is drastically more inviting, maybe the tones of fuschia and bubblegum have something to do with that. a cake and a bowl of suspiciously dyed punch reside on the table, along with pink plates and cups.

“penelope,” you gasp when you see them.

perfectly curated baskets of chocolate and cookies and associated items for everyone. you pick up the one with your name on it and inside you find: a candle, your favourite candy tied together with a little bow and a letter signed ‘happy valentines day, sweetheart. love, penny xx’. 

oh my god, you could kiss her. 

“it's like christmas,” emily muses from the other end of the table. you hear jj mutter something in agreement. you peek over at spencer, it's probably the hundredth time that you've snuck a glance his way. his eyes were already on you every other time, only now they were accompanied by a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, the clear plastic lenses offering a perfect view of his hazel orbs. the picture makes you laugh to yourself, you can barely hear it echoing from his end. 

-

about 30 minutes later, only the stragglers are left. in better words, the single people. the individuals with partners having rushed off to their own respective plans. you're making small talk with another girl who worked around the office when you feel a light hand on your shoulder, spencer nodding his head toward the elevator to signal your leave. you politely wish her goodbye and walk out with him. 

“cute glasses,” you tease, bumping his shoulder with yours, though the height difference makes it so you're nudging his upper arm. 

“yeah? i might get the lenses medicated, switch them out for my regular ones,” he jokes, his elbow nudging yours gently as he pushes the bridge of the glasses up the slope of his nose instinctively. 

“good idea,” you nod.

“you think?”

“mhm.” 

once again, he beats you to your bag, swiping it from your chair and carrying it along with his own. you meekly toy with the hem of your shirt as the two of you walk to the elevator. 

“so, bummer that neither of us have plans today. it’s so early,” you say, being blatantly obvious with what you're suggesting.

spencer only offers you an indifferent “yeah, bummer” in response, walking in when the doors slide open. when you look at him though, he's anything but indifferent, the corner of his lip pulling up in a crooked smile, irritatingly smug. you don't know where he gets off on being so at ease but the expression on his face makes you scowl as you follow him in. 

he is silent the whole ride down. you become increasingly annoyed, only faltering slightly when his hand reaches down to hold yours. his fingers thread between yours and you not-so subtly curl yours over his, ignoring the way he looks down at you. 

you try not to smile at the domestic picture of the two of you walking out hand in hand. thankfully the basement is empty. he pauses between your cars and mutters a quick “see you monday” before loosening his fingers and turning to walk away.

“spencer,” you groan, almost a whine as you squeeze his hand before he can let go.

he responds immediately, without missing a beat, “yes, angel.”

fuck.

you want to melt but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “would you like to do something tonight?” you grit out begrudgingly.

“i would love to,” he agrees, pulling you closer with your hand. your gaze darts to the two bag straps on his shoulder and you realise he had no intention of letting you go just like that. so you shove him, a little hard that he stumbles a bit. he huffs a laugh and you shake your head dismissively. 

he slowly, tentatively, dips down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter shut at the contact. 

“how does thai food sound?” he asks, that same bashfulness creeping into his voice that you love so dearly. 

“sounds perfect.”

you share another sweet smile that would probably make you gag from an outside perspective but now it just makes you feel dizzy. he leads you back to his car, muttering something about how he’ll pick yours up tomorrow morning. you want to argue with him but that same dizzy feeling stops you.

you can't help the dreamy sigh that slips out when he connects your hands again over the centre console. thank god for st. valentine, you think.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

divider from @saradika-graphics

[n0vazsq]

Chivalry is dead | Alexandra Saint Mleux x Reader

pairing . . . alexandra saint mleux x leclerc!reader

summary . . . Everybody thought Alex was dating your older brother Charles, and that you were dating your own person. But when a photo of you two kissing at Jimmy'z got leaked, everything changed

request . . . no!!

word count . . . N/A

warnings . . . none! THIS WAS WHEN ALEX HAD HER INSTA AS PRIVATE !!!!

faceclaim . . . various girls from pinterest!

alexavia yaps . . . WOOHOO GIRLY LOVE!!!!!!! anyway i <3 alex shes so pretty so yes!! first time im writing for a wag which is so excting omg!! timeline doesn't make sense so ignore that! legit took me like 4 days to finish idk why AND ITS KINDA CRNGE AND SHITTY ASL but lets focus on it being published <3

yourusername has posted two new stories !

caption 1: i wish i knew what was so interesting // caption 2: dinner with my girl 🤍

click to view all messages

username1 gorgeous girls omg

username2 my girl?? i see you y/n 👀

username3 alex abandoning charles to go with you lmao

username4 i wish i was a wag

username5 so prettyyyyy

alexandrasaintmleux i had so much fun mon ange 🤍

yourusername everything is fun with you mia bella ragazza 🤍🤍

username7 my GOD youre stunning

username8 replying to this in hope of y/n seeing my dm

username9 holy shit you two look like goddess'

charles_leclerc stealing my girlfriend now?

yourusername hilarious

charles_leclerc just joking, you two look stunning

yourusername thanks charlie

username10 my oh my i dropped dead

username11 where's the dress from?

username12 my dream in life is to be famous and post shit like this

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 732 others

alexandrasaintmleux someone partied too hard and missed breakfast Tagged: yourusername

click to view all comments

friend1 let me guess, she slept until the afternoon?

yourusername you know i can read????

alexandrasaintmleux surprisingly, she woke up just a bit after 12

yourusername i'm literally right here

friend1 well that's an improvement!

yourusername guys??

alexandrasaintmleux it is!

yourusername fuck it i hate you

alexandrasaintmleux the problem is you don't

yourusername FINALLY

yourusername and i don't that's true 😔

username13 the prettiest! Liked by creator

username14 man i wish i was alex

francisca.cgomes how was date night??

alexandrasaintmleux soo beautiful

francisca.cgomes make sure to tell me about everything

francisca.cgomes you too yourusername !

yourusername will do, kika, will do

francisca.cgomes i can't wait for you two to go public so i can post all the cute pictures i have

alexandrasaintmleux i don't think that will be soon

francisca.cgomes you never know, maybe y/n will start making out with you in the paddock after getting sick of the people staring at you

yourusername ...

yourusername okay i won't go THAT far but i might kiss her just a tiny bit

alexandrasaintmleux mon ange....

yourusername love youuu

alexandrasaintmleux love you too

charles_leclerc this account is private right?

alexandrasaintmleux yes! it's only for friends and people who know about us

yourusername don't worry charlie we made sure nothing could go wrong

charles_leclerc just wanted to make sure my little sister and sister-in-law are safe and comfortable

yourusername awwww my heart 🥹

alexandrasaintmleux thank you charles! we appreciate it 🫶

yourusername how can someone be so gorgeous and beautiful and pretty and stunning and ethreal and breathtaking and lovely and elegant and radiant and exquisite and graceful and divine and hot and angelic and delicate and enchanting and serene and mesmirizing and captivating and eye catching and jaw dropping and show stopping???

alexandrasaintmleux by using some of your beauty

yourusername MY beauty? comapred to me you're an angel who graced this earth to fill my life with love and heavenly moments

alexandrasaintmleux have i ever told you how much i love you?

yourusername why don't you show me instead?

alexandrasaintmleux coming to the bedroom right now

francisca.cgomes why cant pierregasly be like this?

pierregasly i can't keep with y/n she's more down bad every day i see her

iamrebeccad if carlos was like this i wouldn't be hanging out with y/n and alex as much

francisca.cgomes same with me

carlossainz55 ???

pierregasly ???

yourusername pierre and carlos can fuck off this is a GIRL only place

charles_leclerc and me?

yourusername you too

charles_leclerc this is what i get for being a loving brother and pretending to date your girlfriend so the media doesn't pry on your life and harass you two

yourusername the phrasing is making me sound like an ungrateful brat

charles_leclerc because you are?

yourusername i'm telling maman we'll see if she likes this

charles_leclerc ...

yourusername go get a girlfriend buddy we need more girls for our hangouts

charles_leclerc what have i done to deserve this?

yourusername you crashed niki lauda's ferrari

charles_leclerc DON'T go there

charles_leclerc it was break failure and you know it

yourusername sure, charlie, sure

alexandrasaintmleux y/n please leave charles alone he might cry

yourusername of course mia bella ragazza 🤍

charles_leclerc alex????

yourusername fuck off

charles_leclerc sigh

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 852K others

yourusername out with mia bella ragazza 🤍

click to view all comments

username15 EH?????

username16 at least its not a man guys

username17 EXACTLY

username18 Y/N SOFT LAUNCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

username19 im never shutting about this for like another 6 weeks

username20 MY WIFEE IS NOT SINGLE????

username21 stop why is alex in the reflection of the second pic

username22 dont fuel my expectations

username23 MEOW

username24 y/n pls check your dms

username25 bros tryna rizz THE y/n leclerc

username26 the audcaity to say this in a soft launch post HELP

username27 i need to know who shes posting about

username28 oh to be in a relationship with her

alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl

yourusername its all you bella

alexandrasaintmleux you flatter me

yourusername its not flattery if its true

alexandrasaintmleux im blushing right now stop

yourusername anything for you bella 🫶

username29 lowkey why do they sound like theyre flirting???

username30 i have a theory that theyre dating but covering it by 'dating' other ppl

charles_leclerc looking beautiful

yourusername thank you charlie 🤍

alexandrasaintmleux she always looks beautiful!

username31 ALEX!?!??!?!

username32 MISS.

username33 not alex flirting with her boyfriend's sister INFRONT of him

username34 who ever shes dating is living the dream lifeee

username35 she better hard launch soon or im suing

username36 sigh i wish i was her

username37 call me delusional but shes dating lando

username38 noo i see it

username39 WAIT STOP THATS??

username40 y/n literally wrote MIA BELLA RAGAZZA WHICH IS ITALIAN FOR MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLLLLL

username37 jeez calm down

username41 MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

username42 woah

username43 can she like marry me idk

username44 can't wait to see her in the paddock again omggg

username45 STOP alex uploaded a story where she was in a restaurant too

username46 theres a lot of similar restaurants in monaco its probably her with charles

username47 sigh i want to be as pretty as her

username48 STUNNING.

username49 ate up everyone frrrr

username50 ALEX BAG HER UPPPP

username51 she better before we do

username52 frr omg

username53 the leclerc sibling fight over alex

username54 when i sleep i see her in my dreams

username55 MY GOOOD IM COMBUSTIG SHES GORGEOUSSSSSSSSSS

username56 mothered up so hard the earth cracked

username57 shes my kind of woman

username58 id let her hit me with charles' car

username59 real

username60 queen

f1_wags_exposed

liked by wag_gossip, f1spilled, username61 and 142K others

f1_wags_exposed a recent tweet went viral because of a picture containing CHARLES LECLERC'S girlfriend, ALEXANDRA SAINT MLEUX, kissing his younger sister Y/N LECLERC at Jimmy'z Monte Carlo following Leclerc's Monaco Grand Prix win Tagged: yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc

click to view all comments

username61 how to kms no borax no glue

username62 oh!

username63 they haven't commented on this yet???

username64 why should they do

username65 it'll only fuel the rumors

username66 so will staying quiet

username67 WHAR?????????????????

username68 tagging them is BRUTAL

username69 wrong timing but face card never declined for all three of them

username70 and never will

username71 this was NOT on my 2024 bingo card

username72 if i had a penny for every time a leclerc got with alexandra id have 2 pennies which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice

username73 y/n x alex we need it

username74 the otp fr

username75 HELL YES LETS GO WE GOT YURI

username76 WHERE ARE THEYYYYYY I NEED THEM TO SPEAK ABT THISS

username77 was full on expecting y/n to comment on this

username78 ME TOO like her ass would say 'girl what' or sum

username79 FRRR

username80 aww y/n looks so cute

username81 deleting all my socials after this

username82 they are SOULMATES vro

username83 this screams 'summer love triangle teenage drama series'

username84 OKAY BRO BYE IM LEAVING THIS EARTH THATS SO TRUE

username85 legit the summer i turned pretty (i didnt watch it)

username86 AND the kissing booth (didnt watch this either)

username87 this is fake i REFUSe to believe this

username88 i am JEALOUS, ENVIOUS, GREEN. WHY CANT THIS HAPPEN TO ME

username89 hottest love triangle i cant

username90 they ARE the main characters

username91 FRR like everyone else is just a side character

username92 gang if its a love triangle then theres incest

username93 this is the kind of romance ppl write books about

username94 STOP NOT THEM GOING RADIO SILENCE HELP ME

username95 if charles and alex break up then its true

username96 no bc i feel like im intruding on them rn

username97 THEYRE GORGEOUS

username98 shes everything and hes just ken

username99 idk who this is talking abt but its true for both y/n and alex

username100 charles could do so much better ew

username101 my QUEENS

username102 ok so like when do they hard launch

username103 if this turns out to be fake i will rage SO HARD

username104 i have a solution that alex and y/n get together and charles does whatever idk

username105 I DIED???

username106 i need them to go poly

username107 y/n and charles are siblings......

username108 I REMEMBER WHEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPENED LIKE IN AUS BC Y/N WAS SITTING ON ALEX'S LAP

username109 HELP WHAT???

username110 HOW DID I MISS THIS LORE???

username111 y/n made a story of her sitting on alex's lap again and was like 'and i'd do it a thousand times' then deleted it after like 2 minutes but it went viral LMFAO

username112 THIS IS SO RANDOM????

username113 leclerc-saint mleux lore goes DEEP

username114 man this shit is crazy

username115 idc whoever gets with who bc they will legit be the most gorgeous couple no matter what

username116 ALEX THE BEST WAGGGGG

username117 oh i am itching for y/n and alex hard launching with grand prix apperances

username118 when i opened insta i wasnt expecting THIS

username119 i-???? wtf do i even say

username120 i am SPEECHLESS

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 852K others

yourusername chivalry is dead so i got me a girl. mia bella ragazza, ti amo tanto 🤍🤍 Tagged: alexandrasaintmleux

click to view all comments

alexandrasaintmleux je t'aime tellement, mon ange 🤍

yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

alexandrasaintmleux 🫶

username121 STOPP MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS

username122 this has me sobbing and i dont even know them

username123 WHAR?????????????????

username124 idk if i expected this or not

username125 honestly same

username126 WHAT THE SHIT

username127 werent alex and charles out on a date yesterday?????

username128 MY GYATTTTTT

username129 ????

username130 sTOP

username131 im deceased

username132 GIRL WHAT???? IM SP CONFUSED RN WHATTTT

username133 LETS GO us girlies won

username134 gang go check out the y/n and alex update accs they uploaded the whole saga wtf

username135 the most gorgeous gyals

username136 if i was charles id die like my sister dating my gf????

username137 alex was winning both ways

username138 PLEASEEEEE

username139 ICONIC.

username140 IUHGBSN????????????

username141 i dont believe in love

username142 FACE CARD IS LETHAL

username143 WHAT DID I MISS????

username144 SOBBING i love them sm

username145 if glazing them every single second was a crime id be 89 feet under

username146 GOD HAS FAVOURITES !!!

username147 THE SHIT????

username148 counting down the days tilll we get y/nalex appearance in the paddock

username149 the people's princess'

username150 STOP i just realised that y/n speaks to alex in italian bc alex is italian (by nationality) and alex speaks french to y/n bc y/n is monagesque (french speaking country)

username151 the aura from them is DIABOLICAL

username152 THATS SO....?? WTF IM IN LOVE

username153 i NEED a relationship like this

username154 OMG THATS SO ROMANTIC KILL ME

username155 i died

username156 GET THESE GIRLS THOSE RINGS NOWWWWWW

username157 they need to get married ASAP

alexandrasaintmleux i love you so so so so much

yourusername forever and always

alexandrasaintmleux until the end

yourusername 🫶🫶

alexandrasaintmleux 🤍🤍🤍🤍

charles_leclerc my favourite sister and her girlfriend

alexandrasaintmleux thank you charles!

yourusername i'm your only sister

alexandrasaintmleux ange...

yourusername what i'm just saying the truth

alexandrasaintmleux i love you more than anything in this entire universe my angel

yourusername i love you more than you'd ever know, pretty girl

arthur_leclerc GET A ROOM

lorenzotl arthur be nice

arthur_leclerc i'm not 5

yourusername then act like it

charles_leclerc guys stop fighting

yourusername HE STARTED IT

arthur_leclerc NO???

yourusername YES???

alexandrasaintmleux now we have to wait while they sort it out

charles_leclerc which could take decades

lorenzotl seems like it

username158 FUCKING FUCK OFF

username159 ok thats it im jumpiing off a cliff

username160 ive never seen something more funny and its in a fucking instagram comment section

username161 im actually crying

username162 i love them so much i hope nothing ever happens to them

username163 my heart is paining i cant take this anymore

username164 i need to know what charles feels about y/n dating his gf

yourusername he never dated her i was dating her it was all a pr stunt so we dont get attacked by homophobes

alexandrasaintmleux this worked out better than we thought

yourusername yeah i didnt think we'd get so much love

charles_leclerc you deserve it all

yourusername thank you charlie 🫶 love youuu

charles_leclerc love you too petit lapin

username165 no i refuse bye i cant

username166 PETIT LAPIN IS SO CUTE STOP ITTTTT

username167 the a in alexandra saint mleux starts for a lovesick fool for y/n

username168 THE WAY THEY STARE AT EACH OTHERRR>>>>>

username169 how i wish for love like this

username170 greatest love story frrr

alexandrasaintmleux has made their account public & posted three new stories !

caption 1: cherry red🍒 // caption 2: y/n holding leo!! // caption 3: 🤍🤍🤍

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey ,, @iamred-iamyellow (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[steddieas-shegoes]

slowly, then all at once

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "as he read, i fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once." from the fault in our stars by john green

rated t | 731 words | cw: nightmares | tags: pre-relationship, feelings realization, literal sleeping together, cuddling

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

Steve’s nightmares aren’t a secret. The severity of them, along with the frequency, and how shitty he feels after, those are all secrets. Not even Robin quite knows how bad it gets sometimes.

The summer is worse: the memories of the Russians, the way the pool reflects off his window at night, the humidity clinging to his skin reminding him too much of the way dust and ash and mud clings in the Upside Down.

He feels stupid after spring break, that he should even still have traumatic memories when Eddie almost died. But he does. They’re worse now. He isn’t being tortured, Robin isn’t even in these ones. It’s always Eddie.

Eddie bleeding.

Eddie’s broken body.

Eddie not breathing.

Eddie dying.

It’s weird how quickly he took over Steve’s brain, how he went from being someone Steve barely knew from school to being one of his closest friends. Near-death experiences tended to do that, he supposes.

But it’s almost every night, and he rarely gets more than a couple hours of sleep before they hit, so he’s in a constant state of exhaustion these days. It’s not great for all the volunteering he does, and the usual taking the kids where they need to go, and trying to find a new job, and trying to convince Robin he’s fine. The bags under his eyes and the constant slump of his shoulders says everything.

She worries, but she knows he just has to get over the hump.

They all do.

Eddie stays with him late into the night a lot. It’s like he senses that being alone is the catalyst.

He finds excuses, tries to make it seem like he’s the one who doesn’t wanna be alone. Steve appreciates it, but he’s far past the point of feeling any shame for being afraid of being alone.

He doesn’t turn him away, though. Eddie sticks around for hours most nights, well past the point he should. Sometimes they watch movies, sometimes they just turn music on and sit quietly in the living room. Eddie is always moving a little, fingers tapping, leg jiggling, head bobbing. It’s good, though. It’s nice.

And sometimes he lays down in Steve’s bed with him until he falls asleep. He doesn’t touch him, or really do anything more than just exist in the space while Steve closes his eyes and drifts off. He’s always gone when Steve wakes up.

Tonight, he’s got a book open and Steve’s curled up under his blankets. His bones ache from how tired he is, and he wonders if his body will ever get to the point where exhaustion keeps the nightmares away. Steve’s eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. Not yet.

Eddie’s voice is soft, accents coming through for some characters, colorful inflections describing the scenery. Steve smiles to himself as his eyes start to feel heavy.

It’s nice to be read to. He doesn’t know which book this is, but it sounds like a dream.

Maybe he’ll dream about this instead of bats circling a body he loves.

Oh.

His eyes open and he looks up at Eddie, who doesn’t stop reading, even when Steve knows he can feel his eyes on him. It’s a beautiful thing, to see Eddie so enraptured in a story that he’s probably read before, to see him still putting the effort into giving Steve a show even though Steve was mostly asleep.

He loves him.

Steve loves Eddie.

Not the way he loves Robin, or the kids. Maybe closer to how he loved Nancy, but even that didn’t feel quite like this.

This feels like a later sunset after a long winter, a fresh breath of air after being stuck in the Upside Down, a glass of cold water in the middle of summer.

It’s refreshing, and waves of calm take over his body.

He settles.

He reaches out, places his arm over Eddie’s stomach, curls his fingers into his shirt. He buries his face into Eddie’s side.

Eddie pauses for a moment, just long enough that Steve worries he shouldn’t have done this. But then one arm covers Steve’s body and he continues, voice softer but no less enthusiastic.

Steve closes his eyes and falls into a deep sleep.

When he wakes, it’s calm. There’s no crying or screaming, no thrashing, no fighting.

Eddie’s there, holding Steve against him.

He loves him.

[acphengene]

Little dove

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jake x afab!reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate!au, sweet asf fluff and the tiniest bit of angst

₊ ⁺ wordcount: 3.2k

₊ ⁺ note: this can be read as a standalone but also as a part of my enhypen soulmate series. let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jake woke up at his 13th birthday, he frantically searched his whole body for any type of physical mark. It was generally known that it was a little easier to find your other half when your mark literally could count down the seconds until you met them.

And right there on the inside of his bicep it said ‘bite your lip one more time’ in fine red letters. He had wondered just why his soulmate would want him to bite his lip, because in the eyes of a child that caused pain and nothing else.

His family had celebrated, and he had been nothing short of excited and hopeful that he would get to meet you sooner rather than later. But as most people he would have to wait.

When he traveled to Korea to live his dream, he hoped that it would bring him closer to you. And when the dream took him to a tv-program he hoped with every bone in his body that you’d be watching and cheering him on.

The tattoo, he made sure stayed hidden, he had no interest in people who weren’t you, saying those words to him.

When he and the guys had debuted, they shared their marks with one another, there was no reason not to, and he felt lucky that he didn’t have to hurt like Heeseung, somewhat jealous that Jay had known his soulmate since he got the mark. And despite him feeling bad for his platonic soulmate, he couldn’t help but be thankful that he wasn’t markless like Sunghoon

Engene loved theorizing when it came to them and their marks. There was no doubt in the fandom that Jake had a physical mark, also no doubt that it had to be somewhere on his arm. He had a habit of almost always grabbing on to his bicep whenever he was nervous.

They could however not agree on which mark it was, but he enjoyed seeing people’s theories on social media. He felt grateful that most of the fandom was so acceptable of it, not all groups were that lucky.

One afternoon he threw himself onto Niki’s bed once again scrolling on weverse to see what their sweet fans were up to.

“Dude seriously? With your outside clothes and everything?” The young man said as he looked at his hyung with judgement in his eyes.

He only rolled his eyes. “Do you think they’ve ever posted on weverse?”

Niki shrugged. “No idea, if I’m being honest I try not to think about it too much. In the end mine is definitely not close by”

“I hope mine is close” Jake said with a far away look in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t that be korean if that was the case?” Niki said as he pointed to the red words.

Jake looked at his arm and sighed. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that”

Niki laughed. “Obviously. But don’t worry too much okay? You’ll find them when it’s time”

“How’s the string?” Jake asked as a diversion.

Niki looked down at his left pinkie, where a red string was neatly tied with a little bow. He followed it out and through the window of the room. Where it’s stretched all the way to the horizon.

“Still tight as ever, wherever they are, they’re in no hurry to get closer” He shrugged. Niki had always had a very casual way of seeing the world, and once in a while Jake needed to be reminded to take it easy.

He was right after all, the Universe had given them a soulmate for a reason, and would pull you together when it deemed fit. But sometimes that could be a little hard to accept.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that, it was more so that he was impatient, he wanted to get to know you, sooner rather than later.

As they traveled for their tours he frantically searched every face in every crowd hoping someone would draw his attention, that he would feel that pull and calmness people so often described.

In a new city, he found himself in a Prada store, looking at a new collection, as they all were picking things out.

“What do you think?” Jay said as he held up a bag.

“Pretty sure that’s a woman’s bag” Jake said with a chuckle.

As the fashionista Jay was, he only sighed. “First of all fashion is gender less, plus it’s not for me… it’s for her. I think she’ll like it”

Jake shook his head with a smile, as he tried to avoid that sting of jealousy he always felt whenever Jay talked about his other half. He knew it was most likely harder than he ever admitted. To know her, but to not have her would be torture in and of itself.

“Do you have this with gold hardware instead of silver?” Jay asked one of the sales assistants.

“We should have one in the back, give me a second and I’ll see if I can find it”

That. Voice.

It stopped Jake's entire world as he quickly turned towards you. And as he saw your eyes and that sweet and polite smile, it was as if the world stopped spinning, and everyone around him disappeared. For a second there was only you.

You went to the back to go and fetch the bag Jay had asked for, and for a second he almost followed you behind the counter.

He stood there as a puppy waiting for its owner, eyes locked on the door you had disappeared through. His fingers drummed on the glass as his heart beat frantically.

“Jake?” Sunghoon said as he tried to get his friends' attention. When he didn’t answer, he laid a hand on his shoulder, but his eyes never left that door.

“Not now” he whispered, and it almost sounded like he was in pain, and then you walked back through the door with the dust bag and set it almost right before him.

His breath hitched when you finally looked at him. He saw how your eyes widened, how your mouth fell open in almost chock. And for a second he thought: my first words can’t just be hey.

Instead he bit his lip nervously, he had always done it. Maybe it was because of the words you were to one day say to him, maybe it was just who he was. Your eyes fell to his mouth, and he saw the subtle twitch of the corner of your mouth.

“Bite your lip one more time…” you almost whispered the words, and as if you just realized what you said your hands flew up to cover your own mouth.

A gasp filled the room from both the guys, but also their bodyguards, and the whole room stilled.

“God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud”

Jake just smiled like a maniac, as he felt the tears prick in his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere” he said as he opened his arms for you to meet him if you wanted.

You threw yourself over the counter, not caring for the bag you had just put down, not caring for what your manager in the corner might think, not even caring for the horde of people with cameras outside the large boutique windows.

At that moment he had never felt happier. He chuckled as he pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, and the two of you stood like that until your heartbeats had calmed.

He didn’t want to let you go, so as he sat back down his hand reached out for yours and he smiled wider than he ever had when you took it and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re beautiful” he whispered and he saw you turn red almost instantly, he hoped his words would always have that effect on you.

“And you’re a romantic aren’t you?” You asked and he answered with a shrug.

You looked towards your manager who just gave you a smile and a little nod. As to say; “I understand, just go”

Jake held out his arm, and you quickly went around the counter to grab on to him. He pulled you close as the guards made sure to escort you out of the store safe and sound.

In the store behind the two of you stood Sunghoon with the biggest smile as he looked after the two of you. Sunoo was laughing in a corner as he kept repeating: did that just happen?

Jungwon smiled and said: “Finally, he was getting unbearable”

“So this is where I’m staying” Jake said as he opened the door to his hotel room. The two of you had decided it might be best for you to go there, there was no reason for you to dox yourself.

You looked around the room, but your eyes kept finding him, and every time they did his smile got wider, if that was even possible.

“C-can I see it?” you asked as you took a step closer to him. He nodded and got rid of his jacket before pulling up his sleeve, revealing the now golden words etched into his skin.

You laughed as you let your hand trace the words. Jake shuddered beneath your touch. “Oh I’m sorry, is it too much?” You stepped back to give him space, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“It’s nice, I’ve been wanting this, waiting for this for so long. My hitching breath and shuddering is in nothing if not from happiness and excitement for having finally found you”

The heat once again flushed to your cheeks, and he, that cheeky bastard, he bit his lips once again. You placed your hands on your face.

“I had an idea you might be a hopeless romantic” You said turning away from his gaze.

He laughed. “Why?”

“When you have ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere’ etched into your skin from the ripe age of 13, you cant help but hope”

He felt how your words fucked on his heartstrings. “Tell me everything”

So you did; you told him how excited you were when you saw the words. How lucky your mother had told you that you would end up being because of the sweet nature of them. How your friends had fawned and been jealous.

“I know it’s not a given, and I know not all soulmates are made to be more than just platonic, but I would love to give this” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us a real shot”

Your cheeks were blazing hot, but you wanted to say them. In case he felt differently, you’d rather be disappointed sooner rather than later.

His hand snaked up and rested on the back of your neck, firm enough to make sure you knew he wanted you close, but still loose enough for you to get away from him if that was what you wanted.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I want nothing more” as if he had done it always he rubbed his nose against yours, the gesture so soft and subtle it stole a whimper from your throat.

In that very instant his eyes shot open, pupils dilated, the love he had always felt for you on full display.

“Can I kiss you?” He whisperd. His lips so close to yours he almost did by saying your words.

Instead of answering him, you closed the small gap between the two of you. His other arm snaked around your waist as yours traced his shirt, up his stomache, over his shoulders and around his neck.

You pulled him as close to you as physically possible. And he smiled agains your lips at the way you responded to him.

A knock on the door pulled you from losing your minds, hearts and souls to one another.

“Yo, love birds… wanna grab some lunch? Get to know one another?” Heeseung said on the other side.

The two of you looked at each other and laughed. Jake only raises a brow, and you nodded as a response. You couldn’t wait to get to know him and those closest to him.

Once again he stretched out his arm for you to grab on to and you did without a doubt.

“Let’s go little dove” he said with a wink.

“Wait so I’m the first?” You said with a shocked expression.

Jake had his arm around your shoulder, it felt like his heart would physically break if he were to not touch you when you were so near.

“Yeah, hopefully the rest will come soon…” Jay said with a far away gaze in his eyes.

“You miss her?” You asked him.

“Every waking minute of every day” he answered with a small smile.

Nothing short of pure torture. You thought to yourself and leaned into Jake’s embrace. He kissed the top of your head instinctively.

“God the two of you is gonna be unbearable, aren’t you?” Niki said with a groan as he took another spoon full of the broth standing in front of him.

“Especially when we leave in two days” Jungwon said, trying not to sound to harsh.

The eyes you looked at him with broke his heart. He would have to leave you behind, go on on the tour. He would be in contact sure, but this would end up breaking him and in extension you.

It was common knowledge that the first few weeks, if not months were the hardest to be without your soulmate. It was as if your souls needed one another, after being separated for so long.

“The tour isn’t don’t yet, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. Okay? I promise” Jake said as he pulled you into another close embrace.

Jungwon stole the attention by spitting out his noodles. “Why would she think now is the perfect time for chocolate pudding. I swear it’s her hobby to ruin my meals” he pushed away the bowl, as the guys laughed.

You were thankful for the change in subject, but you couldn’t help but wonder just why the universe would set you up with someone whose job was to travel the world and leave you behind.

“Hey” Sunghoon said, “why dont you just ask if you can bring her along?”

Jake remained quiet as he thought it all through. It was not impossible, he knew that it was impossible to tear some soulmates apart, and Hybe had to accommodate that, but still… you had a life, a job and friends and family. He would hate to pull you from it all.

“Let’s talk about it when we’re alone, how does that sound?” You asked him with a little squeeze of his thigh. The mere sound of your voice calmed something inside of him, and his worried eyed softened.

“As Niki said, unbearable” Heeseung said right before he was snacked in the back of the neck by Sunoo.

“As if you’re gonna be any better than them”

He only shrugged.

“I don't wanna assume you have the possibility of just leaving” Jake said as he fiddled with his fingers. He did want you to come along. He wanted to sleep with you in his arms and wake up to your kisses.

“I don’t think that I do, sure I have a few weeks of vacation left, but it’s just so short notice” you said with a sad smile.

He nodded, “I know… what if I called Prada, or maybe if one of my bosses did?”

You smiled as you stood between his legs as he was sitting on the bed, you pulled lovingly on his long hair as he looked up at you with pleading puppy eyes. God he was beautiful.

Instead of answering you kissed his lips slowly, and his arms pulled you closer. “As much as I would love that, that wouldn’t be fair. Come back to me when you’re done, in the meantime we will just have to figure something out, okay?”

And figure something out you did. Every time you had the chance you were FaceTiming, you fell asleep talking about your childhood, and while he was training you caught up on the hours worth of content.

Hybe had been kind enough to leave you with a bodyguard of your own, but so far you hadn’t needed it. It had, however, calmed Jake’s mind a lot to know you were taken care of.

“When I can’t do it, I need someone else to, okay little dove?” That had been hard to argue with.

He had been gone for a few weeks now and it felt as if your heart had been ripped from your chest, as if you were no longer whole.

You hated every second of it, you hated your stubbornness. Why wouldn’t you take him up on the offer of just going with him? Integrity… fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself as you got the store ready before it opened.

You heard the door open, and as you turned to tell the early customer you weren’t open yet you froze.

“Sunghoon” you said before giving him a bow, you had spent the weeks reading up on Korean etiquette and culture.

He bowed back before he held out an arm just as Jake did. “Come, he’s unbearable and none of us can take it any longer… he needs you” he sent you a smile that never really reached his eyes.

Instead of bolting out the door you found yourself hesitating. You had a life and a job you had worked so hard for. Sunghoon rolled his eyes as he laughed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve taken care of it”

And for once you chose not to second guess it, and grabbed his arm.

You knocked on the door to the room, despite what the two of you did most days, you had ignored his calls all day. Jungwon had warned you, he had been sulking and sad and as good as impossible to get to do anything. Even eat.

“Go away!” You heard his voice groan from the other side. You knocked again.

“Hee, I’ve told you all day I’m just not in the… mood” he swung the door open without even checking who was on the other side.

In your hand you had a bag of food, he would need something before the concert tonight.

“Surprise?” You said with a unsure smile, cause he only stared at you.

“You’re here?” He said as his voice cracked.

You nodded. “I’m here”

And as he heard your voice once again he broke down in the door to his room, you quickly gave the food to one of the managers in the hall as you joined him where he had collapsed.

He snaked his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. And as painful as it was to see him like this you had also never felt more like yourself now that he was near.

He looked at you as he stroked your cheek. “You can’t leave me again, okay?” He said as he both laughed and sobbed at the same time.

You smiled at his words, as a single tear escaped your eye. He kissed it away as quickly as it had fallen. “I won't,” you whispered.

The two of you heard a groan further down the hall and saw Niki there. “Fucking unbearble love birds” he swore under his breath.

“Language young man!” You both yelled in unison, and a laugh quickly followed.

Neither of you minded being unbearable love birds, as long as you weren’t apart.

Hi! Thank you sm for Reading! Please remember to like and reblog, and let me know if you have any theories about the others or these two sweethearts. Feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏼

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Omg, I read and reread your fitness influencer x chubby cooking influencer like five or six times already! Would you consider writing more parts to it, please?

Omg i would love to, lemme cook for a sec sksksk

CW: chubby fem cooking influencer reader x fitness influencer fave, fluff, smut, mentions of internet trolls being mean, not proofread i am sorry sksksk

So, chubby cooking influencer reader and fitness influencer

A match made in heaven tbh sksksk

But it's very normal at first! Like i said in my original post, reader and fitness influencer (i.e. your fave) just start the relationship with simple conversation

Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, interests, you chat about it all on social media!

His instagram has a lot of tagged photos of your recipes that he tries, as well as photos of him at the gym

His youtube is mostly vlogs of his days as an influencer and workouts and all that

He's always very good about tagging you, even if he just mentions your channel in passing, he's tagging you in the description AND comments

And you always thank him in his dms for tagging you

He starts expecting it now, seeing your notification and it brightens his day

He plays it cool tho, always thanking you in return and asking how your day is going

Which of course leads to conversations about other things (what did you do today, what did you eat, what are you up to)

He likes you, he really likes you

But he tries to be suave, just being nice at first, but he's always thinking of you tbh

At the gym, at home, when he's eating, in the shower, in bed 😏

He ends up jerking off to you quite a bit, though he won't admit it, he's too shy for that sksksk

He does ask about the general area you live in and gets excited when he finds out how close you are

Takes a lot of guts but he ends up asking you on a date, offering to pay for a nice meal and a movie if you want

Does a fist bump and jump when you accept sksksk

He dresses nice for your date, opting to wear dress pants and a tight button up shirt to show off his muscles

BUT YOU?? OMG YOU LOOK SO CUTE

You've got on a yellow sundress with flowers and white heels and a sun hat and he is just UGH so obsessed with you

Date goes well. He's happy to see you eating freely and without a care about how he may think, plus you get dessert and you lick cream off your lips and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and calm himself down bc he got a boner 😔

Before the date ends, he asks you if you two can do this again, and you turn bashful

"You really want to hang out with me again??" you ask with big doe eyes

"Of course I do. I wanna date you, Y/N. And fuck you the way you deserve"

....is what he wishes he said sksksk

But instead he just nods, screaming inside bc you are honestly just so precious

You go on a second date, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth and honestly he is getting a little frustrated bc you have not even tried to hold his hand yet

He tried making the first move, but you're always just out of reach, just a little too far away from him to do anything

He agonizes over it a little bit, asking his gym bros what he should do

"Maybe she's just not into you dude"

"Just grab her and kiss her dude"

"I don't know man, i like men, not women"

They're no help tbh sksksk

He just decides to ask you on your next date and figure out why you won't initiate things with him

When he asks you, your eyes go wide and he thinks that if you could blush, your whole body would turn red

"What?! This whole time we've been going on dates?! I thought you just liked food as much as me and wanted to share it!"

He feels like he's gonna bang his head against a wall sksksk

TO BE FAIR! When he asks you out, he always refers to it as "hanging out" so you can't be blamed for getting confused

You decide to sit down with some ice cream and talk about how you both feel

He admits that he's been crushing on you for a while before you met and that he wanted to date you

You shyly admit that you find him very attractive but thought he was out of your league so you never considered that he could have feelings for you he's gonna crack his head open on the pavement omg sksksk

He reassures you that he genuinely likes you and is attracted to you and wants to have a romantic relationship with you

It's hard for you to believe, he's just so handsome and big and strong, is this real life or a dream??

You decide to let him prove it to you with more dates uwu

You start getting closer to him, letting him put his arm around around you, holding your hand

You're very anxious when he tries to kiss you, but once it happens it feels like fireworks are going off in your brain

You really like kissing him, just because he's always so gentle and he's so close and he's warm

You really, really like him 🥺

But don't worry sweet love, he likes you just as much if not more sksksk

He's so obsessed with you it's honestly kind of silly sksksk

He thinks about you all the time! And he wants to be with you all the time! He feels like he's gonna explode every time you show up to a date in a cute outfit!

He wants to make the relationship official and exclusive, so he asks to make a vlog with you

You agree! Not only do you think it would be good traction for your channel, but it would be nice to spend the day with him :)

You both bring your cameras on the day of the vlog!

You start by getting breakfast, showing off your coffees

He gets annoyed that you JUST have a coffee, but you swear it fills you up and he lets it slide as long as you eat a good lunch

Then you go to the gym together! You just hang out on the treadmill while he does his weight lifting

Tbh he's very distracted by your outfit, your leggings make your ass look so fucking good, and he would've been fucked if he didn't have a spotter

Then you go to lunch and you gush about the food and the restaurant and he's infatuated with you 💕

You turn the camera towards him and he's just got a lovesick look on his face

Then you go to a movie and then you go to his apartment for dinner!

You cook dinner together, making a meal that the both of you can enjoy, one that is nutritious AND delicious

You finish the vlog by showing off your finished plates and talking about what a fun day you had :)

You're ready to pack up your stuff and go home, but he asks if you'd like to stay and hang out a bit more

You oblige. You're dating now so it makes sense for yall to spend more time together

You decide to cuddle up and watch a movie, but 20 minutes in, you guys are making out on his couch sksksk

Things get hot and heavy pretty quick, and now his hand is going up your shirt and he's squeezing your waist and you start getting shy 😔

Does he really want you? Is he really interested in you? Is he sure that he wants you and your body?

But then your leg moves and rubs against his crotch and good lordy you can feel his boner 😳

Ok, goodbye insecurities, he's def into you and you're gonna get your man 😏

You go to the bedroom, undress, and oh boy he is enamored by you

Your breasts, your thighs, your BELLY?? You're gorg and he's obsessed

But he's not the only one drooling sksksk has he seen himself lately? He's sculpted like a god, you can't believe you scored a guy like him

AND NOT TO MENTION HIS COCK SKSKSK like that thing is long and thick, you're genuinely wondering if it's gonna fot

The two of you spend a good five minutes just staring at each other and complimenting each others' physiques

Eventually you get to the sex part sksksk but there's a lot of praise along the way

He's so cute the way he kisses down your body and spreads your legs and nuzzles into your mound

He's not too bad at giving head. You have to give him a little direction but he gets the hang of it and makes you cum

You admit that you're a little scared of sucking his dick so he doesn't make you, you just go to the main event

You're not sure if you should let him hit it raw but you're too impatient to let him get a condom, you're on birth control and you need that dick NOW

He slides in very easily, you are unbelievably wet and oh my god, if he doesn't focus then he'll cum so easily

He fits inside you so well, filling you up just right without any pain

It's such a good fit, his cock feels soooooo good inside you

And then he starts thrusting and all bets are off

The sex is so fucking good, oh my GOD

He just keeps hitting your sweet spots and rubbing your clit and oh god you're cumming already

Your cunt squeezes him so deliciously and you're so pretty and cute when you cum and holy fuck the noises you make are just sinful and he needs to slow down bc if he doesnt he's not gonna last long

He makes you cum three times before he pulls out and cums all over your tummy

Thinks you look so cute covered in his cum 🥴

He ends up cleaning you off with his tongue which just makes you needy again and you ask him oh so sweetly if he can fuck you one more time and whoops now his cock is hard again, guess he's gotta fuck you 🤷‍♀️

You guys go at it all night, eventually showering and going to bed around 4am

Of course you sleep over, ain't no way in hell he's letting you leave after all that

You sleep in together and when you wake up he makes you breakfast 🥺💕

He uploads his vlog after editing it the next day, and you upload yours

Your comments are very sweet at first, congratulating you on your new relationship with this other influencer

But then they turn mean :( people start to say that you're not good enough for him, why is he even with you, he should be with this other fitness influencer instead :(

He is pissed. His fans are attacking you on your page 😡

He makes a video the next day and posts it where he explains that he loves you and is happy with you and that until the hate comments stop, he will not be posting on his page

He helps you delete and mute and block and filter comments and users

He's very upset about this entire experience

"I guess you don't want to be with me anymore, huh?" you ask

He's offended and hurt!

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you saw what they said. Maybe you should be with someone better..."

"What are you talking about? I love you, Y/N. You're perfect for me and I don't want anyone else. Do you just not want to be with me?"

"No! I do! I just... worry that I'm not good enough for you..."

He grabs your hands and makes you look at him

"Y/N, you are perfect to me. I couldn't ask for anyone better. I love you and I want to be with you. Please don't let these trolls dictate your life."

You're still hurt by the comments, but your feelings for him overpower the negative things you're feeling

You keep dating, and as time goes on, you care less and less about the comments that were made about your relationship

You continue with your channel and vlogs with him and enjoy your life

You still get backlash every now and then from obsessed friends, but when that happens, you just turn your computer off and go on about your day

Negativity can really affect your life, but he's always there to cheer you up and fuck you stupid so you forget all those mean comments sksksk

You become the "it" couple in the fitness and cooking communities, everyone thinks you're so so cute together and such a good match, so fuck those online trolls! Your cooking besties and his gym bros love you two together and that's all that matters 💕

I imagine he proposes after a year of dating, not wanting to waste any more time without you

He proposes at your favorite restaurant, but you say no :(

To be fair, your reasons are justified. You guys have rarely had arguments, you haven't gone through many trials in your life, you don't even live together! How can you be sure that he's the one when you haven't truly struggled with him yet?

He understands, although he's diappointed 😔

On the bright side, you suggest moving in to an apartment together once your leases are up! And he's very happy about that :)

You guys adopt some kitty cats after you move in together! You adopt two kittens from the same litter and you love them so so much, they often appear in your vlogs and sometimes you do cat reviews like on cat trees and toys and stuff

He encourages you to go to the gym for health reasons, but he doesn't push it. He just wants you to take care of yourself so you can be around for as long as possible 💕

He's gained a little bit of pudge! He's still strong as hell, but he's got a little layer of fat over some of his muscles like his abs, he's just not as sculpted now

It's bc he can't resist your food sksksk

But you're still very attracted to him so he doesn't care so much

Overall, beautiful love story, match made in heaven 💕

[dehlizalah]

Phantom Touch

namgyu x f!reader

𖦹 tags: Slow burn, angst, heavy teasing, toxic relationship (ish), fwb,drugs, alcohol, situationship, descriptions of sexual activity but not really smut (yet)

𖦹 Word count: 4113

𖦹 Part three of Phantom Touch | Part one Part two

Namgyu becoming a little more softer in this one :)) We would cheer !!

You told yourself you were just being paranoid, that Namgyu was probably so shitfaced that he wouldn’t have even been able to distinguish your face. You leaned into the stranger, letting him kiss your cold body. You clench your jaw, trying to snap out of it. Your hands ache. A slow pulsing burn that itches far deep into your bones, something inside of you that is crawling to get out.

It’s the kind of pain that isn’t physical—not really. It’s something else, something worse. A muscle memory of a touch you shouldn’t miss. A phantom sensation of hands that aren’t there but might as well be.

You continued to entertain the man, until you felt a vibration in your bag, which was perched next to you. “One second,” you said abruptly as the man crawled off of you. You unsteadily reach from your bag to your phone, the warmth of the strangers touch still lingering. The vibration lasted about two beeps. Sliding your phone out, your eyes flickered through the screen.

2 New Messages

You knew who it was going to be. The thought of it makes your stomach churn. For a slight moment, you hesitated to even unlock your phone, your heart clenching strongly. You opened it, pleading that it wasn’t him.

You read the message and your heart stopped.

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t expect to see you here. lol’

Namgyu: ‘You good?’

That was it? Namgyu was normally a dry texter but this.. This felt like a taunt. A tease almost. No mention of what you were doing, no possessive digs as he used to, no sly remarks about the handprints the stranger left on your thighs.

lol. The single, meaningless addition made your stomach do cartwheels. He was trying to keep it light, acting like it was some coincidence. He acted as if you both had just randomly met in the streets, glancing at each other. No, he saw you do the things that he once did with you, with a man you had never even met before.

There was no changing the fact that you let a stranger touch you all over, that wasn’t even remotely the worst part. The worst part was namgyu, who watched every single second of it. He had seen you, the way your body reacted to a stranger roam your body, the way his lips hovered over your skin.

A lump formed in your throat. A mix of emotions flooded your mind. You should be angry, you wanted to be angry. The only emotion that you could seem to focus on was that familiar ache; the one that came from years of yearing and false love.

Your hands started to sweat, coating your body in a thin layer of unease. A clammy heat pulsated through your body, your fingers clenching the screen, unable to move.

The stranger next to you gently touched your thigh “Is everything good? You seem really sketched out right now.”

“Sorry i have to-“ Without finishing your sentence, you grabbed your bag stood up, looking for the bathrooms.

You pushed through the sea of bodies, the lights flickering on beat. The music floods the club, your head throbbing as you try to swim your way out. Your hands were still trembling, gripping onto your bag, like it was the last thing keeping your grounded, two feet on the floor.

You slipped into the bathroom, locking the single toilet, desperately trying to catch your breath. Leaning against the sink, gripping the edges so hard your knuckles become red.

Get a grip.

Seriously, you needed to get your shit together.

Exhaling sharply you looked into the mirror, barely even recognizing the person reflecting from you. Smudged eyeliner, your lips were slightly parted; lipgloss barely even on.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for a paper towel, tapping the towel on your skin. No matter how many deep breaths you took, the tightness in your chest refused to leave. It wasn't just the alcohol-it was him. Always him.

You told yourself you knew better than this.

You knew that namgyu enjoyed this, seeing you get all flustered at the thought of him. He likes the sense of power he gets from it. The possession. He likes having a hold on you.

Your phone buzzed again.

Dread slowly filling you up.

You squeezed you eyes shut for a second before forcing your self to look at your phone, opening the message.

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t take you for a club girl. Well, not anymore, at least. Guess old habits die hard. lol.’

Your jaw tightened. There it was again - that lol. You were convinced that he did on purpose, throwing it in like a careless shrug. To him this was funny, it had little to no significance to him, just like you had no significance to him either.

"Old habits die hard."

What did he think he was? Some all-knowing god, watching from above, smugly amused at your attempts to move on? As if he had you all figured out, like no matter how far you tried to run, you'd always come crawling back.

Like he wasn't the one who started the habit in the first place. Like he wasn’t the one who would beg to smoke together, like he wasn’t the one who took you to the club for the first time.

It was completely and utterly infuriating.

Your fingers violently curved around the phone, fighting the urge to say something sharp, something to hurt him like he hurt you. Something to cut a deep scar in him. But no, this is exactly what you thought he wanted. He wanted you to bite, he wanted you to be the one to crack first, to prove that even after everything that happened, you would always come back.

You really did fight the urge to say something, but your fingers had a mind of their own, the alcohol slurring from your mind to your fingers.

You: ‘Didn’t know you cared. Don’t worry, you don’t have to.’

The moment you sent the text, the read receipt popped up almost instantly. Of course, he saw it right away.

You watched the three dots appear, then disappear, like he almost didn't bother responding at all. Then-

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t say i did.’

So typical. This is exactly what you imagined him to say. Dismissing you with as little effort as humanly possible.

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, the words practically clawing their way out. Fine.

If he wanted to be a dick, you could match him. After all, leaving him was all about making him feel how you felt, right? to make him suffer; even if it was a small fraction of what you felt.

You: ‘Right. You just text every random girl you've fucked in the middle of the night for fun? Damn, must be exhausting.’

Sent. Delivered. Read.

You hoped this would give you some leverage. You hoped that he would actually think for once, think about his real feelings.

And then-

Namgyu: ‘You think you're special?’

Namgyu: ‘Lmao.’

Namgyu: ‘Hate to break it to you.’

Namgyu: ‘You're not the first.’

Namgyu: ‘You're not the last.’

Namgyu: ‘Don't make this deeper than it is.’

All of the messages came in one rapid burst, leaving him little room to even breathe yet think about what he was saying. It was subtle, and maybe you were reading into it too much, but you knew what this meant: frustration. Frustration. Namgyu acts all erratic when he doesn’t get what he wants. He probably did a line of coke before texting you, hence the reckless behavior.

You let out a soft chuckle, this was funny. He acted like you were nothing to him, just another saved contact on his phone, yet here he was; blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

Should you even bother responding? Maybe you should have let him drown in his words. This was too much of an opportunity to miss. If he wanted to play the game, why don’t you?

You: ‘Funny. You act like you don't care, but you're the one blowing up my phone.’

You: ‘What's wrong? Not enough coke in the world to make me go away?’

You: ‘Must suck.’

Read.

The silence on your screen sent wavelengths, that was all you needed to know. You had finally got under his skin. You thew away the paper towel that you used to wipe yourself down, and was met with another vibration off your phone again.

Namgyu: Hope he fucks you better than i did. Shouldn’t be hard right? You looked real desperate out there.

For a slight moment, you stood still, his words impairing your vision. A slow feeling of heat crawled up your spine, clamping onto your sides.

He was pissed.

Not in the usual way, where he would act like he didn’t care, dismissing everything you had to say while he rolled his eyes, pushing his long hair back. No, this was different, it had gotten ugly really quickly.

That’s what he saw out there? He saw you as desperate?

Your fingers curled around your phone so tight your knuckles ached. It would be easy to snap back, to give him what he wanted — anger, frustration, proof that he still had a hold on you.

But no. Not this time.

You: ‘You can see from those VIP rooms, can’t you?’

You: ‘Must be nice having such a perfect view, should i send you a video?’

Read.

You unlock the bathroom, strutting into the club. You came out a different person than before. The girl that looked in the mirror, crying, gasping for air was no longer seen. Without further hesitation, you walk up to the bar, and order two shots. Anything strong.

While waiting for the shots, your phone buzzed in your bag once again. Damn.. how much of your time does he need?

Curiously, you check the notification and just as you expected, it was namgyu.

Namgyu: ‘So this is what you do when i’m not around?’

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t know you were that desperate.’

A slight chuckle came out from your mouth. Not around? How contradicting. You knew he was watching from those vip areas, it was inevitable. You hoped he saw you laugh, you hoped it stung. You swiped away from the text, deliberately ignoring it and put your phone back in your bag. Sliding off the chair, you took the two shots and started to look around.

You gaze your eyes up to the vip rooms before looking back into the corner you were sat at, the stranger still surprisingly still there. His eyes flick over to you; laced with curiosity. Kneeling down to the table, you slide the shot his way and smiled brightly.

“Consider this… an apology.” you say softly, trying to get on the man’s good side. “For leaving you hanging” You continued.

He laughed taking the shot and signaling you to clink glasses. “Cheers!” You both say laughingly.

Whilst you and the man were having a good time, conversely, namgyu was loosing his temper. Insanely quick.

As you laugh with the stranger, you feel the weight of a gaze burning into your skin. You don't need to look up to know exactly who it belongs to.

Your phone buzzes again. You take your time, dragging your fingers along the rim of your empty glass before finally checking the message.

Namgyu: ‘Keep playing with me.’

Namgyu: ‘You really think he wants you?’

He’s starting to unravel, his raw feeling starting to show. You tilt your head, focusing up to the vip rooms, looking through the slightly steamed windows. Even with the dim lighting you can still make up a long slender figure, he looked stiff. Angry.

You smiled one more time looking up at him before focusing back on the stranger, leaning in enough to close the small gap between each other. Your draw your fingers up his arms, letting out a small giggle.

As the next song plays, you pick up your phone and start to type.

You: ‘I don’t know… He seems quite interested.. in me.’

You: ‘Maybe i’ll let him find out what you couldn’t.’

Read.

He had practically been glued to your messages, waiting for anything. He read it almost immediately again. It feel like the energy had shifted. The air feels more tighter, it’s subtle, quiet but definitely there.

You can feel namgyus eyes follow your every move, beaming into your skin like lasers. You couldn’t see his expression from up there, but you didn’t need to.

The stranger starts to catch on, he notices the shift in your moods, how you were extremely anxious before now you look like your on top of the world.

He leans forward, tilting his head trying to read your expression. “So.. i don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but before you didn’t really seem like this place was… you know.. your scene.”

You dragged your fingers around the rim of your glass, trying to resist smiling.

“That’s funny, someone just told me that.”

You felt amused. Even a random stranger could tell the difference, that meant namgyu definitely had. It would make him itch, grip onto the table in pure frustration. Exactly what you wanted.

Once again, you are met with a vibration of the phone. Do you even need to check? You already know— it’s going to be him. You try to hold the pure enjoyment you get out of this, it was euphoric. You were finally getting what you wanted.

Namgyu: ‘Stop.’

Namgyu: ‘You don't even like him. What are you trying to prove?’

Namgyu: ‘We both know you'd rather be here

—with me. So quit wasting time.’

The vulnerability was practically seeping out through these texts, of course, he couldn’t just ask for you. He had to act like you’d eventually come crawling, like you were already his. How pathetic.

You tap the glass of your drink, once again glancing at the vip section. You know he’s there, watching this mess unravel, one by one.

You softly grabbed the strangers collar, letting out a laugh, dragging your fingers on his cheeks, ruffling his hair. Namgyu loved it when you did that to him, how you twirled his hair around your fingers and brushed your soft fingertips against his face.

The stranger is saying something— laughing, but you can’t seem to focus on that. You’re focusing on tracing the exact places you once did with him, twirling his hair nice and softly, making him tingle. You keep your touch slow, calculated.

You were touching him, lovingly. But it wasn’t for the stranger, it was for him.

Namgyu.

Another buzz.

Namgyu: ‘You really think that man cares ?’

Namgyu: ‘Men only want sex, don’t be a fool’

Namgyu: ‘He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get you like i do.’

You brush your hands through your hair, then softly dragging your nails against the man’s jaw, just to be petty.

Another buzz.

Namgyu: ‘Look at him, he’s practically stiff.’

Namgyu: ‘Your weirding the poor guy out.’

Namgyu: ‘Quit the act, just come up here.’

The entitlement radiates through the phone, but behind the phone, you could practically taste his jealousy.

You smirked, letting his words marinate, no response for him. You climbed up the stranger and sat on his lap, facing toward him. The stranger held onto your waist, pulling you in as he layed a sloppy drunk kiss on your lips.

You still felt the weight of namgyus stare, pressing you down. You felt electric, this is the best dopamine rush you’ve experienced in a while; the same feeling you once felt when namgyus hands were on you, it had come back. The idea of him watching was lighting a spark in your head.

You slowly and sensually started to move your hips back and forth on the man’s lap, your mouth slightly parted with a small smirk. The strangers grip tightened, his hands lazily moving up and down your waist. Your mind is elsewhere, on him, who were stood behind the glass of those VIP rooms.

Another buzz.

You climbed off the man’s lap, wiping his spit off your lips. Glancing at your phone, you tell him you’re going to get more drinks and walk over to the bar.

As you step away, the air becomes more tense. The thrill of being watched lingers through your skin, the weight of namgyus stare pressing deeply into you.

Sliding yourself onto the chair, you order another drink, as you wait you unlock your phone.

Then you finally look.

Namgyu: ‘That was for me, wasn’t it?’

Namgyu: ‘Just say it didn’t mean anything.’

Namgyu: ‘Lie to me.’

Lie to me. Lie to me? A three word sentence, so easy to understand. But it wasn’t that, it was the intent you couldn’t quite grasp. It would be so easy for you to lie to him. The weight of his stare felt like volumes, the way he watches, it makes your chest tighten.

You can barely make up your reflection in the phone, Flushed skin, lips once again parted, slightly shaking. His presence felt like a ghost. So far away, yet so meaningful.

Your bartender slides the drink to you, but you hadn’t even noticed. You were too spaced out. You exhale, thinking about how you reply to this.

Your fingers anxiously hover over the screen, hesitating every word that you type.

Tell me to stop.

Before you hit send, a slender like shadow falls over you.

The atmosphere shifts once again, that familiar sent of cheap musky cologne mixed with cigarettes formed behind you. The hairs at the back of your head stood.

And then—

A hand.

Long slender fingers decorated with chunky silver rings tap your hand. Your breath stutters, phone slipping into your pressed together thighs.

“You’re taking too long.”

Namgyu.

His tone is different to what you once heard. The raspy voice he would holler down your ears as you cried, begging for an answer.

‘Why don’t you love me?’

The phrase you once said repeatedly echoed through your mind, the memories once shared with him, the nights you spent shouting his name.

It had only been a week or so since you last talked, so why did it feel like it had been an eternity? Why did it feel like you had glued together the missing piece, after searching for ages?

The room feels smaller, like you were trapped; The music felt distant, it muffled behind the sound of your own heartbeat, pumping out of your chest.

He kept his fingers hovering over you hands, gently; but it felt as if he hesitated, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you in or push away.

That was Namgyus whole deal. He never knew what he wanted.

One moment, he was lighting up a joint sat on your mouth, smirking as he flicked the lighter. The next moment, he sat at his desk beside his bed, acting like the history you two had shared the night before was all a myth, nothing but a piece of fiction.

You swallowed hard as he reached for the phone you had dropped, due to his presence. He grazed his fingers between your thighs, gripping the phone, unlocked.

Tell me to stop

He swiftly takes the seat next to you, tapping is fingers on the desk, holding the phone in the other.

“You wanted me to see that?” His voice became small, a little cocky but he had held back. “Or was it just for you?”

You gripped both of your thighs and held strongly, frustratedly. The aching pain of anxiety pulsated though your palms. You need to push him away, now. It’ll never happen if you don’t do it now.

His eyes are stuck to you, like he’s too afraid to blink. He was filled with such emotion, it was almost indescribable.

Yearning? Desperation? Possession?

You can’t read him, even namgyu can’t read himself, right now.

His fingers linger against your wrist, his thumb barely touching over your pulse. He feels it-how fast it's racing, how much this moment is getting to you. And he likes it.

"You should've picked a better actor."

His lips curl into something smug, but his voice betrays him-low, strained, aching.

"He touched you like he didn't know what to do with you."

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. "And you think you do?"

His grip tightens. "I know I do."

His words were real, true. It was embarrassing. You urged yourself to become a better person, run away from things that hurt you, people that hurt you. But here you are, heart racing to the same man that you swore you’d never run back to.

It’s humiliating, how you fold to him every, single, time. His presence strips away every single part of resistance that you worked so hard to build.

Sure, the act earlier on was real, it was how you truely felt; this emotion now, it’s raw. A soft touch. Your heart is pounding — pulsating loudly. Not from fear, not from anger, but from something much worse. Incredibly worse.

Need.

Namgyu keeps his dark eyes upon you. His eyes were endless, like the space between stars in the dark nights sky. They held something desirable, heavy emotion, and something dangerously close to desperation.

His lips parted, as if he wanted to blurt something out, one last jab before you cave in. He hesitates, Maybe because he knows you already know the truth just as much as he does.

You’re not running away.

Not really.

Your running away from your emotion, that deep feeling of dread that lingers apon your ever morning after spending the night with him.

He lets out a soft exhale, his grip on your wrist slightly tighter — not letting go but conversely not keeping you there. You could leave whenever your heart desired. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Your heart desires what your mind doesn’t. Your body desires the opposite of your mind.

“You always run,” he says, his voice soft, delicate. The bitterness that usually graces his tongue is absent, replaced by something quieter, something real.

He brushes his warm hands against yours, the rough cool metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine. His hands feel rough in random places, calloused along the pads of his fingertips.

“You could go,” he says underneath his breath, his space like eyes flickering between yours. “You have always been able to go.”

“But you don’t want to, do you?”

The way he says it, it was far from a question. As if he had found the last peice of a puzzle. No cockiness, no small disrespectful remarks, just honesty. Pure, truthful honesty. This was unusual for him to show so much.. emotion.

You force yourself to look down into your lap, only this made it worse, it made you realise that his hand on yours was the touch you had been craving for so long. The warmth, the weight, the silent promise in the way his fingers curl around yours.

You force the lump that was once again forming in your throat, you wanted to tell him how you truely felt, the words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, desperate to climb out. Just this once, you would let yourself let go.

“It doesn’t matter what i want Namgyu. You know that.” Your voice unsteady. “It doesn’t change the way this night will end. It doesn’t change the mornings id wake up dreaming of something that we didn’t have, and what we could of had. It doesn’t change the way you change between day and night.” You inhale, sharply shaking your head as hurtful tears start to form. “So tell me, what is the point in even acknowledging what i want? It does not matter.”

Tears fell like a gushing wave, you felt frustrated. Emotional, it was indescribable.

Namgyu exhaled. For once, he didn’t look cocky or smug, like he was going to shout out some careless remark and call it day.

For once, he looks real. Sober, somehow. He had definitely done drugs, but you were blinded by it, emotions speaking for itself.

You can’t do this.

“You don’t—“

Just as namgyu starts to speak, his hands frustratedly brushing through his long hair, You step back from the chair, unlocking your hands from his. “I can’t do this right now.”

Your voice trembles, betraying all of the honest emotions flooding your brain.

You stormed out, head low, tears falling violently. You don’t even wait for his reaction, you were too scared of confirming those very real emotions. Shoving through the crowd, the pulse of the music vibrating through your shoes.

You don’t know where you’re going— you just knew you had to go, for good.

Until.

A hand grabs your wrist, firmly. You started to tense, already knowing who it was.

“Please.”

[chxrrie-bxmb]

me when i CRY me when i SOB /j

Not only the fact that he was squeezing his hand so tight that it bled, but the fact that he was squeezing a button in his hand that Geto had given him. Buttons in Japan often symbolize a love confession, because the button given to another is often the one closest to the heart. Also the fact that this is an anime only scene, it was not present in the manga at all.

[hisui555]

German translation of "The Property of Hate" is alive again ! 🇩🇪

Yeah, remember that poll I did a tiny while ago ? Well thanks to the AMAZING Veiledbyamask, who began translating on Toonsup back then (we've deleted it, by the way, it was too much of a mess to edit on there), we can now make this a possibility and bring you the German version of TPOH ! We're currently at chapter 3, let's see how far we can go !

Come find us at tpohde.tumblr.com, we have lots of cool stuff already there and up to come, see below the cut !

And naturally, you can come peruse and read even if you're not a native German speaker, this is for everyone to enjoy !

However, we're only the translators : all rights belong to Modmad, and this fan-translation is purely out of love, fun, and will to make this absolutely incredible work accessible to a Germanophone fandom !

Yeah, really, don't ask us about spoilers guys, we know jack fat diddly squat.

While things might change in presentation, we have the pinned starter page, where we'll keep track and inform you of the news about the translation, TPOH kickstarters, and added features !

A chapter page where you can easily access and navigate between your favorite moments in the story ! If you can click on the door, that means the chapter is up and complete !

Each chapter will be in scroll format so that everyone can read them without those pesky technological differences between mobile and PC !

Got a question ? Something's not working ? Wanna give feedback ? Don't worry, we left the Askbox open !

We hope you'll have fun ! And tons of thanks to you Mod for your patience, help and trust.

-Veil & Onyx

(PS : we also have unique tags, so search for those !)

[rhytmrocket]

remember that idea i had of an mv of Touch-Tone Telephone by lemon demon with dr. cutlery

yeah thats not happening anytime soon but you can have this ig

[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.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

I have a doozy of a work week coming up, so I don't anticipate having much time to write. So enjoy this little Valentine's Day angst-fluff-smut combo I’ve been sitting on for a while. Thank you for reading and have a splendid Valentine's Day if you celebrate - regardless, you are loved! ❤️

XOXO, Anonymous

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, profanity); all characters are 18+ Words: 6,323 Tags: friends to lovers, Valentine's Day, love letters, misunderstandings, mutual pining, angst, fluff, Seb is extra stupid in this one

Summary: Sebastian Sallow has been hopelessly in love with Annalisa Lark since the day they met during fifth year. So when he discovers a love letter to Ominis seemingly sent from her, he begins a downward spiral. Once the truth comes out, he'll realize actions sometimes speak louder than words.

Notes: This one's split into two parts in case you want to skip the smut. Part I is angst and fluff. Part II is smut. All characters are 18-year-old seventh years. MC in this one is a Ravenclaw named Annalisa Lark.

Read on AO3 or both parts below the cut.

Part I

Sebastian Sallow trudged into his dormitory, exhausted after a particularly grueling quidditch practice. The room was empty, presumably because all his roommates were already elbow-deep in their dinners. 

Sebastian would have gone straight to the Great Hall to join them, but he’d been neglecting a Potions essay that was due in the morning. He just needed to grab a book and he’d head to the library for a few hours of writing.

Except Sebastian’s Potions book was nowhere to be found. He cursed under his breath as he realized he’d left it in the locker room. With no desire to make the trek all the way back to the quidditch pitch, Sebastian decided he’d merely borrow Ominis’ book. Surely Ominis had completed the essay ages ago.

The book sat on the desk next to Ominis’ bed, resting on its back atop a neat stack of parchment. Sebastian picked it up and moved to gather some parchment and quills of his own when a folded sheet slipped from the book’s pages. It fluttered to the floor and landed face-up, open, as if its contents were meant to be seen.

Typically, Sebastian wouldn’t dare read his friend’s mail. He would never willingly violate Ominis’ trust, not after it had taken him two years to regain it after the events of fifth year. But a few choice words scrawled on the parchment caught Sebastian’s eye as he bent down to retrieve it. He paused, his hand hovering above the letter until he finally gathered the nerve to pick it up and read it.

His tired pout morphed into a full-fledged frown.

Dearest Ominis,

Your last letter made me smile. You have such a way with words that I always find myself re-reading your letters over and over again. I hope they never stop, even if we can one day be together.

Speaking of, have you given any further thought to discussing our potential relationship with Sebastian? I know you’re worried it could sever your friendship, but please don’t. He cares about both of us far too much, and I truly believe he merely wants to see us happy.

I love you, Ominis. I love you, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t. After everything that happened to me during fifth year, I’ve realized life is far too short to be separated from the ones we love.

Please give what I said some more consideration. See you soon.

XOXO, A.

It took a moment for Sebastian to realize his hands were shaking. His palms were sweating and his stomach churned. He couldn’t even pinpoint which emotion had taken charge of his body – disbelief, surely, but what about the betrayal? And the pain… my god, the pain. It slammed through Sebastian’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

He read it again. Call him a masochist, but he had to be sure he understood correctly. He prayed his eyes had somehow managed to trick him, that it had all been a projection of his own deepest fears, or perhaps some cruel prank Ominis cooked up.

But Ominis wasn’t a prankster. And he would never joke about something as complex as Sebastian’s feelings – not when it came to her. Or so he thought. 

Sebastian had loved Annalisa Lark since the day she absolutely dismantled him during a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She was stunning to him in every sense of the word, and while their friendship was sometimes turbulent, Sebastian flocked to her like children to candy. He’d never admit to it, though. The only person who seemed to understand was Ominis.

But now, it seemed Ominis understood more than he’d let on. Sebastian stilled himself, the letter still in his hand. Had his best friend really stolen the love of his life? Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. She wasn’t Sebastian’s to steal. He was certain she didn’t even have those kinds of feelings for him. Still, surely Ominis knew about that unspoken gentlemen’s rule about not romancing your best friend’s love interest.

Sebastian’s shock shifted to fury. His conniption swelled as he mulled the situation over. His best friend had swooped in on her. The one and only girl he couldn’t bear to lose. 

He had to toss the letter aside to stop himself from crumpling it into a ball. Knives clouded his vision. He could choke Ominis until the life left his eyes. She said she loved him. She told Ominis the only words that could likely save Sebastian from a tragic demise.

And worst of all, they’d kept their romance a secret from him. They didn’t deem him worthy of sharing their secret. They thought it’d be easier to keep him out of their equation. He wasn’t meant to be a part of their secret society. 

Sebastian sank onto his bed, his gaze wavering in and out of focus. He didn’t know what to do. Should he storm down to the Great Hall and demand answers from them? Should he keep quiet and pretend he didn’t know? Should he make a last-ditch effort love declaration in hopes of stealing Annalisa back to her rightful place?

All of those options made sense in Sebastian’s mind, but Sebastian Sallow rarely made sense when it came to the most important matters of the heart.

Dinner and Potions essays be damned, Sebastian decided to retreat to the Undercroft.

---

“Sebastian! There you are.” 

For the first time in nearly three years, Sebastian was dismayed to find Annalisa in the Undercroft. She was curled up on a sofa she’d conjured during their fifth year, a book open across her lap.

Even from where he stood, Sebastian could see it was a romance novel. She was always reading those, as if she enjoyed the escapism into a world of longing stares and declarations of desire. She didn’t know she was living inside one of those novels; though this one was currently creeping toward an angst-ridden, tragic ending as far as Sebastian was concerned. The trope of his life was morphing from secret pining to the one that got away.

“There you are,” Sebastian replied. It was their routine greeting, a symbol of their bond since they were fifteen. Even in crisis, he wouldn’t stray from it. He needed its familiarity. 

“Where’ve you been?” Annalisa asked curiously as she shifted to one side of the sofa to make room for him.

“Quidditch practice.”

“Did you eat? I didn’t see you at dinner. I have some apples in my bag.”

Sebastian shook his head as he took the other half of the sofa. His posture betrayed him. He typically slouched into his seat, his knees parted while his hands absentmindedly twirled his wand. But tonight, he was rigid, his spine far too stiff and straight to fool her. “I’m not hungry.”

Annalisa frowned, her book now forgotten as she set it aside. “Since when have you ever turned down a meal?” she demanded with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian lied.

Annalisa scowled at him. “Sebastian Edward Sallow, do not play with me.”

Sebastian nearly barked a laugh at the irony of it all. If anything, she was the one playing with him; sneaking around behind his back with his own best friend, penning him passionate love letters while Sebastian had been none the wiser. 

He wanted to be disgusted with her, to lash out and demand answers. He wanted her to know how hurt he was by her decision to omit him from such a significant portion of her life. Even if she didn’t choose him, she could have at least filled him in on her stirring new romance – especially since it involved their mutual best friend.

But Sebastian could never be repulsed by her, even if he felt slighted. She was too much of all the good things Sebastian admired in life – a stunning little spitfire compressed into five feet of fearless conviction. She was compassionate and complex; she didn’t view the world in black and white the way so many others preferred to. She understood the frayed seams between good and evil and light and darkness. 

That realization was the moment Sebastian was certain he loved her. She stood by him after Solomon’s death and offered him unwavering support, because she knew the nuances of right and wrong. She had blood on her hands, too. The difference in their bloodshed was hers was an effort to quell darkness; Sebastian’s bloodshed had embraced it.

Still, Annalisa understood Sebastian at a level that transcended mere friendship, and because of that, Sebastian had grown certain she was his soulmate. But now, he wasn’t sure he knew her at all.

“Sebastian…” Annalisa was still peering at him expectantly. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted, his tense posture still exposing his discomfort. “I’m just exhausted, is all. 

Annalisa opened her mouth, fully prepared to interrogate him into a confession, but the entrance to the Undercroft clanged open again, revealing Ominis’ arrival. Sebastian stiffened even more.

“Ominis!” Annalisa greeted. “Sebastian here was just about to tell me why he’s so moody.”

“Sebastian, moody? I can’t imagine,” came Ominis’ dry reply.

Sebastian was in no mood for teasing remarks. Not when he was the third wheel to the two people he thought he trusted most. His irritation surged, and before he could suppress it, he was on his feet.

“I’ll just leave you two to it then, yeah?” he snapped. 

“Sebastian, what-” 

Sebastian brushed past a stunned Ominis and sulked from the Undercroft.

---

Sebastian hated Valentine’s Day. What a stupid, sordid excuse of a holiday, he thought. He slouched over his corner of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall as he watched his classmates exchange jovial greetings and giggles over romantic gifts. It was positively nauseating. The arrival of Ominis taking the seat across from him didn’t sweeten the day.

“Brooding in the corner on Valentine’s Day,” Ominis mused. “How very cliche of you.” Sebastian didn’t reply. Ominis sighed and set his stack of books on the table between them. “Going to share with the class what’s had you so bent out of shape?”

Again, no reply. Ominis was no stranger to Sebastian’s tempestuous moods. They always became particularly stormy when Annalisa was inundated with attention from their classmates. Today, she sat at the Ravenclaw table with a short stack of valentines and an assortment of sweets surrounding her. Truthfully, Sebastian could cope with that – he’d witnessed their classmates’ attempts to court Annalisa on countless occasions. He was used to that. He wasn’t used to the nauseating knowledge that his own best friend was the one who had secured her heart, and in secret nonetheless. 

“Alright, mate,” Ominis sighed as he gathered his books again and stood. “But Cupid’s arrow isn’t going to find you while you’re commiserating by your lonesome self in a corner.”

As he retreated toward the doors of the Great Hall, Sebastian considered chucking a potato at his head. But something else stole his attention.

Another letter. Ominis must have left it accidentally in his haste to flee Sebastian’s orbit of agony. Sebastian snatched it off the table immediately, took a quick glance around the Great Hall, and read.

Dearest Ominis,

Happy Valentine’s Day, love! Thank you for the gorgeous flowers. They look positively stunning at my bedside. I look forward to gazing at them as the last thing I’ll see before I fall asleep. You are always the last thing on my mind at night anyway.

I am so looking forward to seeing you tonight. I hope it will be just as special for you as it is for me. See you at 7:00.

XOXO, A.

The edges of the parchment curled inward as Sebastian’s hands shook. They had a secret date planned for the night. They were going to have a romantic night together and neither of them felt any obligation to tell him. Their friendship was no longer a trio. They were a pair, plus one, single fool.

Sebastian crumpled the letter and stashed it in his pocket. He prayed Cupid would choke on a pumpkin pasty.

---

Sebastian’s sour mood didn’t stop there. It devolved by the afternoon, until all who crossed his path were at risk of a terrible lashing. 

Finally, Annalisa found him pouting beneath the Transfiguration Courtyard fountain.

“Sebastian,” she said sternly, her green eyes drilling him with impatience. “What is the matter with you? Ominis says you’re positively insufferable. What has happened?”

Of course Ominis called him that. Ominis was a treasonous, back-stabbing traitor who was too cowardly to even admit he was in love. If Sebastian had Annalisa, he’d tell the whole world, and would burn it down if anyone dared to question him.

“Ominis knows exactly what he’s done,” Sebastian snapped. 

“Clearly not,” Annalisa challenged him. “All we know is something has you upset. Stop isolating yourself and tell us. Tell me, at the very least.”

How rich. She was begging him to tell her, when she hadn’t bothered to tell him about her new little love affair.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian said, rising to his feet as he gazed at her with a pointed stare. “I’ll tell you my secret when you tell me yours.”

Annalisa blinked at him. “Secret? Sebastian, I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Sebastian slipped past her to head inside the castle in search of someplace more secluded. “Then neither do I.”

He wasn’t proud of his prickly behavior. It was reminiscent of his fifth year, when his obsession with curing Anne’s curse pushed him into a manic state, void of any logic. He wasn’t that far gone now, but he certainly was allowing his emotions to control him.

Fine. If Ominis and Annalisa were so into writing silly little love letters, he’d do the same.

Sebastian retreated to his dormitory, where he was relieved to find himself alone. He sat at his desk with two blank sheets of parchment in front of him.

Ominis,

It has come to my attention that you have entered into a romantic partnership with Annalisa. To say that I feel betrayed and slighted is an understatement. I thought you were aware of my feelings regarding our mutual friend and would use better judgment. It’s clear the two of you have chosen each other over me, so consider this my resignation from our friendship.

Sebastian E. Sallow

He snatched the parchment up and crushed it in his hand. This was meant to be a deeply personal declaration of deception and distress, not a polite invitation for afternoon tea.

He tried again.

Ominis– 

I know your secret. Consider this the final fallen pillar of our friendship.

See you in hell, Sebastian

Much better. One down, one to go. But the second one wasn’t as simple. 

Sebastian was certain he could be romantic, right? He’d been on his fair share of dates, had plenty of experience with girls. In truth, he had his pick of most girls at Hogwarts. Sure, he didn’t have the family name and wealth that Ominis had to offer, but he had a bright future as an early acceptance into the Ministry of Magic’s Auror program. He was charming and intelligent, charismatic enough to sway most people he encountered to his side.

Surely he could pen one simple love letter. But for as silver-tongued as he was when it came to getting himself out of trouble or convincing his classmates to help him with various endeavors, Sebastian had no idea how to tell a girl he loved her.

He sat glued to that spot for a good hour until the reject pile of letters not good enough for Annalisa’s eyes had formed a small stack on the desktop. No words could convey what he felt for her. No words were pretty or poignant enough. 

Annalisa,

I know you’re in love with Ominis and I don’t want to stand in the way of the happiness you deserve. But if there’s any chance I could ever compete for your heart, please know that I won’t go down without a fight.

I’ve loved you since that first day in Hecat’s class. I know I haven’t made life easy on you, but loving you’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. 

Tell me I have even the slightest shot at being yours and I promise you’ll always have my full effort.

Forever yours, Sebastian

It wasn’t good enough, but it was the best he could manage. He wasn’t meant to craft eloquent prose like Annalisa’s favorite romance novels. Because this was real, not a fictional work intended to entertain the masses, and Sebastian wanted to be sure she knew that. This was his brutal honesty, raw and real.

He sighed as he decided these two letters would have to do. He pocketed Annalisa’s and placed the other on Ominis’ nightstand before slinking off to the kitchens to eat dinner in solitude.

By the time he was finished, his pocket watch indicated it was 6:30. Ominis and Annalisa would be heading off to their date soon, likely at some romantic restaurant where they could cozy up to one another away from prying eyes. Sebastian couldn’t stand to picture it.

He had originally planned to send Annalisa’s letter via owl, but impulse control was never Sebastian’s strength. So in an act of desperation, he trekked up to Ravenclaw Tower and lingered outside the common room.

In a serendipitous act of fate, Samantha Dale was just returning from dinner.

“Samantha,” Sebastian breathed in relief. The Ravenclaw stopped in her tracks and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Sebastian? What are you doing here? Meeting Annalisa?”

“Oh, er, yes. Except I was hoping to surprise her,” Sebastian said, hoping he was convincing.

“Ooh, are you finally taking her on a date?” Samantha squealed. “It’s about time.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, but it’s a surprise. Can you let me into the common room?”

“Of course, right this way.” Samantha led Sebastian inside and gestured toward the girls’ dormitories. “Pretty sure you’ve been up here before, yes? You remember the way?”

Sebastian nodded and thanked Samantha, who continued into the common room. He strode hastily toward Annalisa’s dorm, praying she’d still be there. He knocked gently and felt his stomach contort at the sound of her voice inviting the visitor inside.

“Sebastian?” Annalisa blinked as he creaked the door open. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Sebastian was more confused than her. She was wearing pajamas and she sat up in bed, cozied beneath the covers with a book open. She certainly did not appear to be preparing for a romantic date.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asked stupidly. Annalisa snorted.

“Sebastian, I live here.”

“But… you have a date.”

“I do? That’s news to me.”

That’s when Sebastian also realized there were no flowers on her nightstand. What was going on? Was this some sort of prank? A bizarre dream – perhaps an astral projection? He felt sick.

“But… but you and Ominis…”

Annalisa tilted her head, perplexed by the entire interaction as her eyes narrowed in concern. “Ominis? What does he have to do with this? Sebastian, what is going on? You’ve been acting so strange lately.”

“I…” Sebastian’s entire frame deflated, his shoulders slumping forward and his knees threatening to buckle. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Annalisa motioned for him to sit on the side of the bed. She watched him carefully as he did so, his hands resting atop his knees. He looked exhausted. 

“What’s this date you were talking about?” Annalisa asked as she tossed her book aside.

Sebastian sighed. There was no recovering from this. Even if he wanted to get out of this, to sweet talk her with some excuse, he knew he’d only leave with despair in his heart. “I thought you and Ominis had a date,” he said.

Annalisa looked like he’d slapped her. “You’re not serious.”

“I saw the letters. Your letters.”

“What letters?”

“The ones you wrote to Ominis.”

Annalisa felt dizzy, which was alarming because she was certain Sebastian was the one who’d gone loopy. “I didn’t write Ominis any letters,” she said. “Why would I? I see him every day. I don’t need to write him.”

Sebastian’s chest constricted. A flush crept from his neck into his cheeks. His lungs screamed for air. He didn’t understand.

“You’re not dating Ominis?”

“What?!”

Oh no. Had he really gotten it all wrong? How? He’d seen the letters with his own eyes. It all added up in his head. Had he really let himself spiral into an episode of assumptions and self-doubt? 

“Sebastian,” Annalisa continued, her voice a breath of laughter and perplexion. “What the fuck are you on about? Who told you I was dating Ominis?”

“No one told me. I accidentally saw letters written to him – love letters.”

Annalisa was clearly intrigued, another indication that she had nothing to do with said letters. “Love letters? To Ominis? From whom? And what made you think they were from me?”

“I only saw two of them, but they were both signed by the initial A,” Sebastian explained. “And one of them talked about a date tonight.”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t me,” Annalisa laughed. “This book is my hot date for the night.”

“But then, who…” 

Annalisa giggled, her eyes glinting with a facetious, knowing smile. “Sebastian, come on,” she said. “Think.”

“But I don’t-”

“Anne!” Annalisa continued.

“Anne?”

Sebastian froze as all the mental pieces shifted in his brain. Merlin. It made perfect sense – more sense than Ominis and Annalisa.

“You mean Ominis and Anne are in love?”

“Yes, silly,” Annalisa snorted. “Anyone with two eyes can see it.”

“But Ominis has two eyes and can’t s-”

“Sebastian, that’s beside the point.”

“Right, sorry. But… you knew? About them?”

“Not for sure,” Annalisa said. “But it’s always been pretty obvious that those two love each other. They share everything and they really only trust each other… they’d do anything for each other. Of course they’re in love.”

“Oh.”

Annalisa stared at him with exasperated eyes. “You really thought I’d date Ominis?”

“I mean, the two of you adore each other.”

“Yes, because we’re great friends. Surely you know we’d never consider each other romantically.”

“I didn’t think so, but then I saw those letters and… I just thought maybe I’d overlooked something between you two,” Sebastian explained.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Annalisa said. “Obviously I’m not on a hot date with our mutual friend. I didn’t have a date tonight, so I’m enjoying a cozy night in.”

“Oh.”

Annalisa’s brow furrowed as her gaze locked in on the folded parchment in Sebastian’s hand. “What’s that?”

Sebastian swallowed. There was no going back, he reminded himself. But this wasn’t how he wanted to tell her. He wanted to woo her with melodic words and grand gestures symbolic of his feelings. He wanted to make a case for himself she couldn’t refuse.

But if he had to convince her to love him, it wasn’t the right kind of reciprocation anyway. Still, his nerves were getting the best of him. 

“It’s nothing, spare bit of parchment,” he tried to say with a shrug. Annalisa shot him a look. 

“What is it?” she demanded. 

Sebastian frantically scanned his brain for the right words. He only had one shot at this. He had to get it right. 

“It’s a letter.”

“One of Anne’s letters to Ominis?”

“No. A letter from me to you.”

Annalisa tilted her head quizzically. “What do you mean? Why? What does it say?”

Sebastian averted his gaze, his eyes on the parchment in his hands. “Before I hand this to you, before I allow you to read it,” he started. “I want you to know that it was a result of a severe misunderstanding. When I thought you were in love with Ominis… I felt like I was going mental.”

“Is that why you stormed out of the Undercroft and have been sulking so much?”

“Yes.”

“Sebastian, why didn’t you just say something to us?”

“Because I thought you were trying to keep it a secret from me.”

“Why would we do that?”

“To avoid my wrath, apparently. Judging from the letters, it sounds like Anne wants me to know but Ominis is afraid to tell me.”

Annalisa’s lips curved in another knowing smile. “To be fair, I can’t say I blame him,” she said. “This is your sister we’re talking about here.”

“I know, but if there’s anyone I do trust to date my sister, it’s Ominis. He’s the only person I’d trust with her.”

“Well then, it sounds like you both have been making some inaccurate assumptions,” Annalisa mused. 

“I suppose so.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair. “Look, when I thought you and Ominis were together, I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Sebastian,” Annalisa laughed. “I just don’t understand why it had you so upset.”

“Because I don’t handle jealousy well,” Sebastian answered.

“Jealousy? Sebastian, don’t tell me you’re struggling to find a girlfriend. You-”

It was a good thing Sebastian was absolutely smitten with Annalisa, because for as brilliant as she truly was, she could be quite dense when it came to personal matters of the heart. “I thought Ominis had taken the only person I’m interested in,” Sebastian cut in. He maintained his gaze on the parchment, terrified to watch as the understanding settled within Annalisa. 

“Sebastian,” she breathed.

“Here,” Sebastian said as he extended his arm to offer her the letter. “Now you can have this.”

Annalisa reached tentatively for the letter, as if she knew reading it would change everything. Sebastian didn’t look as he listened to her unfold it. The room fell silent as her eyes scanned his penmanship. When he heard her inhale sharply, Sebastian considered flinging himself out the window.

He wasn’t prepared for her reaction. He had long accepted the reality that she could never possibly love him mutually. She might love him as a close friend, but she’d never understand the magnitude of her presence in his life. She was more than his shoulder to lean on and partner in crime; she was the gravity that grounded Sebastian to this world. If he lost her, he’d lose the anchor that kept the sea of dysphoria from sweeping him away again.

Sebastian decided he’d start by apologizing. He’d tell her he never meant to jeopardize their bond. He hadn’t even meant to fall for her. But he wasn’t sorry for loving her. It was the most genuine emotion he had. 

Then he’d assure Annalisa that their friendship didn’t have to change. He was determined to maintain it. He’d fight every one of his emotions tooth and nail for her. She had to understand that he’d never expect anything more from her than the privilege to merely be a part of her life.

“Sebastian,” Annalisa breathed. He finally turned to look at her and was stunned to see tears welling in her eyes. “Sebastian, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not really a casual topic for dinner discussion.”

“Sebastian, really.” Annalisa sniffed. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian averted his gaze again, riddled by guilt and fear. He fiddled with a loose thread on the blanket while both seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Sebastian,” Annalisa repeated. She slipped from beneath the covers to sit next to him. Sebastian fought desperately to think about anything other than the way her silk pajamas clung to her body. “Sebastian, look at me.”

He exhaled slowly as he turned to face her, awaiting his fateful sentence. He assumed she’d let him down gently, tell him they were better off as friends. She was far too kind to raise her voice at him, though she was also fiery enough that she might slap him.

Instead, she threw her arms around him. Sebastian’s lungs deflated as he stilled, stunned by her sudden embrace. 

“Sebastian, you fool. You know I love you too,” she mumbled, her words muffled against his neck. It ignited a new heat that coursed through his limbs. He swallowed as her words clashed with the feeling of her soft lips against his skin. It was a staggering juxtaposition of sweet relief and untamed desire.

She loved him? Had he really managed to overlook that major detail in his life? Had there been signs? Sebastian blinked in disbelief. He'd orchestrated his fair share of stupid events, but this one took first place.

Annalisa closed her eyes as she continued to cling to Sebastian. “You really thought I was in love with Ominis?”

“Ominis is brilliant,” Sebastian offered with a shrug. “Girls seem to like that whole polished and proper thing he has going on.”

Annalisa snorted against his neck and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile in spite of his nerves. “Sebastian, when have I ever been the prim and proper type?” she murmured. The more she spoke and the more her lips buzzed vibrations across his skin, the more Sebastian squirmed.

“That’s true,” he answered, forcing his words until they sounded steady. “You do seem to have a proclivity for chaos and dramatics.”

Annalisa drew away just far enough to peer upward at him with a pointed gaze. Her green eyes gleamed with coquetry. “It’s not like I go looking for chaos,” she huffed. “It just seems to find me… sort of way you found me. Sometimes it’s good to attract chaos.”

“Are you calling me chaotic?”

“Are you denying it?”

Sebastian chuckled. “No. Can’t deny that.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you so tense?”

“Because I just confessed to being in love with you and now you’re pressed up against me.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Oh. Oh.

“I… don’t know.” 

Annalisa offered him a bemused smirk. “Boy, Seb, between that letter and all of this, you sure have a way with words,” she teased. “Lucky for you, you won me over years ago.”

“Years?”

Annalisa rolled her eyes, her impatience evident. “Yes, years,” she said matter-of-factly. “Which is why you should have told me.”

“You could have told me!”

“And ruin the absolute spectacle of you making a fool of yourself because of a couple love letters to Ominis? Never.”

That was enough talking, enough words for one day. Sebastian had spelled it all out, albeit rather awkwardly, but the swell inside his chest made it all worth it. He finally kissed her, which told her more than any stupid letter ever could.

Part II (Smut warning)

“Sebastian,” Annalisa whimpered. “Sebastian, please.”

Her hands were presently tangled in Sebastian’s hair as her legs were tossed over his shoulders. 

Annalisa was quickly learning that Sebastian may not always have a way with words, but he was certainly skilled with his tongue. His letter to her lay on the floor, having fluttered off the bed amid the frenzy of hungry hands and greedy kisses.

“Sebastian, don’t stop,” Annalisa begged as his tongue pressed patterns over her clit. He hummed in response, certain he’d go mad by the way she begged him for more. Her whimpering pleas, the taste of her arousal and the aftermath of their declarations of love had Sebastian teetering on the edge of an insanity that could only be stoked by adoration.

Sebastian’s tongue traced tiny heart shapes across her clit until Annalisa’s thighs tensed and the pitch of her moans spiked. “Oh fuck, Sebastian!” she cried as her nerve endings seared with pleasure. Her back arched off the bed and her fingers tugged at Sebastian’s hair until her orgasm subsided, leaving her chest heaving and her entrance soaked.

Sebastian, still stunned by the day’s revelations, sat back on his heels to admire her. She wasn’t in love with Ominis – his own sister was. But he’d wrap his mind around that part of the story later. The part that mattered now was Annalisa had been his the entire time, and she was eager to prove it to him. After he kissed her for that first time, she had practically climbed into his lap until they were tearing their clothes off.

Once she had caught her breath, Annalisa sat up to pull Sebastian into a long kiss. “Stand up,” she ordered. 

Sebastian blinked. He was enthralled by this bossy new side of her. Of course, one doesn’t save the world from a goblin rebellion by being a timid pushover, but Sebastian hadn’t anticipated this level of dominance from her. It made his cock twitch desperately.

He obliged and scrambled to his feet, holding his breath as he watched Annalisa fall to her knees on the floor in front of him. She took him into her mouth and tightened her lips around his shaft. Sebastian had to lean one hand on the back of her desk chair to support his weight. The suction pulling against his cock was dizzying.

“My god,” he groaned as he gazed downward to watch her work. Her hands snaked their way to the backs of his thighs, fingers pressing into his flesh as she used only her mouth to make him moan. 

Annalisa’s lips released their vice grip to make way for her tongue. She dragged it from the base of Sebastian’s cock upward, over and around the tip, leaving it slick with saliva. Sebastian whimpered at the sight of it. 

“Annalisa, please,” he begged. “Let me have you.”

Annalisa nodded in understanding and rose to her feet to pull Sebastian into a kiss. She nudged him backward to guide him toward the desk chair. 

“Sit,” she commanded. Sebastian obeyed and dropped into a seated position. Annalisa climbed over him, hands clutching his shoulders as she lowered herself. She held her breath, astounded that her quiet Valentine’s Day was ending in such a way. Much better than any of her romance novels.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into her waist as he felt his cock make contact with her entrance. He tensed as she sank slowly, a low whine escaping her throat as she stretched around him. “Sebastian, you’re big,” she whimpered.

“Take it easy,” Sebastian said gently, though every nerve ending in his body was electrified. The scorching heat surrounding his cock was surreal.

Annalisa lifted herself and dipped downward again. The friction made both of their breaths hitch. Sebastian fought to control his body’s response while Annalisa found a steady pace, her cunt gliding over his cock until the room echoed with the sounds of their slick union.

“I love you,” Annalisa whispered, her eyes meeting Sebastian’s as she studied his expression to ensure he was content. 

“I love you too,” Sebastian growled, his hands still pressing into her sides. He marveled at her; the way her full breasts bounced, her cheeks flushed, and her tight walls embraced him. He was desperate to feel her release. He had to know how she’d feel when she collapsed on top of him, her thighs shaking and cunt swollen from the intrusion of his cock.

Annalisa’s eyes fell shut as she worked, her hips rising and grinding as she rested her palms flat against Sebastian’s chest. The chair creaked beneath them. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Sebastian breathed.

She rocked her hips and let out a sharp moan as Sebastian’s cock speared her soft, sensitive spot. “Oh, right there,” she groaned. She repeated the motion, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she lost herself in the sensation stimulating her core. “Sebastian, I’m close.”

Poor Sebastian was hanging on for dear life. His mind was presently reviewing spell patterns he’d learned in Charms class to divert his attention. He didn’t find himself in such a drastic dilemma very often, but this was pure desperation.

Annalisa slammed herself hard down onto him, driving the depths of her walls around Sebastian’s cock until she could feel the familiar flutters. She squeezed and rocked until her walls gave way to her climax, throbbing with relief as she wailed and threw her head back. She collapsed her full weight into Sebastian’s lap, allowing the tip of his cock to settle deep inside her until the final twitches of her cunt evoked his orgasm. He swore as he gripped her hips and spilled within her, earning one final moan from her.

The room’s erotic echoes were replaced with their recovering breaths. Annalisa slumped against Sebastian, her body exhausted from bouncing on top of him, and her head hazy.

Sebastian was utterly spent. His forehead rested against Annalisa’s bare shoulder as the weight of the day’s overwhelming epiphanies settled within him.

Things had taken a turn for the better; a monumental shift in events that he never could have predicted. He felt foolish and guilty for his presumptive behavior, but elated that, finally, for once, things had worked in his favor.

Annalisa was watching him with soft eyes. “Alright?” she asked. Sebastian grinned, his hands tracing light lines up and down the small of her back.

“Alright,” he answered. “Just… thinking about how mental this day was.”

“Only because you’re mental,” Annalisa said as she climbed off him and began fetching her pajamas from the floor.

“Sorry,” Sebastian said with a sheepish smile. “I guess I owe you and Ominis an apol-” He froze, his eyes widening until Annalisa drew back in alarm.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“Ominis,” Sebastian said hastily as he scrambled to his feet and began redressing. “I- I wrote him a letter too. I have to go. I have to get rid of it before he sees it.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Sebastian flashed her an apologetic grin as he buttoned his shirt. “I might have told him we were no longer friends and to go to hell.”

“Sebastian!”

“In my defense, it was all for you, love.”

“It was downright foolish.”

“I know. Apologies, love. I’ll just go fetch and destroy it and then I’ll come right back, yeah?”

Annalisa sighed and crawled back into bed. “Yes, alright. I’ll be here.” 

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her forehead and sprinted back to the Slytherin dungeons.

[r0tting-rat]

"Little pest."

Hi Magpie!!! Gift :> Just a lil thing for a very talented someone with an incredible au. Yeah I'm a huge simp for their alien boys what about it /silly

Pairing: Alien King!Eclipse (by @sleepymagpie-draws) x Gender Neutral Reader Warning: None, maybe just a bit ooc (sorry mags) Words: 4000+ Summary: You're bored and can't sleep. Thank god you have someone to annoy to pass the time <3 Heavily inspired by this ask/art!!! Literally died when I saw it he's so beautiful. Additional tags: TouchSTARVED reader. Starved as hell. Also fluff fluff fluff so much fluff. Magpie I love him can you tell. (Reminder everyone that the reader has techincally been kidnapped, but they're pretty chill about it dw)

Who said being kidnapped by aliens is a terrifying and horrible experience? It has already been months since Sun literally grabbed you and brought you with him, and you have yet to be put on a vivisectionist's table. In fact, all you have known since then are silky sheets, soft pillows, ornate plates of fresh fruits you have never seen before, and heavy pieces of jewelry that hang down your neck and rest fresh against your sternum. You live better than you used to back on Earth, spoiled rotten by three royals every single day of your dull life, sleeping in a bed three times the size of a human one, and with countless workers ready to be summoned at your every call. Although, you have to admit that you much prefer the attention of your “captors” compared to the one of their servants, feeling like their soft touches work like a relaxing balm on your mood. 

The one of the three brothers you see less is Eclipse, and even if you can bet your money on the fact that he must be constantly busy due to his duties as a king, you can’t help but wish you could spend more time with him, craving the way he gently scratches the top of your head with his claws whenever he manages to stop by and pay you a visit.

Rolling around in the soft sheets of the bed you are resting on, looking up at the dull ceiling, you feel like a pampered and neglected pet at the same time, left to the care of strangers who refuse to speak more than quick sentences to you, covered by precious gifts from head to toe and fed with silver spoons while also being locked alone in your quarters for hours without end. 

You complain, of course. To Sun, Moon, and anyone who’s willing to swing by and listen, really. You grumble and whine; you roll on your bed and do your best attempt at puppy eyes, but all the brothers do is laugh and caress your cheeks. There are rules—they say—rules that can’t be broken, and each time they remind you, you roll your eyes. They promised you books and games to pass the time, but as you wait for the shipment from Earth to arrive, you are left with nothing. You don’t understand the language of the heavy volumes collecting dust in the bookshelves of your room, and something tells you you wouldn’t enjoy reading them even if you did.

The part of the brothers’ visits you hate the most is when you see them stand up and prepare to leave, because you know that the very moment the door closes behind them, it locks, leaving you stuck in your room for hours. There’s no real keyhole in your door, so you can only guess how it works, but from what you have gathered so far, it seems like it’s semi-automatic but opens only when you’re coming in from the outside. Listening to Sun and Moon made you realize another thing as well: their rooms seem to be close to yours—maybe even adjacent—and the thought infuriates you. So close, and yet so far! Why do they so rarely visit you if they are so close by? Do they have other places to rest? Do they sleep at all? Are the bedrooms just for show? Drowning in questions, you decide that it’s time to break some rules, and when Eclipse finally stops by to visit you after dinner, you come up with a plan. 

The alien is so tall the tip of his crown brushes over the canopy of your bed as he leans over your draped form on the bed. He rests one of his hands on top of your head, brushing your hair back, and you look up at him with a pout.

“Finally decided to pay attention to me?” you say, swatting his hand away and sitting up. You know you’re being a brat, but if they so desire to treat you as a glorified pet, then you might as well show them the reality of owning one. From under his crown, which you consider more like a helmet or mask, you hear the disappointed clicking of his mandibles that translates through your magnetic ring with a soft cooing sound.

“Oh, my pet, are you feeling neglected?” he asks, coming back to gently run his claws through your hair. He loves to do it, and you love allowing him.

“I’m bored, Eclipse.” You have no qualms about calling him by his real name, ignoring any honorific everyone around keeps suggesting to you. “I’m bored, and it’s been almost a week since your last visit.”

You shift back on the bed a little so it doesn’t seem done on purpose, and you watch as the terrifyingly huge alien climbs on the disarranged covers to follow you. He never fully enters your personal space, always keeping enough room between the two of you to keep things “formal,” in a way, but you also noticed how he likes to have you at arm’s length. Every time you are in the same room as Eclipse, one of his four arms is always touching you, resting on your head or shoulder, tilting your chin up, sometimes even running his claws from the base of your spine to the nape of your neck just to see you shiver and glare at him.

“My apologies,” he says, and his words sound sincere, “I promise the shipment will arrive shortly; you’ll have your books in no time.”

“It’s not the books that I want, though,” you reply, leaning closer, and that causes Eclipse to slightly move back, like he’s scared you might end up too close to his face. “You kidnapped me, dragged me here, then proceeded to simply ignore me.”

You weren’t being ignored, of course. You were just acting dramatic so as to get what you wanted.

“I’m sure I do not need to remind you who of the three of us is the one at fault for your presence here. As I told you already, I’m afraid I cannot bring you with me while I work, pet,” Eclipse sighs, “After we expanded on your little planet, both Sun and Moon’s responsibilities and tasks have doubled as well. It has to be said, your fellow humans are quite rowdy.”

You turn your head away, pretending to look saddened by the news—nothing you hadn’t expected, of course, but still.

“Also, the thought of you roaming these halls alone makes us all uneasy,” he adds, “You could get lost, or someone could see you and be scared to the point of calling the guards on you. That’s why we must lock your door, my pet, to keep you safe.”

“Not because you think I might run away?” you question, eyebrows rising up with skepticism, and Eclipse purrs with amusement.

“Run off? And where to, silly?” he laughs, “You wouldn't even know how to leave this place, let alone return to your home planet.”

He’s right; running from them would have been stupid. Plus, you don’t really want to escape—not when you have two princes and a king spoiling you like that—you just need to leave that damned room for at least five minutes so as to not go mad! Is it too much to ask not to be subjected to psychological torture?

“Are you returning tomorrow morning?” you ask, hopeful, and Eclipse shakes his head. You groan, now seriously disappointed, and try not to lean too much into the touch of his hand caressing your cheek. The contact burns, like living embers, and you have to stifle a second groan. It’s been so long since you had some form of physical contact with a human, and something tells you it’s starting to take a toll on you, making you more compliant and demanding of attention. It could be due to the unfamiliar setting, which you simply can’t grow accustomed to despite how much you walk the perimeter of your large room, or the complete absence of familiar faces, but the cause of it doesn’t matter. All you know is that you need to be hugged, to be cuddled, to be held, and to be caressed. You’re touch starved, so hungry for it you could just throw yourself at Eclipse and cling on his neck until he relents and decides to sleep there with you or bring you to his room—either way, you’d get a full night of cuddles; too bad common decency stops you from hugging a king like a koala. 

“I have an important meeting in the morning, so I’m afraid not. I’m sure Sun and Moon might be able to clear their schedules in the afternoon, though, so don’t fret.”

His words are apologetic, but you feel as if they were said with the sole purpose of bringing you harm because they do nothing but hurt you. 

Eclipse leaves after a while of chatting, bringing all the warmth of the room with him, and you watch him from your spot on the edge of the bed as he walks towards the door. You’re on your back, head hanging down the bed, staring blankly at the heels of the king and mentally preparing your next move. You act fast. The door opens, Eclipse slips away, and right before it closes, you throw a pillow in the gap of the threshold. The noise of the pillow falling is soft and muffled, and Eclipse doesn’t seem to notice that the door hasn’t closed completely behind him; instead, he simply walks away in the white corridor outside your room, and you stare at your successful attempt with surprise. You actually did it! The door is still open, blocked by the red pillow, and you finally have access to the rest of the rooms. 

Carefully standing up from your bed, like afraid someone from outside could hear you, you make your way towards the exit and peek out, hoping not to be met with Eclipse’s disappointed masked face. When your eyes travel the length of the long corridor extending before you like a white snake, you find no sign of any alien, and a smile splits on your lips from ear to ear.

The idea of immediately beginning to explore is alluring, but you know better than to leave when it’s still so early. You must wait some time until you’re sure Eclipse must have already retreated to his room for the night, and then enact the second phase of your plan.

Once you’re finally sure enough time has passed since the king has wished you goodnight, you finally push fully open the door of your room, looking around once more to make sure the coast is clear. After that, you put the pillow back to stop the door just in case it couldn’t be opened from outside like you thought, and walk in the direction you’re almost sure Eclipse has taken. During your short trip, you notice the complete lack of furniture or wall decorations in the halls, mumbling to yourself about “rich people’s lack of taste,” occasionally finding a door and trying to open it with no success, and you’re just about to give up when you finally place your open palm against one tall frame and see it move at your gentle touch. 

You stare in disbelief at the room opening before you, large and barren at the same time, trying to understand who the place belongs to while lingering on the door sill. In the darkness you see thousands of books neatly arranged on tall bookshelves, with their colorful and ornate hard covers staring at you as if they’re aware you’re a stranger, and as you enter you notice many have a broken spine. Those books, you realize, have been well loved by someone, or maybe simply re-read dozens of times out of need. It doesn’t matter to you, because what you’re most interested in is the second door in a corner of the room, likely leading to the actual bedchambers. It seems like the initial area has been arranged to be used as an office, separated from the personal spaces, but if that isn’t the truth, then you might have simply stepped into a random library and made a fool of yourself in front of the books. The hair on the back of your neck is standing up, and the monkey part of your brain keeps screaming that there’s someone watching you, but the deeper you go in the quarters, the more you keep telling yourself that it’s just your imagination. Your bare feet leave a slight trail on the carpet in the middle of the room as you walk towards the second door. 

As expected, the second room is more similar to a bedroom, although it doesn’t seem to gain any form of personality compared to the office you just left, almost as if the owner of the room doesn’t spend too much time in it. It wouldn’t fit Sun to sleep into such a sterile and dark ambience, and you feel like Moon would also take some more care into creating a welcoming area for himself, so that leaves out only one of the three brothers. 

The size of the bed confirms your theory: you have ended up exactly in Eclipse’s room, and you’re face to face with his sleeping form. Or, at least you guess it must be him, considering how dark it is in that corner. The only source of light in the room is a large window kept almost entirely shut, not allowing a ray of starlight to enter, so you really can’t be sure of anything.

The canopy bed in front of you is enormous, of a deep burgundy color, and see-through curtains drape over it to hide the figure in the middle. As you study the fabrics with the tips of your fingers, testing the softness, you find yourself enamored by it, beginning to press your open palms in the covers and then your face. You breathe in the scent, delicate while also heavy in your nostrils, and recognize the amazing aroma Eclipse brings with him everywhere he goes. You have no idea if it’s his favorite perfume or simply his natural scent; all you know is that it reminds you of the time you fell asleep on the king’s cape while he stopped for a visit, and the morning after, you found it still draped over you like a heavy cloak.

With your face in the covers, you simply close your eyes and let the memory play in your mind, affection blooming in your chest and throat like a warm flower, not noticing the dark frame towering over you from behind. Eclipse, from the height of his 8 ft, looks down at you like you’re nothing but a silly rabbit caught in a trap, about to be served for dinner to a horde of hungry guests. 

“What exactly are you doing here, little pest?” he asks, and his deep growl makes you jump in the spot. When you turn around, your heart is racing, your eyes are wide open, and you feel more like prey than ever before in your life. As soon as you realize that Eclipse isn’t wearing his crown, you suddenly feel your blood pumping in your throat, and your cheeks grow warm at the sight of the red marks around his eyes and the dark color of his face sweetly mixing together, hypnotizing you for a second. All you can think of in that little head of yours is that the male should take off the helm more often so as to let his beautiful eyes see the light of day. 

It isn’t the first time you saw him without the headpiece; sometimes he takes it off after he comes back from a long meeting with his advisors, and the sight always strikes you like lightning.

Eclipse—it has to be said—is beautiful. Not only for the eyes, which are of a wonderful milky color that makes you feel as if they’re cursing you with some kind of magic, but also for his soft features, unfortunately hidden for most of the time. Did his citizens even know their king looked like that? Heavens, you suddenly remember why you’re so happy that you’ve been kidnapped.

Eclipse is wearing something similar to a robe that wraps around his torso while leaving his chest open, with long sleeves covering his four large arms, and everything is kept into place by a tie in the front. He must have been on his way to go to bed before you interrupted him.

“It is only polite to answer when a royal addresses you,” the alien angruily reminds you, and you suddenly realize you haven’t said a thing since he entered. 

“I just… I wanted, I was…” None of your sentences are making sense, so you swallow the lump in your throat and force your mind to clear itself of all the other distracting thoughts. “I just wanted to spend time with you, Eclipse.”

That sentence paired with some well-played puppy eyes is enough to make the alien sigh and relent, annoyed, probably too tired to argue with you after a long day of work.

“I don’t know how you left your room, but that’s unimportant now. You should return, it’s late,” he says, and you pout.

“Why can’t I sleep here?” you ask, and Eclipse looks down at you like you have grown a second head. 

“I have a meeting tomorrow morning. Have you forgotten?” he sounds incredulous, “I’ll wake up early.”

You shrug after fake-pondering for a second. You had already made your decision. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply with a small smile, “I sleep for the most part of the day anyway, so I’m well rested.”

Eclipse’s eyes turn into slits as he stares down at you, one pair of arms crossed over his chest and the other pair of fists on his hips. You can’t help but admire the dip of his collarbones as the fabric of his robe reveals more of him.

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” he sighs, and your smile widens as you see his resolve start to break. You shake your head, and Eclipse finally relents. “Fine, get on the bed already.”

With a smug expression, you jump on the soft covers, happy with your little win, and you watch from behind the see-through curtain the king as he walks back in his personal library and returns, a moment later, with a book in his hand. You turn around, curious, and realize that the frame you thought belonged to Eclipse was actually just a bunch of pillows stuffed under the covers. Had he put them there because he had heard you come in? That would explain why he was ready to jump on you the very moment you turned your back.

The king motions you to get under the covers, then parts the curtains to slip in himself. Your eyes don’t miss the way his tense frame relaxes once his body finally rests on the mattress, as if the dark red sheets weren’t made of fabric but rippling water of a warm spring. One of his hands wraps around you, caressing your back, and you take it as a sign you can scoot closer and lay your cheek on his chest. The contact is pleasant, sending a nice buzzing of emotions down your spine, and you find yourself leaning onto him more and more every second, warm face resting on a cold and hard exoskeleton with a sigh. His main pair of arms opens the book on a page in the middle, and, with his back against the headboard, he begins reading a book with pages covered in mysterious letters and signs.

You can’t help your curiosity, and the words slip out of your mouth even before you can stop them. You don’t want to bother him, but you crave to hear him talk to you some more. 

“What are you reading?” you ask, and Eclipse begins to smile.

“Fiction. After so many hours spent on documents, I need something to distract my mind.”

“I didn’t take you for the type,” you murmur, and your sentence makes him laugh.

“You just don’t know me enough, pet,” he almost purrs, and once again your face heats up. How can he say that as if it was nothing? You do want to know him more—in fact, you want to know everything about Eclipse. You want to know his favorite books, his favorite scents, what he does in the morning after waking up, and what he likes to eat. You want to ask about his childhood, you want to spend time with him and his brothers, you want to learn more about their culture and more about them as well. You want to be able to spend every second with the three of them, but you can’t, so you cherish the moment you have with Eclipse before you eventually fall asleep.

“That’s something we can always change,” you say, nuzzling closer to him and closing your eyes for a moment. You’re so close you can hear the pumping of his heart under his exoskeleton, and the sound of it is almost lulling you to sleep. “What’s the story about?”

“Ah, just a tale about two lovers,” he explains, “It’s tragic, but I can’t fall asleep without reading at least a chapter.”

“I hope it’s not too tragic,” you murmur, “It’d be sad if one died.”

“I must agree with you here,” Eclipse hugs you even closer. “They’re made for each other. If one were to pass away, I have no idea what the other would do.”

You feel cradled by the gentleness in his words, the emotion that you so rarely hear in them, like a hand caressing your cheek and tilting your face up. When you do open your eyes, you find Eclipse fondly looking down at you with a small smile.

“Keep going,” you mutter, fighting with your own heavy eyelids as you speak, “I wanna know about them…”

“Sleep, my dear pet,” Eclipse whispers instead, bending down to kiss the top of your head, “I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

You don’t want tomorrow to come, you know you wouldn’t stand to see him wearing his crown and leave for the day. The thought is so painful you curl up into a ball and groan, and you stop only when a pair of strong arms hold you close to a hard chest, and you realize that Eclipse has fully slipped under the cover and is now gently hugging you, one hand on the nape of your neck, another burying its fingers in your hair, and the last two resting on your hips. Another kiss is placed on your forehead, and you swear you might just start boiling on the spot.

“What about your book?” you ask with a tired and groggy voice, wrapping yourself around Eclipse some more, like you’re afraid someone might come in and untangle you from him. 

“It’ll wait,” the king answers. 

“But you said you can’t sleep without reading…” Your eyes are closed again, and this time you feel like they might not open until morning.

“This can work as well.” 

You finally fall asleep cradled and hugged by Eclipse’s arms, uncaring of his hard shell being so different from any kind of fur or skin humans might find more comfortable, and when you do manage to sleep into your own world, you do it with a smile on your lips. You’re no longer afraid of turning around right after waking up and finding the bed empty and cold, not anymore, not when Eclipse is making up for all the lack of affection you had to endure. 

Next time, you’ll try to see if you can rope Sun and Moon into it too. It’d be nice to have a sleepover all together.

[drarry-reccage]

But no Man moved Me – till the Tide by @aibidil (7k, E)

Tags: new/developing relationship, spontaneous beach vacations, running away from responsibilities 

Summary: Harry bursts into Draco's office one morning and drags him away for an impromptu beach holiday. Draco knows something's happened, and wonders if Harry will open up to him. Featuring a Muggle bed and breakfast, wizards at the beach, Draco's house-elf who loves Harry, Muggle paperbacks, and the scary and exhilarating feeling of complete freedom and possibility.

Draco turned to Harry. “Where are we?” he asked, loud enough for his voice to carry over the waves. “South Pembrokeshire,” Harry replied. “Ron and Hermione came here once. I’ve never really been on a beach holiday.” Draco tilted his head. “Never?” “I mean, I’ve been to the beach a few times. But once was during the war planning to break into your aunt’s Gringotts vault right after I watched Dobby die. After you pretended like you didn’t know who I was. So like, not really a holiday.” Draco laughed with a sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the way these delightful memories of our stormy past crop up into the most benign conversations.” Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist. “You were brave that day. I’m glad you’re in my memories, even when you were a prat.” Draco huffed, but he was sure Harry could see through his charade of outrage.

I am an absolute sucker for a new/developing relationship, and this fic is such an excellent example of why I adore them so much. Harry and Draco's chemistry (including the sexual kind 🥵) is obvious, but they're still getting used to actually being together. Harry makes a very "Harry" kind of decision, but this time Draco gets to see him through it. There's sex, there's romance, there's banter, and there's a far-too insightful innkeeper. What's not to love!

(Also, I had only skimmed the tags the first time I read this so the "reveal" of why Harry is acting a little frantic was really wonderful. Highly recommend reading it this way ☺️)

(rec by @pocket-lin)

[steveseddie]

in bloom

written for the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event | prompt: rose | rating: t | wc: 2,3k | tags: modern setting, flower shop au, wayne is the owner, eddie works with him, meet cute

read on ao3

Work at the flower shop is always a little slow after Valentine’s Day.

Eddie has been helping Wayne at Munson’s Floral Treasures long enough to know this. They’ll still get orders, of course– fancy arrangements for weddings, smaller bouquets for birthdays and anniversaries, but most of these are ordered in advance. They don’t get many people walking in throughout the day, looking for a last-minute Valentine’s Day gift.

Eddie likes to send his uncle home on slow days like this. If there are no deliveries to be made and supplies aren’t coming in, Eddie is more than capable of handling however many customers come in by himself. If he can’t, all he has to do is run upstairs to the apartment and get Wayne.

So far there hasn’t been any need for that today. It’s been almost an hour since Eddie sent the old man away and no one has come into the shop. In the meantime, Eddie answers a few calls, writes down a couple of big orders, and sweeps the floor of the shop before going to the backroom to work on some new arrangements for their window display. In case anyone comes looking for a ‘Sorry I forgot about Valentine’s Day’ gift.

Eddie just got started on the second arrangement when the bell finally jingles.

He puts the shears down and steps out of the backroom, wiping his hands on his apron. “Greetings and welcome to Munson’s Floral Treasures!”

There’s a guy standing in the middle of the shop, facing away from Eddie as he studies the flowers covering the walls. He jumps when he hears Eddie, whirling around and offering a little wave. “Oh, hi.”

God, he’s pretty, Eddie thinks as he takes in the guy’s hazel eyes and soft lips. His eyes travel lower to the chest hair peeking out of the guy’s polo shirt and the way his jeans hug his thighs just right.

Then he remembers he’s working and ogling customers is probably rude. Clearing his throat, Eddie offers him a polite smile. “Can I help you?”

The guy shakes his hair out, running his hand through it to push it back. “Yeah, so, I have kind of a weird request.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Lucky for you, I love weird,” he says, which sounds a little weird and makes Eddie grimace. Jesus, try to be normal, Munson.

But the guy chuckles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, I– I need a bouquet that says ‘fuck you’ in a passive-aggressive way,” he says, his eyes flickering nervously over Eddie’s face.

“That’s it?” Eddie asks with a snort. “Because I promise you, man, that’s not the weirdest thing someone has asked for.”

The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “No?”

“Nope,” he says, leaning on his elbows and gesturing at the guy to come closer like he’s sharing a secret. “One time a guy came in and asked for a flower arrangement to apologize for breaking into a home.”

A disbelieving laugh tumbles from the guy’s lips. “What? Really?”

“Yup. That was the first time that a sale ended with me having to talk to the police,” Eddie says before pursing his lips. “Actually no, that’d be when I used to deal weed in high school.”

The guy lets out a loud laugh, scrunching his shoulders in a way that has Eddie melting against the counter. Pretty, hot and cute. That can’t be fair. “Well, I doubt my bouquet will involve any police investigation.”

“No?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not planning on murdering whoever you’re giving it to?”

The guy’s nose scrunches up. “God, I wish, but no, this is just for my own amusement.”

“Good thing I happen to be in the business of amusing pretty guys,” Eddie says, shooting him a flirty grin, getting all up in his space until the guy’s eyes widen and Eddie pulls back. “Uh, customers! I meant customers, Jesus.”

Luckily, the guy seems far from bothered by Eddie’s flirting. In fact, his eyes sparkle with something that looks suspiciously like interest, his cheeks turning pink.

Most times when Eddie has to put together an arrangement he asks the person to check out the shop while he goes to the work table they keep in the back, but he really doesn’t want to waste a moment with this guy so he says fuck it and starts working on the bouquet right there on the counter.

He can feel the guy’s eyes watching him curiously.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Eddie starts, breaking the silence after a moment. “Who is this going to? Cheating girlfriend? Asshole boss? Shitty family member?”

He glances up just in time to catch the guy staring intently at Eddie’s hands as he works. When he feels Eddie’s attention on him, his head snaps up, the color on his cheeks deepening.

“Uh, no– no cheating girlfriend. No girlfriend at all actually,” he says. Then after a short pause, he adds, “no boyfriend either.”

Eddie almost drops the shears. It has to mean something that the guy wants him to know that, right?

Before Eddie can reply with something stupid like ‘good, do you want one?’ the guy keeps talking.

“You were right about the other two, though,” he says. “My shitty father is also my asshole boss.”

Eddie grimaces at that. Wayne is his dad in all ways that count and working with him isn’t bad, but for a second he entertains the idea of having to work with his father instead and already he’s convinced he’d need a couple of ‘fuck you’ bouquets too.

“Our firm is throwing him a party for signing this big company but they don’t care about how many people he had to fire for that to happen or how many of those so-called business trips he spent cheating on my mom,” the guy explains and Eddie lets out a sympathetic whistle.

“Fuck, man. That’s definitely shitty.”

The guy shoots him a tiny smile. “Yeah, and since I’m expected to attend, I thought I could at least get some enjoyment out of it.” He points at the flowers that Eddie is carefully selecting. “This seemed like a better idea than, like, sabotaging his party.”

Eddie lets out an amused snort. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

They fall into comfortable silence with the guy staring at Eddie while he works. This time it’s him who strikes up a conversation.

“So, uh, Eddie,” the guy starts, squinting his eyes to read the name tag on his shirt. “I’m not like, telling you how to do your job or anything but isn’t that a lot of orange and yellow? Aren’t those happy colors?”

“Actually, these orange lilies symbolize hatred,” Eddie explains. “And the yellow carnations symbolize rejection and disdain.”

The guy’s mouth falls open in an ‘o’ shape. He leans on the counter and picks another one of the flowers that Eddie has spread out on the counter. “What about this one?”

“Foxglove. They can represent insincerity and deceit.”

The guy nods along as Eddie continues to explain the meaning of every flower he has picked, his eyes sparkling with interest. Flower language is one of the many things Eddie could ramble about for hours, but people usually don’t care enough about it to hear him out. But this guy is listening intently, his chin resting on his hand as Eddie talks.

“And what does that mean?” He asks, pointing at the greens Eddie picked for filler.

“Nothing, that’s just greenery.”

“Oh,” the guy chuckles, ducking his head with an embarrassed little smile. “You– uh, you know a lot about flowers, man. How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was a little kid,” Eddie says, carefully arranging the greens. “My uncle owns the shop so even before I came to live with him I was helping out here. My dad wasn’t around much, he used to drop me off all the time so Wayne started teaching me how to take care of the flowers, how to make arrangements. Now I also help him with deliveries and stuff.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice. I've always liked flowers. And I like doing things with my hands,” Eddie says, wiggling his fingers with a smirk, watching as the guy’s eyes follow the movement.

“They’re good. Your hands,” he says, the color rising on his cheeks when his words catch up with him. “I mean, they look good. What they’re doing looks good.”

A pleased grin stretches over Eddie’s lips. “Thanks, big boy,” he says, grinning wider when the guy’s breath hitches.

“Uh, Steve. I’m Steve.”

Eddie thought he’d have to come up with an excuse to ask for his name, some bullshit about needing it for the receipt, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to now. “Well, Steve, any preference for the wrapping?”

“Um, no. You pick.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, grabbing some green wrapping paper and tying it neatly around the bouquet with a red bow. “All done.”

Steve grabs the bouquet with an awed smile. “It’s perfect. So pretty that no one will know I’m telling my dad he sucks.”

“I aim to please,” Eddie says, grinning smugly.

Steve chuckles, reaching into his jacket for his wallet and sliding a card across the counter. Eddie rings him up as slowly as he can get away with, not wanting Steve to go yet.

By the way Steve lingers after Eddie hands his card back, maybe he doesn’t want to either.

“I should go, let you get back to work,” Steve says eventually. Eddie tries not to look too disappointed. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie. Good luck with your dad.”

Steve makes a face but thanks Eddie again before turning around to leave.

When he’s almost at the door, Eddie impulsively calls after him. “Steve, wait!”

Turning around, he raises an eyebrow at Eddie.

“You– uh, you forgot something.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, plucking a red rose from one of their leftover Valentine’s Day bouquets and ducking under the counter to catch up with Steve by the door. “This.”

“For the bouquet?” He asks, tilting his head.

“No, for you,” Eddie says, “on the house.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you give roses to all your customers?”

“Only the pretty ones I really want to see again.”

Steve smiles, finally reaching for the rose. “Well, then,” he says, winking. “I’ll see you, Eddie.”

Eddie grins. “Bye, Steve.”

***

The bell above the door chimes and Eddie pauses his pruning to greet the new customer.

“Welcome to Munson’s Floral Treasures, what can I do for– Steve!” He cuts himself off when he recognizes him, a too big grin appearing on his face.

Steve grins right back, offering a small wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Wayne glancing at them over the shoulder of the old lady he’s currently helping. Eddie knows he’ll have to explain to his nosey uncle why he’s on a first name basis with a customer and why he’s so happy to see him, but he’ll worry about that later.

“You’re back,” Eddie says, turning his attention back to Steve. It’s been a week since the first time he was here and Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t spend his days glancing wistfully at the door every time someone came in hoping it was Steve. “Here for another ‘fuck you’ bouquet?”

Steve chuckles, following Eddie to the counter. “No, I’m here for something else.”

Eddie ducks behind the counter, resting his elbows on the surface. “Another weird request?” He asks, playfully waggling his eyebrows.

“You tell me,” Steve says, copying Eddie’s position on the opposite side of the counter, leaving their faces only inches apart. Eddie gulps, heat rising to his cheeks. “I need you to deliver a bouquet for me.”

“That’s pretty standard for a flower shop, Stevie,” Eddie says, cocking his head in amusement. “But sure, whatcha need?”

“A bouquet that says ‘do you want to go on a date with me?’”

Eddie blinks, trying to make sure he’s not imagining the little smirk tugging at Steve’s lips. “Oh, um, of course. We can do that!” He says, his voice an octave too high. “What’s– what’s the address for the delivery?”

That smirk turns into a full-on grin. “Oh, that’s easy,” Steve says, leaning even closer. Eddie hopes Wayne is too busy with the old lady to see what’s happening or he’ll never hear the end of this. “Munson’s Floral Treasures– ever heard of it?”

Eddie’s stomach flip-flops wildly. “You tryna ask my uncle on a date, Stevie?” He teases, barely able to keep the giddy smile off his face. “He might be a little too old for you.”

“Maybe,” Steve shrugs, walking his fingers on the counter until they’re brushing against Eddie’s arm. “But I think his nephew might be perfect for me.”

Eddie’s knees go weak from Steve’s words and his featherlight touch on his arm. “I think you might be right,” he says, biting his lip.

Steve’s eyes flicker down for a split second. “So, you’ll send that for me?”

“Yup. Happy to.”

“Great.” Steve grabs a pen from the counter and writes something down on the notepad where they take orders. “Here’s my number. You know, so you can let me know how the delivery went and what the answer was.”

Eddie nods, and with a wink, Steve turns around and leaves.

As soon as he walks through the door, Eddie grabs his phone and dials Steve’s number. He watches through the window as Steve stops and digs his phone from his pocket, a smile twitching at his lips as he brings it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s a yes,” Eddie says eagerly.

Steve peers through the window and shoots him a lopsided grin. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“So can I pick you up on Friday at 7?”

Eddie forces himself not to let a happy squeal or punch his fist in the air because Steve can see him. “Yeah, that’s– that’s good.”

“See you on Friday then,” Steve says, hanging up and waving at Eddie through the window before he disappears down the street.

As soon as he’s gone, Eddie breaks into a grin. He gets weird looks from Wayne and the customers that come in throughout the day but it hardly matters. He has a date to look forward to.

[qoldenskies]

Okay okay I'll yammer about Rise!Splinter in your ask box because oh my god I cannot STAND people who legitimately villainize him on main. Like, alright, you can call him an emotionally unavailable or even slightly neglectful parent all you want, because even the show itself makes it clear that his parenting style wasn't exactly PERFECT and probably left the boys with at least a SMALL myriad of issues (Raph's parentification and Donnie's constant need for approval come to mind, though I can't say for sure whether those are entirely borne of Splinter's parenting style lmao). But I feel like so many people through trying to villainize his actions deliberately gloss over the fact that he was probably struggling with hardcore PTSD after spending a decade or more basically being forced to fight in a DEATH ARENA, not to mention probably having a good deal of body dysmorphia because he's suddenly been kind of forcefully shoved into a body that he can't even recognize as his own anymore. PTSD is a genuinely crippling condition to struggle with at times. On top of the depression he more than likely had, it'll make you not even want to get out of bed some days, and to struggle with that AND take care of four INFANTS that you've basically suddenly found yourself the sole caretaker of HAD to require a great deal of both mental and physical strength from Splinter. I'm sure he had his hard days, and the show points that out, but he was still trying his damn hardest to be there and be present for these kids, even if he fucked it up at every turn, even if he was far from the BEST parental figure that they could have had.

People can critique his parenting style as they wish (hell, even I do it), but so many depictions of him as an awful parent feel like they're glossing over the legitimate mental issues that he more than likely has, and idk sometimes I just feel like yammering about it on main

yeah like, a parent can seriously fuck you up completely unintentionally and have understandable, sympathetic reasons for it (while still not being in the right! a kid is never in the wrong for being hurt by an adult who failed them! but they're also well within their right to understand and empathize with a complicated parent who loves and changes for them!). generally im sure a lot of people who write abusive parent splinter genuinely had horrendous and abusive parents and are venting, which is why i tend not to be judgemental to people who do. characters are ultimately devices to drive a plot and if they're writing a story where they want to put them through some shit, that's one way to do it. aus are aus and allat

HOWEVER. lord does it frustrate me when people act like his behavior in the show itself is actually like that. i think its really uncharitable and unsympathetic. like if you want to see some of the things he did to them as potentially unforgivable thats fine, because if they're upset with him they dont have to forgive him, but him dealing with crippling ptsd and depression while being someone who goes out of his way to parent and change and grow while handling it just makes it idk nasty to me ,,,,

and also maybe this is just a hot take but esp. when it comes to raph and donnie i think them having more complex feelings about him makes for more compelling angst. its juicier, and i love to read stories that are empathetic towards everyone involved.

i am not a splinter defender but i will still fight splinter haters (not actually. dont fight me i will cry, i dont main tag most things anymore for a reason lmao)

[a-man-in-the-crowd]

Pluto Is Trans (in my humble opinion)

okay so as far as i'm aware this is a pretty common hc in the fandom (i lurk in the tumblr side of the fandom mostly and i haven't taken the time to go through the pluto tag simply bc i wanted to make this post first), BUT i just wanted to add my two cents into it bc i love pluto and need a reason to yap about him

i'm mostly going to be focusing on him in the maze arc, simply because i think his character has remained pretty consistent since then, as well as his flashback. if i ever noticed anything else in later (or even future) chapters i might come back to this but for now i think i basically have everything i can think of down

of course most of this is still pretty much projecting ☠️ i'm pretty well aware pluto isn't like ACTUALLY trans. this is just a headcanon based on things we've seen of him, not like an actual theory or anything

1. His Appearance

so the first thing that really got me thinking about how he has major trans vibes is his design

comically oversized coat that covers up his actual figure, he's slouching (to hide his chest, mayhaps??), and his hair gives me major trans vibes for reasons i'm not sure how to explain but like let me try anyways

maybe i'm digging too deep into this, but his hair feels VERY different from the other male characters (montresor with gorgeous shoulder-length hair is an outlier and shall not be counted) and again i have no clue how to put words to this but it has the vibes of someone who's too nervous to cut it too short bc 'what if it looks bad' (re: what if i look like i'm trying too hard to look like a guy). but that might just be the projection talking.

oh yeah, he's also the shortest male character as far as i'm aware. basically every male character towers over him (so, so real, i fear) and even will is taller than him (though apparently will is 5'10??? idek anymore 😭). now, does being short make you afab? no, obviously not. but that + the fact he's wearing and oversized shirt gives me some major trans vibes

most of this stuff is incidental, but honestly that's definitely the most actually concrete thing i have to explain myself

fear not, though, i can and WILL read too deep into things and i will read things however i wish

2. His Agoraphobia

the only 'level' of the fear maze that he has a big reaction to is the agoraphobia level. why?

now, could this very reasonably because he's paranoid? yes. but you can be paranoid AND trans. in fact, i think the two frequently go hand-in-hand, especially in areas where being 'caught' as trans can be dangerous.

perhaps he's scared of being stared at because he fears they'll figure out he isn't 'really' a man. and what then, when they figure it out? what'll they do then?

i wouldn't be surprised if pluto had some sort of traumatic experience while being in a crowd alone. this doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my hc, but it very well could. we know he's very small and frail, it doesn't seem like he had many friends when he was alive, and the neighbourhood he lived in doesn't seem particularly safe. he has plenty reason to be terrified, even ignoring my silly lil hc, but i think this particular debilitating fear implies he has genuine experience with something bad happening in a crowd.

3. He's Physically Affectionate

something something you can be a cis guy and be physically affectionate something something this is just a thing to consider in relation to literally everything else i'm talking about something something

anyways

he's my emotional support animal actually ❤️

obviously we've seen other male characters be physically affectionate (like duke), but this is definitely a trait i'd ascribe the most to pluto. now, does this mean anything in isolation? of course not. he has trauma, he could've just been desperate for affection when he was alive and therefore in his afterlife he has this overwhelming need to aggressively hug his friends (which is a completely fair interpretation and i think most of the the things i talk about are a combination of trauma and being trans)

but like just let me say my piece. what if he's more physically affectionate because he was raised with, let's say 'feminine rules of socializing' — which is to say, hugging your friends is extremely normal and in fact encouraged.

this is one of those things where like if it weren't for everything else i wouldn't be saying anything, but BECAUSE of everything else i feel the need to scrutinize a bit more. i think it's definitely one of my weaker points but like. i don't care, ngl.

4. His Flashback

sooo funny story i can barely ever read this scene for multiple reasons (i feel so bad for pluto i want him to be crushed by the weight of all his friends' hugs and love he deserves it) but i will try my best to recall it and get like a semi-decent photo in for reference

i think this scene is kinda what confirms in my head that this shall remain a hc, because pluto's dad refers to him as a boy and by his name (which i will get don't worry i could never forget about how incredibly transgender it is to be named fucking PLUTO). but, consider: i am delusional and a professional bullshitter.

so here is my absolutely nonsensical take based on nothing but vibes and some unfortunate personal experiences 🎉

this is gonna be my biggest 'bear with me yet', but plzplzplz bear with me. obviously by no stretch of the imagination would pluto's bitchass dad be supportive of him being trans or whatever word they'd use to describe pluto when he was alive (i've seen people theorize around ww1? idk man i don't have the knowledge on time periods required to rlly theorize about that).

but, just because someone calls you the right name and pronouns and terms doesn't make them an ally. this specific line from pluto's dad absolutely REEKED of that weaponization of gender dysphoria that at the very least i have experienced. taking every opportunity to tear down your gender identity because you're not stereotypically [gender] enough. someone like pluto's dad definitely feels like someone who would, instead of trying to deny pluto's identity, use it against him to make him feel shitty.

after all, having a son has its merits. pluto can work with no problem whatsoever, and something tells me that pluto's dad is a raging misogynist anyways. but that doesn't make him care any more for his kid, just make him more useful. and in reality, pluto's dad probably thinks it all one huge joke.

but yk that's just me yapping

5. HIS NAME IS FUCKING PLUTO?

okay so judging by pluto's comment to eulalie about his name, i think it's pretty safe to assume that he was specifically named after the roman god. and from what we've seen of pluto's dad, there is NO WAY he was the one who named him. unless pluto's dad for whatever reason had an admiration for roman mythology of all things. maybe autism runs in the family who knows.

now, i don't want to discount the idea that maybe his mother was the one who named him, but like i'm not even sure what the hell happened to his mom. so like. idk.

the name pluto in general definitely gives off the vibes of 'i named myself at twelve' (/affectionate, if your name is pluto you are beautiful and loved). it's nerdy but also mildly edgy. not exactly a common name, either. and the fact he knows his greek mythology implies interest in this sort of thing.

now, could his interest in greek and roman mythology be because of his mother, who could have named him pluto? yes, of course. in fact, the idea of a woman who was presumably living in poverty naming her son after the roman god of riches makes me teary-eyed. but so does the idea of a little trans boy living a shitty life with his shitty dad (who probably drained most of their money on booze, let's be real) naming himself after the roman god of riches.

also, the way he responds to eulalie gives off the vibe of 'well, i literally named myself after the roman god pluto so'. but that could just be me.

and last, but certainly not least...

6. His Spectre

this one is the cherry on top for me personally

he wants to escape the binds of society? go beyond what humanity deems admissible? YK LIKE BECOMING A DIFFERENT GENDER???

i don't have anything much else to say about the fact he's a cryptid, but yk what i do have more to say on?

6.5 So, like, wtf does it mean to be a 'domesticated cryptid'? — A Theory

now i am fully operating under my trans pluto hc, but i think this idea might be able to make sense with the canon of him being probably cis.

ms poppet says that cryptids are people who wish to 'go beyond what society deems admissible' — hence, they're generally wild animals. perhaps the reason pluto is a housecat is because the 'inadmissible' thing he wanted to do was live his life as he is; a normal, regular, cisgender man — or just like in general a normal dude, something he couldn't do for not-necessarily-trans reasons (like, maybe, being able to escape life with his shitty father).

he's not a wild animal because he didn't want to live outside of society, he wanted to be fully integrated into it as a normal person but he thought this impossible because society has already deemed him other. he could never be more than the role he was assigned — not the same way he could were he a normal, cis guy.

—

so yeah that's the end of my little ramble, if you read all the way thank you very much for letting me yap bc honestly i think the more i wrote this post the more genuinely convinced i was that pluto's trans. like idc if canon 100% proves me wrong it's too late i will simply ignore it and invent my own canon.