#the power of love is real 💕

[tushanfoxspirit]

My Lovely Power Couple 〜 💞💞💞💞

[nobutthanksanyways]

HAPPY 2012!!!!

I got food poisoning at my house last night from some deceptively delicious Taco Bell so I’m a bit late to the party lol. 🫶🗿

[afterglowsainz]

gold rush | franco colapinto

pairing: brazilian!vet!reader x franco colapinto

summary: you were used to your boyfriend’s flirty personality, but still every now and then you couldn’t help getting jealous

fc: beca oliveira

request: here

a/n: i haven’t done a written fic in so long please bear with me 😭

—

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yourusername patients of the week 💖

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friend1 the cutest!

friend2 the way i couldn’t be a vet cause i would just be kissing them all the time

yourusername oh don’t get it twisted i am kissing them 24/7

bffusername dream job

friend3 how does it feel to live my dream 😭

francolapinto los amo😍 (i love them)

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francolapinto ready for another race week 🤩

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username always with the mate

username ugh just look at him!

username didn’t expect my crush on this man to last this long

username casually serving face on the first pic

username idk how to explain this but he looks like a taylor swift song

yourusername agree

username omg girl hey 💕

—

There was no reason to be angry. No real reason, anyway. Deep down in your mind and at the core of your heart, you knew there was no way Franco was seriously flirting with anyone but you. Your heart on the other hand...

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Since joining F1, Franco had become known for his flirtatious personality and undeniable charm; it was part of who he was, and it had never really bothered you before—you knew what he was like. So why were you suddenly so upset after watching that interview everyone was talking about on Twitter?

The answer was so obvious you didn’t even want to admit it to yourself, but it was staring you right in the face. The reporter was what bothered you. It wasn’t her specifically, of course—you’d seen her a few times and knew she was the picture of professionalism, not to mention charming. But she was completely different from you. It was no secret that Franco had always liked blondes.

—

Damn. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place with that single message.

Franco had never really stopped to think about the consequences of his actions. Of course he had seen comments online about his interviews, but he never worried about how his girlfriend might interpret them. He was simply doing his job by giving interviews to journalists. If there was someone his age he could feel relaxed around, he would do so—it was part of his personality. But he would never disrespect his girlfriend by insinuating something more. She was everything to him.

Franco quickly went to Twitter to look up the interview video he had given hours earlier. As he analyzed it, he realized how some of the things he said or the way he expressed himself could come off as insinuations on his part, and he cursed himself internally, imagining his girlfriend watching the same video.

He had to fix this, and fast.

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francolapinto special gp coming 🇧🇷 (in the country of the most special person)

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username ngl i sometimes be forgetting he has a girlfriend

username THE ABSOLUTE GODDESS

username franco move i’m tryna see y/n

username the hand placement 🥺

username the power couple they are

username in love with them

yourusername okay i guess i might forgive you just this once 🙄

francolapinto i love you (only you) ❤️

[ithebookhoarder]

Hello hi ! 🤗

Can you do a "bau reacts" when they are undercover in public and about to be found out so the reader just starts making out with them to pretend they are just a couple?

(BAU Headcanons) Making out Undercover

A/N: Mwahaha. Oh, this is a good prompt. Thanks for making me daydream all afternoon. Enjoy my lovelies 😉 Also, as a note, I'm writing the main BAU where I'm at watching it (season 13) plus Luke as he was requested previously 💕

Warnings: Mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, alcohol references, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

We know Aaron doesn’t go undercover for most cases, so this would have to be a big case to get him into the field. 

This man would be in shock. Let’s be real. He would freeze in place and try to argue for a split second until he realises what you’re trying to do and why - even if you were already together. 

As soon as they’re gone though, you’d glance up and see his usual steely glare that tells you you’re in for a scolding once this is over. 

However, you’d have to be blind to miss the way he lingers for a moment, holding you close for half a second longer than necessary. 

“I feel I should remind you that we are in the field, and whilst it may have worked, I can’t endorse it as a tactic in future. Understood?” 

“So I’m hearing that we’re leaving this off of our case report then?” 

“Agreed. I don’t need to give Strauss anything else to use to go after us and the team.”

He would roll his eyes and take off after the Unsub, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he smirks as he goes. 

David Rossi 

He’d be a little embarrassed but mostly quite smug about the whole thing, even if you were supposed to be undercover. 

“Well, I can safely say in all my years in this field I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.” 

He’d also refuse to let you apologise for your actions afterwards either. 

One, because he’s kind of flattered. 

Two, because he’s been around the block a few times and knows that sometimes you have to do what it takes to solve a case or protect yourselves. 

Three, you were supposed to be a couple and kissing is what couples do. He’s only sour because if anything he would have liked to be the one who kissed you. 

“Relax about it, would you? I won’t tell you some of the things Gideon and I had to do back in the old days. That was before all this new paperwork and guidelines, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” 

You make a point of remembering to ask him about that at your next night off over drinks. 

Derek Morgan

Derek is always up for anything so I feel like he’d be pretty relaxed about being undercover with you, even if you weren't together romantically. He has no issue playing your pretend boyfriend for one night, and is quick to wrap his arm around you. 

Which is why it would be such a surprise to him when it’s you who initiated the kiss. 

Derek would freeze for like a second, but only out of shock. However, you know he wouldn’t fight you on it. 

The second his brain catches up to his body he would be kissing you back, doing everything in his power to match your energy and sell this kiss. 

If anything, you’re going to have to be the one to break away once the coast is clear and remind him you’re still technically in the field and that your team is probably wondering where the hell you are right now - and why you stopped responding to your comms. 

“I’m just saying, if we get to do that then we need to be partnered up more often.” 

“Yeah yeah, Morgan. Let’s just hope Penelope didn’t see that else we’ll never be hearing the end of it.” 

Emily Prentiss

She’s been undercover plenty of times in her life and spent a whole chunk of time actually fake-married to Doyle for an op, so she’d be the most comfortable and understanding if you grabbed her for a kiss - especially if you were meant to be a fake couple. 

She’d work it out pretty quickly and would respond in kind, pressing herself against you and running her hands all over you. 

“Quick thinking with the kiss,” she’d whisper as she brushed a kiss against your neck. 

She’d also know exactly where the Unsub is afterwards too, having kept watch in her peripheral vision. 

She wouldn’t even have to break eye contact with you before she informed you, “3 o’clock. He just left out the fire exit.” 

With that, she’d be off. 

She also probably wouldn’t even bring it up again until you’re both back on the jet. Then she’d be smirking at you across the top of her drink and chuckling to herself. 

“Normally I’d insist dinner first but given that we caught that bastard I think we’re even.” 

JJ

JJ knows about going undercover and it takes a lot to rattle her. She would probably go along with the action, even if she’d stay kind of stiff for a good minute or so. 

However, she’s a good agent and knows about maintaining a cover so quickly catches on when you pull her in. 

She’d return the kiss, shooting glances out the corner of her eye when she thinks it might be safe to check on their target. If it doesn’t look like they’re buying it, she’ll turn things up a notch and spin you around so that she could take control. 

“My gun is under my jacket. Reach for it slowly if he comes any closer,” she’d warn, but thankfully you don’t need it. Eventually they leave, distracted by something else, leaving you and JJ to recover.

After catching your breath, you both take off in the direction your target just left in. You can tell JJ is trying not to laugh about what just happened, choosing to make it funny rather than uncomfortable if you weren't together romantically.  

Which means you know she’d enjoy teasing you about it in front of the others, making your cheeks burn as she announces on the jet: “For the record, even though it was a ‘cover kiss’ it was pretty good. Just saying. Maybe you should give Morgan some tips. That way he might get a girl to call him back after a first date.” 

Luke Alvez

It doesn’t matter if he’s ex-army or whatever. Undercover is not really Luke’s thing and even then, he is more used to infiltrating gangs than playing house. 

Basically, he would be surprised by your actions, despite being undercover together. Like, I can see his eyebrows hitting his hairline so fast, bless him. He’d look like a deer in headlights. 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow your roll-“ 

“- Luke. Shut up and kiss me. Now.” 

“I - ok.” 

Just like that, he’d take control, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall in an attempt to shield you from whoever was watching. He’d also be such a gentleman about it if you weren't already together romantically, keeping his hands on your waist and pulling away the minute he’s sure the danger has passed. 

Even then, he’d wait a minute before letting the two of you move from your position, just in case they come back. He’s your partner and he’s returning the favour for you keeping him safe, even if in an unsuspected manner.

“You good?”

“Luke. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I was the one who planted myself on you.” 

“Potato, po-tah-to. Are they still over there?”

“No. They just left out the back.”

“Then let’s go, partner. Let’s catch this freak.” 

Penelope Garcia 

If Penelope is in the field then you know she is already hella nervous and out of her element. It doesn’t matter if there was a reason she was needed for this particular assignment, she would just take that as added pressure not to let everyone down.

Which is why I’m sure you’d feel worse about planting one on her - even if it does also help distract her from worrying for a minute.  

All I can imagine is her giving her trademark squeal of confusion and surprise, even if you gave her a hasty warning - and apology - about what you were going to do.

She’d be stunned at what was happening and probably takes a minute to realise she should probably try and kiss you back, or at least look less visibly startled about it. 

“I feel I should point out how unfair it is that this is permitted as ‘suitable workplace behaviour’ as we’re undercover, yet my flirtatious texts with Agent Morgan are not? I will be writing a strongly worded email when we get back, telling HR they can go shove their-”

“Pen? Hey, focus here. Unsub still watching us.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry! Ahem… as you were?”  

Also, you know that like a day or so later, once it’s all over, she sends you an email informing you that your new username on the BAU system is now ‘smoochykins’ and she will not change it until it becomes not-funny for her… which will probably be never. After all, Morgan has been ‘Chocolate Thunder’ for the last two years and is still going strong.  

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer has been undercover before and is usually quite calm about it, even if it is faking a date or maintaining a story. Still, despite having to do your jobs, you’d hate to make him uncomfortable, knowing how he feels about any kind of physical contact - especially if you're not together. 

As he says, with the amount of bacteria shared by shaking hands you’d be safer kissing … guess it was time to take it literally. 

He’d be blushing like a tomato as you grab his jacket lapels and pull him close. And honestly? it’s kind of adorable. As is the way he tries to kiss you back, even if he still takes a minute to remember how to even move his body. 

I’m just picturing the Lila kiss in season one and how he eased into that and how stunned / embarrassed he seemed afterwards. He would pretty much be like that, but with a fake smile on his face as he rambled in your ear. 

“What was that?”

“I was covering our asses. We’re undercover, remember? We’re supposed to be a couple and couples kiss. Also, I’d thought you know, genius, that kissing and displays of public affection make people extremely uncomfortable.”

“No kidding… Morgan can never find out about this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. You got a deal, pretty boy. This is between us.” 

Masterlist

[honeytonedhottie]

decentering men and recentering urself⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💅🏽💓

the secret to decentering men and not having ur entire world revolving around them (bcuz it should be revolving around you, duh) is having a fulfilling life. it makes me ICK so bad when im watching a video or reading a post and im rly loving it, and then it'll find SOME way to make it revolve around men. like can we not?…💬🎀

WHY WE CENTER THE OPPOSITE SEX ;

a lot of people find themselves centering their lives around the opposite sex in an attempt to fill a void within themselves. they do it because they aren't happy with themselves or their lives, or maybe its learned behavior. whatever the reason is, its NOT hot.

some things that someone who centers men might think are "oh my life is so boring, maybe it would be spiced up if i got with a man" or "maybe it'll bring some excitement into my day" like EUGHHH. obviously the solution is to find ways to make our lives fulfilling but how do we do that? and how do we get to the root cause and squash this self sabotaging behavior?

SELF AWARENESS ;

if u have nothing going on for u, ofc ur gonna be energetically desperate and accepting anything and EVERYTHING. practice self awareness and try to get to the root cause of why u center men through things like shadow work, therapy, or just straight up having an honest conversation with urself cuz i swear it helps.

when you make the conscious effort to build ur dream life you'll notice that people that are on the same mindset as you will vibe with the REAL you. the need to fake/adjust urself to fit in with other people will dissipate because ur fitting into ur own standards and ur connections will be more meaningful because of it.

TAKE UR POWER BACK ;

no ones actions should ruin ur day or make u upset for more then a day (even less) cuz its YOUR world. 💕🍰

make time for YOU, doll. plan self care routines for urself every week. doing face masks, journalling, vision boarding, WHATEVER U LIKE TO DO. making time for urself reminds u that ur the main character of ur life so u dont have to settle for crumbs.

stop giving that power to someone else and dictate how u feel, NOT the actions of a significant other or the opposite sex or anybody. the reason why its important to make sure that ur the center of ur own life is so that you can be happy and fulfilled regardless of if there is a man or if there isnt a man present. so the objective is to decenter men -> and then put yourself at the center

GET A HOBBY ;

find something to make ur life fulfilling. pursue ur OWN interests and try out different hobbies if ur unsure of what ur interests are yet. cultivate ur world to the point where it GLEAMS with perfection and then do a little extra. build a life that u love so much that whether u get male attention or validation doesnt even matter cuz their opinions have little to no relevance 💀

challenge yourself: next time you catch yourself thinking, ‘would a guy like this?’ flip it and ask urself "hey, do i like this?" start checking with yourself first instead of checking with others.

MAKING THE DECISION TO DECENTER MEN ;

decentering men simply means that ur deciding to no longer think, feel, act, dress, or plan ur life around a man or for the validation of any man…💬🎀

relationships will actually get BETTER when u decenter the opposite sex. cuz ur not looking for someone to compete with and ur whole on ur own. this sets the stage for balance and mutual respect and THATS hot.

you can be in a relationship and still decenter men. decentering men simply means that you are the priority, not the relationship. how can we tell if we're decentering men or not? here are a few questions to help you know if u are ->

if i did not care about looking good to the opposite sex what would i actually like to wear?

if i did not get married, how could i create the best and most abundant life for myself?

what hobbies/interests do i have that dont involve being around men/have male attention as a component of it?

[inkedinserendipity]

oh my god this session is unhinged. that session of wild life was CRAZY. for so many reasons. oh my god???

- mumbo and skizz killing grian. he brought them back to the series! and they KILLED HIM!!

- martyn having listener powers. I put my phone down and cheesed so hard. martyn! the listener!!! CRAZY!! absolutely could not believe that was random. still can’t believe it.

-bdubs’ bed ability was PERFECT it was so good. love that for him. i think he should have authority over the day and night always.

- skyblings real 💕 grian and pearl having the ability to fly 💕💕

- grian trying to fly in a life series killed him 💕💕💕

- still going feral about that last one actually because of the common headcanon that he loses his wings for the life series. and then he gets back and icarus-ass falls out of the sky? dies from it?? remember his last death in third life?? CRAZY

- spanners back together!!!!! going for tango!!!! love it love them. love the reunion even if grian would not stop fucking killing them

- even if they got him first 💕

- scar’s little “grian stop [killing people] every time I think you’ve died :( “ desert duo real. desert duo real?

- scar’s superpower being protective…something something watcher grian giving him a power that would keep him safe…keep other people from attacking him…desert duo REAL

- i was so stressed for grian trying to kill on red in the last fifteen minutes

- mumbo became a BEAST out of nowhere that was so funny i love that for him

- martyn being so down to lose a life if it meant causing chaos. good for him

can’t wait to watch the other POVs they’re gonna be so good

[marsprincess889]

Yoni animal observations

I did something similar with nakshatras. This is them in a very simple way. This is based on traditional associations as well as my own observations of real life and art. 💕 The word "yoni", as well as meaning the female reproductive organ, also means "origin". Yoni animal represents the instinct of the nakshatra and ultimately, reveals its true core nature.

Also, disclaimer: it's very sad that I have to say this, and apologies if you're not one of those people, but if you're going to correct anything in this post by writing one or more long paragraphs of why you think I'm wrong, you might as well just start your own blog or make your own post about the subject. I've been observing yoni animals for years and I'm kind of sorry if any of this offends you, but I'm not trying to attack anyone personally, or even a specific placement (nakshatras in this case), cause that's just dumb. Of course, everyone is free to express their opinions but please do it politely and have some respect for the person who took their time to gain and share knowledge. It's very easy to correct others, it's very hard to be faultless yourself. So, factual corrections are always welcome(say someone got someone's chart placement wrong, or they have written a factually incorrect association, like if they were to write that Jyeshta is fierce as opposed to sharp/cruel in nature.), but, once again, everyone's view is different and so either respect mine or don't write anything at all.

With that being said, you can now enjoy this post💕

Horse yonis

Ashwini and Shatabhisha

Keywords: activity, simplicity, masculinity(solar/yang), independence, healing.

Straightforward people. They might tend to have black and white thinking, can be very blunt with their delivery and definitely prone to "deafness": not hearing others' views. Simple and utilitarian, goal-oriented. Their presence might not be really noticed until the moment they suddenly speak up about or act on something. Love to point stuff out. Either quiet or very precise while speaking. Not aggressive but can be combative. Most likely will oppose someone before making peace. Independence>sharing. Don't like anything "unnecessary", love to get to the point.

Elephant yonis

Bharani and Revati

Keywords: slow, authority, time, timelessness, strength, transitions, protection, completion, gentleness, complexity, depth.

Not revealing their innermost selves, only revealing it to a select group of people, if to anyone. They attach meaning to things based on their experiences. Protective and gentle with each other, closed off to most of the others. Very private. Not really concerned with trends. Observant but not quick to act. Can have many sides to them that some others might fail to understand. Have an air of wisdom, but not that of arrogance. Still, they are the most likely to knowingly take the high road but still protect their peace, making them very exclusive, although it's never for show. Defensive but quietly so. Accomodating to some degree on the outside, there's always more to them than what's obvious. See the bigger picture in every situation. They have a certain quiet strength and power. Nurture is important to them. Do not appreciate unnecessary aggression and try to dominate over anything they consider harsh/crude.

Sheep yonis

Krittika and Pushya

Keywords: precision, structure, minimalism, choosiness, contained.

Do not like excess in anything. They have a sense of balance, usually in almost everything. Prioritize sctructure and basics/essentials. Like clarity and clear-cut lines in their lives and around them. Can be snappy, but in a passive-aggressive way. Not harsh in a heavy/overwhelming way but still harsh about details. Have a soft demeanor with strangers and acquaintances, sometimes even people close to them in everyday life but can judge them quietly. Neutral to friendly on the outside, but if they have uncomfortable emotions they try hard to release them quietly/without much fuss. Might bottle up resentment in result. Very utilitarian and practical.

Snake yonis

Rohini and Mrigashira

Keywords: enjoyment, ease, materialism, basic awareness, growth, progress, sensory indulgence, instincts.

Very placid and calm. They focus mainly on material things but can live without luxuries, and can also share them, although privacy is very important to them. Very aware of their surroundings and their own presence. Attuned to their senses. Can get easily attached to people and things. Can exhibit selfish tendencies(or that's how it looks to others) when they feel like their desires are ignored, but Rohini and Mrigashira each do it differently.

Dog yonis

Ardra and Mula

Keywords: upheaval, critical point, rebelling, release, change, anchoring.

Tense but not frail. Might look tortured sometimes. Do not like to and probably even cannot focus on details, at least not how it's traditionally done(different to each situation). Like to display their individuality in one way or another. Dark humor or sassy comebacks. Either quiet or very loud, but either way, opinionated. If they're neutral then they're opinionated about being neutral. Can be kind of nihilistic but at peace with it. Contrarian and unapologetic. If they don't care about something you can't make them care. If they do care, they care intensely.

Cat yonis

Punarvasu and Ashlesha

Keywords: accumulation, buildup, purity, safety, protection, preservation, cycles.

Concerned with what influences them, not so much what they put out. Self-focused but also highly aware of others' needs. Can adapt to surroundings and can change their behavior based on what they need or really want. Not unkind but laser-focused on the boundaries. Always keep their cards close to their chest, not out of malice but simply to preserve their safety. Look more unnaproachable than they really are, and know more than they share with most.

Rat yonis

Magha and Purva Phalguni

Keywords: dispersion, creativity, planting seeds, the self.

Can be egocentric. Prideful and nonchalant. Love to show off. Might be aware of surroundings to some degree but even if they are, they rarely care. Getting what they want is the priority, along with self-expression. Not very moralistic, don't care much about labels. Sometimes they can be too detached. Will almost never catch them crying in front of others, although they can be dramatic if they want and can, without a problem, attract their dwsired attention. Their happiness is more warm and generous than loud and euphoric. Might have a poker face, they rarely show strong emotions. The strongest emotion I've seen them express is that of defensiveness, and that's not even an emotion. When they get defensive it's almost always because something has touched their pride or triggered their ego. Focused on what they can do.

Cow yonis

Uttara Phalguni and Uttara Bhadrapada

Keywords: stability, the long-term results, natural, softness, power/influence, unity, calm.

Stubborn. That's the only defense they have, because otherwise they're very soft. Naturally honest. They have an effortlessness about them that feels easy to be around, and they are pleasant to be around but not accepting of everyone. They avoid people they don't like from early on and stick to the ones they consider better. Not hesitant to defend themselves or people close to them, but not quick to waste that energy on just anyone, and when they do become defensive they still maintain "the high ground". Backing their allies and fighting proudly is natural for them. Again, very stubborn, so they rarely, if ever, give up on something important. Although they're tough, they're not sharp or cruel. They are mostly in a state calmness and assuredness rather than anxious defensiveness. Very fixed and comfortable in their ways.

Buffalo yonis

Hasta and Swati

Keywords: materialism, gain, comfort, strength, feminine(yin), ease.

More attached to material things than other yonis. Individuality is defined through connections and surroundings. Love comfort and ease. Interdependence>independence. Can be curiously neutral and accomodating. Self-focused but not selfish. Often phlegmatic and slow. Genuinely caring but can be cunning. Not the most direct people. They will let others know their views but won't push them aggressively on others. Almost everything about them is filtered through that neutrality.

Tiger yonis

Chitra and Vishakha

Keywords: building, gradual, defensive, expression, buildup.

The most defensive. Can look sweet on the outside but are not all soft. Can range from extremely forgiving to extremely vengeful. Aggression comes out while speaking. Rarely, if ever, present in a state of calm melancholy. They moreso go from happy/fun to agitated. Focused on development/building, and always look for more than what's natural for them. Witty but emotionally so. If they're highly agitated, it's very hard for them to exercise restraint in the moment. Not that direct in general but unfiltered during critical moments. It's easy for them to put on a mask, whether out of neccessity or just for fun. Can be very judgemental. If they're not aware, it can make them act in a "mean" way when they feel not their best.

Rabbit/Deer yonis

Anuradha and Jyeshta

Keywords: society, organization, status quo, responsibility, transpersonal, maturing.

Very non-aggressive on the inside, despite how they might look. Naturally have endurance and a sense of responsibility. Can be judgemental but also understanding. Love to give advice. Competitive but respectful. Can become arrogant. Love everything "classic" but want to establish their own, new structures. Choosy and sometimes exclusive. More warm than they appear, and capable of more emotions than how it seems. Often traditionally intelligent. Have a very civilized behavior.

Vanar yonis

Purva Ashadha and Shravana

Keywords: flow, alliances, connections, support, creation and preservation.

Good at reading between the lines, anything too structured is harsh for them. Otherworldly aura/mannerisms. Most likely to posses what others might consider as "quirks". Value their own individuality and uniqueness. Seeks to be different from what they consider boring, normal or basic. Not very reactive. When they get defensive, they get quiet. Can romatisize sadness and melancholy. Capable of seeing both sides but are often willingly biased.

Mongoose yoni

Uttara Ashadha

Keywords: independence, solitude, practicality, victory.

Truly neutral and unbothered. Value honesty and integrity. Not attached to material things at all. Easy to be around but their regal nature might put some people ill at ease. Naturally take on leadership positions. Might feel lonely but won't trade solitude for tiring/uninteresting company. Value practicality and simplicity, and are practical themselves. Surprsingly warm and feeling in certain moments, but can also be uncaring towards others.

Lion yonis

Dhanishta and Purva Bhadrapada

Keywords: notoriety, flashiness, power, aggression, pride.

Very unfiltered and loudly so. Unashamed and bold, proud. That pride and confidence fuels their calmness, but they can lack patience. In everyday interactions they can look very unreactive but if something "triggers" them, they will not hesitate to be a little(or not so little) aggressive. Love to spread their influence. Might strongly dislike anything that looks subtle and quiet to them, as it arises distrust in them. Rarely, if ever, use/appreciate sarcasm. They prefer directness. Can slip into being a bully, or can become a proud voice for others.

[lyrebirdswrites]

Folding laundry. Folding LAUNDRY 💕😭💕😭 Megumi’s dream is to live peacefully in a day-to-day routine with Tsumiki and Yuuji by his side. His DREAM LIFE is to COOK MEALS and FOLD LAUNDRY with Yuuji. To make a lifetime of domestic habits WITH YUUJI. If you told me this dialogue was pulled directly from a fanfic I would not question you. I can’t believe this is actually real. They love each other so much that they’re willing to live for each other. When they imagine their happiest future they reflexively picture each other in it. They’re canonically the #1 most important living person in each other’s lives. They’re going to save each other just like they promised and they’re going to save all of Japan from Sukuna while they’re at it. An apocalypse singlehandedly averted by the power of true love THATS MY ITAFUSHI

[pokechbi]

🎀The Holy Trinity🎀

🎀summary🎀

Ghost x König x Soap x Reader (4sum) !!

18+ V NSFW!

Word count: 11.5k 💕 (not proofread yet!)

Enjoy! <3

She was the invisible woman they didn’t know they needed. The woman no one seemed to pay any attention to as she quickly paced the hallways trying to get back to the sanctity of her office. No one actually paid her any mind, howbeit her detrimental job as the base medic. She had been tasked to perform her duties in the wing that housed the Special Forces, along with the men of Task Force 141. There were many powerful, brave soldiers that could’ve caught her attention, but there were 3 in particular that grabbed her by her very womanhood and kept on squeezing, threatening her morals and standards to leak right out of her.

König, the 6’10, patriotic Austrian beast of a soldier who most definitely was a man of few words. When she treated him, he sat confidently, staring a hole into her soul. He was definitely a man whom she felt was socially anxious, and in a way it made her feel, connected to him. She had imagined that it had to be due to his size. He was hard to miss, often turning heads and stopping conversations everywhere he went. She felt the same way at times, finding solstice in being alone, and away from the terrifying stare and judgement from the rest of the soldiers and staff on the base. She wasn’t bullied, but she was definitely not one who fit in with the rest of the medics in her department. She made it a priority to do her deed and leave to her apartment at the end of the day, not bothering to make many friends. The only friends she had managed to make were the two nurses who tended to the front end of the medical ward in the Task Force’s wing. The three of them often went out for drinks at the bar just outside of the base’s gates.

König rarely spoke to her, but when he did, she found herself wanting it to never end. His voice was honey to her ears, a warm embrace in a cold and hard world. Even sitting down on the bed, he towered over her and made her hands shake and her heart pound so hard in her ears she was sure he could hear it. A habit she managed to kick years ago, working endlessly to rid herself of her shaky fingers and anxiety. All come undone by the simple presence of him. In a way, she secretly adored it. Adored him. She found herself thinking of him at the end of a long day, much like a teenage girl still in grade school. She was curious about him, and wanted to know all there was about the mysterious giant. What he looked like under that sniper hood, under his shirt, under those tight military cargos that she was sure got uncomfortably snug when he was aroused. It was nonsense, and she knew that. There was no way a man of his rank would even spare a second glance at her. But it was fun to fantasize.

John “Soap” MacTavish was the polar opposite of König. He was surely a man who would voice his mind whenever and wherever. She admired that about him. He spoke what was real, and gave not a single fuck about it. He was also a sweetheart, always throwing compliments her way and making her feel like hot shit. His spunky Mohawk was always a sight she loved to see in her examination room, and she made sure he knew it. She would return the favor of any compliments he spared her way, and it caused their friendship to blossom. She hoped it would evolve into something more, but Soap seemed like the kind of man who’d wham bam and thank you ma’am, albeit the romantic that he was. She wouldn’t mind it either way, though. A little taste of him couldn’t hurt.

And then there was Simon “Ghost” Riley. The grandest enigma of all three. The man was truly nerve wracking to be around. As nervous and anxious as he made her, she couldn’t help but feel enticed by his mysterious aura. She had no idea how he had managed to find himself on the same team as Soap, as menacing and serious as he usually was when around the base. When he found himself in her examination room, his eyes lingered a bit too long wherever she would touch last. She never knew why he did this, until their small talk had turned into something much more meaningful on one particular visit.

“You’ve got a soft touch, dear.” His rough, jagged accent ran from her ears straight down to that spot that made her squeeze her thighs together to keep it from leaving her. Hearing it wasn’t enough. She wanted it injected in her veins.

“No medic on this base has ever been this bloody gentle. They ought to hire more o’ ya.” He said with a low chuckle. That small, insignificant laugh regularly rang through her mind at the most unexpected moments. She could be doing dishes, cleaning her desk, anything. That laugh stuck to her like glitter on sweaty, sticky skin. She knew it wasn’t something he did often, so when she heard it, an icy cold shiver enveloped her skin and raised goosebumps. She loved it. Wanted to hear more. The lieutenant had her in a chokehold and there was nothing she could do to free herself.

So when she found herself sat in the same vicinity as the trio and a few of the other members of the Task Force in the bar just a ways off base on her birthday, she was understandably a nervous wreck. Just a few tables away, she felt as if the trio were breathing straight down her neck.

**✧*̥˚<3 *̥˚✧**

“Man, that hen from the medical wings’ got a crush on me, mark my words lads.” The Scot breathes, glancing over his shoulder. “Been givin’ me the eyes past few weeks.”

“Fuck’s sake, Johnny. She’s doing her job. Every time a woman spares you a look, you go whipped.” Simon says sternly, also glancing up at her every few minutes. He also found himself painfully interested in her, not wanting to admit to something that could threaten or demean the persona he’s worked so hard to build up. Often times he feels himself unable to help it, her soft touch and sweet smell permeating his senses when he’s least expecting it. No amount of working out, training, or smoking could shake the insatiable hunger he was starting to develop for her. He would visit her office when she was so blissfully unaware of him, just to see how she looked when she was swamped with paperwork, or just relaxing on her break. He was genuinely interested in how she lived, how she loved, how she felt. He hated Soap for the way he started to mention her in the lewdest of ways, only encouraging his raging, exponential growth of feelings for her. A medic? Of all the hardcore, tough women on base that could do him just right, he wanted that one. The one who’s knees would buckle under her if he so much as breathed in her ear. He wondered what it would take to break her mind, body and soul until all she could think about was his thick, fat cock and all the places she could take him. He shifts in his seat at the thought of it, adjusting his pants. God forbid if Johnny saw the way he was rocked up at just the mere sight of her. He’d never hear the end of it.

“What about you, König?” Soap says with a sly smirk. His ears perk up at his name, usually excluded from the conversation due to his introverted nature. “Want a piece of ‘er? I know you do.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “All the quiet ones are the biggest freaks, aye?” He continues.

“ Ich würde sie direkt an diesem Tisch ficken.” König says lowly, hoping no one else at this club spoke his language. Soap and Ghost glance at each other in confusion.

König knew what Soap said rang true. On all of his visits to her examination room, he’d put on this facade of being stone cold, not interested. But he was more than interested. He wanted to know how she would fare under his touch, how much it would take for him to absolutely ruin her. He was nervous at the very sight of her. She was the reason he’d taken his hygiene more seriously. The reason he started scrubbing his cock and balls more thoroughly every shower, on the off chance that he’d actually get to take her right on that little hospital bed he had made more excuses to come and sit on. She was the reason he became distracted from his work, all of his thoughts eventually turning into some unholy fantasy about her. He often fiddled with his knives to distract himself, to ground himself from any given stress. But to no avail. He wondered if she liked knives, if it was something she’d ever even thought about, if it was something she would let him teach her. It always started innocently like that. Then he wondered how fast he’d be able to cut every single piece of clothing off of her. He wanted to run the knife along her pretty, velvety skin, marking her with every swipe of the blade. Marking her with him.

Surprised at the silence at the table after he asked, Soap grew curious. He chuckled deviously as he leans forward, speaking lowly, keeping out of earshot from the rest of the table. “Well then, lads. I’m afraid we’ve reached an impasse.” He takes a sip of his drink. “And I’ve got the filthiest of ideas for a solution.”

**✧*̥˚ <3 *̥˚✧**

“ Their eyes are all over you. How do you not see it!” Her friend Belinda states, uncomfortably loud. She was glad to see that it wasn’t just her delusions making an appearance. Or the alcohol making her see things that weren't there. She smiles, looking down at her half-empty glass.

“There’s no way, Bal. Why would any of them be interested in me? I’m literally a nobody here” She states, smugly trying to fish more validation out of her. She takes another sip of her drink, wincing at how strong it was. It was her birthday. This was no time for girly drinks. She needed some liquid confidence. She had set her mind to approach one of them, but had no idea who would she would take the chance with. It was an ongoing debate that had been going on in her head for the past few weeks, her nerves practically incapacitating her whenever one of them showed up in her exam room. It felt silly, as if she were simply window shopping at the mall.

“You’re right, Bal. They’re all staring. Maybe they want you guys too. There’s enough of them to go around” She says with a low chuckle, a quiet green monster stirring awake in her belly. She couldn’t stand to see any of them wanting to be with anyone else, even if she had no right to feel that way. She hadn’t managed to speak any of them in a romantic manner other than Soap, who surely wanted in her panties by now. Maybe he’d be the one. Or König. Or Simon. All she knew was that she needed to be satiated. And fast.

“Well hello there ladies, how are ‘ye?” The Scot’s voice rang against her ears, making her freeze in place. She hadn’t seen him walk to their table, spaced out with the thoughts of who she would try and approach first. The girls were just as stunned as she was, smiling up flirtatiously at Soap through their eyelashes. She wanted to jump across the table and bash both of their heads against each other. She flinched at the new feeling she had, the newfound possession in her blood made her confused. She looked up at him, parting her lips to speak.

“It’s her birthdayyyy!” Bal says drunkenly, interrupting the modest approach she was going for.

“Well then!” Soap says, looking down at her, something close to amusement in his eyes. She could get used to this angle. “Come celebrate with us! We’ve got some pints about to roll out, what d’ ya say?” The entire table looks at her, waiting for an answer. Her mouth hangs open, the words stuck in her throat.

Her friend grabs her hand and practically drags her from the table. Bal and Sophia giggle like girls as they start approaching they boys’ table. Her heart pounds so hard, it threatens to break open its bony cage in hopes of escaping out of her mouth. When they finally reach the table, Bal and Sophia slide into the table, Soap smugly sitting in between the both of them. She bites her bottom lip nervously, the only spot left would be smushed in between König and Ghost. Not that it particularly bothered her, but it was still something embarrassing to have to do against her own will. In public, at that. She didn’t need the entire bar population to know that she would be more than happy to put all of her holes to use at once. She glances between the both of them as Ghost stands up, offering a spot between him and König.

“After you, luv” he says lowly. Goosebumps raise on her arms at the sound of his deep, husky, accented voice. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to hear the way he must have groaned and growled if she rode his cock like a cowgirl racing her favorite horse. She felt heat rise to her ears at the sudden infiltration of a dirty thought.

“Well thank you, Lieutenant. Didn’t know you were such a gentleman!” She says flirtatiously, the liquid courage going straight to her head. He freezes slightly at the way she addresses him, sending a white hot wave of deviousness to settle right in his balls. She smiles as she sits down, scooting closer to König’s large frame. She looks across the table to her friends, watching as their eyes widen at his height. He was the tallest at the table, even though he was sitting down. She loved to see the way he turned heads. The way women seemed to either cower from him, or wanted in his pants and how there seemed to be no in between. And she was no exception. She took a certain pride in being his primary care provider, feeling on top of the world sitting next to the king-sized man.

“Hey, König. How are you?” She says, greeting him quietly and sweetly. She spoke softly as if she would scare him away. She had a different approach for each man. She had it all calculated in her head, the subject being something that lingered in her thoughts for weeks and weeks on end. She felt pathetic trying to choose in between the three of them, not wanting to choose at all. She wished she could take them all at once, no regrets in the world. For Soap, she knew she wouldn’t have to hold back. She could be as flirty as she wanted, with not a care. She knew he’d soak it up like a damn sponge. For Ghost, she wanted to appear just as hard of a nut to crack as he did. She wanted to play mysterious too. For König, she knew he was a dominant, insatiable beast. How could a man of that stature not be? She wasn’t opposed to the idea of him making her his absolute whore.

“I’m well darling. And you?” He says his Austrian accent wet and thick on his words. The visible lines of his eyes squeezing together under his sniper hood. He was smiling? She thought to herself. Now that was a sight she could get used to seeing. She smiled back at him, parting her lips to speak, when the Scot interrupts her once again. Maybe his mouth wouldn’t run so much if he had someone sitting on it. She thought, heat rising to her ears and spreading to her cheeks. The more she sipped her drink, the bolder she felt her thoughts getting, threatening to breach the vocal barrier she’d worked so hard to build.

“It’s the lass’s birthday, aye? We’ll need some way to celebrate the life of our favorite doctor on base!” He says enthusiastically, raising his glass for a cheer. They all clink their glasses together, her eyes landing on König’s as she smirks at Soaps annoyingness. He smiles again and leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Happy birthday, Liebling.” He says lowly, his breath raising the hairs on her entire body. She looks at him and absentmindedly yet softly wraps her arms around his neck, squeezing him in a small hug. His muscles tensed under her touch, and his hands hesitated wrapping themselves around her waist as she hugged him.

“Thank you, König.” She says sweetly, an innocent smile splayed on her face.

She nuzzles her face in his neck, inhaling his masculine, musky pheromones. He smelled of what she would envision a man’s pure, raw love to smell like. She wanted it all over her skin, all over her bedsheets for her to smell the next morning.

“Do I smell good, doctor?” He says teasingly, her arms still wrapped around his neck. His Austrian accent rings through her ears, sinuously slithering it’s way down her core and settling into the deepest parts of her womanhood.

She freezes in place, letting out a breathy chuckle of embarrassment. She quickly gathers her thoughts and fixes the situation the only way she knows how. By flirting.

“You do, sir. Not sure what cologne you use, but I like it.” She purrs, leaning into his ear, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. He freezes under her touch, looking up at her with his half lidded blue orbs. She instantly noticed that look in his eyes. It was pure lust. And she wanted every single part of what it had to offer. She looked back at him with her same drunken gaze, not wanting to break the stare, afraid this moment would run out of the door, never to be seen again. Was he the one she wanted?

“Well thank you doctor, but I’m not wearing any.” He concludes smugly, scanning her face gently for a reaction. She smiles deviously, taking a sip of her drink and hoping to God he doesn’t notice the deep shade of red spreading from her ears to her entire face. She sits back, only now noticing how quiet the table got. She looks around and makes eye contact with her friends across the way, both of them seemingly shell-shocked at the bold display from her and Konig. She smiles at him, placing her glass down. They all begin speaking again. She looks her to her left at Ghost. As many times as she spent alone with him, he still wracked her nerves. He can tell that was the effect he had on her, so he leaned close to her and spoke near her ear with his hot, accented breath that sent shivers up her spine.

“Happy birthday, luv. Surely you don’t plan on spending it here, with the men who are always hurt and working you the hardest?” He says lowly, his voice barely a rasp. She bites her lip at his comment. He was surprisingly right. She could’ve been spending her birthday somewhere nicer. Maybe in the city, far away from her workplace. But she knew what she wanted for her birthday. She smiled at the thought.

“Oh? And why’s that, L.t?” She says teasingly, subtly scooting her way closer to him. His smell inches its way to her nose and wrapping itself around her brain. He smelled of masculine musk, cedarwood and the rough smell of the outdoors. He looked her face up and down, his gaze landing on her lips. He catches her gaze again and looks away, embarrassed at his own forwardness. She smirks to herself at his boldness. She sits back in her seat between Konig and Ghost, feeling like an ant between two mountains. She looks at Soap across the table. He was in the middle of a conversation with her two friends, shooting a glance her way ever so often.

Her friends finish off their drinks, drunkenly giggling with Soap as he makes endless flirtatious jokes and dirty innuendos.

“Well birthday girl…” Sophia starts, gathering her purse and phone, scooting to the end of the booth as she gets up, presumably to leave her alone with all three men like a madwoman. “We’d love to stick around, but we’ve got an early start tomorrow.” Bal starts to get up also, scooting past Soap, she shoots them a look. A glare that could cut diamonds. There was no way she wouldn’t break down into an absolute nervous mess as the only woman under the three men’s gazes. Her anger turned into pleading, and she shot her friends a desperate look of help me before they giggled and rushed out of the bar. They knew what they were doing. Her mouth hung agape as the three men ran their eyes all over her.

“And then there were four, aye?” Soap says, finishing the last of his drink.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

“You want to…what?” She says, her mouth hanging open, her eyes shooting between the three men as she’s taken aback by their proposal. “All…three of you?” Her voice comes out barely a squeak. She looks down at her glass, her drink long gone. The glass was still sweating in the suddenly humid bar, the condensation moistening her fingers. Soap, Konig and Ghost look at each other, a smug, hungry look in their eyes. She suddenly felt much smaller, as if her lungs were shrunk to a point where they couldn’t take enough air to support her brain function. She couldn’t possibly deny them. She couldn’t. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. A dream of many women on the base. Soap was no giant, but the other two…she should be scared. But she wasn’t. She craved to know what they all felt like. What they all looked like under their rough military attire. How they would all fit on her Queen sized bed. She nudges Ghost beside her, wanting to stand up. He slid out of the booth and let her stand, staying stood beside her, looking down at her with a lust laced stare. His eyes ran up and down her body, starting from her eyes and trailing all the way down to the low heels she wore. Her gaze fell to the floor as she cleared her throat before speaking.

“We won’t be mad if you say no, dear.” König says before she could speak, his voice almost a whisper. He spoke to her as if she would break if he spoke to her. She looked at him with grace, the thoughts running through her head anything but. She clears her throat again. The thought of denying them seemed to be a bigger sin than what she was agreeing to.

“Um…sure. We can do that” she says, nodding her head. She let out her statement as if the opportunity would slip through her fingers, as if it would expire any moment. She smiles at them as they look among themselves, smug in their eyes.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

The cab ride to her apartment was going to be nothing short of awkward, her squishing herself between three gigantic soldiers, two of them masked. The driver asked no questions and nervously drove off from the bar. The ride was filled with a certain bloated tension that could have surely spilled over at the slightest of movements. She sat tensely between König and Soap, the three of them barely fitting in the back seat. The scot placed his hand on her left knee, nonchalantly moving it further and further up under her skirt. König looked at them through his sniper hood, doing the same to her right knee. They looked at her like hawks to prey as she felt her panties moisten with anticipation. Soap was the first to reach the hem of her panties, slipping a finger through them. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact. He moved his finger deeper into her panties, reaching her weeping hole. He leaned down and whispered into her neck.

“Tsk tsk, so ready for me aren’t ‘ya?” His warm accented breath caressed her skin, sending signals to her brain for her to spread her legs right then and there. She bites her bottom lip, unable to part them in fear of the most ungodly of noises escaping them. Without warning, he enters a thick finger right into her. She gasps quietly, glancing at the driver and praying that he hadn’t heard. She was sure he knew something was up back there, but with the ecstasy Soap’s finger was causing to run through her every blood cell, she couldn’t bring herself to care. He pumps his finger in and out of her, curling it ever so slightly and grazing the one spot that would bring her to her orgasm. She looks up at him, her eyes lidded and tears brimming her eyelids. He was driving her insane, simply by the curve of a thick digit. She can see the slight smirk on his lips, his smugness driving her crazy as he drags his finger out of her abruptly. She let out a quiet whimper, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. Her head whips around to look at König, who’s hand had hovered by the hem of her panties as Soap did his thing to her. She can see his eyes squint, signaling that he was smiling.

She parts her legs the slightest bit, the only bit that she could while being sandwiched between the two men. He wastes no time in slipping a finger into her panties, taking a slight pause when he notices just how wet she really was. He glanced up at Soap, an amused look in his eyes. His fingers were much larger than Soap’s, evident by the way he slightly struggled to get his hand in her panties. He withdraws, then pulls out the smallest of pocket knives. Her eyes widen at the glistening blade, looking at the driver to make sure he hadn’t noticed the weapon. He reaches down between her legs, a nervous look written on her face. She stares at him, absolutely oblivious to what he’s about to do. She hears the noise of fabric ripping, and a gust of cold air hit her clit as she realizes. He had just expertly sliced the crotch part of her panties right open. How he hadn’t cut her was beyond her. Her mouth remains open in awe as he puts the knife back into its respective spot in his belt. He stares at her in the eyes through the whole ordeal, a starved look in his green eyes. His hands travel back up her thighs as his finger rests in the spot she wouldn’t want anywhere else at the moment. He inserts a finger into her hole, still slick with juices and ready for him. His other hand palms his crotch secretively, and his eyes roll back into his head as he dips his head forward. He bottoms out his thick finger, long and muscular. She wondered if his fingers were this large, what he must be carrying between his thighs. She looks down at his crotch, the imprint of his half hard cock showing itself. She wanted nothing more than his pants off in that moment. He curled his finger, the length of it reaching more spots than Soap had managed to get to. He continuously flicked her swollen nub of nerves inside of her, causing her to buck her hips forward. Her movements caused the leather seat under her to squeak slightly. Soap places a hand on her knee, stilling her. She shakes from holding in her moans, which she was surprisingly able to do considering the giant finger pumping itself in and out of her and stimulating her plushy walls. König enters another finger inside of her, stretching her hole. She places a hand on his strong forearm, the thick ropes of muscles flexing as he continues fingering her pussy. She feels her juices run out of her and down her thigh as they pool under her ass. As he continues, she feels the familiar tightening of her core. She squeezes his arm tightly, looking up at his green eyes as she reaches her orgasm. He takes notice of her approaching climax and slows his pace, letting her ride it out slowly as she struggles not to buck her hips forward. Her breathing begins to get sporadic and hitched as the hot coil inside of her snaps, and a thousand pound wave of euphoric pleasure melts her brain in the backseat of the cab.

She starts to taste blood in her mouth from biting her lip, trying to stifle her moans and whimpers as best she can. König palms his dick at the sight of her, a heavy breath escaping his lips. He pulls his finger from out of her, sliding them up and coating her clit with her juices. She jumps slightly at the sudden touch to her sensitive bundle of nerves as he flicks it with his middle finger. Soap continues holding her down by the knee, a look of amusement in König’s eyes as he overstimulates her. He takes his hand from under her skirt, inspecting his fingers as they glisten with her juices. He raises his hand to his mask, slipping his hand under as she hears the sound of him putting his fingers in his mouth. She rests her head on the headrest behind her as she looks at him in awe. So he was a freak, under that stoic, mysterious aura he always gave off. She steadies her breathing, noticing how they were around the corner from her apartment. She looks past König at Ghost, his jeans uncomfortably tight in his crotch area as the imprint of his cock makes an appearance. She licks her lips at the sight, looking up to his eyes hungrily.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

As she unlocks the door to her apartment, she feels the hungry gaze of all three men on her back. She felt as if she were turning her back to a starved pack of wolves, ready to pounce on her at any moment. She walks in first, turning to meet their gazes. Ghost walks in first, followed by König and Soap. She smiles at them nervously as they look around her apartment, taking at her decor. She bends down to take her heels off, suddenly feeling a strong hand on her hip. She freezes in place as a gruff voice caresses her ear.

“Sit on the couch, love” Ghost says gently. She walks to the couch in her living room, her heel strap half undone. She sits down as Ghost approaches her slowly, the soft fabric of the couch caressing her thighs. He gets down on one knee in front of her, and takes her ankle in his hand. Her ankle fit snugly into his hand, his large fingers wrapping around it. König and Soap watch as he begins undoing her heel straps, his fingers grazing her skin and leaving a hot trail of fire in its wake. He looks up at her, and back down. His eyes travel to underneath her skirt, chuckling to himself at the mess that König made with her panties.

Once he gets both heels off, he runs his warm hands up her legs and to her hips when he lifts her right off the couch as if she weighed nothing. He walked through the small hallway as she straddled him, her legs wrapped around his jeaned hips. The rough material of his jacket rubbed against her clit slightly, causing her to let out a starved moan.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you, lovie” he says in her ear, his eyes lidded with hunger through his balaclava.

She looks over his shoulder at Soap and König as they follow him to her bedroom. She smiles at them as they strut through her apartment, their large stature making it feel tiny. As they reach her bedroom, she looks Ghost in his eyes, darkened with lust as he swings the door open. Once he sees the bed, he wastes no time in throwing her on it.

The way they don’t speak definitely intimidated her. She knew she was in for it when they all stood in a line, staring down at her on the bed. All three men begin undressing, starting with their jackets.

She gulps before breaking the silence. “So…who’s first?” She says, her voice shaky with anticipation. They all glance at her, a smirk written on Soap’s face. He chuckles.

“Who said anything about taking turns, lass?” He asks nonchalantly as he pulls his shirt over his head. She looked at his body, his prominent abs jutting from his skin. His abdominal muscles flex and the light pink scars move as he throws his shirt on the carpeted floor. He unbuckles his jeans, sliding them down at the same time as his boxers. His cock jumps forward, twitching to attention. He wasn’t too long, but his shaft was surely thick and veins protruded from the soft skin. He approaches her first, sitting on the bed next to her and placing a hand on her thigh as the heat from his hard dick radiated onto her leg. He leans over and lightly kisses her neck, seemingly holding back the passion and hunger that’s rubbing through his veins. He runs his tongue over the soft skin on her neck as his hands run up and down her belly. She moans aloud as he leaves small love bites on her. Hearing the continued shuffling noises of the other two men undressing, she looks over to König as he begins pulling his sniper hood off. She stares at him in awe as he reveals his face to her for the first time. He was simply gorgeous. He had strong centric European features, his nose large with a sharp bump on the bridge, and plush pink lips that parted once she made eye contact with him. He had dirty blonde stubble littering his strong jaw.

“You’re…so handsome, König” she says in awe, the words barely coming out as a squeak. He smiles at her, his charmingly crooked teeth making an appearance. He was perfect. She wanted him inside of her immediately. But impatience would get her nowhere in this situation. Soap bites her neck harder, seemingly out of jealousy. She jumps and smiles as he does this, noticing the knowing look on his face.

“No favorites, lovie” Soap says, softly licking to soothe the spot he bit harshly.

“Thank you, Liebling.” König says gently, his German caressing her ears and shooting right down into her core. He continues undressing, kicking his cargo pants off and kicking them to the side. He pulls his underwear down next, his cock springing up and letting out a quiet smack as it bounces off his stomach. He was huge. She was no virgin, but the sheer size of it made her shudder. It was long and thick, matching the gigantic size of the rest of him. She looked at it nervously as he began stepping forward.

“Don’t be nervous, dear. I’ll be gentle with you” he says softly, crawling onto the bed in front of her. She smiles at him in response. He lies on her right, with Soap on her left.

As Soap continues his work on her neck, she looks past him at Ghost, now naked as well. His cock seemed to be the perfect size. He was big, just like him, but he wasn’t packing a monster like König. He grabs his shaft, slowly stroking it as he walks forward. He lets out a grunt as he crawls on the bed, taking the only spot left being in front of her. With all three men now laying before her naked, her heart pounded in her ears in nervousness. König gets to work on her shirt, lifting it over her head, leaving her in her bra and skirt. He palms her right breast, running a thumb over her tender nipple through the padded fabric of her bra. He lets out a low chuckle at the sight of it.

“Sit up for me, Liebling” he says, a smile lacing his voice. She looked at Soap as she sits up, her neck still moist with his saliva. König begins to fiddle with her bra strap, one of the hooks resisting. He grunts as he continues to fiddle with it. All of a sudden she hears a loud rip as her bra falls down to her thighs. She looks at him as he smiles at her nonchalantly.

“I will have no panties or bras to wear if you keep this up, König” she says, giggling at his short temper.

“Good, I like you better that way, dear.” he says in her ear, gently pushing her chest down so she can lie on her back. He wastes no time in going for her nipple, wrapping his lips around them and flicking the bud with his tongue. She moans, holding his head in place. Soap does the same as König, sucking and biting at her other nipple. The double stimulation was driving her crazy, it was enough to pull an orgasm out of her right then. She bucked her hips into the air as she looked over both of their heads at Ghost. He was naked all except his balaclava. She knew he wanted to conceal his identity, so she didn’t press the matter. And with both men sucking and biting at her nipples, she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. It was a discussion for another time. She knew she was soaked, she could feel her slick practically dripping down her thighs. Ghost looks down at her as he moves his hand from his cock to her thighs, running them up and down her skin and landing on her hips. He wraps his fingers in the waistline of her skirt, pulling it down roughly. She lifted her hips to assist him in getting her naked, parting her legs as soon as it was pulled off. He threw it to the floor, looking at her exposed pussy with nothing short of starvation.

“I don’t think you know how long I’ve waited for this, lovie” he says, leaning down on his stomach and positioning his head between her legs. He pulls his balaclava over his mouth, resting it on the bridge of his nose, exposing his dark stubbled jaw. He wraps his arms under her thighs, holding her in place. He reaches around her thigh and thumbs her clit, the sudden contact making her buck her hips forward. The three of them stimulated her all at once, making her brain dizzy with pleasure. She cries out as he circles her clit.

“God damn, look how wet you are baby.” He says, his voice low, coming out much like a growl. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He continues, his breath caressing her heat. Ghost dips his head forward as he replaces his thumb with his tongue, running a stripe along her entire slit. She cries out in pleasure, her moans ringing off the walls. She slides her hips forward, burying her clit in his face.

“I love the way you sing for us, lass.” Soap praises against her breast. She rolls her eyes back, unable to focus on anything as all three men work on her simultaneously. Ghost continues eating her out, sucking and flicking his tongue over her clit as König raises his head from her breast. He pinches her nipples as he leans down to her face.

“You’re doing so well for us, Liebling.” He whispers, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. “T-thank you, König” she whimpers. He closes the gap between them, kissing her with a hunger she can only describe as ravenous. He takes her bottom lip in his, biting at it gently. She moans into his mouth as they make out. His stubble scratches roughly against her mouth, resulting in her lips to swell and plump. He continues palming at her breast, caressing her body as he kisses her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to chose favorites, but she loved how he was the gentlest with her, caressing her and putting her pleasure first. She feels a finger on her chin, turning her head to her left. Soap turns her face towards him, kissing her swollen lips. She swirls at the mix of smells, both men’s musk filling her nostrils and settling on her breath. He continues kissing her hungrily, caressing her cheek roughly. He moans into her mouth and stroked himself beside her. She reaches next to her, König’s cock not hard to find. She takes it in her hand, the thick shaft hard as a rock in her small hand. She takes the head in her hand first, thumbing his slit and smearing his precum over it. He lets out a pitched moan, close to a whimper. She smiles at his noises, his moans driving her over the edge. She feels the familiar tightening in her core. König caresses her breast as she continues stroking his thick shaft, all while kissing Soap and practically riding Ghost’s face from under him. He pulls away as he feels her tense around his tongue, parting with a kiss on her sensitive clit.

“Not just yet, baby. Can’t have ‘ya tappin’ out on us can we?” He says nonchalantly, standing up on his knees. She whimpers as he stands.

“P-please, Simon.” She breaks the kiss with Soap as she pleads, the desperation practically leaking off her tongue. The use of his government name was a means to beg him into continuing. He shakes his head hearing her call him by his name, smiling at her smugly. He pulls his balaclava down over his mouth as he leans forward, placing a finger on her chin and pulling her face forward.

“Oi, don’t you dare try and entice me ‘ya little minx. Be patient like a good little puppy, right lads?” He says. The two men on either side of her nod their heads, and let out a string of mhms. König continues moaning and grunting as she strokes him messily. He places his hand over hers, guiding her and noticing her becoming undone more and more by the minute. She looks back up to Ghost, who begins lining himself up with her pussy. He holds her legs apart as he slides his tip up and down her slit, coating it in her slick. She moans, looking back at König as he watches her face contort with pleasure. He watches her with such admiration, such devotion that her brain screamed at her to jump his cock first. She stared at him with nervousness as Ghost begins pushing his tip inside of her, letting out s groan as he does so. She bucks her hips forward, feeling him falter as he stretches her hole.

“So fucking…tight” he says breathlessly, pushing into her. She feels the pressure build up in her core, electric waves of pleasure shooting through her spine as he connects himself to her walls. In no time he bottoms out, his balls laid against her ass. He begins thrusting in and out of her, his grip on her thigh becoming rougher and rougher with each thrust. She lets out a loud moan, close to a yell. König continues sucking and biting her nipples, leaving hickies all along her breast. Soap leans over to her face, kissing her again as Ghost continues fucking her senseless. Their hips slap together lewdly as he fucks her, his dick hitting her swollen bundle of nerves inside of her. He moans and grunts aloud, his gruff voice music to her ears.

“Fuck, lovie. You feel so good. So…inviting.” He says, lifting her leg and throwing it over his shoulder. The new position would allow for him to reach her deepest spots, the part of her walls no man had ever ventured before. She cries out as he hits her cervix repeatedly, the pain turning into instant pleasure as he opens her up and sexes her most sensitive spots. He grunts loudly and squeezes her foot next to his head. He continues pumping in and out of her, throwing out praises and slurred words. His thrusts falter as he slows down, gently lowering her leg off his shoulder. “I won’t last long if I keep that up, sweetheart.” He chuckles, slowly pulling out of her. “On your knees, baby.”

She takes a second, catching her breath before sitting up. König and Soap move over slightly as she gets on her hands and knees. Ghost wastes no time in pushing his fat cock into her again, hitting her deepest, sensitive spots in this position. She cries out as he grabs the fat of her ass, landing a few rough spanks to the soft, plushy skin. They were surely going to be bruised the next day, not that she would mind. He curses out as she backs her hips onto him, allowing his dick to go even deeper, if even possible. “Such a good little puppy. Listenin’ so well.” She looks up at Soap and König as they watch her get railed and praised by the masked man behind her.

“Tsk tsk, we’ve oughta put your other hole to use, right König?” Soap says, grabbing her by the chin as he strokes his cock to the sight of her getting fucked stupid. König grunts in response, his hand replaced hers as he also strokes himself, unbelievably aroused by the sight of her thoughts being fucked right out of her head. She smiles to the two men as she understands what he’s insinuating. She opens her mouth wide, tongue hanging out like the puppy Ghost praised her so well to be. Soap shuffles towards her face, his thick cock in hand. She takes his head between his lips, feeling how swollen and plump it was with arousal. He moans breathlessly as he bucks his hips forward, gently fucking her mouth. She teases him by licking the precum off of his slit, and licking her lips, coating her lips with his juice. He bites his lip at the sight of her, roughly grabbing her hair from the back of her head.

“Such a dirty lass. Who knew?” He says breathlessly, shoving half of his dick in her mouth. She hollows out her cheeks as she takes him, bobbing her head forward. As Ghost fucks her from behind, she involuntary takes him deeper in her mouth with each thrust. In no time his tip grazed the back of her throat, causing her to gag and tear up as he groans and grunts. He begins fucking her face ruthlessly, the hunger getting the best of him. She gags as tears brim her eyes, tears and drool spilling over onto the bed below her.

“Look at ‘ya. Dirty, drooling little puppy. This’ll stick in my head for a while” he chuckles, tightening his grip on her hair.

He continues thrusting his cock deep into her mouth as Ghost goes feral on her pussy. He continues spanking her, praising her as she tries to pleasure both men simultaneously. Soap slows his thrusts, dragging them out. He pushes into her mouth until his pubic hair brushes her nose, and pulls out almost all the way, properly slutting out her mouth. She feels weight shift beside her as König lies beside her. He reaches below her, his middle finger rubbing her wet clit as Ghost continues pumping into her. Unable to look at him, she moans on Soap’s shaft. He grunts at the added stimulation, her moans vibrating the nerves on the head of his cock. As König circles her clit, she feels a hot wave of pleasure grow inside of her. She feels as if she’s about to simply implode, clenching tightly around Ghost. He slows his pace, unable to fuck her as angrily when she was clenched so tightly around him. His cock met resistance, causing him to moan loudly as he leans over her, hands still tightly gripping her ass and hips. She cries out, muffled by the thick dick in her throat as a stream of her juices spray out under her, pooling in König’s hand. He chuckles, bringing his hand from under her gently.

“Little Liebling, you’ve made such a mess, hm?” He purrs in her ear, standing on his knees. Her thighs shake and tremble, threatening to buckle as her body weakens. König made her squirt, which she was sure was a group effort, but it stunned her nonetheless. Soap lessens his grip on her head, letting her up for air. She looks towards König at he stares down at his hand covered in her squirt. He stares her in the eyes lustfully, bringing his hand to his thick cock. He uses her juices to wet his shaft, moaning and grunting as he jerks himself with her slick. She stares at him in awe, as he lies back down and begins circling her clit once more with his free hand. The sight alome was enough to drive her over the edge. She feels her knees buckling under her once more as he pleasures her sensitive bud again, resulting in Ghost grabbing her hips to keep her up.

Ghost’s thrusts falter once again, this time he stops completely. She whimpers onto Soap’s shaft in need, bucking her hips backwards for more. Ghost chuckles. Behind her as she whines. He pulls out of her as he leans downward, whispering in her ear. “You’ve brought me to the edge, lovie. Can’t cum just yet. ‘M not done with ‘ya.” He growls, his gruff voice distracting her from Soap. He leans back up, giving her a last smack on her ass as he motions Soap behind her. They switch spots, Ghost now on her right, Soap lining himself up with her entrance, and König still below her, fingering her clit. He looks at her in awe as the two men switch themselves, using both her holes as he focuses on her pleasure. She puts him on a pedestal for this, metaphorically wanting to save him for last. She smiles at him, her eyes lidded with tiredness. He smiles back at her, his charming crooked teeth flashing at her. Her heart melts at him, but their moment is cut short when Soap shoves himself into her.

“God, lass. So tight. Even after you’ve taken such a big cock in ‘ya?” He says breathlessly. He grunts as he bottoms out inside of her. She cries out, the double stimulation from him fucking her to the hilt and König’s thick fingers caressing her clit from under her, not to mention the stinging pain on her ass cheeks from Ghost’s ruthless spanking.

“Wait, Soap. Let her get on her back.” König says gently, placing a hand on her hip as he helps her onto her back. She’s now face to face with Ghost and König. Soap places a hand on her thigh, lifting her leg onto his shoulder as slaps his heavy cock onto her clit before entering her. He grunts as he pushes into her, wasting no time in fucking her senseless. He slams into her, resulting in her yelling out as a sharp, pleasure laced moan bounced off the wall. Ghost takes König’s place at her clit as he uses a thick finger to circle her bud, slowly jerking himself in the process. He dips his head forward and lifts his balaclava, and begins working at her nipples, sucking and biting them roughly.

König sits up impatiently, his thick cock hovering over her face. He looks down at her in awe, his eyes squinted and breathing hitched in excitement. He places a hand on her bed frame as he lowers himself onto her face, the tip of his dick entering between her lips. She moans at the double use of her holes, eagerly widening her mouth. His cock only makes it a bit past halfway before she hits her limit, gagging and choking on him. He pulls out slightly, looking at her with concern in his eyes. His grip tightens on the headboard, hitting the back of her throat ever so slightly. She melted at his gentleness, but she wanted nothing more than to take all of him. Or at least try. She lifts her head, hollowing her cheeks and breathing out as she takes him as deep as she can, she can smell the musk of his pubic hair as she gets deeper than she had before. König lets out a gentle moan as she sucks him, deepthroating him and feeling the bulge of his cock protruding from her throat. She takes her hand and grabs the remainder of him, gripping his base and squeezing as she continues taking him in deep. Soap leans forward and pushes her stomach down, releasing a new feeling she’s never felt before. She felt closer to him internally, taking every single inch of him as he moans at the new feeling too.

“Fuck, lady. You’re just perfect. Look at ‘ya, taking every damn inch of me like a good little puppy.” He purrs, his Scottish accent stronger as he pumps himself in and out of her, slowly dragging each thrust out. She smiles at him, baring her teeth from around König’s cock. He starts to move his hips slightly, seemingly not wanting to hurt her or choke her to death. He smiles at her as she nods her head at him, signaling that he was good to start thrusting. He takes her silent confirmation, and starts pumping in and out of her mouth. She gags and gurgles, the lewd noises bouncing off the walls. The sound of her choking on his absolute monster cock drives her crazy, it was music to her ears. He continues fucking her mouth as she moans over the tip of his shaft, the vibrations of her voice driving König closer to the edge by the minute. Soap's thrusts begin to get sloppy, signaling that he was close to his climax. His grip on her leg tightens as it hangs over his shoulder. His muscles glisten with sweat. He grunts as his pumps get slower. She feels his cock twitch and pulse, as he lets out a string of curses and moans into her leg. He pulls out of her before he can paint her walls white with his cum, and jerks himself, aiming at her stomach. Ghost watches from her breasts as he shoots his seed onto her stomach, grunting with every pulse of his shaft. He steps back, admiring his work like a painter admires his freshly finished canvas. He breathes heavily, walking into her bathroom and emerges with a bundle of tissues. König then pulls out of her mouth slowly, letting go of her headboard with a creak. He reaches down and runs a thumb over her tear stained cheeks.

“You did so good, lass. So good for me.” He says as he wipes her stomach of his seed. König gets up and walks towards Soap as she watches them tiredly, her holes fatigued and swollen from the constant use. Ghost lifts his head from her breast, her nipples now sore and overstimulated from being sucked and bitten through it all. He gently slaps her breast, causing it to jiggle and making him chuckle lowly.

“Such perfect little mounds, lovie” he says, caressing her neck. She smiles at him, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips before he can pull his balaclava back down. He pauses for a moment and his mouth hangs agape, a smile growing on his lips before he pulls it down over his mouth.

König places himself in front of her, offering his hand. She takes it as he helps her stand. Her legs like jello, her thighs shake and falter as she holds onto his strong shoulders. “My poor little liebe, so tired and fucked out, yes?” He purrs, bringing her into an embrace. Ghost and Soap watch as he sits on the bed, crawling toward the headboard. He places his back onto the headboard and effortlessly lifts her onto his lap, spreading her legs over his knees. He slides his hands up and down her thighs, parting them while kissing her neck and nibbling at her earlobes. Her body shivered as he did this, his gentle caresses feeling like sparks on her skin after the roughness of the other two men. “I’d love to ruin you tonight, liebling. But you’ve have enough of that, hm?” He purrs. She nods her head, her brain swirling in her skull and preventing any words from leaving her. She lies her back onto his chest as he positioned his cock in front of her clit. He slides his head up and down her slit, coating him in her juices. He slaps his tick, heavy shaft against her entrance before pushing the tip in, waves of electricity flowing through her veins. She moans at the thickness of him, throwing her head back onto his chest. He kisses her forehead, grunting as he pushes himself deeper inside of her, his cock only halfway inside before he hits her tightest spot, unseen by any man. He pushes into her slowly, forcing the rest of his thickness into her walls. Tears brim her eyes as she moans and cries out, a toxic mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through her. Ghost reaches forward and slowly circles her clit, trying to keep her from clenching too much. The room was silent besides König’s hushes and sweet praises in her ear, the other two men seemingly feeling sorry for her. She had never had any man this big before, but there was a first for everything. The stimulation from Ghost fingering her clit allows König to enter into her deeper. In no time he bottoms out, his cock buried deep inside her, all the way to the hilt. Soap approaches her to her right, kissing her stomach and leaving love bites all the way to her breasts. She would look like she had been through a war the next day, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He begins suckling and biting at her nipples once again, flicking his tongue over the sensitive buds.

“Scheiße, du bist so eng, Liebe” he praises. She hadn't any idea what he said, but the way he spoke to her made her insane. “Hm?” She replied, the only word she had managed to squeak out since being ruthlessly fucked by the two other men. König lets out a deep chuckle at her cluelessness.

“I said you’re so tight, dear. So warm. So inviting for me.” He breathes out. He begins thrusting inside of her, slowly at first. He grunts and moans in her ear, his grip on her thighs tightening with restraint as he tries his hardest not to fuck the thoughts right out of her brain at any given moment. He begins thrusting faster, pumping himself in and out of her. She moans and cries out, going absolutely dumb on his dick as he fucks her at a steady pace. She reaches her hands behind her, running her fingers through his dirty blonde hair, it being soft in between her fingers. She lets out a string of curses as she feels her core tightening. She clenches around him, her grip tightening in his hair. He dips his head forwards as he lets out a string of German expletives and grunts, thrusting his hips up into her. He speeds up his pace, feeling as she tightens around him. His cock met with resistance as she comes close to her edge.

“Are you going to cum for me, love?” He whispers in her ear. She nods her head sporadically, unable to focus on anything but the thick, hot cock sliding in and out of her. “Mhmm. ‘M gonna cummm” she manages to squeak out. He chuckles in her hair, the gruff voice caressing her ears. “Cum for me, my sweet liebling. I want your juices all over my cock and balls, hm?”. He praises, giving her a small slap on the stomach. She rolls her hips, in sync with Ghost’s finger flicking her clit and Soap periodically nibbling at her nipples. König thrusts into her g-spot faster and harder, his own moans and cries hot on her ears. She feels the familiar tightening of her core, and warmth pooling at her clit as another spray of her juices spew out onto the bed. The mixture of her moans and his grunts make for a porn worthy scene as her squirt runs down her pussy and onto his balls. Her thighs shake with pleasure, her body now completely spent from orgasming. König chuckles as her legs shake violently. Ghost moves his hands from her clit, chuckling as he licks her juices off of his fingers.

“You’re like a sprinkler, love” Ghost chuckles, his fingers glistening with her slick. She smiles at him as he stands, his cock ready and twitching with need. He hadn’t finished fucking her in hopes that he’d be the one to breed her. But the way he saw her going stupid on König’s cock meant that he’d have to make do with her delicious mouth for now. He leans forward, grabbing her head gently by the hair and guiding her lips to his shaft. He moans as she takes him in her mouth, bobbing her head the best she can while König fucks her. He’s now drilling into her, cursing and whimpering aloud shamelessly. Ghost begins to thrust into her mouth, unapologetically starved from being cut short earlier. She relaxes her jaw muscles and allows him to fuck her face ruthlessly. She gags and chokes on him, droll dripping down her chin and onto her breasts as she bounces from König’s fucking. She moans onto his dick, riling him up more. He slides his cock deep into her throat, bottoming out until her nose is buried in his pubic hair.

“Fuckkk, lovie. I can see my cock bulging from your throat. God…damn.” He praises, his voice shaky from the fast thrusts. He pumps into her mouth at a steady pace as he grabs her throat and squeezes around his bulge smugly. He chuckles at the sight, loving the look of her bouncing on König’s dick as he uses her mouth as he pleases. “Good fucking girl. Taking my cock like the slutty puppy you are.” He says, landing a gentle smack on her cheek. He squeezes her throat again, making her gasp for air. He pulls out completely, letting her breathe before shoving himself as deep as can go again. He does this for a minute, pulling out and shoving himself back in, tiring her throat out. She was a drooling, crying mess, and he wouldn’t have her any other way. He feels the familiar tightening in his balls, his dick tensing with every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. He fucks her face a few more times before he lets himself fall. He moans loudly and lets out a powerful grunt as he paints her throat white with thick, hot ropes of cum. She feels the warmth of his seed travel down her throat, her eyes rolling back in her head as he keeps his cock down for a few seconds too long. His grip on her throat loosened, and he slowly pulled out from the walls of her windpipe, slick with her saliva and his cum. “Jesus.” He exclaims, out of breath from emptying his balls into her throat. “You’ve milked me dry, sweetheart.” He says, plopping himself onto the bed next to her. He reaches over and caresses her stomach as König continues drilling into her from underneath her.

König’s thrusts become sloppier, his cock starting to twitch inside of her. She notices his body tensing under her as he reaches his orgasm. “Scheiße, Scheiße!” He yells out. He roughly grabs her by the throat, squeezing her windpipe and causing her face to turn a deep red as she throws her head back. He buries his face in her neck, his face now a deep shade of red as he sweats and his muscles flex under her. His thrusts become slower, staying inside of her for a second longer before pushing into her again. He groans and whimpers in her ear, the gigantic killing machine of a man seemingly coming undone by the mere tightness of her pussy. “Such a sweet…tight fucking…cunt…Scheiße!” He continues, his cock twitching violently inside of her as he breeds her. She feels his hot seed filling her, slowly dripping down her walls as he pulls out of her, the tip swollen and sensitive. “God…you took me so well, my little liebe. So well.” He breathes, his breath hot on her cheek. He presses his forehead to hers, planting a soft kiss to her lips. He lingers on her mouth for a minute, catching his breath. They breathe heavily into each others mouths, eyes dancing between each others.

“So much for no favorites, aye L.t?” Soap says smugly, standing to his feet and slowly walking to his pile of clothes in front of her bed. She smiles at him, her brain still spent and thoughtless from the three cocks whose only intention was to ruin her. Ghost chuckles as he stands, grabbing his underwear and sliding them over his hips before lying back in bed next to her. König doesn’t bother getting up, and simply moves her next to him. She lied between the two giant men, her eyes fluttering closed as König and Ghost untucks the blanket from under her and placing it over her. She opens her eyes and looks over to Soap, standing at the edge of her bed in only his underwear. He crawls towards her and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be taking your couch, lass. No space on here for poor old Soap!” He jokes, winking at her before leaving to the living room. Ghost reaches besides him and flicks the switch to the lamp besides them, engulfing the room in darkness. The only light from the yellow hued street lamps outside. König shuffles behind her, spooning her with his naked frame. He kisses her on the back of her neck, rubbing her back gently with his large hand. “Goodnight, dear. I’ve had the best time with you tonight” he says, his voice barely a whisper. She smiles as she backs up into his embrace in response to his soft praises. Ghost runs a thumb over her cheek as he lies on his back, and puts her hand in his. “Sleep well, love. You did great.” He purrs. In no time, the sweet embrace of sleep blanketed her senses.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

She wakes to an empty bed, the smell of sex still permeating the room. She checked her clock on the nightstand. 12:42 PM, it read. She’d be screwed if she had work today, but her body had taken the rest it needed from being absolutely ruined by three giant soldiers last night. She smiled to herself, wishing to herself it hadn’t been a dream. She glanced at the hickies on her body, and noticed the soreness between her legs. She sat up, scanning her room. Her eyes caught a flash of a pink gift bag on the other side of her bed. She smiled as she took the bag in her hands. She took out the contents, a red hot blush spreading to her ears. The lacy bra and panty set sat softly in her fingers. She looked in the bag and saw a card, opening it to reveal the sloppiest handwriting she’d ever seen.

Forgive me for ripping your panties and bra, dear. Enjoy. -König

She knew she wasn’t supposed to chose favorites, but hell.

[sourcherrybites]

Loops and looms

Character: Arranged! Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Submission by @mourakitana "Please, I want Bruce's reaction if he was forced to marry MC and in one of the missions he discovered that she was a superhero like him (please explain how he would find out and what his reaction would be) + please also add if she was jealous of Catwoman+tysm💕💕💕💕💕"

Disclaimers: No proofread, we die. Same universe as "Silly Billy scenario." I just wanted to post this so I could keep focusing on more submissions.

A/n: apologies for the delay and the... very sloppy ending. BTW reader is not white, don't let my Pinterest picks fool you, WE LOVE WOC IN THIS ACC

Word count: 2,003

Masterlist

Being married to Bruce Wayne was nice. Though you were bothered that people assumed that 1: you were a gold-digger, your own family had worked their asses off to reach where they were now and 2: you were just another brainless, spoiled little girl. You were a successful physicist in the middle of getting your PhD in quantum physics!! But anyways.

For the first months, it was a silent but comfortable time; you were just trying to get used to each other. Still, we know you weren't the best at hiding just how attracted you were to your sweet, buffed, kind husband, his soft, patient blue eyes, and the fact that he found his new form of entertainment, teasing you. He would wrap his arm around your waist during the night, his hand sprawled on your stomach as he nuzzled against the back of your neck, his stubble would definitely leave a rash behind by morning.

— "Did you even shave well today?"

— "I'm pretty sure I did..."

He'd mumble against your neck, pulling you closer.

A 'Mornin', honey,' and a kiss on the cheek. His warm hand on the small of your back and a smile on his lips as you talked about the string theory, how you talked about everything, every little molecule being connected, as if the universe was a big, colourful loom.

It made your heart flutter; it made you forget about the fact that you missed your hometown and the thrill of vigilantism, and it somehow soothed the ache for adrenaline, the itch you felt on your body when you left your powers unused for far too long — but it didn't quiet down that little, quiet voice in the back of your head.

Well, you knew. You were not offline — The hot, trendy romance between Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle? The most stylish, trend-setting couple in all of Gotham circles? You weren't stupid to think you wouldn't be compared to Selina Kyle, she was freaking selina Kyle for crying out loud— you looked up at her too!! And, of course, you knew that there would be some die-hard fans of the couple in the comments of your social media ever since the engagement was made public, even if everyone knew or suspected it was an arranged marriage. But the comment saying that the only reason Bruce agreed to marry you was because you looked like Selina...

You absolutely didn't! At all! Your hair, your eyes, your body, it was all different!! You were a bit less defined, with darker eyebags... not as skinny... your skin was covered in scars, either from fights or as a result of your teenage acne... less... pretty? No, of course not! You were just as good! Just not ... better. It was a pointless comparison— you were you and Selina was Selina. Did you even want to look like her? Absolutely yes no.

Bruce noticed that there was something wrong with you, and he tried to do his best to cheer you up. Spending more time listening to your ramblings about your PhD, trying to get home sooner so you could talk more, sending you small gifts like chocolates to the university; everything but actually talk about it. Because you didn't want to talk about it, Because talking about it made it real.

"Anything in your mind, honey?" He asked one time as you two watched a movie on your big matrimonial bed, his arm wrapped around your shoulder while his fingers played with your locks damp from a recent shower. He wanted to talk about it.

—"I'm fine, Bruce, just thinking about the project..."

You smile softly, leaning against him. Once again, you didn't.

One of those nights you decided to just explore the city, maybe the adrenaline of running on top of buildings would clear your thoughts; and it certainly did, in some part. The feeling of the cold Gotham breeze on your skin was calming, it gave you a sense of home and familiarity, even more than Bruce's warm embraces did — your feet moving quickly against the concrete rooftops, your fingers digging into the hard material like it was sand as you climbed, it was fantastic.

But you were s bit out of practice after a few months out of business, so you sat down on the rooftop of a particularly tall building, trying to catch your breath, that until you heard a faint sound nearby and your stomach turning — it was quiet, like a gasp, probably a couple getting frisky in the middle of the nights with a weird exhibitionist fantasy, or maybe it was something else, you didn't loose anything by investigating, right?

A particular part about your powers was that you could spot people from a mile away, remember how you said the universe was one big, colourful loom? People were like drawings, it didn't matter how much they changed clothes or appearance, they were made of the same material, the same bright thread that you always thought was their soul.

And you could recognise Bruce's with one look, even under his Kevlar suit.

Why were you even mad? All of his affection felt like a cruel performance, a façade for the sham that was your marriage— platonic, fictional. But how he touched and kissed Catwoman was everything but. It was real. His hands had a purpose; he never touched you like that, so desperate and with an unspoken hunger. His lips had a purpose, desire emanating from their heated encounter. There was clarity in his actions that stung, a painful reminder that what he shared with her was everything you craved but could never have.

You counted one Mississippi, then Two Mississippi, then Three, four, five more until you couldn't look for a second longer.

You got back to the Manor with a speed you didn't know you had, and the comforting cold breeze of the night became painful, burning your lungs with every breath you took. You couldn't even cry or listen to the sound of anything other than your heart beating painfully faster and louder than you'd ever felt — you didn't even hear Alfred's voice calling you out and asking if you were okay. And you didn't even hear when Bruce got into bed with you like he did every night.

You just knew you didn't want him to touch you anymore.

And Bruce was worried, to say the least — he was used to the quiet of the manor, even with his new wife, but this was different. It wasn't the warm, comfortable silence he was used to; there was too much of it. You didn't ramble about your research, you came home late, or pulled away from his touch. It was like you couldn't stand the thought of him touching you, and it felt so, so painful.

The usual kiss on the cheek he gave you every morning made you tense, not in a good way, more like it repulsed you, that was if he even got to greet you in the morning. "Mrs. Wayne has left early" Became his usual morning routine, and it didn't get any better — He would barely even see you, and when he did, you either were just too lost in thought or you'd find a way to sneak away.

To make matters worse, something was causing too many strange phenomena around the city; some abandoned warehouses had walls that looked torn — not damaged over time or missing some bricks, but as if they were a big piece of fabric that had been crudely cut with a blade, threads, literal threads floating around the affected area. And they had collapsed more than once.

He had looked it up; there had been similar events a few years back in your hometown, an urban legend of a figure that could dissolve anything into thin air and impart justice for years in the night, creating and pulling the imaginary strands of everything.

"Maybe you should ask your wife," Selina suggested as they both sat on the edge of a building. "Strings, string theory. Ain'tthat her major?" She asked, "That's if she even decides to talk to me." He groaned, causing Selina to chuckle, "What did you do this time?"

The thing is that he didn't know what he did or didn't do, and she notices it

— " You should talk to her."

— "You think I haven't tried to?"

He is frustrated. Everyone has told him to fix it, but what can he fix if he doesn't know what's broken? Even the soft rain pouring over Gotham seemed to be avoiding him as well, like it was too repulsed to touch him just like you were. Hold on-

The rain fell normally over the rest of the city, but not on the space he sat on; droplets fell like thin strands of clear water. He raised a hand, touching one of the strands, and it burst and dissolved in the air with a sparkling sound; it reminded him of small diamonds or what fairytales describe as stardust.

Bruce stood up slowly, looking upwards to the tall building in front of him, when a faint 'Go home' left his lips — His hook stuck in the top edge of the building and inertia jerked him upward — and there you were, his beautiful bride on the other edge of the rooftop, in all your ethereal glory. Your hair in the wind, dancing just as the raindrops did once they touched your skin, stretching and splitting into cosmic strands that sparkled as brightly as the diamond in your wedding ring.

You looked… so melancholic, your tender face tired with grief, arms outstretched at your sides and hands constantly writhing from the cold, but it didn't seem to be important to you. Why were you doing this? How long have you been able to do that?

He has a rule: No metas allowed. but you are his wife, and you are so magnetic - even when defying the unspoken rules of the universe - His name left your lips like a soft prayer, just as he finally walked up to you, and when you turned to look up, he knew you knew.

— "Why are you doing this?"

His voice is soft; that's Bruce talking, and he hopes you finally do as well.

— "I just... why? When?"

— "When were you planning on telling me you still see Selina?"

You mutter, barely above a whisper, and he reacts by closing his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. So that's why you've been distant.

— "Don't change the subject."

You want to laugh, but you're just way too worn out for it. He doesn’t even seem to have the words to justify himself. "Do you even realise how reckless your actions were? Someone could’ve been in those warehouses," he starts, his voice heavy with concern. You can feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, but you cut him off, your voice barely above a whisper: "Are you really going to leave me?"

Leave you? No, not a chance. He wouldn't leave you for anything in the world. He cares about you, and he knows how important this marriage is for you. Your hands ball into fists, the strands of rain water moving quicker and more violently. "Because I lied? Because you love another woman?" You choked out.

Bruce grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to bring you back to reality. "How long have you been doing this?" He inquires again. "Years? It hurts when I don't." You reply softly.

"Are you going to leave me?" You ask again. "No... that's not what this is about. It's about how much danger you could've put people in." He laces his fingers with yours. "Why did you do it?" He questions again. "Were you too upset?"

You nod softly, pulling away to wipe a tear from your cheek. "Can we go home now?" you mutter. Yes, you can. You can talk later. It'll be alright. He just needs you to calm down and stop tearing the universe apart.

"Yes... Yes, we can, honey."

You had a lot of time to talk.

©sourcherrybites 2025

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I absolutely NEED more oh konig and hyper reader. It’s SO FREAKING CUTE AHHHHHH I need to see date three and more of them😝<3

Hold My Hand or I Will Fall (On Purpose)

Pairing: König x Hyper!Reader

Warnings: Fluff overload, suggestive banter, König being dangerously close to combusting, reader is a menace with a smile, roller skating shenanigans, mild swearing, blushing, accidental lap sitting, emotional tension, König overthinking everything, reader having zero chill

Author's Note: König has no defenses against a hyper!Reader in love, and this poor man is just trying his best while you’re busy spinning right into his heart (and lap).

Summary: It’s Date Three, and you take König roller skating. He’s nervous. You’re pure chaos. But in the before and after, something a little deeper starts to bloom—and neither of you are ready for just how real this is getting.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

——

König sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the open drawer in front of him like it had personally offended him.

He had no idea what to wear.

How does one dress for roller skating with the sun incarnate?

You had texted him 47 emojis and a single line:

Sugar Rush 🍫💕: Be ready at 7. Bring knee pads or a will. LOVE YOU BYEEEEEE

Love you.

You said love you.

You probably meant it casually. Of course you did.

Right?

He was sweating.

Eventually, he settled on black joggers, a hoodie, and prayed to every deity known to man that he wouldn’t fall flat on his face and lose the only person who made his heart beat like a war drum.

He opened the front door at 7 sharp.

You were already bouncing on your toes in the driveway, skates in hand.

Wearing a crop top with a sparkly cartoon frog on it and the biggest grin he’d ever seen.

“I’m gonna break your kneecaps with affection,” you said brightly.

König blushed. “Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

——

König had seen war.

He had jumped out of helicopters, kicked in doors, and stared death in the face.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the words you just said:

“We’re going roller skating!”

He blinked. “…We’re doing what?”

You spun in your seat in the car, holding up a pair of glittery pink socks. “Roller. Skating. You said you’d go wherever I wanted for Date Three. And I want neon lights, 80s music, and to watch your giant tactical body try to stay upright on four wheels.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

You batted your lashes. “Don’t worry. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“…You are half my size.”

“Emotionally? I’m stronger.”

You winked. He covered his face with one hand and groaned softly.

At the rink, you were already lacing up your skates, bouncing like you were powered by caffeine and sugar alone. König sat next to you, still visibly regretting every decision that had led to this moment.

“You’re scared,” you teased.

“I am a sniper,” he muttered. “And this… this is terrifying.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am nearly seven feet tall.”

“So if you fall, you’ll make a cool THUD.”

He gave you a slow, side-eye glare. “That’s not comforting.”

You stood up on your skates and nearly slipped before catching yourself. “Okay, okay—first rule of skating with me: hold my hand at all times.”

“That is not a rule.”

“It is if you want me to stop fake falling just to land in your arms.”

His ears turned red. “…That is evil.”

You held out your hand with a dazzling grin. “Come on, gentle giant. Let’s skate.”

He took your hand like it was made of glass. Slowly. Carefully. Like you were the one who needed saving.

But it was him who was doomed.

You dragged him out onto the rink, your glitter socks poking out of your skates, your laughter echoing off the walls. You skated backward in front of him, holding both his hands, grinning up at him like he hung the damn moon.

“You’re doing so good!” you beamed.

“I am going to die,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re just mad because I’m cuter on wheels than you.”

He looked down at you, eyes crinkling behind his mask. “…You are very cute.”

You promptly skated into a wall.

König gasped and grabbed you before you could fall. “Are you okay?!”

You looked up at him with big eyes and an even bigger grin. “You just said I’m very cute.”

His entire face turned red. “I—I did not—”

“You did. It’s okay. I’m adorable, I know.”

You leaned in, nose brushing his chest, hand still in his. He was stiff as a board, like he didn’t know whether to run or melt into the floor.

You tugged his arm. “Come on. You haven’t even tried the spin yet.”

He blinked. “The what.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed both his hands, leaned back, and started spinning in the center of the rink, laughing as he tried to keep up. The momentum pulled you in a dizzy circle, your skates a blur, your hands gripped in his like he was the only anchor in the world.

Then you tripped.

And landed squarely in his lap.

Right in the middle of the rink.

Dead center.

König’s mask was pushed halfway up from the fall, exposing flushed cheeks and parted lips.

You, ever the menace, smirked. “Well. This escalated quickly.”

He made a noise that might’ve been a whimper.

You leaned closer. “I could kiss you right now.”

He stared at you like a man on the verge of cardiac arrest. “…You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“…Because I want you to.”

You beamed.

So you kissed him. Right there. On the rink floor, in your glitter socks and skates, while the speakers blasted Madonna and the disco ball spun overhead.

And when you pulled back, he whispered, “You are going to be the death of me.”

You patted his cheek. “Not before Date Four, babe.”

Later, when he walked you back to your door, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but didn’t know how, you turned and pulled him down by the collar.

“I had fun,” you whispered.

“…Even when you fell on me?”

“Especially when I fell on you.”

He grinned, boyish and shy. “I am… planning the next one.”

Your eyes sparkled. “Really?”

He nodded. “Something quiet. For us.”

Your heart melted.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Better be ready, big guy. Because if there’s not snacks, I riot.”

He laughed.

You grabbed him my his arm and dragged him inside.

——

You were sitting on your couch in mismatched pajamas, face still flushed from laughter, hair wild from your helmet, feet in König’s lap as he rubbed your sore ankles like it was instinct.

He’d taken off his hoodie. (You ended up stealing it as a keep sake to wear)

You were doing everything in your power not to crawl into his lap like a sleepy cat and purr.

“I can’t believe you actually spun with me,” you murmured, toes wiggling against his thigh.

“I thought I was going to die,” he admitted.

“You didn’t.”

“You landed in my lap.”

“You’re welcome.”

He glanced at you then, gaze soft but weighted. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You grinned. “What, because I’m cute and a menace?”

“Because you make everything feel…” He hesitated. “Less scary.”

Your smile faltered for just a second—but in the most melty way. “König.”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was—”

“No. No, it wasn’t too much.” You sat up, scooted close, your legs draped over his lap. “You know what I think?”

He shook his head slowly.

You poked his chest. “I think you’re secretly the bravest person I know. And you’re letting me in. That means more than you think.”

His ears went bright red.

You leaned in. “Also, you’re definitely falling in love with me.”

His mouth parted—then closed.

You kissed his cheek.

“…I might be,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Good. Because I’m definitely already there.”

He pulled you into his lap without another word, arms wrapped tight, face tucked into your shoulder like he’d finally found the safest place on Earth.

You both fell asleep like that.

The frog on your shirt smiled too.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[afterglowsainz]

bye | charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader x alexandra saint mleux, reader x ex!max verstappen

summary: when max breaks up with you, you find solace in his childhood rival and his stunning girlfriend

fc: taylor swift

request: here

a/n: guys i’m not even a charles girlie but he looked so happy in that podium i wanted to cry

—

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and others

yourusername always the biggest pleasure, paris🤎

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username she’s unreal

username forever obsessed with this tour

username watching the video i record of vigilante shit over and over

username max verstappen can you fight??? 🤨

username the most magical night fr

alexandrasaintmleux 💗

charles_leclerc ☺️

username max not even liking this but charles and alex …

username they’re hilarious 😭

liked by redbullracing, charles_leclerc and others

maxverstappen1 free practice was okay, now we can focus on quali and the race

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username no but max being furious and still finding a way to post charles 😭

username no power on earth can separate those two

username can’t believe we’re watching the fall of red bull in real time

username FREE MY MAN FROM THAT TRACTOR

username time for me to suggest y/n going to the grand prix and bring max good luck 😁

username frfr she hasn’t been in forever

username lestappen is alive and breathing i see

liked by ynupdates, f1gossip and others

f1wags y/n y/l/n on saturday and sunday at the paddock for quali and the grand prix

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username glad to see she’s still alive 😭

username omg i thought she wasn’t gonna go with the tour and everything

username the best wag everrr

username so iconic

username OMG SHE SAW THE COMMENTS

username y/n in the paddock means a good race for max i know it 🧿

username the way i had completely forgot she was dating max 😭

username those two don’t interact with each other anymore i swear 😩

liked by f1wags, ynupdates and others

f1gossip max verstappen and girlfriend y/n y/l/n were seen fighting outside their hotel after the grand prix, y/n later walked away and left max alone

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username damn

username right after we thought everything was okay 😔

username no because the first gp my girl goes to after forever and they fight?

username idc what happened i’m blaming max

username lol agree

username guys be honest do you think they’re breaking up???

username my heart says no but my head says they haven’t been seen together for a while and when they do they always fight so…

username yes

liked by charles_leclerc, gracieabrams and others

yourusername fresh out the slammer … into the studio

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username HUH?

username miss girl ??? explain

username new music yay!

username is the caption a lyric or something ??? WDYM FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

alexandrasaintmleux sooo excited! 💕

yourusername 💞💞💞

username alex what do you know

username is this like a happy song or is it going to make me hate men?

username no because i need to know too 😩

liked by yourusername, flavy.barla and others

alexandrasaintmleux with a full heart ❤️

view all comments

username i love their friendship

username guys charles made it to the feed!

yourusername pretty gorgeous beautiful everything

alexandrasaintmleux 🤭

username no but y/n in the last slide took me out 😭

username SAME i thought this was a charles post

charles_leclerc favorite girls❤️

alexandrasaintmleux 💘

username “girls” ????

username explain !!?

username is this a safe space to say what i’m thinking? …

alexandrasaintmleux’s instagram stories

[caption 1: 🍝] [caption 2: 💘]

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ynupdates charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux, kika gomes and pierre gasly at tonight’s show of y/n’s tour in milan

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username i love their friendship they’re so supportive of her🥰

username now THAT is an outfit

username alexandra the fashion icon that you are

username this is such a green flag for all of them

username friends who support y/n >>>>

username notice how max has been quiet since y/n won charles in the divorce

username i know that man is FUMING

username no but seriously i’m glad she still has supportive friends after the break up 😔

username was i the only one who noticed that she kept looking at the vip tent while singing the love/crushing songs? 🤭

username which could mean nothing!

username WHAT WERE THE SURPRISE SONGS

username invisible string and sweet nothing!

username :0

liked by ynupdates, f1gossip and others

f1wags alexandra saint mleux and y/n y/l/n today at the paddock, y/n used to date max verstappen but recently broke up and was seen today at the ferrari hospitality with alexandra and charles, with whom she stayed friends

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username 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

username they both look so hot

username and if i say power couple then what 🤨

username i’d say alexandra has a boyfriend and you’re delusional 😭

username messyyyy

username the amount of money i would pay to know what’s going through max’s brain

username imagine losing THE y/n y/l/n and not only that but your rival since you’re four years old stayed friends with her

username he lost the break up

username we got y/n at the ferrari garage before gta 6

yourusername’s instagram stories

[caption 1: alexandrasaintmleux 🫶🏽🫶🏽] [caption 2: 🍸]

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charles_leclerc mes trois coeurs❤️

tagged yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

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username DAMN

username what do you mean your three hearts? wydm!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN

username honestly it makes so much more sense that they’re all dating 😭

username CONFIRMATION AT LAST

username the most drop dead gorgeous woman you’ll find and the cutest puppy on earth 🥰

username charles really won in life 😩

username and they called me crazy for even suggesting this 🙄

username POWER THROUPLE

scuderiaferrari the family as god intended🫶🏽

username ferrari 😭

yourusername gotta learn french asap!

alexandrasaintmleux we’ll teach you love💗

charles_leclerc de cette façon nous pouvons te dire que nous t'aimons dans toutes les langues chérie ❤️ (this way we can tell you we love you in every language dear)

yourusername ily both too much💘

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername monaco! you are one of the best crowds ever ❤️ i had too much fun singing from the top of my lungs with all of you and performing for the first time ever my two new singles, “fresh out the slammer” and “bye” 😽 i have the feeling we’ll see each other wayyy more often

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username STOP she’s so cute 😭

username i’m afraid “bye” is one of the best songs ever made and “fresh out the slammer” changed the trajectory of my life

username “boy bye it’s over its over oh yeah” GIRL-

username she had too much fun writing that one

username “didn’t think you’d lose me now it’s just too late to choose me” UHM

username if that song is not for max-

username RED DRESS FOR FERRARI IKTS

username “now pretty baby i’m running back home to you” the fact that she calls them home i- 🥺

username “another summer taking cover, he don’t understand me” i gasped

username y/n calling her relationship with max literal prision was not in my bingo card

charles_leclerc you’re incredibly mesmerizing love 😍 best concert ever!

alexandrasaintmleux the prettiest and most talented there is! 💗

yourusername je vous aime tous les deux❤️ (i love you both)

[hedwig221b]

Hi 💕 I love your writing so much - especially the dark and creepy and twisted!

Do you have any Dark Derek/Stiles recs?

I am over a month late answering this, but sure! I love dark sterek with my soul!

The Moon Gave Me Permission by Melpomene (Aconitehart)

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Scott says, eyeing Stiles’ fries. “But Derek Hale is back in town. I saw him at the gas station the other day.” This piques Stiles’ interest. Oh yes it does. Like any good true crime aficionado, Stiles has his favourite case. His pet cold case. His hometown murder. The thing he brings up when he’s tired of small talk and just wants to get real. The Hale Family Fire and the suicide of Katherine Argent. Stiles knows this case inside and out. He’s racked up thousands of karma points on reddit for his thoughtful analysis, his pictures of the crime scene, and of his reporting of local gossip. Beacon Hills is a small town, small enough that Stiles is the only one on the Unresolved Mysteries subreddit to have actually seen the burnt out shell in person. He’ll tell anyone who listens what he finds fascinating about the case. Absolutely no shame. He’s read all of the articles, he’s pestered his father’s deputies for more information, and he’s read every cold case compilation book that so much as mentions it. No one knows this case like Stiles does. In which Derek Hale is a man with a dark past, and Stiles is completely obsessed with him.

Three Little Words by Chloepioneer

“Oh god,” he whines, slapping a hand over his mouth to quell the vomit that boils the back of his throat. “Derek, is that the mailman?” or Derek has a bad habit of killing people that take an interest in Stiles. Stiles might like it a little bit.

I am not sorry, it is a lie by LunarLacrimosa

There's old stories. Dark tales of forced love and forced turnings. Of sexual copulation that would almost guarantee a human turning; the bite had a risk of being denied because a human was rejecting what was happening to them. Usually the human had no idea that they could reject anything with copulation—if it happened to be forced there was the rejection of the act itself, but not of the change. “I didn't know.” Stiles raises his gaze to meet Derek's own, honey brown eyes resigned but not betrayed. “I'm sorry,” and he supposes he should be grateful that Stiles couldn't pick up the tick in his heartbeat that would give him away just yet. “I know this isn't what you wanted.”

A brand new game by Nival_Vixen

The nogitsune never really left, but Stiles hasn't stopped trying to control the monster in his head, even if he wakes up screaming most mornings. Even when he's managed to control the nogitsune and his power, Deaton and Scott still bind and restrict him. For the next three years, Stiles plays along with their game until he decides that he's ready to play his winning hand.

Alpha by Nival_Vixen

Stiles has been kidnapped by a serial killer known only as Alpha. Stiles finds himself far too attracted to the man that's probably going to kill him.

No one called, until someone did. by queen_of_OTPs

Stiles found that he hadn’t spoken more than necessary since August. Gone were the rambling rants, extravagant gestures, and range of vocal tones. Monotone sentences that were cut with sharp edges, words like knives and tone like venom. No one had called.

Sights by dontleaveportland

“Stiles!” John’s booming voice cut in through Stiles’s clouded mind, "What have you done?!” Stiles looked up, finally seeing the scene before him. Braeden beneath him. The blood soaked field. All Hell broke loose in what seemed like seconds, the ground’s vibrations intensified, the screaming voices multiplied. Finally, an alpha’s roar broke the clamor. Stiles sank back to the ground, into the deafening silence. Or that time Derek sought a mate by village competition.

Whatever He Wants, Part Two by GentlyWithAChainsaw

Stiles just adores being Derek's new omega.

the feral wind that lit him ablaze by quackquackcey

"If you don't stop me right now," said Derek, whispers of threatening promise curling around his words, "you’ll never escape my clutches." Claws grazed along the sides of Stiles' neck and Stiles shivered with a moan. His eyes met scarlet ones, filled with the primordial power, deadly and feral, and his core shook. A soft laugh. "Too late," he breathed. ——— FBI agent Stiles goes undercover in Eichen House and ends up with only the most dangerous captive as his cellmate, the serial mass murderer Derek Hale. However, neither his case nor Derek are as they seem, and as the mysteries unravel, so do the secrets of his past that haunt him. Will he burn down alone in the fire around him, or will he burn down with Derek in the fire they spark? 🐺❤️‍🔥

Got My Eyes on You by Endellion

Stiles moves into town and Derek wants him.

Sex and Violence by halcyon1993

Derek is a feared mafia boss. Stiles gets turned on watching him work.

Might be a Predator by churkey

Derek's mom once told him they were predators. It never occurred to him to ask, 'If werewolves are predators, what do we hunt?'.

The Spoils of War by halcyon1993

Alpha Derek is a commander in the Roman Army, tasked with pillaging settlements to claim them for his own people. When he comes across a pretty young Omega during his latest conquest, he can't resist taking him as his personal prize.

Killer wolf by TheBeastsWrite

"They’d all but fallen into his apartment, a tangle of limbs and hot kisses, wet lips swollen and crushing together, clashing again and again until the teen was whimpering in delight. It wasn’t until he was pulling the shirt over the teens head that he had gasped out a desperate “I know it was you.”" Derek is a serial killer, Stiles know's he'll understand.

is this a dream (or is it my lesson?) by Melpomene (Aconitehart)

"I can save you from this," Derek says. As he kneels down in front of Stiles, colour returns to the faded water. It spreads, slowly, up the creek bed and towards the forest. Life returning. "I don't -" Derek cups his cheek, and warmth blooms from that simple contact, chasing away the icy cold within him. "All you have to do is say yes." He opens his mouth to refuse, but Derek leans in suddenly. Their noses brush and Stiles' eyes flutter closed. He can't help but tip his chin up, begging for something he's never had before. "Derek," he whispers, longing burning within him as their lips touch. "Humans are like moths," Derek murmurs. "Always chasing after the lights in the forest. You want to be hunted, deep down. You want this." In which Derek is a forest god determined to make Stiles his.

Perception by DiscontentedWinter

Peter Hale's client is a murderous sociopath. The best thing Peter can do is get him committed to Eichen House, where he'll never see daylight again. He thinks.

Other fic recs: angsty fics + pt2 + pt3 | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles + pt2 | oblivious Stiles | oblivious sterek | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | feral Stiles | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles | alive Hales | spanking | royal abo au | longfic | void!Stiles | sheriff dissaproves | Stiles doesn't know about werewolves | soft fics | hales love stiles

[corroded-hellfire]

i saw this tiktok and i was wondering if u could write reader who does this for eddie on valentine’s day?

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8Ykn9DA/

My deepest apologies that I didn’t get this done in time for Valentine’s Day. Pls blame the flu and pls enjoy this little blurb 💕

Words: 1.6k

“I have no idea what to get him.”

You sigh as you exit the bookstore into the mall atrium. There’s an open table near Orange Julius and you head in its direction. The legs of the chair scrape against the linoleum flooring as you pull it out and gracelessly fall into it. Max takes the seat across the table from you and gives you a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she asks. “You could hand him a Q-tip and he’d be thrilled. Eddie doesn’t give a shit about presents. But he’s completely over the moon for you.”

“I know.” Despite the whine in your tone, there’s a smile on your face. It still feels like you have to pinch yourself every time you think about how much Eddie loves you. “I just want to give him something meaningful. That he’ll truly like. What did you get Lucas?”

Max shrugs and inspects the nails on her right hand.

“Nothing yet. There’s still plenty of time between now and Valentine’s Day for him to piss me off. So I’ll probably end up getting him something that I want too, in case he’s an asshole and I decide to keep it.”

“You’re no help.” You slide down in your chair and run your hands over your face.

The competing smells off the food court waft over to you. As appealing as they’d usually be, you’re too stressed to be tempted by any of it. Despite Max’s claim that there’s plenty of time between now and Valentine’s Day, one week didn’t seem like a whole lot of time for you to find the perfect gift for your boyfriend. Nothing jumped out at you in the bookstore—except the books you know Eddie already has and loves. None of the clothes in these new fashionable stores had anything that Eddie would wear. That significantly narrows down the shopping options at Starcourt.

Your eyes scan over the stores that are visible from your seat at the table and your attention snags on Guitar Center. Without speaking a word to your friend, you push yourself out of the hard chair and head towards the store. Max follows along behind you, heaving a small sigh.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Max asks as you look at the different electric guitars displayed high up on a wall.

“Not a clue.”

Max nods her head as she strums her fingers along the strings of an acoustic guitar at eye level.

“What if you made something for Eddie?” she asks.

“I thought about that,” you answer with a sigh. “I just don’t know what I’d–huh.”

The abrupt cut-off of your sentence catches Max’s attention and she attempts to follow your line of sight. She’s left confused though when she sees your gaze trained on a medium-sized bag of blue and green guitar picks.

“Um…” Max hums and slips her hands into the back pockets of her jeans when you never complete your thought. “Care to share with the class?”

You cock your head to the side as you look at the picks.

“Well, it’s just…” You take a few steps forward and grab the package from the shelf. “These kind of remind me of flower petals. What if there was a way I could…”

“Yes!” The redhead excitedly steps around you so that you’re speaking face-to-face. “You could use a wire as the stems.”

This is the first real idea you’ve had for a present for Eddie but…

“It’s not…dumb, is it? Like, childish to make this for him?”

“Childish? Are you kidding me?” Max’s eyebrows don’t look like they can raise any higher on her forehead. “Babe, our boyfriends are in a club where they play a fantasy game. With made-up magical characters. Do you remember what the last new character that Lucas came up with was named? Sir Shits-a-lot. And all the guys found it hilarious.”

“And he had the power to give everyone else diarrhea yeah…” You sigh and nod your head, remembering that very long week.

“Right,” Max says. “So, I think these homemade flowers are exquisitely elegant in comparison.”

With a nod of finality, you grip the picks tighter in your hand.

“Thanks, Lady Shits-a-lot.”

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you have the bouquet nicely tucked into a box, wrapped up with a red bow. Eddie’s van pulls into your driveway at 7:02am like clockwork, and you hop inside with your backpack and gift.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Eddie greets, his smile bright and his cheeks red from the cold outside.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Eds!” You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s not good enough, apparently, as Eddie whines and chases your mouth with his own. With a soft chuckle, you press your lips to his and give him a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” he says pointedly. “And happy Valentine's Day to you, my love.”

You drop your backpack at your feet and settle the gift box in your lap. When you raise your head you see there’s a gift wrapped in red paper sitting on the dashboard between you and Eddie.

“Should we wait, or…?” He asks when he sees you spot the present. “I don’t know if you had some plan or idea or anything but I’m just really fucking excited to give you your present.”

“Screw plans,” you say and gently toss Eddie’s gift into his lap. “I’m excited too.”

“See? This is why we’re perfect together.” Your boyfriend winks, grabs your present off the dashboard, and hands it to you. “You go first.”

It’s impossible to get any traction on the wrapping paper while wearing your black mittens, so you tug them off and go at it again. The wrapping tears away to reveal a purple paperback book staring up at you, the cover dotted in imagery that you’ve come to know quite well. D20s and various other D&D symbols surround the title that’s in bold black letters: “Dungeons and Dates.”

“It’s a romancey kind of book, but the love interest is a Dungeon Master in his school’s D&D club,” Eddie says. You look over at him to see him grinning nervously. “It’s me!”

With a gentle chuckle, you lean over and press kisses all along his mouth.

“I love it. I can’t wait to read it.”

“Really?” Eddie doesn’t look completely sold.

“Yes,” you insist, picking the book up from your lap. “It’s about damn time someone wrote a love interest that’s almost as amazing as my boyfriend.”

Eddie’s cheeks turn a slightly darker shade of red, but this time it’s not from the weather.

“Okay, my turn,” he says.

Nimble fingers quickly undo the bow on the box, and before reaching to take the lid off, he slips the red ribbon beneath his curly locks and uses it to tie his hair into a low ponytail. You chuckle fondly as you reach out and stroke the bunched-up curls. The red definitely looks good in his dark hair.

Back to business, Eddie lifts the lid off the box and sets it down between the two of you. You study his face as he looks down at his present. It takes a few seconds for Eddie’s eyes to absorb what he’s seeing and his brain to figure out what it is.

“Holy shit.” Eddie reaches down and gently picks up the bouquet by its thick silver base stem. He turns it this way and that, the dim sunlight coming through the front windshield reflecting on the diverting branches of thin wire and the marbled blues and greens that make up the petals. “This is so fucking cool. Where did you get it?”

“I made it.”

Your words cause Eddie to take his eyes off his present for the first time. The look of shock on his face grows as he widens his eyes and his plump pink lips part.

“You…made this?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie looks back at the flowers, appreciating them in a whole new light as he tries to find how they were put together.

“How?” he asks.

“Just some wires, picks, and pliers,” you say with a shrug.

“Sweetheart, this is…incredible. Holy shit.”

His praise warms your cheeks and your heart.

“You really like them?”

Eddie glances over at you and his expression asks if you’re crazy.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever gotten. Thank you, baby. Thank you so much.”

You reach over and take his free hand in your own.

“You are very welcome.”

You just watch as Eddie keeps inspecting his present from every angle.

“We should get a vase and some water to put these in.” The quirk on one side of his mouth clues you in that he’s kidding around.

“Ah, yes,” you say with a sigh. “Just what they need: rust.”

Eddie laughs and brings your entwined hands up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles.

“Think I can leave them in the van for the day? I’d hate for them to shrivel up and die.”

Now you roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s goofiness.

“I think they’ll survive,” you reply. “They’re pretty tough.”

“Or I can just bring them in and show off to everyone how much my girl spoils me. How goddamn lucky I am.”

You grin. “Will you make a grand display of showing them off? Say, by walking across cafeteria tables and making a proclamation for the entire room to hear?”

“Yeah, that sounds like me.” Eddie gives you a wink.

“How romantic,” you coo, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

He throws you another wink.

“Only the best for my Valentine.”

[brown-little-robin]

@brown-little-robin appreciation post! You are living you are loving you are serving the Lord and delighting in who He's made you to be and it's an honor to see it

[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.