Author’s note: The majority ruled for dom!agatha so here you go.
Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader
Warnings: dirty talk, dom!agatha, praise kink, sex
Plot: a woman comes by to buy a bunny from the animal shelter you work at. and let’s say, the bunny is not the only pet she gets.
MEN AND MINORS DNI!
You work at a small animal shelter, it was supposed to be a part time job during high school, but somehow you liked it too much to give it up. So you’re still there, eight years later.
Tuesday afternoons are usually slow, but lately most of the days are. The high season of people returning pets after Christmas is thankfully over. It’s always painful to see the animals back in the cages and you always curse the people who don’t think their Christmas presents through.
You are wiping down cages when the bell above the door rings. A woman walks in, she’s wearing an expensive looking clothes and she’s looking around like she is already annoyed that no one has rushed to her side immediately.
“I want a rabbit,” she says. No greeting.
You blink, cursing your gay heart from almost leaping out of your chest. Hot women with authority have always been your issue. You walk towards her. “Of course. Any kind in particular?”
She scans the room. “No. It’s not about the kind. I just… I’ll know him when I see him.”
Her voice has an edge to it and you wonder why she’s behaving like this. Should you be worried about the rabbit?
You lead her to the back where you keep the rabbits. She stops in front of a small lop-eared white one with brown spots. He stares back at her, entirely unimpressed.
“This one,” she says, barely above a whisper. “This one is mine.”
You pause. People say things like that all the time in shelters - He's perfect or She looks like my old one. But this… the way she says it feels less like a choice and more like a realisation. You study her, and for a moment, her mask cracks. There is something raw behind her eyes. Loneliness, maybe.
She also seems slightly unhinged, but the loneliness gets to you more and your next words are out of your mind before you can stop them.
“I can help you get him settled. Supplies, carrier, hay, all that.”
She nods briskly. “Yes. That would be fine.” She watches with a piercing gaze, her blue eyes so intense, and you stare back. There is something unspoken between you and you don’t even know how to explain it. She mesmerises you so completely that you can only follow her like a puppy to the front of the store, all wide eyed.
At the counter, she slides you a business card with one manicured finger. Agatha Harkness. No title. Just a name.
Before she leaves, you stare at each other. You see invitation in her eyes, a challenge, a danger. What she sees in your eyes, you don’t know.
Your colleague Sam catches you staring at the card as she leaves.
“Since when do we do house calls?” he says, smirking.
You shrug. “Since now, apparently.” You may be completely out of your mind, but the woman might be the most interesting thing that has happened to you in a while and you’ll be damned if you don’t chase the feeling.
~~~
The next day drags, a blur of cleaning, clipping nails, trying to keep the terrier in kennel 3 from chewing through another water bowl. By the time your shift ends, your feet ache and your patience is frayed.
Agatha’s house is tucked into the hills just outside of town, and definitely not what you expected. You expected something modern, minimalist, but the house is old, decorated in a way that makes your heart soar. It’s a house you’d want for yourself one day. You’d think an old witch lives there.
Agatha opens the door barefoot, a glass of red wine in hand, dressed in a sweater that looks cashmere and a pair of leggings that could’ve been painted on.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” she says, stepping aside.
“You paid in cash,” you reply, holding up the carrier. “Figured you meant it.”
Inside, everything is too quiet, even though a music is playing from a record player in the corner of the living room. And you suddenly understand the loneliness in Agatha’s eyes. You set up the rabbit’s enclosure in a sunlit corner of the living room and the rabbit immediately hides. It’s going to take him a few days to settle. She watches you from the couch, sipping her wine and smiling faintly.
“I’ve decided to call him Señor Scratchy.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That’s… formal.”
“I think he appreciates formality,” she says, swirling her glass. “Speaking of which, I never got your name.”
“Y/N,” you say quietly and turn on your knees towards her.
She hums. “Agatha, pleasure.” There is a beat of silence and she looks at you with an almost curious expression. “Would you like a glass? For all your trouble?”
You hesitate. You shouldn’t. But something about her loneliness clings to the walls, and you don’t want to walk back into the night just yet. You want her loneliness and your loneliness to keep each other company. “Sure. Just one.”
You make small talk, weather, animals, nothing deep. Her laugh comes easier with the wine, and yours follows. She sits back, rubbing her neck with one hand, and sighs.
“Are you alright?” you ask and even though you only wanted to drink one glass you’re already on your second and you want her to tell you things and share things and to make her laugh again. Sappho would be proud of you.
“I’m so tired.”
Without thinking, you say, “I could give you a massage, if you’d like. I mean… just if it helps.”
She tilts her head at you, amused. “Are massages standard with bunny deliveries now?”
You laugh, a little embarrassed. “No. Just… a favor.”
She turns slightly, pulling her hair to one side. “Alright then. Knock yourself out.”
You stand up and walk behind her. For a second you freeze, suddenly aware that you’re about to touch her, but then your fingers press gently into her shoulders. Her muscles are tense, knotted. She lets out a soft hum and your knees almost give out.
“You’re good at this,” she murmurs.
“Thank you,” you say and continue removing the tension from her shoulders and when she moans, you feel it everywhere in your body. What the fuck did you get yourself into? Has the movie Carol left the screen and became your life?
You get out a particularly bad knot and she groans and says: “Good girl.”
You pause and there is a good chance the whole world has stopped moving because heat settles in your lower belly and in your cheeks and your hands freeze.
The words hang in the air.
She tilts her head back, just enough to see your face, your lips parted, your flushed cheeks and most likely blown out pupils.
And then her smile changes, just a little, but you feel it deep in your bones. This is the biggest gay panic of your life.
She doesn’t turn around completely, just enough so you can see her profile, her mouth curved at one corner.
“You’re blushing,” she says, voice low, velvety.
“I’m not,” you mumble, which is definitely a lie.
Her laugh comes, light and amused. She leans back into your hands, stretching like a satisfied cat, and you proceed with the massage.
“I think you like it,” she says. “Me calling you good.”
Your fingers freeze again for half a second. She notices.
Agatha lets her head roll to the side, hair slipping over her shoulder, glass still loosely in one hand. “Oh, don’t stop now. I was just starting to enjoy myself.”
Your breath hitches. You force a shallow breath out of your nose and focus on her shoulders again, pretending this isn’t some strange, wine-tinted dream.
“You’re awfully shy for someone who came into a stranger’s house after dark,” she murmurs.
“You paid me to,” you say weakly, but even you don’t believe your own defense. That is so not the reason you came.
“Mm. Yes. And here you are, giving me a massage and blushing.” She watches you with her head tilted curiously. “I have to say… this is all very random. I got a bunny from you yesterday and now you’re here. We don’t even know each other.”
You hesitate. Is she going to decide now that it’s too weird and send you home? You need to do something to make her realise you’re worth it.
You exhale sharply through a nervous smile. “Do you, um… need anything else from me?” you ask, letting the double meaning hang in the air just long enough for her to catch it. You hope she feels the pull the same way you do. The movie-like tension.
She turns fully then, the hem of her sweater slipping down one shoulder. Her eyes meet yours and then dip down, slowly, before returning to your face.
“I suppose that depends,” she says, eyes half-lidded now. “On what you think you're offering.”
You swallow loudly, but refuse to look away. You will not back out and go home to your lonely apartment and endless shifts where the only petting you do is when a dog climbs on your lap.
“Anything,” you whisper.
She cocks an eyebrow at you and lets the tension build before motioning for you to sit next to her. You sit closer than before and take a sip of your wine.
“You look like you’re waiting for a permission to breathe,” she muses and puts her glass on the table.
You give her a tight smile. “I’m fine.”
“Oh no,” she says, leaning in just enough that her perfume curl around your senses. “You’re not. You’re being so polite. So good.”
Her voice wraps around the word like silk and you press your thighs together, a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed. You watch her raise her eyes back to your face.
“I mean it,” she continues. “You’re sitting here with your hands in your lap like a schoolgirl.
It’s… dangerously adorable.”
“I—“ You try to say something clever like “would you like my hands elsewhere?”, but your mouth doesn’t seem to remember how sentences work.
Her fingers brush yours for a second and then she turns forward you, one leg up onto the couch, angling herself so that her entire body faces you.
“I bet you’d do anything I asked right now,” she says slowly, cocking her head.
Your mouth goes dry.
Agatha smiles like someone discovering a new favorite toy. “Wouldn’t you?” she asks, softer now, like it is a secret between you. “If I told you to kneel?”
Your breath catches. Your cheeks burn. You nod before you can stop yourself.
Her smile deepens, pleased, almost triumphant.
“You’re very sweet,” she says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Her touch is feather-light, maddening. “I didn’t expect that. The way you looked at me in the shelter? I thought you didn’t trust me.”
“I didn’t,” you whisper.
“And now?”
You swallow hard. “I think I’d let you ruin me if you asked nicely.”
She laughs, delighted, and her eyes shine with mischief.
“Oh, darling,” she says, fingers trailing down your arm now. “Who said I was going to ask nicely?”
You’re literally unable to speak. She sips her wine again and then shifts closer. You’re sitting there with her pressed against your side, playing with your hair and suddenly she’s near your ear, her voice almost a whisper.
"Tell me something," she murmurs. "If I asked you to be still... would you?"
You nod before you even know you’re doing it.
"And if I asked you to speak?"
Your lips part, but she lifts a finger, brushing it across them, silencing you gently.
“Not yet,” she hushes you. “You’re too pretty like this. All quiet and obedient.”
You whimper quietly. It slips out of you, humiliating and honest.
Agatha’s eyes light up.
“There it is,” she purrs. “That sound. You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
You shake your head. You don’t know what you want, but you know you want anything she’d ask of you.
She leans in, her lips inches from your ear again.
“Good,” she murmurs. “That means I get to decide.”
Your breath hitches. You sit there frozen, desperate, buzzing beneath the surface. You want her hands on you. You want her voice in your ear. You want her to tell you want to do and be called a good girl.
She pulls back just enough to look at you again, her expression soft but no less dangerous.
“Would you like that?” she asks. “To stop thinking for a little while? Just... do what you’re told?”
You nod again, slower this time. Everything inside you screams yes.
Agatha’s smile returns, full and wicked and soft all at once.
“Then finish your wine,” she says. “And wait for me like a good puppy.”
And just like that, she stands up and walks out of the room.
Leaving you there, flushed, breathless, and entirely hers.
~~~
Minutes pass. Maybe more. The silence stretches long and intimate. You stare into the dark red swirl at the bottom of the glass and finally lifted it to your lips, finishing the wine like she’s asked. A simple act, but it feels like something more. Like a vow.
Your body is too warm, your thoughts slow. You place the glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink and fold your hands in your lap again, still, obedient, exactly how she seems to like it.
And then, her footsteps. Slow. She returns, but not exactly the same.
Agatha let her hair down. It tumbles over her shoulders, soft waves brushing bare collarbones. She’s shed the oversized sweater. What remains is a dark silk camisole with shorts that shimmer faintly in the dim lamplight. She looks effortlessly hot.
And she is looking right at you.
“You waited,” she says.
You smile softly. “You told me to.”
She curls her lips at that, as if the answer pleased her more than you could understand.
She approaches slowly, circling the couch instead of sitting back beside you. She moves like she is hunting. As if she doesn’t know she’s already trapped you.
“I’m still not sure what to do with you,” she murmurs, standing behind you now. Her hands come to rest gently on your shoulders, where you touched her earlier. Her fingers squeeze softly, tracing the same knots you worked on before.
“You’re a strange little thing,” she goes on. “Soft, careful… and yet you’re here, in a house of a woman you don’t know, aren’t you?”
Her thumbs press in slightly harder. You shiver, trembling under her hands.
“You knew something might happen, you felt the tension, too… You wanted something to happen.”
“I didn’t know what I wanted,” you whisper.
Her voice drops low behind you, so close it ghosts over your neck. “You do now, though. Don’t you?”
You swallow. “I think so.”
She chuckles and comes back around, sitting down beside you, even closer now. Her thigh pressed fully into yours and she reaches up to tilt your chin toward her. The touch is gentle, the look in her eyes is not.
“Say it,” she demands. “Say you’ll do whatever I ask.”
Embarrassingly, you don’t even hesitate. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”
She hums, pleased. “Good girl.”
The words hit you like warm honey. Melting you. Binding you.
She leans forward, lips barely brushing the edge of your cheek.
“Let’s see how much you mean it,” she whispers.
You slowly turn your face in her direction and the look in her eyes takes your breath away. Maybe something in your face has the same effect on her because in the next moment she joins your lips together, claiming you.
When Agatha pulls away, your mind is hazy. Both from the wine and from Agatha.
“Spread your legs,” she commands softly.
Again with no hesitation you do what she’s asked, hoping she is going to touch you now. But instead she nibbles at your earlobe and gives another command. “Touch yourself.”
You close your eyes for a moment and will your cheeks to stop getting so red. But then you slip your hand into your pants and circle your clit.
“Are you wet?” she asks after a few moments of you stroking yourself.
You groan as you hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Yes.”
“Show me.”
You pull out your hand and show her the glistening fingers which she proceeds to put into her mouth, sucking them, circling them with her tongue, making noises that should be illegal.
Agatha raises up and straddles your lap in one fluid motion, her hands sliding into your hair and kisses you deeply. Her body fits against yours, warm. She deepens the kiss and your hands find her waist, tentative, but when her tongue starts playing with yours, you grip her more firmly.
She pulls back, hands trailing down, fingers dragging along the column of your throat, resting just long enough to feel your pulse flutter.
You’re melting. Into her. Into the couch. Into whatever this is becoming.
She kisses and sucks at your neck. “You’re so easy to undo,” she whispers. “So sweet. So willing.”
Her hands wander again, exploring, testing. And you let her. Every nerve in your body turns to her movements, every breath waiting for her next command.
"Lie back for me," she says, already guiding you down.
And you do it, dizzy from wine, from her, from the heat simmering between you. You are looking up at her while she’s still straddling your lap.
You shirt has ridden up and you can feel her hear on your exposed skin. “Agatha…”
She smiles down on you. “What, pet?”
Seeing as you unable to say anything else, she takes your hands and brings them to her breasts. She’s still wearing the silk shirt, but you can feel her nipples harden under your touch.
“You’re so damn pretty,” she whispers as she continues helping you massage her breasts. When you take initiative and use your thumb and forefinger to pinch her nipple, she moans and starts rolling her hips on you. “I cannot believe… I went to get a pet bunny. And I got one more pet to keep me company.”
“Yes,” you whimper below her. “Please.”
“Please what?” she asks.
You stare at her helplessly. “Use me.”
She stops moving, looking at you, her gaze darkened. In one swift movement she climbs off you and pulls down her shorts. You don’t know what to do, shouldn’t that have been your job?
She leans down and grabs your shirt. It’s almost methodical as she slowly undresses you. You thought it would happen organically, but for some reason Agatha wants you both naked as soon as possible. And well, you are not stopping her.
When you’re both done, standing naked across from each other, both slightly breathless, she cannot keep her eyes off you. Your gaze trails along her soft curves and full breasts and you reach out to touch her.
She catches your hand mid air and then pushes you on the couch. “Be good for me, baby,” she whispers and you’re laying on your back again and this time, when she straddles you, you can feel everything. “Why don’t you touch me now? See what you do to me?”
You hesitantly move your hand down and slip your fingers between her folds, both moaning at the sensation. You gather the wetness and circle her clit before moving up and down her folds.
“Ah, so good,” she praises and her hips buckle when you press at her clitoris again. “Why don’t you put two fingers inside, sweetheart?”
You do as she’s asked, sliding two fingers inside of her while your thumb keeps circling her clit and the moan she lets out settles in your lower belly.
“You feel amazing,” you whisper, looking up at her in amazement, it’s truly mesmerising watching her unravel before you. She looks down at you and starts rolling her hips to match your movements. You can tell she’s already close and decide to push her over the edge. “Am I being good for you?”
“Y-yes,” she breathes out and her hand shoots out to the back of the couch so she can stabilise herself. “Very good.”
“You’re using me so well,” you whisper, your mind so hazy that you’re not even surprised at your own boldness.
“More,” she begs through her gritted teeth. “Tell me more about it.” She’s now fully riding you and you’re drunk on her.
“You can teach me how to behave,” you continue. “You can make me your own little…” you lean up to softly pinch her nipple, “obedient,” you mouth latches on to the place your fingers abused, your tongue soothing the nipple and you softly suck at it, finishing your sentence with “pet” just as Agatha comes all over your finger with a load moan.
She collapses on top of you and you take your fingers out of her and clean them with your mouth. Agatha looks up at you from her position on your chest and watches you darkly.
You smile at her innocently and she chuckles.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” she asks and you don’t think she expects a reply so you don’t say anything. Suddenly she lifts herself off of you and starts climbing down your body. “Looking all soft and innocent, but boy, do you have a filthy mouth. Little obedient pet,” she mocks quietly.
Soon her fingers find your soaking center and she doesn’t hesitate to push one finger inside.
“How about I tell you something now, huh?” she proposes and dips her head low to lick a long stripe through your vulva. You groan loudly and your hands instinctively reach for her head. “Ts ts, no more touching, put your hands above your head and lay still. Let me have my way with you now.”
Your hands immediately dangle from the back of the couch, but your thighs clasp around Agatha’s head when her tongue starts working and her fingers deliciously move in and out of you.
You come, panting, sensitive, but she doesn’t let you rest. She moves her head away and bites at your inner thigh. “Again.” Her fingers don’t stop their maddening pace and soon you’re coming again.
“What do you think, baby doll?” she smirks up at you lazily. “Do you have another one in you? Can you be my good pet and come again?”
Even if you couldn’t, you would. So you nod and she continues fucking you. Tears appear in your eyes and you furiously brush them away with the back of your hand.
When you come for the third time, she climbs on top of you, catching your jaw between her fingers, tracing your lip with her thumb and smiles at your disheveled state wickedly.
Then, when you think you’re completely ruined and there is nothing else she could do or say to make you even more wrecked, she leans down to your ear and whispers: “maybe we should also get a cage for you. Can’t have Señor Scratchy thinking you’re special.”
pairing: agnes o’connor x female reader
warning: smut, age gap, boss’s daughter, daddy kink, choking, thigh riding, 18+
word count: 1.2k
the atmosphere buzzed with life and excitement, it felt like the whole city was in your house for your dad's surprise retirement party. you came home from grad school just be to here for his special moment, he'd been the chief of westview police for over thirty years now, so you couldn't miss his send off. you'd been away for three years now, studying veterinary science in georgia on scholarship. leaving westview was your greatest accomplishment and you only came back when it was absolutely necessary.
"sweetie," your mom placed her hand over yours, squeezing it gently, "you remember detective o'connor right?" she asked with the cheesiest smile on her face.
you looked past her, staring at the flannel wearing woman, she had a permanent scowl on her face but you had come to realize that was just agnes. you were very familiar with the older woman, in fact you two got well-acquainted in your undergrad years during your rebellious phase. she never ratted you out to your parents or collared you and you were very thankful for that.
"uh yeah, i do."
"would you mind going with agnes to her house and getting the rest of your father's gifts? it completely slipped my mind that i asked her to hide some of them there."
a wide smile spread across your cherry-colored glossed lips, "of course mom, i'd love too." the wheels immediately started to turn in your head, this was the perfect opportunity to make your move.
"great! you two hurry so you can make it back in time, okay?"
"got it, mrs. chief." agnes pulled her keys out of her cargo pants and led the way to her car.
you followed behind her silently, admiring her broad shoulders and the sway of her hips. it was about a 30 minute drive to her house on the other side of town and you two didn't make much conversation. it was unnerving to you, especially since you had a small crush on agnes. you stole glances at her, observing her stoic expression, pouty lips, and the way her knuckles turned white from how hard she was gripping the steering wheel.
biting your lip, you thought about how her large hands would feel roaming over your body, touching your most sensitive parts. would she pin you down and have her way with you roughly? or was she the gentle type? you fidgeted in the front seat next to her thinking about it, squeezing your thighs together while playing with your fingers in your lap.
"you okay over there doll?" she snorted, looking over at you.
you gave the older woman a smile as she pulled into her driveway, "just peachy." the two of you made your way inside and agnes left you alone as she went to retrieve the gifts. you looked around her home, approving of the rustic vibe it gave off, hues of brown, green, and orange coated the room. it was a huge house and you couldn't believe she lived here all alone.
"this is all of them." agnes grumbled, stumbling while carrying at least 5 wrapped gifts, it didn't surprise you that your mom went a little overboard.
"can i talk to you agnes?"
"right now? we need to get back to the party."
"it has to be now, it won't take long, i promise."
"uhh, okay." she set the boxes down and walked around the couch to sit down, you followed her lead sitting dangerously close, your knees rubbing against one another. "what did you need to talk about?"
"i've never thanked you properly for what you did for me all those years ago"
"what did i do for you?"
"come on agnes, you know. you could have gotten me in real trouble back then, i wasn't a minor and i was committing real crimes-"
"petty crimes."
"the point is, you didn't rat me out or arrest me or tell anyone. why? why did you do that for me?"
she rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks flushed as she bit her lip. "i figured you were just having a rebellious phase, you know? been a good kid all your life, you just wanted a taste of the bad life, am i right?"
"yeah," you nodded, "i still do." you moved in, making your move as you pressed your lips to her soft pouty ones. your eyes fluttered close, your mouth moving over hers until she pushed you off.
"whoa, whoa! what are you doing?!" agnes yelled, flying off the couch and standing as far away from you as possible.
she was clearly flustered but it only turned you on more. you pouted, getting up and walking over to her. your voice was dipped in honey as you ran your fingers over the front of her flannel lightly, gazing into her crystal blue eyes. "i'm thanking you. you were good to me and i want to be good to you."
"your dad is my boss..."
"not for long." you cradled her face in your soft hands, pulling her lips to yours again. this time you slipped your tongue inside of her mouth, moaning and pulling on her blue flannel like a feral kitten. she sucked on your tongue like a lollipop and you couldn't stop the smirk forming on your lips. she wanted you too.
suddenly, you were being whipped around, your shoulder blades pressed firmly against the green walls. you yelped when agnes slipped her thigh in between your legs, gripping your waist firmly. "you don't want this."
"i do want this, i've wanted this for so long agnes." you whimpered, grinding down on her thigh like a horny degenerate. you bit your lip, gazing into her eyes as you pulled your cropped shirt over your full breasts. you hooked your fingers under the wire of your bra and pulled it up as well. agnes' tongue ran over her bottom lip as she grunted in approval, she took your lips in a passionate kiss, moving your hips back and forth over her toned thigh. you moaned out in ecstasy, feeling yourself getting wet from the stimulation on your clit.
she wrapped one hand around your throat and palmed your breast, twisting your hard nipples between her fingers. "f-fuck agnes, choke me harder please."
"you dirty little bitch." she sneered at you, obliging your request, agnes nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth. you slipped your hand into her pants finding her cunt, you spread her slick lips apart grinning in her mouth. her throaty voice rang through your ears, "fuuuuuck doll."
"i wanna be your fuck doll agnes." you whimpered desperately, starting to rub harsh circles around her throbbing clit as you rutted against her thigh. she matched your movements, sliding her thigh back and forth squeezing at your neck. you cried out, rubbing and pinching your own nipples frantically. “ahhh fuck, feels so good.”
“you like the way i touch you? you want more?”
“fuck yes! more, i need more agnes.”
agnes abruptly pulled herself from you and you gasped out in shock, flustered and upset she didn’t finish you off. “we need to get back to the house,” she stated plainly, fixing up her clothes and retrieving the forgotten gifts that were on the floor near the couch. you were dumbfounded, and felt completely empty from the loss of contact. “let’s go doll.” she ordered, walking out of the house.
summary: you're the head of a studio that's caught the attention of one of Continental's biggest and brightest directors, causing the team at Continental to scramble as they try to keep her in the fold.
relationship: Maya x Reader (established)
content notes: explicit smut (18+), light bondage, nipple clamps, clit clamp, vibrator, face sitting, masturbation, AFAB reader, reader is referred to as girl/babygirl/babe/baby/bitch, maya says "fuck" every other sentence... I think that's it.
disclaimer: probably nothing about how i describe the film industry working is accurate lol. forgive me
word count: 10.8k
(ao3)
It was quieter than usual in the conference room at Continental Studios that morning, especially for having all of the firm’s biggest players sitting around the table for an emergency meeting. It wasn’t a tense quiet—not yet, at least. Just charged, simmering with the news Matt had shared moments before: Bridget Archer was considering another studio for her next project.
“Well, who is it?” Sal asked, not undeterred by the prospect of losing Archer just yet. “Is she thinking Universal? Fox?”
Matt took a deep breath and cast a quick glance in Maya’s direction. She didn’t pretend not to notice, per se, but she was too busy checking her nails to acknowledge him at the moment.
“Adoculos.”
Everyone else’s eyes found Maya then, and the weight of their combined stares forced her to look up from her cuticles. “What?” she asked, even though she knew damn well why she’d suddenly caught everyone’s eye.
“Did you know about this?” Sal asked from his seat across the table.
“I fucking told him about it,” Maya said, gesturing toward Matt with her now thoroughly-inspected hand. “You’re welcome.”
Matt cleared his throat as everyone’s focus returned to him at the front of the room. “We can’t let it happen.” He shrugged, as if there were nothing more to say. “She almost single-handedly made Q4 our best quarter in eleven years.”
Quinn leaned forward in her chair, eager to contribute. “Dreaming in Violet killed it last year. Critical darling and it did great in theaters. Better than expected. Topped the Coen Brothers project that came out at the same time in its second week.”
Anyone who didn’t know that shouldn’t have been in the room, but it was business, and they needed to lay all their cards down.
Matt took back over, hands flat on the table in front of him. “We need her next project. It has to be us. We need to make it so that people know if Bridget Archer is on a film, it’s coming from Continental.”
No one said anything, but everyone sat in silent agreement.
“We’re meeting with her this afternoon, and we’re going to give her whatever she wants,” Matt said, pointing down at the table with one hand as if it was marked with a play-by-play on retaining your studio’s highest-grossing director. “What we did for Scorcese, but multiply it by ten.”
“We’re going to kiss her ass,” Sal chimed in, translating to the rest of the group who didn’t necessarily need the assistance. “Give her the metaphorical hand job of the century.”
Maya scoffed. “If you’re planning a hand job for Bridget Archer, then you’ve already fucked up your pitch.”
“Fine. The cunnilingus job of the century,” Sal said, exasperated. He let the thought hang in the air for a moment before shaking his head. “Doesn’t sound as good.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow at him. “It’ll sound better to the queer auteur who has at least one allusion to the vagina in every scene.”
“We have the upper hand here. We’ve proved we can be the kind of studio where she can make the kind of movie she wants to make,” Matt popped back in, trying to get the conversation back on track. “But Adoculos isn’t unworthy competition. It’s got that art house prestige—the kind an indie-at-heart director still longs for, even after they’ve gotten the major deal. There’s also that automatic rapport—the sapphic bond. We have to overcome that.”
Maya couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the prospect. “Archer is not going to choose the other studio just because the studio head is gay unless you act like a moron and say something like that to her face.” She thought about it for another beat before raising a finger in warning toward him. “And don’t mention what you did to Scorcese, either. We don’t need to remind anyone of that fucking disaster.”
Tyler snapped his fingers in agreement beside her.
“Fine. No Scorcese,” Matt conceded, a grimace crossing his face at the memory.
“So we keep it director-friendly,” Quinn said, projecting confidence in that junior-exec way of hers. “Creative control. Big budget. Significant upfront and equity—”
Maya’s voice, more brash, cut in. “Offer her the terms that would make a director cream their fucking pants to keep working with us.” Matt looked at her skeptically, given her objection to Sal’s earlier metaphor, but she just shrugged. “Genital inclusive.”
The conversation went on, discussing every possible way they could think of to appeal to Archer in ways they hadn’t already during her last film. Quinn had three full pages of notes by the time the ideas stopped flowing and the apprehension began flowing too freely.
Matt sighed the way he did when he was starting to regret having ever being offered studio head, then nodded in Maya’s direction. “Do you, uh,” he said, voice low and yet, still anything but subtle, “Do you have any idea what they’re offering?”
Maya snorted, leaning back in her chair, elbows perched on the armrests. “You’re lucky we know she’s thinking about leaving at all.”
Matt shrank then, just a bit, the amount of shrinking he did anytime Maya pushed back, more out of respect than fear.
“We don’t need to know what they’re offering,” Quinn said, her voice cool and steady. “We have a plan. We just have to stick to it.”
Matt ran his hand through his hair as he tried to keep calm. “All right, let’s take a lunch. The meeting’s at two, so be here before then.”
-*-*-
The meeting lasted longer than it should have, and yet, by the end, no one was sure they had Archer back on the hook.
“Bridget, thank you so much for coming in today,” Matt said, shaking the hand of the woman—short, but still taking up the whole room. “We are really, really excited for this opportunity, and we couldn’t be more willing to make it happen. Let me walk you out.”
Matt led the way out of the conference room with Archer and her team behind him. When the door swung closed, Sal immediately pointed to Quinn.
“Quinn—go. Don’t let him fuck this up.”
Quinn scurried to her feet and ducked out of the conference room, trailing the group for only a few steps before she was walking in stride with Archer’s publicist, close enough to hear whatever Matt was saying (and to jump in and redirect if needed).
“So,” Maya said after the Bridget and her entourage had fully disappeared down the staircase. She pulled a vape pen from her pocket and brought it to her mouth before cocking her head in the direction Quinn had just disappeared into. “How’s that going?”
“There’s no ‘that,’” he answered, but he wasn’t a good liar.
“Okay, man,” Maya said, raising her hands as vapor rose up in wisps around her, sharing a look with Tyler through the brief mist.
Sal swatted at the disappearing cloud from across the table. “Could you not do that in here?” he asked, the words laced with an irritation he wasn’t fully ready to unleash but needed to make known.
“It’s medicinal,” Maya said in response, but put the pen away anyway.
Matt and Quinn returned minutes later, neither looking particularly concerned, but not too optimistic, either.
“She’s going to decide by the end of the day,” Matt said steadily. “They’ll call.”
“What the hell is Ad-hacks offering that’s keeping her from saying yes? You practically handed over the keys to the studio,” Sal asked, saying what they’re all thinking. Maya’s lips twitched, but she had enough loyalty to not give Sal ‘the look’ at the nickname. “I think we’ll actually lose money on this movie if she agrees to our terms, no matter how well it does.”
Matt grimaced briefly, like he’d been trying not to think about it, then held his head high, resolute. “It’ll be worth it, if it means she sticks with us for her next few features.”
“And if she does one and bounces?” Maya asked. “Or it flops despite my undoubtedly fire socials campaign?”
“We can ask the hypothetical questions after we find out if she’s staying,” Matt said, cutting the conversation off.
They dispersed shortly after, with the understanding that they were all sticking around the Continental building until they got the news, good or bad.
Maya went back to her office to resume OK-ing poster proofs and scrolling through rough trailer cuts for movies that were coming out next quarter in between taking bites of her Postmates order, eyes on her monitor rather than her fork.
It was just past eight when Tyler came sprinting into her doorway, breathing heavily.
“Quinn said Matt’s on with Archer’s agent.”
“Shit,” Maya said, standing up immediately, meal half-eaten and forgotten on her desk, and trailing Tyler out into the hall.
“Did you tell Sal?” Maya asked as they came up on his office a few doors down.
“I did,” Quinn answered, coming up from behind them. “He’s just… taking a minute,” she muttered before taking off, like she wanted to be far away before Maya could ask any more questions. Tyler followed.
Maya looked in through the window to Sal’s office, and found him still sitting in his chair, looking a little drowsy with the imprint of a book slicing a red line down his cheek. He seemed to be in no hurry, and Maya was having none of it.
“Come on!” she called, banging on the glass with her palm.
Sal startled, making a face at her, but standing up to make his way down the hallway after her. The two of them slid into Matt’s office just as the call was ending, crowding around Matt next to Quinn and Tyler.
“Understood,” Matt said, his face locked in a grin. “Well, let her know we’d love to work with her again some time, OK? OK. Good to talk to you.”
Matt brought the phone down from his ear, the beep signifying the end of the call just barely audible to the rest of the group. “Well,” he said to no one in particular, “That wasn’t how I hoped it would go.”
“Shit,” Sal breathed, dropping into the nearest chair. Not defeated, not even resigned. Just quiet shock.
“Fucking shit,” Maya parroted, taking the seat across from him. Her tongue jutted out into her cheek the way it always did when she was upset and trying to hide it.
“I can’t believe we lost her,” Quinn murmured, rounding out the immediate chorus of reactions.
“It’s all right,” Matt said in an attempt to convince them all, and especially himself. “I mean, it’s a loss, for sure, but we still have a whole roster of great directors—Wilde, Polley—“
“Not Scorcese,” Maya interrupted, though the quip lacked its usual bite.
“And not Howard,” Quinn added under her breath, like she was hoping no one would hear.
“Okay, fine,” Matt conceded. “I take the blame for those two, one-hundred percent. But I didn’t do anything wrong here, guys. We just got outbid.”
The room went quiet as everyone took in that truth.
The silence was broken by the buzz of Maya’s phone in her cargo pants pocket, then by the rustle of fabric as she fished it out. Despite it all, a small smirk crept onto Maya’s face as she read the incoming message, which Sal caught onto immediately.
“Tell your poacher girlfriend I said congrats,” he snorted lightly, though he only meant it half-heartedly.
“Hey,” Maya said, her fingers pausing mid-air with her response only half complete. “I’m pissed, too. No cap. I had some good ideas for that roll-out already. Sight un-fucking-seen.”
Tyler nodded solemnly to her left, like it was his greatest regret to deliver the next words to the rest of the group. “They were good.”
“And actually,” Maya continued, looking around the room, giving each person plenty of time to become reacquainted with her withering glare. “I’m offended as hell that everyone’s giving me the corporate espionage side-eye. Like I haven’t been the backbone of this studio for ten years. Be fucking for real.”
Matt cleared his throat again, clearly not recognizing the danger he was putting himself in. “I wouldn’t say marketing is the backbone of the studio. There’s nothing to market without the creative department, and—“
Matt trailed off when he noticed Maya’s fingers flexing against her chin and the wicked smile on her lips. “You wanna finish that?”
Matt shook his head, lips in a tight line. “No. I do not.”
The look on Maya’s face turned somehow deadlier at his response, reveling in the personal victory—a small one, sure, but there weren’t many others to claim from the rest of the day. “All right, chat, today is busted. I’m out.”
She stood from her chair, waving over her shoulder wordlessly at the muttered “goodbyes” as she headed back toward her office to grab her purse and go home.
As she walked out into the cooling Los Angeles evening air, she fished her phone back out from her purse, where she’d tossed it back up in her office. She held it screen facing up between her thumb and fingers, mic closest to her mouth. “Siri, text BBG.”
“Okay,” the robotic voice replied. “What do you want to say?”
-*-*-
Stay calm. Stay calm.
That had been your entire internal monologue for two hours, with no clear end in sight.
You were standing in the video village on the set of a film that you were this close to pulling the plug on, just taking the loss. It didn’t feel remotely worth the time, effort, or money anymore.
That afternoon (evening, really, but who was counting), you’d been called to the set by one of your junior execs who informed you that the crew had gotten approximately forty seconds of usable film in the last three days.
It wasn’t just mismanagement or poor planning causing the dysfunction. That’s something that you, as the studio head, wouldn’t normally be involved in, at least not to the same degree. The situation was just so far gone that there was no other choice but for you to be there. This wasn’t just incompetence. It was tension. It was hostility. It was a lead actor or the DP threatening to quit every other week. And you could link it all back to one person: the director.
You’d once had great respect for the director in question. You’d written papers on him in film school when he was just a big deal on the indie circuit, hiding your outright fangirling behind a thin veneer of academic stoicism to hand in to your professors. But you hadn’t worked with him at that point, and you could’ve never predicted then that, years later, you’d be getting called up regularly to serve as a glorified babysitter and ego-stroker to that man you’d been told to trust with a multi-million-dollar budget and your studio’s reputation.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t just a big name in the industry. He was also a close friend of your founding partner, a.k.a. the CFO of Adoculos Pictures, so wish as you might, there wasn’t very much you could do. You were just going to have to see it through unless someone literally died on set. But God you hoped that didn’t happen. That might be the only thing worse than staying the course.
You could handle it. That wasn’t ever in question. It wasn’t enjoyable, not in the slightest, but you could. You had a reputation for being able to work with the most difficult characters in the industry. A soothe sayer, they’d called you in the trade magazines on occasion. But that didn’t mean you wanted to.
Really, you should’ve been making your partner deal with this. It was his friend, his pet project. (Okay, maybe you’d been a big proponent at first. But not anymore.) Unfortunately, though, he had been spending time at the East Coast office over the last several weeks, so the burden had fallen to you.
At least if you were here, though, you knew something was getting done and the director wasn’t just going to get the pass because he had a buddy in high places. Not a whole lot of progress had been made in the short time that you’d been on location today, but the air did feel slightly lighter than it had when you’d arrived. At the very least, you’d managed to avoid another round of union penalties by firmly suggesting that it was break time—the amount in fees this production had already racked up by delaying or skipping breaks entirely made you balk when you first heard it yesterday.
The other members of the little enclave of folding chairs and video monitors had dispersed quickly after the director had made the begrudging announcement. He was still there though, grumbling under his breath, loud enough for you to hear but not for you to make out the words.
“See you after the break,” you said in as cordial a tone as you could muster in the moment.
He didn’t respond—not even under his breath. You held back a sigh.
As you walked away, you made a silent vow to yourself that, even if the film tripled its budget at the box office, you were going to make damn sure that your studio would never make a film with that guy ever again. The asshole.
After a little wandering around the property to stretch your legs and just be somewhere else for a while, you found yourself tucked away somewhere with trees and evening bird song and no cranky, argumentative directors or actors with bruised egos. A luxury.
Unfortunately, the atmosphere was probably going to be the only remotely relaxing part of the next 30 minutes. You were planning to call your partner, shame him into booking a seat on the first flight out of JFK tomorrow so he could start cleaning up his mess himself, and you knew it wasn’t going to be a sweet little chat.
Despite the chaos, you couldn’t help but smile when you unlocked your phone. It was still on your thread with Maya from earlier that evening when you’d gotten the call about Bridget Archer.
You’d barely gotten two minutes to bask in your success when you were called back to the more immediate realities of your situation, but those two minutes had been good.
As soon as you hung up with Archer’s agent—before you texted your partner, even before you told your assistant to call legal and get everything nailed down, you’d texted Maya.
We got her.
She’d started typing immediately, the three little dots coming up almost as soon as you hit send, but they disappeared shortly after. It took a few more minutes to finally get her response:
That’s my fucking girl!!!!
Suddenly Maya’s name and picture (something perhaps a little NSFW for a public contact photo, but then again, it was Maya) flashed on your screen. A coincidence that you couldn’t be more thankful for.
You answered before the first ring ended.
“You eat?” Maya asked as soon as the call connected. You two rarely exchanged pleasantries anymore. After all, you’d started out your day together, had been messaging in short bursts throughout. The “hello”s and the “how are you”s were unnecessary because the conversation never really ended, so they’d fallen out of your calls.
“On occasion,” you said, shouldering your phone as you leaned against a nearby palm tree, squinting up into the navy blue haze of the southern California sky after sunset.
“Smartass,” Maya said, but you were sure (despite not being able to see her) that the smirk on her lips matched your own. You could hear the sounds of the highway rushing by—she must’ve been on her way home. “Let me rephrase: Do I personally need to feed you to make sure you’ve eaten something in the last 18 hours?”
You didn’t answer right away, knowing the true answer was not the right answer. “…I haven’t had anything.”
Maya hummed knowingly. “God, you’re lucky you have such a loving and attentive and selfless girlfriend.”
“That’s one word for it.”
A scoff came from Maya’s end of the call. “Keep talking like that and you’ll deadass have no girlfriend by this time tomorrow.”
You closed your eyes and let out a breath—one you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in until Maya had given you the tiny amount of room you’d needed to relax. “What I meant to say was, yes, I am so incredibly lucky.”
“Okay, say less,” Maya said with another thoughtful hum. “So what’s your deal tonight?”
You sighed, leaning your head back to thump softly against the tree trunk. “I’m on set. Just taking a break. I’ll probably be another couple hours.”
“That set?” Maya asked.
“Yeah. That one.”
You could practically hear her eyes roll, but she didn’t say anything more about it—a rare moment of restraint in your honor. “You coming here after?” she asked instead, the faint clicking of a turn signal as a backing beat, probably pulling off at her exit.
“You want me to?” you asked in answer.
“If you want to,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but neutrality was never Maya’s strongest suit.
You rolled your eyes this time. “That’s not an answer.”
“You started it,” she said pointedly, then sighed. “But fine, fuck it. I want you here. I always fucking want you here. Happy?”
“Yes,” you said, grinning and trying not to let yourself go soft when you had to be back on set in about twenty minutes. “I’ll text when I’m leaving.”
“You better,” Maya said. It sounded like a threat, but you knew better.
You figured that was the end of the call, goodbyes having fallen to the wayside as well, so were bringing the phone down from your shoulder, thumb hovering over the End Call button when you heard her say, “Hey—“
Your phone was back up to your ear in an instant. “Yeah?”
“I love you,” she said. “You’re a fucking rock star.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, like it might settle the flutter that rose in your chest—not just at the words, but at the way they were said. Maya always sounded so sure.
“I love you, too.”
The call ended a few seconds later, and you sucked in a deep breath through your nose.
That was the easy part. The pleasant surprise.
And now you were about to spring a not-so-pleasant one on your partner.
You navigated to your contacts and tapped his name before bringing the phone back up to your ear.
“Adam,” you said as both a greeting and a warning once the call connected. “We need to talk.”
-*-*-
You didn’t pull into Maya’s driveway that night until nearly midnight.
The house stood on a hill in Calabasas, large, modern, with clean lines and huge windows. Nothing that caught you off-guard anymore, but back in film school, walking up to a house like this would’ve had you feeling like you were in a different world.
You parked your Porsche coupe next to her BMW, then got out of the car and walked up the illuminated stairway, though you could probably make it to the door blindfolded at this point. Water poured in a sheet over a black marble ledge on either side of you, lit from behind by a warm white LED.
When you reached the upper level, you found the door unlocked, like you knew it would be. You had exchanged keys a long time ago, but you’d rarely given each other a reason to use them yet.
The door opened into a brightly lit entryway, and you closed and locked it softly behind you. The air inside the house was a little warmer than out in the night, but just barely, and something garlicky was wafting from further down the hall.
You kicked off your loafers next to the rack where Maya kept her “beater” shoes, then tried to shrug off your suit jacket without taking your leather messenger bag off of your shoulder; you managed, but were grateful no one was around to see.
“Hey, babe,” Maya called from the direction of the kitchen.
“Hey,” you called back, draping your jacket over your arm before walking toward her voice, your fingers working on undoing the second button of your shirt as you padded down the hallway.
She was ready and waiting when you entered the open concept kitchen area, moving into your space as soon as she saw you round the corner.
“Well, look at you, big shot,” she purred, reaching out to grab you by the belt loops and pull you in for a kiss.
“Out celebrating?” she teased, once you parted.
You let out a heavy sigh. “If ‘celebrating’ includes sending emails to people ‘circling back’ to conversations we settled weeks ago and putting out fires on that shit storm set for the last five hours, then yes. Partying really hard.”
Your words were a little harsher than you’d meant them to be. It had been a good day. You’d gotten Bridget Archer to sign with you. That was a big fucking deal. But the rest of the world hadn’t stopped after you’d gotten the phone call—and even if it had, you probably would’ve just taken it as an opportunity to whittle down your workload a bit for when it started spinning again.
Maya’s face twisted from a soft smirk to a stern frown.
“Sorry,” you said softly, resting a hand on Maya’s bicep. “Didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
“You’re good,” she said softly in kind, thumb massaging little patterns into your stomach over your shirt.
Her eyes studied you, but you didn’t shrink away—you never had. Her gaze softened as she took in the exhaustion that buried the excitement of the day, the relief of finally being able to shed your executive form.
“How was everyone with the news?” you asked, treading a bit more lightly than you usually would. It didn’t seem like Maya felt betrayed by the day’s outcome, but you’d felt guilty for it all day anyway.
Maya shrugged. “They’ll be fine.”
“And you?” you asked.
“I’ll be fine, too,” she murmured. “Just watch your back with Gerwig.”
You chuckled as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against her shoulder. “I think the call of the Barbie might have ruined that for us both.”
She reached up to rest one hand on your shoulder blade, and the other on your lower back, and you in turn wrapped both arms around her waist. Her smell—the spice of her perfume with a hint of mint from her vape—wrapped around you.
Your eyes blinked closed, and your breathing slowed as you finally—finally—allowed yourself to take a moment.
When you finally leaned back, Maya took your chin between her fingers, gentle but firm. “Put your bag and your phone down, and go sit. I’ll bring you dinner.”
You opened your mouth, but she knew what you were going to say before you’d even taken a breath. “Don’t argue with me.”
You relented, not really up for any more fights and more than willing to be taken care of (and bossed around a little bit, why not) by your girlfriend. “And wine, please?” you asked as you took a reluctant step back.
“Already poured,” Maya said with a grin that only a handful of people had ever seen from her. You felt grateful all over again to be one of them.
You passed by the stools at the island, and then by the kitchen table, before finding yourself standing in the living room. You two didn’t normally eat out there—Maya was too uptight about her Restoration Hardware sectional to allow it very often, especially if any red sauce happened to be involved. But she hadn’t said anything when you walked in that direction, a silent sanctioning of tonight’s dining venue.
You flopped down on that very couch, pulled an aggressively-patterned throw pillow over your face (an aggressively-patterned Gucci throw pillow, as Maya would be remiss not to remind you), and closed your eyes. You couldn’t hear anything except the sizzle of whatever Maya had going on the stove and the hum of the air conditioner keeping the place to the near frigid temperatures you always complained about. Peace. At last.
A few minutes later and a power nap, the likes of which you’d perfected long ago, you felt a nudge to your shin. You peered out from under the throw pillow, one eye half-open and squinting up at Maya, who was now standing over you with a plate of some kind of sauced-up protein and a side of roasted vegetables in one hand and two wine glasses precariously held in the other.
You offered up a grateful but weary smile, even though half your face was still hidden by the pillow. “Thanks, My.”
“What else am I here for, the domestic goddess that I am?” she said back, waiting for you to sit up before seating herself beside you, her thigh flush with yours, like she was attached to your hip. Your smile grew a little softer, a little more smug. For all of Maya’s independent spirit, she sure did like to make sure you were close by, right where she needed you.
As you ate, Maya launched into a dramatic retelling of the Continental executive meetings from earlier in the day, punctuated occasionally by sips of wine or by you somehow being silently convinced to feed her a bite off your plate, even though she’d already eaten.
The story wound down in perfect sync with your meal, and when you finished, you set your plate down on the coffee table and settled into Maya’s side. Her arm wrapped around your waist and squeezed.
“You tired?”
You nodded, stifling a well-timed yawn. “But I don’t think I’d be able to sleep. Too much going on. Too much to think about.” Realization dawned on you then—you hadn’t checked your email in an hour. “I need my phone.”
You made to stand up from the couch, but Maya’s hand remained snugly wrapped around your waist like an anchor. “Babe…”
You looked over at her, skepticism clearly visible in your expression. “You know I run a studio, right?”
“Painfully aware,” she said, deadpan.
“I can’t go MIA,” you sighed.
“Okay. Question,” Maya said, tugging you back down to fully sit on the couch instead of the half-hover you’d been doing. “Do you think if I emailed Matt right now, I’d get a response before morning?”
“You’d know better than me,” you said, even though you had an answer in mind. You’d never worked with him directly, but you’d heard enough stories from Maya and others to know that, while he was a nice guy, he didn’t always know how to leverage the position he’d been given.
“I probably wouldn’t hear shit until lunchtime.”
You shrugged. “And that’s why I got the next Bridget Archer project.”
“Okay, bet,” Maya said, nodding, and you furrowed your brow. You’d be embarrassed at this point to admit to her that you didn’t know what that even meant. “But that still doesn’t mean you need to work all the goddamn time.”
“Getting lectured by Maya Mason about an appropriate work/life balance,” you muttered with a shake of your head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I have a work/life balance, thank you so much,” she corrected you, knocking your shoulder with her own. “You’re just not around to see it.”
You looked at her sideways, your eyebrows raised in doubt. “I’ve seen enough.”
“You say that, and yet, I’m the one trying to get you to chill the fuck out,” she said, heaving herself backward into the couch cushions, but not lightening up her grip around your waist. “What’s it gonna take?”
You looked at her from over your shoulder. “A miracle. Divine intervention,” you said, then pausing to think of one more. “Maybe an induced coma.”
Maya snorted before narrowing her eyes and looking up at you for a long moment. Her hold on your waist finally relaxed as she began trailing her fingers up and down your spine. “I can think of something a lot simpler than any of that,” she said in a deep voice that went straight to your lower belly. You didn’t let on, though.
“I’m not that easy,” you protested, trying to hold on to ground that was rapidly disappearing from beneath you.
Maya hummed as she sat upright again, her expression devilish, and pressed a kiss to your clothed shoulder. “Yes, you are.”
Jesus Christ.
She leaned in close so her forehead was pressed against the side of your head, her breath grazing your ear for a few moments before she turned her attention to your pulse point, alternately kissing and sucking and grazing her teeth over the spot. Your head lolled automatically to your opposite shoulder to give her better access.
The idea of having sex hadn’t even crossed your mind in the last twenty-four hours… maybe even longer, if you were being honest. It was just about time for Maya to start teasing you for being overworked and underfucked, and, even though you would’ve denied it, she would’ve been right. You could already feel the wet spot between your legs, and she’d barely touched you.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she started, the words muffled against your skin. “You’re not going to get your phone. You’re not even going to take your plate into the kitchen. You’re going to go upstairs take off all your clothes, and kneel in the middle of the bed until I tell you what to do next.”
Both of her hands had drifted down to the waistband of your tailored pants to untuck your shirt and work on undoing the lowest buttons. They weren’t frenzied, just steady. “Is that a deal you can make right now, babe? No directors, no execs, no multi-million-dollar offers. Just you and me.”
“Yes,” you said, voice hitching in your throat.
“Good,” she said, peeling herself away from you with a final brush of her fingers down your back. “Go.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You stood from the couch with a renewed sense of purpose and headed toward the staircase that led to the bedroom. You could hear the soft clatter of plates and silverware being stacked fading into the distance behind you.
You finished unbuttoning your shirt as you climbed, though between the two you’d unbuttoned earlier and however many Maya had just gotten to, there wasn’t much left to be done. You were finally able to shrug it off as you reached the top step. You started working on your pants, then, which you slid off your legs as you approached the bench at the foot of the bed. You placed them there with your shirt, folding them into a neat pile, because that’s what you did, followed by your bra and underwear.
When you were totally bare, you climbed onto the bed and kneeled facing the door with your hands on your thighs, waiting for Maya to tell you your next move.
She took her time coming upstairs—or maybe she didn’t, but it felt like forever to you by the time she entered the bedroom.
She heaved an exaggerated sigh as she closed the distance between you. “Must be exhausting, making all those decisions for everyone all day long, huh, babygirl? Keeping everyone in line?” Her voice was dripping in sympathy—not all of it feigned.
“Yes,” you said, your breath growing shallower just from her proximity.
When she reached the edge of the bed she climbed on and crawled over to you, still fully dressed in her designer lounge wear set. She brushed a fallen piece of hair out of your face, and you leaned into her hand instinctively, even though she’d barely grazed your skin.
“Why don’t you lay down and let me choose for a while, then,” she murmured, placing her hand on your chest and guiding you onto your back. “You gonna let me do that for you?”
“Please,” you said, as if you hadn’t already surrendered control to her in the living room and there was room left for negotiation.
You were fully on your back by now, but Maya was still on her knees next to you on the mattress, towering over you.
“Say it again,” she demanded, placing one hand flat on the mattress next to each of your biceps, bracketing you in with nothing but her to look at.
“Please,” you said again, stronger this time, but it wasn’t enough.
“Louder.”
You let out a frustrated whimper. “Please, Maya!”
“That’s right,” she said, leaning down until she was as close as she could be without touching you. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure there’s nothing in that pretty little head when we’re done.”
She leaned back until she was sitting on her heels and stayed there for a little while, just trailing a finger up and down your arm. “Now do what I say. Understood?”
You nodded as she moved toward the foot of the bed, kneeling close enough to your bent knees that your toes were pressing into the soft fabric of her joggers.
“Spread.”
Your body responded without any thought on your part, and cold air suddenly flowed over your core, already wet and hot from the little you’d done on the couch and the anticipation of what was to come.
“Look at that perfect fucking pussy,” she husked, running one finger up your slit, finishing by pressing firmly on your clit for just a second. “Now close your eyes. Hands on the headboard. Don’t move unless I tell you.”
You didn’t feel her move until you were in position—she was clearly making sure you were following her instructions. When she did move, it was to get off the bed entirely, judging just by the movement of the mattress.
You heard her feet padding across the soft faux-fur rug on the floor, heading in the direction of the closet, then the soft thump of clothes hitting the floor and the opening and closing of drawers.
You could’ve looked, your intrusive thoughts told you. You could get a glimpse of what she was bringing back into the room and snap your eyes shut before she rounded the corner enough to see you peeking. But no. That wasn’t the scene tonight. She’d told you what to do, and you were going to follow her instructions as closely as you could.
No more than a minute later, you heard her crossing the room back to you and felt the bed shift with her weight.
“Lift your hips.”
You obeyed and were rewarded by the brush of something velvet against your lower back and ass. She tapped your hip to signal you to relax, you weren’t surprised to find yourself positioned at an angle, your lower back now supported by wedge-shaped pillow. Historically, that meant one thing: the strap was coming out.
You swallowed—one of the only movements you could make right now without violating the rules.
You were content with that. Maya fucking you with her cock (maybe the thick one—please be the thick one) would do it for you tonight. The only problem was, you hadn’t heard the sounds of her putting on the harness—no clinking buckles and certainly no soft “Fuck” from Maya’s mouth when she inevitably slotted the leather strap through the wrong ring.
You didn’t have time to think about it too hard—next thing you knew, Maya was pulling a soft blindfold over your eyes, then taking one arm at a time down from the headboard to cuff your wrists at your sides, followed by your ankles.
You were startled by the sudden sound of metal chains pooling into a pile near your ear, but Maya was quick to distract you by putting her mouth on your clit, no warning. You jumped, hips thrusting instinctively to meet her, but the next thing you knew, she pulled away and you felt her hands warm on your hips, acrylics digging into the skin, forcing your ass down into the velvet.
“What did I tell you to do?” she murmured in a voice that was only deceptively sweet.
It was a direct question. That meant you were allowed to answer. “Not move.”
“That’s right,” she said, swiping at your clit once, roughly, with her finger in emphasis. “Are you going to listen to me?”
You resisted the urge to nod your head. Instead, you just said, “Yes.”
“Good girl,” she purred, releasing her hold on your hips and spreading your legs just a little further apart. You could feel her warm breath ghosting over your stomach in ripples. “Stay still. That’s all you need to think about.”
When she put her mouth back on you, you somehow managed to keep yourself still, even as her lips wrapped around your clit and started teasing it with her tongue. At the same time, one of her hands traced up your side until it was resting on your breast. She ran her thumb back and forth over your nipple, just far enough out of sync with her tongue flicking over your clit to be maddening, but you couldn’t whine, couldn’t complain.
She flattened her tongue against you, a sudden change in stimulation that, under different circumstances, would’ve made you gasp, but you used all of your willpower to keep yourself from physically acknowledging it. She gave the bud one last swirl and a quick peck of her lips before moving on, and you restrained a whimper at the loss of contact. You were lucky your wrists were cuffed; otherwise, you probably would’ve had your fingers in her hair and a punishment to endure by now.
She kissed up your stomach until her mouth reached the nipple her hand wasn’t already giving attention. It received the same treatment she’d given your clit, but it hardly needed any coaxing; you could already feel the strain of it having gone stiff by association. It wasn’t long before Maya released the hardened peak from her mouth with a wet pop, simultaneously tweaking your other nipple with her fingers before removing herself from you entirely and moving to your side.
Whatever Maya had put next to you—the metal sound from earlier—was her next target. Your eyelids fluttered under the blindfold and your throat strained to hold in a gasp when you felt the weight of cold metal on your ribs.
“No squirming,” Maya instructed. You almost wanted to protest—that wasn’t fair. You hadn’t moved since she’d pinned you down. You had been good. You—
Maya’s warm hand cupped your breast, and then you understood her warning. Something cold was now squeezing your right nipple, then you felt the same pressure on your left, and then, unexpectedly, on your clit. Clamps.
“That feel good, baby?” Maya whispered from above. You opened your mouth to answer, but all that came out was a helpless gasp as you tried your hardest to suppress even the smallest twitch. You could almost hear her smirking down at you. “Use your words.”
“Good,” you managed to say, your voice tight and thin as you fought to keep your back from arching off the bed.
Her nails grazed your ribs as she grabbed for the piece of metal resting there. When she lifted it from your skin, you felt the clamps tugging deliciously at your nipples and clit until she laid it back down.
Fingers brushed against your jawline, rough and tender all at once, Maya’s specialty. You didn’t even flinch at the unexpected touch. “You’re being so good for me, baby. So good.”
Your insides preened, but other than the slight smile and the broken breath you took in, you didn’t show it. But she knew.
She moved her hand to your lower belly, rubbing there for a quiet moment before a sound whirred into existence to your left. You knew that sound—the wand.
Oh shit.
You couldn’t see where it was, but you could track it by sound and you were going to feel it in three, two, one…
The vibrations made contact with your spread-open lips, pulsating underneath your clamped clit, and you couldn’t help the whimper that rose from your throat at the sudden, overwhelming change in stimulation.
Maya pounced on the opportunity you’d given her with your misstep. “Does that mean you want more, babygirl?”
You didn’t respond immediately, too focused on the interplay of pleasure and pressure coming from your core.
“Answer me,” she said with another pull to the clamp chains. You groaned without thinking.
“Yes,” you rasped.
“I thought so,” Maya said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. The button clicked once, then again, only two notches, but the intensity felt like it had skyrocketed.
Maya spent the next few minutes teasing you all over: tugging the chain and pulling at your nipples and clit; sucking bruises into the tops of your breasts and along your collarbone and to a dangerously visible spot on the column of your neck; running both of her hands down your sides and along your thighs.Your muscles were desperate to act—to writhe, to contract, to flail, but somehow, you remained motionless. The only thing you couldn’t control was your breath; your chest heaved, and you felt the metal of the clamp chains, warm now from your body heat, tickling your ribs and stomach with each inhale.
When she finished marking your neck, Maya pulled away, the bed dipping in her direction, and for a while, you didn’t feel her hands on you at all. It was just you and the wand and the blood from where you’d bitten the inside of your cheek while trying to stay quiet.
“I wish you could see yourself all clamped up like this,” she finally said, voice low. Her finger began tracing the chains connecting your nipple clamps to the metal plate. The chains felt heavier as she dragged a finger along the links. “You look like one of my necklaces. There are even little diamonds to make my girl look so pretty. All iced up, just for me.” She flicked one of the supposed diamonds with her nail to punctuate the sentence, the dull ting of plastic on metal ringing in your ears long after it ended.
“And you know what this says?” she said, tracing the plate at the center of it all before tugging it in a new direction, down toward your bottom half, making you choke on a gasp. Her hand wrapped warm around your own, and she brought it up as far as the cuff would allow her. She traced your pointer finger over the metal. There was definitely something etched into it, but what, you weren’t able to say, especially when your focus was already split three ways, between what was going on between your thighs and the pull on your nipples from Maya holding the chains taut.
“It says ‘bitch.’ Because that’s what you are. My little bitch who does whatever I say,” she muttered before dropping your hand back down. “Isn’t that right?”
You didn’t make her ask for your answer this time. “Yes.”
You heard her sigh, long and heavy. “That’s fucking right.”
She went quiet, which was almost never a good sign. You felt her change position on the bed then settle next to you. Seconds later, your ears were filled with sounds from lower down the bed—wet, unmistakable squelching.
Maya was fucking herself.
You couldn’t see it, but you could hear it—her fingers, her own quiet moans.
You let out a wounded whine.
“Quiet.”
You stilled.
Several minutes passed, until you were barely keeping yourself together, with the sound of her in your ear and the unforgiving vibrations between your legs and the exquisite pinch of your nipples all pushing you toward your release. Your thighs started to quake despite yourself, and your fingers twitched against the mattress without your permission.
Maya noticed. Of course she did.
“Looks like you just can’t help yourself anymore, huh, babygirl?” Her voice came out ragged, with a familiar edge of condescension. She hadn’t stopped fucking herself. “You’d just love to sit up and ride my thigh like a good bitch would, wouldn’t you?”
You responded with a sound that you weren’t sure you’d ever made before, because she was right—at that very moment, you’d have given anything for the privilege.
“Well, that’s not happening,” she said, dashing hopes you hadn’t even known you’d had until seconds before. “But maybe I’ll let you grind on this wand and suck on my fingers.” She paused as a moan ripped from her throat, and her voice was lighter, raspier, when she spoke again. “What do you think?”
You were on edge, shaking in ways that weren’t just due to the vibrations between your legs. It wouldn’t take much more for you anyway, but if she let you get a little more friction and a taste of her, you’d be gone in five seconds flat.
“Yes,” you said. “God, yes.”
At your plea, the wet sounds from Maya’s cunt came to a stop. Her fingers—a little sticky now—skimmed over your arm, then your stomach, and then, suddenly, the pressure on your clit was gone, replaced by a rush of blood like you’d never felt before. You were throbbing in an absolutely desperate way.
“Well?” Maya said, feigning impatience. “Get to it.”
You moved your hips at her command but slowed almost immediately. The clamp had your clit at its most sensitive. Just the air passing over it had you shuddering, and the lightest touch would’ve felt like lightning. Riding the wand at its highest setting, then, was almost too much to think about, even though you could sense the edges of your orgasm just beyond your reach.
“Oh, baby, don’t stop. You fucking wanted this,” Maya coaxed, running her fingers through your hair. “Now open your mouth.”
You did, and in return, she shoved her fingers in just far enough to graze the back of your throat and make you gag. You sputtered momentarily around her before recovering and beginning to clean her fingers, licking them like you were starved of her. As you did, you started to roll your hips into the vibrating head of the toy. It was pain. It was pleasure. It was over for you in about three weak thrusts. You came with an unrestrained moan.
“That’s it, baby,” Maya said in your ear. She didn’t remove her fingers from your mouth, even as your jaw went slack. “So fucking hot.”
She gave you time to ride the high, using her free hand to brush her fingers against your temple.
You’d barely caught your breath again when she slipped her fingers out from between your lips.
“You can give me more, right, babygirl? I know you can.”
You swallowed and nodded.
“Words.”
Maya’s hand made contact with your exposed cunt with a thwack and you hissed at the sensation.
“Yes!”
You heard the button on the wand again, and a new pattern began pulsing at your lips. Short, short, long, short, short, long, long—the vibrations slower than before by just enough to keep you on the edge without falling over it. It still held enough of your attention, though, that you barely noticed the newfound slack in the cuffs around your wrists.
The mattress shifted again—Maya was moving, and your mouth practically watered when you felt the weight dip near your left shoulder, and then your right. You could feel the heat of her hovering over you, smell her familiar musk, and your freshly unbound arms almost reached up to wrap around her thighs. She hadn’t said you could touch her yet, though, or even that you could move again, so you kept them by your sides, exactly where they’d been while in the cuffs.
The satin blindfold slid up your forehead and you blinked once, twice, readjusting to the light. You saw her face first, or a blurry rendition of it, her arms stretched out, palms against the headboard, and then you saw her cunt—already swollen and glistening—just inches from your face. “Make me feel good, baby,” she said, giving you only seconds to reorient before she lowered herself onto your face.
You opened your mouth instinctively to lap at her folds. You made one long drag of your tongue through her slit and groaned. Even though you’d already had the taste of her delivered by her fingers, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as getting it from the source.
You thrusted your tongue into her, and she bucked against your face. “Fuck, yeah. Right fucking there,” she said roughly. Her hand smacked the headboard and the sound echoed through the room.
Tentatively, you started to curl your arms, your hands drawn to hold onto her hips, but you still weren’t sure if you were allowed to move anything but your mouth, so you were being careful about it. As you continued to thrust your tongue in and out, pausing momentarily to nip and suck at her labia, your fingers moved closer and closer until they finally brushed her hips from behind, like a silent question.
Maya continued grinding against your face without a pause, but she reached one hand back to find yours. You wondered briefly if she was going to swat it away, but she didn’t. “Fucking touch me,” she said as she moved your hand down to rest on her thigh instead of her hip, and you didn’t have to be told twice. You mirrored the action with your other hand so both your arms were hooked around her legs, greedily holding her in place on top of you.
Maya’s breathing grew steadily more ragged, and of course, yours did too, with the little gasps you could get when she rode just high enough for you to grab a breath before she sunk back down on your mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” she whined, and if she had looked down, she’d have teased you for the look on your face. When she got whiny, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d unlocked something rare and secret, and at this point, you couldn’t be bothered with restraint anymore—not with your mouth, not with your limbs, and definitely not with your facial expressions. “Fuck,” she said through gritted teeth, “Don’t stop.”
Her hips started moving more desperately against you, your nose bumping up against her clit harder and faster than before. You could hear her earrings clanging against each other to the same rhythm. You sped up your pace with your tongue, intent to give Maya what she needed, trying to keep your own orgasm at bay until you did. Her walls squeezed around you.
“Fuck. FUCK,” she cried as you curled your tongue inside her, and you knew by how vocal she was becoming that she was nearly there. She smacked her palm against the headboard again. “Fucking make me come right now.”
You tilted your chin up so you had direct access to her clit. You swiped your tongue left to right and back again, and then with one more circle around the bud, she tensed, gripping the bed tight, squeezing her thighs against your skull. “Shit, babe…” she mewled, her voice coming out low and broken as she twitched with an aftershock.
You had her cum on your chin, her clit in your mouth (so what if you hadn’t been able to breathe for the last 30 seconds), the vibrations between your legs, and the whole fucking view of her above you—the most beautiful, most feral woman you’ve ever known. The combination was enough to make you come on its own, but suddenly Maya reached behind her and fumbled across your chest until she found the metal plate on your ribs and tugged, pulling at your nipples. You couldn’t fight it anymore. You came again.
Maya must’ve felt your gasping against her, because she dismounted from your face, but she wasn’t done. She shimmied down your body, so she was straddling your pelvis instead, which was still angled up by the wedge. She planted her cunt, still hot and wet and occasionally twitching at even the gentlest contact, against your lower stomach.
Always a few steps ahead of you, even in a post-orgasm haze, she unclipped the final two clasps from your nipples and tossed the chain contraption to the side of the bed. Just like with your clit, the sudden rush of sensation hit you like a freight train, and it was only heightened as Maya arched her back and dipped down to suck—roughly—on one of your erect peaks—careful to keep her core on you so she could ride your stomach when the need hit. You moaned.
Were you going to come a third time, just like that? The vibrator was still pulsing against your clit, which was still somehow growing more sensitive by the minute.
You reached your hands up, shakily, to rest against Maya’s cheeks, which were hollowed out just in the slightest as she sucked on your nipple. She looked up at you questioningly through her lashes, not detaching herself from your heaving chest.
“Turn t’off?” was what you managed to say between the thickening fog in your brain and your desperate attempts to take in enough air.
You didn’t want her to stop, but something needed to give.
She released your nipple after one last soft scrape of her teeth. She dragged her tongue up your sternum before pressing a barely-there kiss to the tip of your chin.
“Just one more, babygirl. For me,” she said, moving to suck your jaw. “Can you?”
You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to disappoint her, but you already felt entirely fucked out. “I don’t know,” you almost cried.
Maya sat up, her full weight settling across your waist, her hands resting on your shoulders as she leaned over you with a serious look in her eyes. “Do you need to say it?”
You didn’t do anything right away, caught in the rip current of rising pleasure and exhaustion and oversensitivity. Your hips simultaneously tried to buck toward and shy away from the vibrator, but Maya’s body on yours had limited your movement.
You reached up, your hands wrapping around Maya’s forearms—not to push her away, just to feel her with you. She did nothing but wait for your answer.
You didn’t say the safe word. Just a quiet, “I’m okay.”
Maya fell back into the moment right away, looking down at you with a half-wicked grin on her face.
She leaned back down and reattached her lips to your jaw, and then that spot on your neck again, while the fingers of both her hands found their way to your still-tender nipples—your own hands still gripping onto her arms and moving along with hers. You arched your back into her touch, tilting your head to make it easier for her to reach your pulse point. “So fucking good,” she husked into your ear. “So fucking hot.”
Your clit was throbbing and you could feel your pulse like a drumbeat in your ears. She knew exactly how close you were when she grabbed you by the chin, looked you in the eye, and whispered, “Come for me. Now.”
And you did, calling her name, your voice hoarse.
“Perfect. Fucking perfect,” she said, resting her forehead against yours as stars continued to dance behind your fluttering eyelids and your limbs were still quaking. She stayed there, brushing her thumb over your cheekbone and peppering little kisses over your nose and cheeks, until your breathing evened out and your grip on her forearms relaxed enough that your arms fell back to your sides.
Once she felt you were sufficiently relaxed beneath her, Maya pressed a last kiss to your forehead and climbed off of you. You heard the click of the button on the wand, and the buzzing that had been the soundtrack to nearly the whole encounter stopped immediately. The room plunged into silence except for the soft swaying of the tree branches outside the bedroom windows and the soft ting of metal on metal when Maya shifted enough to jostle her jewelry.
Quietly, she removed the soft cuffs from your ankles and then gently pulled the wedge from under your lower back and hips, leaving you lying still and boneless on the mattress. You watched through half-lidded eyes as she piled the wand and the clamps on top of the pillow and stood from the bed. A soft smile spread across your face when she started humming some song—maybe SZA—something you suspected she did for you in these moments, because she never did that anywhere else.
She took the pile over to the walk-in, disappearing for only a minute and reemerging in a pair of Gucci pjs, pants long and the top unbuttoned to reveal a bandeau you weren’t sure why she bothered with except for fashion. Two sweating bottles of water were cradled in her hand from the mini-fridge she kept near her vanity, mainly for her creams and masks, but for this, too.
She made one last stop at the chair in front of the vanity to pick up the robe that was hanging over the back, but she didn’t put it on, just draped it over her arm and came back to the bed. She set the waters down on the nightstand.
You nodded at the robe. “That for me?”
She raked her eyes down your naked body as you lay on top of the bedspread. Your nipples were still pebbled, maybe from a combination of previous stimulation and the low thermostat setting, and your stomach and legs were covered in goosebumps. You shivered without realizing.
“Might be,” she said, but she didn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and start helping you into it, which turned into a whole operation since you weren’t doing very much to assist with the process.
“Fucking impossible,” Maya mumbled as she tried to sit you up so she could drape the robe over your shoulders, but you saw the smirk on her face as you finally gathered enough strength to push yourself up against the headboard. She tied the belt into a loose bow at your waist once you were all wrapped up, and you snuggled back down into the pillows, eyelids still heavy. The fabric smelled like her shampoo from the shower that morning.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
She didn’t say anything back, but she rested her hand against your cheek. “Water, baby?”
You hummed in agreement.
She cracked open one of the bottles from side table and brought it up to your lips for you to sip, then set it back on the nightstand when you’d finished. When she was reclining again, you burrowed into her, your head resting on the bare skin above the hem of her top and your fingers splayed across her stomach. Without even thinking about it, she began to run her fingers against your scalp, the scratch of her nails a comfort.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked after you’d been laying in silence for what was probably just a few minutes, but your sense of time had yet to reorient itself, so you couldn’t be sure.
You angled your head so you could just see her face through your lashes. “Bridget Archer isn’t secretly an asshole, right?”
Her fingers stilled in your hair as a half-amused, half-annoyed look appeared on her face. “Glad to see this whole thing worked,” she muttered. Clearly that wasn’t the answer she expected.
You drummed your fingers against her ribs. “If you don’t answer, I’ll just have to wonder all night, when I could be thinking about you.”
“You could be thinking about me anyway,” she countered, but there was no heat to it, which was only underscored by her fingers resuming their path along your scalp.
“I just need to know,” you said, your voice almost back to normal. “Then you’ll be the only thing on my mind for the next…” you glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, doing bad post-coital math in your head. “Four to five hours.”
Maya just looked at you for a few moments—her expression shifting into something unreadable, but undeniably softer.
Finally, she sighed.
“She’s a fucking dream, babe,” Maya said. “But she’s still got nothing on you.”
-------------------------
You are Maya Mason's wife and the head artist of Continental Studio's Animation division. You both haven't told the team that you are married. But the key to Maya's lock hangs around your neck..and that might just be a give away.
My Masterlist of Works
Mommy Kink!/G!PMaya/Impregnation kink/Video Game Discussions
You’d been in this industry for a while now. And you knew how these meetings usually went. But as of April, you’d been promoted. You were now the head artist of Animation for Continental Studios. So far, you have been greenlit for working on a new franchise. They wanted to make a popular video game series into an animated show. So you were sitting on a Tuesday afternoon with your best storyboard artist, Jennifer Kale. And the usual bigwigs: Matt, Sal, Quinn, Patty, and Maya. Of course.
Plus Alice, you’d figured taking Alice Wu-Gulliver would be a good idea. Knowing she could talk shop and not get her feelings hurt in the harsh crowd. While Jen would remain silent and take notes, Alice would politely defuse the conversation. Jennifer definitely could stir the drama, which is why you’d instructed her to be as quiet as she could stand. Which you knew was a losing game.
Alice and you had spent some time with the storyboard team and made some concept sketches. A few mock posters for God of War, Red Dead, Halo, and Resident Evil. They were currently propped up, and your, Jen, and Alice drawings were spread across the conference table.
What should have taken two hours was now going on six because none of them could agree on a fucking thing. You desperately wanted a new iced coffee, but you sat next to Alice as the guys paced. Patty was groaning with her feet on the table. Maya was across from you, but she wasn’t looking at the mockup drawings. She was looking at you, and you both knew why.
Alice was talking to Matt and Sal while you and Maya had a silent debate wordlessly across the table.
“So you like the God of War idea? Is it the idea of making it into more of an anime style that you don’t like?” Alice asked honestly, it was a good question. Seeing as how they’d been going around and around like school children for hours.
“I like the anime idea,” Matt says, but then he looks down at a drawing and winces.
“You keep making that face, what is it?” Quinn asks, and you are thankful for the woman.
“Is it too hentai?” Matt questions.
“What is hentai?” Patty says, groaning and pulling her hair in frustration.
“Oh god.” Maya rolled her eyes, not wanting to explain it. She always knew what was in.
“Porn.” You say through gritted teeth, surprising Sal in that moment. You’d kept your demeanor neutral for most of the meeting. Besides the communication of micro expressions with Maya.
“Specificlly asian porn, so you don’t want to make it look like anime? Y/n made mock-ups that aren’t that-” Alice says delicately.
“Look, I don’t mean to offend you-” Matt says, looking at Alice, and you try not to roll your eyes like Maya. Of course the white guy was saying that to the asian artist in the fucking room. Jen chuckled but didn’t say a word.
“Not taking it personal-” Alice says, cutting him off before he can actually say something offensive. You decide to stop this before it’s an HR complaint you have to fix, again.
“Matt, if you don’t want it to look like any kind of anime, we can go back to a more claymation look. 2D vector is in because of Rick and Morty.” You offer, and Maya nods, agreeing with you. Because you two always shared thoughts.
“3D, 2D, hand-drawn is cool again because of Cuphead,” Alice adds, and you see Maya’s face twitch, she didn’t like the goth artist. Mostly because Alice had asked you out before you were her boss, and you had to tell Maya what happened. You two didn’t do secrets. You’d walked in with hickies the next day that would put a hentai artist to shame.
“The point is, if you don’t like the more anime style, we can scrap it. No questions asked, we put it in because Netflix and Castlevania, and a bunch of the other ones. Listen, they aren’t producing it, but they’re marketing and distributing it. We just want to make sure our department gives you options. Whatever you guys decide is fine; we haven’t picked a franchise yet. Maybe we start there?” You try to keep it constructive, but Matt is staring at the Resident Evil drawing you’d made of Lady Dimitrescu. The over nine-foot-tall, large-breasted, vampire villain. And you tried to keep your face from looking annoyed at him ignoring you for boobs. Maya eyed you and followed your line of vision to see what was bothering you now.
“Oh god, Matt put the damn drawing down. Don’t get an errection from a fucking drawing ok?” Maya snapped at the exec, who blushed and put it down.
“No wait, that’s a good point. Matt, what gave you a boner?” Patty said, and you closed your eyes. You’d known this was going to happen. You’d drawn it, for god's sake, Maya had seen you drawing it. It was around four am, and you had your drawing table at a tilt as you made sure her breasts were proportionate to the video game. Maya had been in a mood since she couldn’t sleep without you next to her after all these years. But she’d seen you drawing and teased you about your concentration, until she saw what you were drawing, and her jealousy flared. She realized you’d not been in bed with your wife and instead been drawing boobs. So Maya took her top off to show you real boobs and fucked you against the drawing to prove that a vampire had nothing on her.
Looking up at your wife in the conference room, she arched an eyebrow, her lips pursing a bit. You couldn’t talk to her about this even silently right now.
Turning back to Patty and trying to tune back into the debate.
“It has sex appeal.” Sal and Patty were, of course, on the same page. Quinn was looking at the drawing now, and she seemed to be having a sexual awakening. Maybe she’d finally figured out she was gay. Both you and Maya had been taking bets on how long it would take.
Alice was explaining ‘The Village’ to the group. You took off your leather jacket and took a hair tie to tie up your long hair. As you stood and riffled through paperwork. You realized people were staring at you. Not just Maya, that was normal, but you realized men were looking. You turned to see Matt and Sal staring at your cleavage as you wore a low-cut shirt that was Maya’s today.
But then you realized Patty was staring too, and she hadn’t been queer since the 80’s so something was up. Turning to Alice, who was looking too you realized that they were looking at your necklace.
“Is that a key?” Sal asked as he had no ability to hold a thought in.
“What?” You said trying to catch up with what they were curious about.
You look over at Maya, who is smirking. Your eyes go down to her lock, the one around her neck. And then you realize, usually your chain is longer, more hidden, but it had broken during sex this morning. So Maya had grabbed a simple chain from her jewelry box. Then you’d moved the key that went to her lock onto it.
“Oh…” You look down, realizing it’s visible and dangling from your neck. As you are hunched over the table.
“What’s the key go to?” Matt chuckled, and then Patty eyed Maya.
“What’s your last name? Everyone calls you the what is it?” Patty snaps her fingers trying to remember. Quinn nods, trying to remember too and Alice winces at the names. She knew what people called her boss. But Maya licked her lips. Jen tensened next to Alice.
“Yeah, before you got the promotion, they called you Walt’s Monster or the Reckless Rembrandt, and the Deviant of Da Vinci,” Sal said, and your fingers twitched. You knew what they’d called you. You were cutthroat, and you weren’t embarrassed. Maya and you both weren’t afraid of being crazy. You’d once set fire to an animator's desk because he wouldn’t listen to you. And he kept drawing dicks ontop of one of the queer interns illustrations. You felt for the young queer artists, poor Billly. You’d given Billy the assholes job, and you’d made an HR complaint against yourself.
One of many…Because you’d set said assholes desk on fire. You’d taught everyone quickly that bullying wouldn’t be tolerated at your animation house.
But you were feared in the Studio, and you didn’t mind. Maya was feared even more, and you two were a perfect match. Matching each other's freak, but you also were safety for each other.
Nothing was embarrassing or too much in your house. Neither of you ever judged the other. Not for weird spirits of anger or workaholic-like tendencies. You had rules in your house about bedtime and self-care. But Maya knew what it took for an illustrator to make it. And you understood she was the thing between a movie that made it and a movie that tanked. And that was a lot on anyone's shoulders.
But you’d found a home in each other long ago. Before you’d even worked for Maya’s studio.
“Let’s stay on topic.” You interjected through clenched jaw, and Maya just tilted her head at you. You’d both made it a point to not mention that you were married. You’d been worried that people with think that Maya favored your projects because you were her wife. But you didn’t try to hide it that much. Your last name was Mason. But no one called you that; everyone just knew the nicknames.
Maya laughs because she’d planned this. You see that now. She’d been getting annoyed at your desire to not tell people you were married to each other. The two of you had argued about it last weekend.
“We aren’t teenagers. Baby, I don’t like that they don’t know you're mine!”
Maya complained having just got off the phone with her assistant. It was very late. She was in her bra and boxers and you were in her pajama pants and sports bra. Both of you were seated in the theater room. A long L shaped sofa that you were laying on as she paced. Her acrylic nails were perfect as she threw her hands in the air.
You had your large iPad on your lap with your Apple Pencil between your lips. You don’t know what the silly assistant had said, but it had pissed off your wife. Because you were drawing and tuning them out, and now the veins were popping from Maya’s forehead.
You rubbed your temples and took the pencil out of your mouth to respond.
“Maya, I am yours. We know that. I wear my wedding ring to work every day! I’m not exactly hiding you in a closet!” You knew you shouldn’t have met her anger with irritation.
“Alice didn’t seem to notice your wedding ring.”
You roll your eyes at her and she growls.
“You know I shut that down. She’s also one of my best concept and sketch artists. I’m not going to-“
“Mentioning it to HR, protects you both!”
You’d told her you weren’t going to HR because of a harmless, casual ask-out. Alice wasn’t a perv who couldn’t take no for an answer. You’d told her you were married, and she’d apologized. That was that. You’d know if you’d taken her to HR, that would mean Maya could pull her file and make life hell for the poor artist. She’d even blacklist her if Maya wanted.
“Baby-“
“We were talking about trying for a kid! What happens when you are pregnant? I’m not allowed to bring you lunch? Can’t have lunch with my wife?!”
You knew now that Maya was upset yes, but she was scared. Something that you didn’t see from your wife often. You try to ground her in facts.
“Maya you bring me coffee and lunch now! Why would that change?” You say more patient then before.
“So the studio thinks your husband got you pregnant? That you are straight?” Maya sneers and she looks at the large projector screen. You’d put on ‘The Visit’ which had been a fun pick. Maya had not seen it yet, but you didn’t miss a Kathryn Hahn film.
It was the scene where the grandma is getting the young girl to crawl into the oven. Maya looks momentarily distracted but you knew better. She grabs the remote and pauses it. Which you take to mean she is actually enjoying the film enough to not want to miss it.
“No one thinks I’m straight at work.” You tell her and she plops down onto the sofa next to you. She grabs your knees and pulls you into her lap. You are all too happy to sit on Maya’s lap.
“I know you just got that promotion. I’m so proud of you darling. We aren’t on different levels now-” Maya tries to reason with you.
“Say that to my paycheck, Mama still makes a lot more than me.” You tease and smile and Maya doesn’t fall for the distraction.
“You are my wife. I heard my assistant talking with Matt, who was asking Patty if you were single. No one is paying attention to your wedding ring, which is rude since I spent so long picking it. Now I’m tired of this. I want to have your pussy in my mouth in the office. And I want people to get scared when they’re rude to you, because they know your Mommy will skin them alive.” Maya smirks at her sinister thoughts, and you kiss her. She moans as your tongue seeks hers. You start to make out, and it does distract her this time. Maya’s need to possess you, be inside you, it’s just too much.
You’d been an idiot to think that was the end of the conversation. Now looking at Maya with a gleam in her eye and her hair cascading down her gorgeous back that you’d scratched up this morning. You realize she’d planned all of this.
“No I really don’t remember her last name!” Patty said annoyed, not one to be distracted like your wife by your breasts.
“Boss?” Jennifer asks her eyebrows knit in confusion on what to do. Jennifer tended to defend you in the workplace. Which was sweet but not needed. Jen told the men in the office that if you’d been a guy, they wouldn’t have given you such nicknames or questioned your authority. They’d all see you for the talented artist and the sharp business mind you were. You’d fucking studied animation at CalArts. You’d undergrad at the Rhode Island School of Design.
You were a triple threat with illustration. You could paint, animate, concept art, story board, block a fucking scene. You knew so much about special effects that Maya when you first started dating would call you and send you top secret scenes to make sure they didn’t look stupid. You’d helped her, free of charge of course. But somehow Maya always paid you for your work, in fancy dinners, in weekends away, in new art equipment, even in hours of her between your thighs. Maya always liked treating her favorite artist.
“It’s fine Jen, my last name is Mason.” You don’t look at Maya but you turn to Patty and tilt your head much like your wife does. You roll your tongue over your front teeth.
“Shit. Fucking..oh shit.” Sal says, and his eyes look at your wife.
Patty starts to laugh so hard you think she might have broken. Quinn’s mind can’t seem to catch up to how you both are gay and married, and successful.
“Oh my god.” Alice whispers looking down at her lap as if she’s about to totally be fired.
“It’s fine Alice.” You whisper to her and she looks like she doesn’t believe you for a second. So Jen pats her shoulder to comfort the poor artist. Jen wasn’t shocked as she’d worked for you before.
“Woah that’s crazy coincidence! Unless, are you guys like related though, like cousins?” Matt says over Pattys laughter. And Sal looks like he’s gonna combust at Matt’s dumb ass.
“Would she be wearing the key to Maya’s lock if they were cousins Mathew? It’s a fucking kinky thing idiot.” Sal whisper screams at him. You force a smile at the head of the studio.
“Oh my god.” Matt’s mind is starting to catch up and it’s hilarious. Meanwhile Maya just looks like the king of the table. She’s smiling broadly like she’s won the lotto. She’s made everyone uncomfortable and the cat is out of the bag.
Patty finally stands up to stop laughing as she goes over to find the booze and she pours three whiskeys.
“Isn’t it a little early to be-” Quinn says not liking that Patty was drinking in a meeting. But Patty holds the tops of the three glasses pinching them to carry them and the bottle. She pushes one towards Matt. But Sal takes it instead and downs it. Then she walks over to Maya.
“Mozel Tov.” She says and hands Maya a drink. Maya clicks her glass against Patty’s and the two down their drinks.
“Boss?” Jennifer asks again unsure of how to defend you. You’d not needed her defending. But you’d hired Jen when she was like twenty two out of art school. And she’d followed you to the studio. So you knew Kale was ready to walk out if you were.
“Relax Kale, no one’s in trouble. And we are making the Resident Evil and God of War animated films. Matt they’re brilliant and my wife will need a full budget. She’s already got the story board mostly complete but I’m sure Maximoff got a script already, right Babe?” Maya looks at you now and you roll your eyes and nod. Wanda had been your friend for a long time and you two had already been working on stories. The two of you could make anything fantastic together.
“Sounds good to me Matt.” Patty agrees and refills Maya and her own glass.
“So vampires?” Sal asks and Matt is still reeling, his eyes are huge and you don’t know if he can even hear the room anymore. You look over at Alice but she’s gawking at Maya with so much fear. So you turn to Jen to back you and she doesn’t need to be told twice.
“Vampires are part of it, but not all of it. It’s supernatural beings meets Daddy Daughter day. Think The Last of Us kind of a thing.” Jen tells the team and you wish you’d let her talk instead of Alice now. She’d been solid at pitching ideas in the animators room. But she’d not liked white dudes in power, and you couldn’t blame her.
“God of War should be a different type of animation. So people don’t think we’re just re-doing the last thing.” Quinn says and Maya looks ready to tell her she’s an idiot.
“We could do the anime style for Resident Evil, because the sex appeal. Then we’ll make more of a Marvel comic look for God of War. Lots of blood in both but different amount of visual carnage.” You instruct.
“I like it, like Kill Bill animation scene?” Matt says finally looking at you.
“Exactly.” You agree with him, and he smiles. Patty leans down to pour more alcohol into his and Sal’s cup. Like they’d earned it this time. Sal let’s Matt drink this time.
“So manga style for Resident Evil and God of War get’s comic book. Do we lean more towards Deadpool type of humor?” Jen asks and she’s not looking at the room but writing things down.
“No, it’s not gonna sell as well. Keep the Last of Us idea for both. Make it heartfelt but gory and marketable.” Maya says and she sips at her drink.
“Does Hr?” Quinn starts asking Maya who holds up her hand.
“We’re married, and I didn’t hire my girl. The Studio knew the Deviant of Da Vinci was the best fit. I didn’t do a thing. So there will be no complaints or silly favoritism.”
It was a half-truth, Maya was always doing something behind the scenes. But your portfolio got you the job. As for the raise and promotion you weren’t a hundred percent sure she didn’t do something. But Maya kept talking firmly with the class.
“Mrs. Mason got here because she’s the best. My wife also saved our last animated film. Which I was able to market and profit the studio two billion dollars. So does anyone want to complain?” Maya asked and the look in her eyes was enough to make the grown men feel scared.
“Let’s just focus on the films. I’ll have Wanda send over her script for Resident Evil. I’ve got Romanoff and Barton ready to write for God of War. Does anyone have anyone else they want to throw in the ring?” You ask and Patty drinks before shaking her head in surprise.
“You got Wanda Inc and R&B Productions in your back pocket? Matt your head animator needs a fucking raise. Besides if you piss her of she’ll set the place on fire and then Maya will kill you with her bare hands. Da Vinci, honey, you just email me when you've got them all lined up. I’ll come over and produce. Not that it seems like you need any help. We always knew whoever Maya ended up with would be a firecracker.”
“More like a pitbull.” Quinn murmured and you turned and glared at her. She seems a bit scared of you and her eyes went down to her notes.
“Natasha won’t work with us.” Sal said and he took the glass from Matt and drank the last of his whiskey.
“Why not?” Patty angrily snapped at him.
“Because someone tried to hit on her at a Cat Blanchet party and now she thinks our studio is the plague.” Matt said staring at Sal and everyone knew exactly what happened.
“She’ll work with me. Just keep Sal out of the studio when she’s on my side of the lot.” You said confidently and Maya grinned at you. She’d been telling you that the Animation building was ‘yours.’ And now in front of Matt you were owning it. And she couldn’t be more proud.
“We can do that.” Matt said and he grabbed the Resident Evil drawing you’d done of Ethan Winters. “Do we really want him to be white?”
This made another four hours of discussion over voice actors.
_________________
When the meeting was finally over, Matt offered to take everyone out to dinner. You turned to Maya, who didn’t look like she felt anyway about it. But you two spoke a different language for each other. So when you finished your silent discussion, you turned to Matt.
“Sorry Mr. Remick, I need to start illustrations for the first teaser-” He shook his head at you not taking no for an answer.
All of you were walking out of the conference room and you cursed yourself for being friendly.
“It’s Matt! And no way, we’ve never gone drinking together! And with your promotion we gotta celebrate! Right Patty!” He said as you guys walked out the front door in a group. Jen shook her head and you touched her shoulder to bring her to the side. Jen had the big mock ups under her arm and she’d have to bring them back to work tomorrow.
“Bye girl, I’m going the fuck home,” Jen said as Patty, Sal, and Matt bickered about restaurants.
“See you tomorrow. Drive safe, Kale.” You tell her, and she smiles at you.
“Good job today Boss. Two feature films, our old boss could never have gotten them to do one. Continental is about to get rocked by it’s illustrators!” Jennifer shouts at you before she crosses the studio to her side of the parkinglot. Alice waits until Jen is away to ask you something.
“Do I still have a job?”
“Oh my god Alice, yes. I can’t do these films without you-”
“Yeah you could, you could totally Miyazaki the shit out of this. But is Maya gonna let me stay?” Alice asks just as you feel your wife coming over to you. Her hand grabs your ass and you know she’s not a fan of you alone with your flirty animator. So her possessive hand holds your right asscheek to remind everyone on the lot what happens in your bedroom.
“Yes, you have a job. Do not worry. Go get some rest. Early start tomorrow with Wanda, ok?” You tell her and she smiles more reassured and eyes Maya before waving goodbye to you both and running after Jen. You hoped the two of them would get drunk and date each other already.
“You sure know how to manage your minions, Baby,” Maya whispers before her body is flush with yours. One hand coming around your hips. You are holding the file with all the drawings from today. You ignored her compliment and closed your eyes, letting your head fall back onto her shoulder. Her long, dark hair tickling your ear. Before you straightened back up remembering what the three of them were talking about behind you. Maya made a noise of irritation at you moving away from her shoulder. She liked how cuddly you were, she demanded PDA. And now you had no reason not to touch each other at work.
But you broke her pout with your own.
“Please tell me we aren’t going to get drinks with Matt and the gang.” You didn’t turn to look at her as she kissed behind your ear. You felt the last traces of her lipstick against your skin.
“I already told you my thoughts, and you read me better than anyone.” She teases and you knew from before she didn’t want to hang out with them tonight. Maya usually bitched about Matt and Sal after work for twenty minutes each night before she sighed and said ‘ok enough of them, give Mama a kiss’ and you guys continued your night without their names.
“Ok, we settled on a nightclub!” Matt says coming over to you both. You try to hold your grimace but Maya’s hand on your ass squeezes and you know she is aware of your displeasure. The two of you tolerated clubs but neither of you were in your twenties anymore. Clubs weren’t so much fun when you had things like responsibilities and mortgages.
“I’m taking my wife home Matt. You guys have fun.” Maya says and it’s stern and leaves no room for arguing but Quinn comes around with her iphone. And she’s typing and looking up to Sal.
“We have to go! We all have to go! It’s bonding!” She squeals, and you take a half step back towards Maya’s side, and she knows what that means. You feel anxious, and it’s her job to get you out. She’d appointed herself your protector in all things.
“We are leaving, see ya tomorrow!” Maya turns you around and she flips her long hair over her shoulder.
“We need to go by your office and get your stuff?” You ask Maya and she shakes her head. She pulled the keys to her car out of her pocket.
“Nah, Baby, it can all wait until tomorrow. Straight home or do you wanna get Indian on the way?” She asked, and your mood shifted and you beamed at her. Maya always knew what to say.
“Indian, you’ll even let me get it super spicy?”
“Whatever my little artist wants, she gets.” Maya teased and you rolled your eyes at her. But she came around to the front of the executive's lot, where she had one of the best parking spots.
Opening the passenger side you threw your art in the back like it didn’t matter, and her eyebrows furrowed. But Maya closed the car door. You let your head lean back against the sports car's headrest. Maya has a few cars, but you never cared much about vehicles. But she’s got a big Hummer, a SUV, and this little red Bugatti Chiron.
It’s got a gorgeous interior and it costs 3.5 million. You had been shocked when she’d brought it home. You both usually talked about big purchases.
But that was when Maya had been promoted and made the big bucks. So you’d let her celebrate and she’d fucked you inside and on the hood to christen it.
You close your eyes and try to box breathe through the anxiety, and Maya opens her side and she goes over to your thrown art. You hear papers moving, and you open one eye, confused. But Maya is collecting all of you and your team's drawings and putting them back into the folder carefully.
“What are you doing?” You finally ask and she’s put the drawing on the back seat now that they weren’t wrecked all over. “Were you mad I made a mess in your pretty car?” You tease.
She snorts at you.
“No, I just don’t like the idea that my wife’s drawings are crumpled in a pile like they aren’t stunning. Like she didn’t spend a week preparing for that meeting.”
“Maya..” You say like she’s the sweetest, and her face softens, and she leans over and pecks your lips.
“Your art matters to me.”
“You mean because it’s gonna make you a bunch of money and you can buy a Bugatti in blue this time?”
Now Maya throws her head back and laughs.
“No, but that’s not untrue. I cared about your art long before it made Mama any money baby. You have more talent in your pinky finger than every soul combined in this whole lot.” She says starting her car like it’s just a fact she says everyday and no big deal. You grab her strong bicep and she turns to you.
“You actually believe that?”
“Of course I do. And you should too if you know what’s good for you.” Your wife says, and then the Bugatti is revved and she burns rubber as she speeds off the lot.
_______
After you put the order in on your phone, the two of you picked up dinner. You are stuck in traffic now with everyone else in LA. And you groan before grabbing your phone and start checking work emails. Maya has at one point pulled her sunglasses on, and she’s looking at you and not at the road.
You know Maya, you’d been married for thirteen years now going on fourteen and you’d both never stopped fucking. So you didn’t need to see her eyes, or an inch of her face to know what she was thinking.
“Whatever your cock wants right now it’s gonna have to wait until we get home.” You say as you write an email back to Natasha about how the meeting went and what the story elements she wants to incorporate.
It’s not the first film you're going to work on. You figured you’d break your team in half, one side for Jen and one for Alice. You’d have Jen focus on God of War because the comic was more her speed. Alice obviously like you, enjoyed more supernatural animes, and she’d rather work on Resident Evil. Also, Alice played more video games in general so she’d be good on both. So maybe you should need to make her go on both projects and then mayb-
“Darling, stop it.” You looked up to see you were still sitting in traffic, you turned to Maya who had lifted up her sunglasses and was looking at you like she’d caught you doing something naughty.
“What? Is there something on my face? Is it pen again, and you are just now telling me?” You wipe at your nose. You always had pencil or charcoal on your nose. You’d been worse with paint during college. Maya always found it adorable and you knew sometimes she didn’t even tell you, just liked to watch you.
“No, you don’t have anything on your face. You are ignoring your wife though. You are sitting there thinking of how you want to divy up your team. Your answering emails and I need your full attention.”
“You aren’t getting head while we are on the 405 again. You are going to wait until we get home and then you can fuck my throat until the cows come home.” You tell her putting your phone down.
“That’s a visual, what a dirty girl I stole. No, I’m talking about how I’ve been talking to you for the past six minutes and you haven’t listened to a word of it! If we were just now dating I’d be offended. But since we’re married, I know where you sleep. I’ll just get my revenge when you least expect it.” She smirks, showing her teeth now.
“Maya Mason, I apologize for being such a bad wife. What were you wanting to talk about?”
“This week, I was thinking we should have you stop taking birth control. I can call tomorrow and get you in with your OBGYN. I’ll have my assistant clear whatever day you want this week, and we’ll go together. That’s what I was talking about.” Maya wiggled her eyebrows, and it had the effect she wanted as you laughed. But then you did what she didn’t want and you shook your head. And she groaned in clear upset.
“My love, we talked about this. I just got promoted, we need to wait a few years. Let me make a few billion for the studio and have job security-”
“You already have job security because I’ll never let them get rid of you!” Maya says offended that you thought she’d let something so stupid happen at her studio. To you of all people!
“And then once everything's running smoothly, we will take the IUD out. I promise, then you can get me pregnant as many times as you want.” You say, and you see Maya is annoyed and also delighted all at the same time. Before she speaks again.
“Ok, first off, nothing in the studio will ever run smoothly. That’s just showbiz, my girl. Secondly, you are saying I get to pick now how many kids we have?”
“We can compromise, I get to say when and you get to say how many, how about that?” You knew Maya was a business girl down to her bones, and she thought for a minute.
“I am gonna draw up a contract tonight.”
You laugh at her in shock. Your eyebrows went high up your forehead.
“Will this be as legally binding as the key and lock situation we have?” You tease and Maya bites her lip and you can see she’s excited.
“You are going to regret your terms now, baby girl.”
“Oh my god Maya how many do you want!”
“I’m thinking eight.”
“NO WAY! YOU want my vagina to be as congestied as the 405! Your dick will never be snug inside me again! It’ll be a hot dog in a hallway situation!”
“You are unbelievably tight already, and I’m not worried about it. I want eight kids running around who look like you and swear like me. You already said I could have as many as I want, you fucking blew it superstar. I gotta teach you how to negotiate again.” Maya laughs, and the traffic is moving now.
“Is it too late to get a divorce?” You tease, but you see Maya’s lip twitch. She didn’t like joking about divorce and you knew that. She’d never been divorced, never had kids, and she never wanted either. Not until she’d met you.
“Baby.” She said and you slide over and kiss her jaw.
“Sorry Mommy. That wasn’t very nice. Can I make it up to you?” You ask and your hand is on her thigh. It moves up her tight pants and you don’t have to travel far to feel her cock twitch under your hand.
“You know I don’t like it when you say the D word.” Maya whispers and you know she’s not happy.
“You know I’d never. Let me make it up to you? Let me taste you?” You say and you kiss the side of her mouth and you feel her cock harden under your touch. Blood pumping to her shaft and out of her head. And you have Maya Mason wrapped around your finger. You have the key to her heart.
You're bored at your graduation party until your mom's best friend, Agnes, shows up.
Word count: 4.1k
Warnings: agnes has a penis, blowjob, sex, age gap, bratty reader, choking, handjob
“So, graduation…what’s next?”
It’s the only question you’ve been asked for the last few months. It’s gotten boring—you’ve lately started switching it up. Sometimes, you’ll tell them that you have absolutely no clue. Other times, you’ll tell them you’re thinking of going on to get your doctorate.
God forbid they give you more than two seconds after graduating college to figure out the rest of your life. All you know is that you want to have a free summer so you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, with no responsibilities or school or work to worry about. You’re owed at least that.
You plaster a smile onto your face. “I’m going to probably take a small break, maybe a gap year, and then apply for my Masters.”
A lie, or maybe not. You don't know yet.
It’s a distant relative you’re talking to, a cousin a few times removed that you haven’t seen in a few years, but for your grad party, your parents pulled out all the stops and invited as many people as they could. It’s a party at their house and guests have been trickling in and out for the past two hours.
Only one more hour of The Question to go.
“Don’t take too long in between,” your cousin advises solemnly. “Super hard to get that motivation back.”
You nod. “That’s what everyone says.”
There’s people hovering in your periphery, just waiting to talk to you. You told your parents you didn’t want a big thing but of course, this was more about showing their daughter off to everyone rather than actually giving you the small get-together you actually asked for.
All you want is a break.
Or someone interesting for you to talk to.
As if on cue, the front door opens and in walks Agnes O’Connor, one of your mom’s best friends. She’s a detective and you’ve had the hots for her ever since she pulled you over your sophomore year of college for not coming to a complete stop at a stop sign. She had ultimately turned you down after you had flirted for a bit—you could tell she was thinking about it, at least—but she didn’t give you a ticket. A good sign.
That's actually how she met your mom, after you had exaggerated just a little when you told your parents about getting pulled over and your mom had flown into the station in a rage, hellbent on finding the woman who had “accosted” her darling daughter.
Agnes had explained what really happened—although she left out the flirting; another good sign—and for some reason, that’s what made them click.
You watch her look around the crowd of people and you lock eyes. She raises a brow and you wink.
Just because she turned you down the first time, and the second time, and all the other times you’ve tried, doesn’t mean you stop. She’s fun to tease, even if you know it’s probably not going anywhere ever. Plus you see the heat in her eyes, the way she checks you out when she thinks you're not looking. She wants you just as bad, she just has a harder time admitting it to herself.
Agnes walks over into the kitchen where platters of subs, chicken nuggets, and fruit are laid out and she picks up a plate. Her long, dark hair is tied back and she’s wearing a royal-blue checkered shirt with navy pants and black boots. Your vision is glued to the subtle swaying of her ass in those pants that fit her just right and someone says something to you that you completely miss.
She grabs a sandwich and spoons some watermelon onto her plate and then takes a beer. You feel hope rising in your chest that she’ll come over and save you, but much to your chagrin, she walks over and finds your mom. They strike up a conversation and you’re left having to answer The Question again.
This time, you tell them that you’re going to try to find a job and the couple says, “Good luck.” You know what that means—you’re not finding a good job right out of college and you better get your ass back in school.
All of your friends are outside, actually having a good time. You long to join them, but your mom will kill you if you disappear into the backyard, or anywhere. You’ve thought about making a break to your room a few times, but she always stares you down like she knows exactly what you’re thinking and she’s just daring you to try.
But then Agnes touches your mom’s arm, whispers something in her ear, and walks right past you into the sitting room at the front of the house. It has doors and she’ll be the only one in there.
“Will you excuse me?” you say to the person you’re talking to now—a neighbor of your parents, maybe a friend of your dad’s—and avoid your mom’s eye contact as you follow Agnes into the room.
Just as you suspected, it’s only Agnes, and she’s sitting on the gray couch against the wall, right in the middle. Her legs are spread just a bit, the plate of half-eaten food on the end table next to her, and her beer in hand.
“Thanks for coming, Agnes,” you say as you close the door behind you. She smirks and rakes her eyes over the crop top and definitely too-short jean shorts you’re wearing. “Were you expecting someone in here?”
She gives you a crooked, wry smile. “Just wanted a little break from the festivities.” It’s not a definitive “yes, I wanted you to follow me,” but you can read between the lines.
You grin and cross the room in a few long strides and slide right onto her lap sideways, so your thighs are perpendicular on top of hers. You steal the beer bottle and take a swig.
“Congrats, kid,” she says in a gruff voice and she shifts beneath you. Her lashes are long and you’re so close you think you could count them. Her blue eyes are deep and full of something. You can see her pupils expanding.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing after graduation?” you simper and hand the bottle back to her.
She huffs and takes it and ignores your fingers blatantly brushing against hers. “Figured you’ve been drowning in that question.”
You shrug with a coy smile playing on your lips. “I’d happily answer anything you ask.”
Agnes shifts again and you bite your lip. There’s a hardness—or at least a semi-hardness—in her pants that’s now pressing into your thigh.
Her cock.
The outline has been visible before and it makes your head foggy and your cunt wet. You’re not sure when the last time you came not thinking about it was.
You push your leg further into her cock and she grimaces, but she doesn’t pull away. You can hear people outside talking and you can’t remember if you locked the door. You’re friendly with Agnes in front of others—albeit, not sit-on-her-lap friendly—so it wouldn’t be super damning if someone were to walk in right now, but you don’t want to be interrupted.
“Did you get me a gift?” you ask teasingly, but there’s no mistaking the heat in your voice.
Agnes takes a deep breath and she takes a sip of beer before resting the bottle on your thigh. It’s cold and your chest flares. “There’s a card on the gift table. Wrote in it that you shouldn't roll through stop signs.”
“If it gets you to pull me over again, Agnes, I’d do anything,” you say sweetly and she rolls her eyes fondly. As much as she puts up a front, you know she secretly likes you like this. “But I know something else you can give me.” You wink, just so she knows exactly what you mean, and she scoffs.
“I’m best friends with your mom and you’re like twenty-five years younger than me,” Agnes points out, as if you can’t feel her erection right now.
“So?” you breathe, pushing your leg harder against her cock and she presses the bottle harder into your leg with a glare. “Don’t act like that doesn’t turn you on. I can feel you.”
Agnes grits her teeth. The lines on her face are hardened and you want to drag your tongue over them. “You need to go back out to your party, kid. Your parents will be mad.” But her resolve is weakening, you can tell.
“Please, Agnes?” you say, giving her puppy-dog eyes. She refuses to look at you so you get out of her lap and sink to your knees on the white carpet in front of her.
Now she does look at you and there’s no denying the heat in her pupils. You put your hands on her knees and drag them up her thighs until your right hand is right below her bulge.
“Let me give you what you need,” you plead, taking a chance and laying your fingers over her length. She jolts and bites her lip.
It’s her, in the end, that unbuckles her belt and unzips her pants for you. She doesn’t take them off, just opens them enough for you to eagerly reach into her boxers and wrap your fingers around her.
She groans quietly when you pull her out and you’re surprised she made it this long without fucking you if this is the reaction you have on her. Her cock is standing tall in the air, rigid and leaking, and blue veins stretch from the base to right under the head.
“Oh, fuck,” you whisper and it’s echoed by her when you start slowly moving your hand up and down her length. You collect the liquid beading at the top to reduce the friction and it works because Agnes’s head drops back onto the couch and her eyes flutter shut from just your hand.
“I shouldn’t fucking want you this bad,” she spits out, almost as if she’s angry at herself for it, and you chuckle sweetly before rubbing your thumb over her tip. Her hips jerk up. “Your mom would kill me.”
It should be a turnoff, her mentioning your mother, but something about the forbidden nature of this—and Agnes bringing it up as you're stroking her cock—makes your cunt ache even more.
“What would she say if she knew you fucked her daughter?” you ask and twist your wrist so she can’t answer the question. She clamps a hand over her mouth because if she makes a loud sound, your mom will know.
“I don’t fucking care right now,” Agnes growls and a thrill runs through you. She’s leaking copious amounts of precum right now and it’s getting all over your hand and the only thing you want to do is taste her.
She watches your mouth get closer to her cock and her breathing becomes short and shallow like she can’t actually believe what you’re about to do.
Your tongue darts out to flick the head and Agnes gasps. You smile up at her and then enclose your lips around her before sucking gently. She moans and it’s muffled by her hand as she struggles to keep eye contact.
Her hand buries into your hair when you start to move further down her cock, always bobbing back up to give yourself a break and some time, and her fingers tighten but never push. She’s being gentle, even though you can feel the restraint in her thighs.
One of your hands strokes the bottom half of her cock while you mouth at the top part, dragging your tongue filthily over the tip and tasting the salty precum. You moan softly around her and she screws her eyes shut at the vibrations.
Agnes is having a really hard time staying quiet and you’re loving every second of it. You almost want her to make noise just so you can know how much you’re affecting her, but her cock is twitching and pulsing and throbbing on your tongue, so you have a good idea.
There’s an ocean between your legs and you’re a bit worried you’ve soaked through your underwear and shorts. Your entire body is humming with energy and you’ve never felt so alive, even when you take Agnes’s cock all the way down and you feel it hitting the back of your throat. You gag and spit flies out of your mouth and gets on your chin and the bottom of her flannel, but she just whimpers lowly and tugs at your hair as encouragement.
Her hips thrust up, pushing her cock over and over into your mouth, and more precum is dripping onto your tongue, which you rub on the underside of her length. Her legs spasm and she sharply inhales.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” she pants and you chuckle as much as you can with her cock in your mouth, which only makes her whine more. You lose yourself in sucking on her, closing your eyes and getting more enthusiastic with your movements, and you think she’s about to come very soon.
You open your eyes and look up at her through your hooded lashes and she groans at how you look with her dick in your mouth. The only sounds in the room are her quiet but heavy breathing and your slurping sounds and you wish you were able to hear her falling apart for you properly.
Maybe next time.
Your throat is raw but your clit is aching and if you don’t get some relief soon, you’re not sure what will happen. And you have to go back out to your party after this.
That’s enough for you to pull back with a pop and it takes a moment for the strands connecting your swollen lips to her wet and messy cock to break. You stand up while she watches you, too dazed out with pleasure to ask what you’re doing, and shimmy off your shorts.
Agnes’s cock lurches forward and spills precum on her shirt when she sees the purple underwear you have on underneath. Can she see how wet they are from there? You can certainly feel it.
“Do you have—”
She knows what you’re asking for before you finish and she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a gold, square packet.
You smirk. “Do you always come over to my house with a condom or were you just feeling lucky today?”
Agnes doesn’t answer; she just tears the wrapper open with her teeth and rolls it onto her cock. You ache for her, you long to feel her inside you, so the moment the condom is on, you’re straddling her lap again, only this time, facing her.
Her tongue pokes between her teeth as she reaches down between you to pull your panties to the side and then position her cock at your entrance. Even the slight pressure brings you pleasure and you can only imagine what she’ll feel like inside you.
You move down slowly, pausing after the tip slides inside to adjust to the girth—she’s big, bigger than you realized even when you were sucking her off. Her head drops back again and your forehead falls onto her shoulder, your mouth open-breathing against her flannel as you take her in. Your walls stretch to accommodate and it burns in the best way and you whimper when you feel her finally all inside you. There’s a feeling you’ve never felt before in your stomach, almost like you have to pee, because of how deep her cock is.
“Fuck, Agnes,” you whine into her shirt and her hands grip onto your hips to hold you still. You can feel her pulsing and she’s holding her breath like she’s afraid to let too much out.
When you pull back, you see her bottom lip is sucked in between her teeth and the vein in her forehead is throbbing. There’s a pink tint to her cheeks. She’s never looked so hot to you right now.
“You feel so fucking good,” she groans, voice rough as gravel, and it sends tingles down your spine; you unconsciously clench around her. “Your cunt is so tight. So fucking wet.”
You nod, not able to put how good she’s filling you into words, and you need to start moving.
Her fingers dig into your hips when you lift yourself back up, putting your hands around her shoulders to stabilize yourself, and you feel her cock drag against every groove inside your pussy. It’s delicious and mind-blowing and this is the best thing you ever could’ve gotten.
What are your plans for after graduation?
Agnes.
Both of your mouths drop open when you start to slide back down her cock and your warm, wet walls are once again wrapped around her.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Agnes says sternly, but thrusts her hips up so she hits even deeper inside you and that’s the message you choose to listen to.
She gasps when you grind on her and then swirl your hips around and it feels like her cock is swelling inside you.
Her nails scrape against your skin and you stop going slow because both of you need this so insanely much right now. You start riding her, fast and hard and determined, and she bucks up to meet you each time.
It’s getting harder to stay silent and you reach down to tug at her left hand and pull it up and around your throat. Her eyes flash, her breath catches, and her rhythm stutters and you’re worried for a second that you’ve gone too far, but her fingers tighten around you, not too much, but just enough to make your thoughts blur.
The light pressure makes your gasps more breathy, but they’re definitely quieter and Agnes’s lip starts to bleed from how hard she’s biting it while watching you move up and down. You arch your back on the way up and her hand still on your hip claws at you.
Your walls are clenching furiously, spasming and convulsing around her, and you can feel her pulsing inside of you, too.
“Agnes, fuck,” you moan and her fingers on your throat tighten, making your vision swim for a second. It only makes you wetter and you can feel the slickness on your inner thighs from the mess leaking out of you. Her pants are going to be soaked.
She nods frantically, cheeks a bright red now, and you never break eye contact. It’s strangely intimate, but you know how long both of you have been waiting for this.
If only she had let you blow her for rolling through the stop sign the first time you met her. It could’ve been two years of her cock inside you.
But in some ways, the wait just makes it better.
The pressure in your stomach is building and it’s getting harder to keep moving up and down on her and she’s feeling it too, based on how sloppy her thrusts have become. Your breaths intermingle and your forehead is resting against hers, sweat mixing, and you’re so fucking close.
“Agnes, I’m going to—fuck—I’m gonna come,” you pant out and she laughs breathlessly and the hand on your hip moves down and effortlessly finds your clit. You clench around her with a steel grip and you crash your lips against hers without even thinking so you don’t moan loudly. She groans into your mouth and then her tongue is sliding against your tongue and you momentarily forget that you’re supposed to be riding her.
Her hand tightens around your throat and you keen into her mouth, clenching, and she keeps rubbing your clit and you’re so close, you’re so fucking close—
“Come for me,” she growls and nips at your bottom lip, drives her hips up, squeezes your throat, and presses hard on your clit.
That’s all it takes and she swallows all of your moans even though a few escape as you fall apart for her, but you can’t find it in yourself to care that someone outside this room at the party—your party—could come barging in and see you coming all over your mom’s best friend’s cock. Your mind goes blank and your vision goes white and for a moment, the only thing that exists is Agnes.
She hasn’t come yet and she takes her hand away from your throat, letting air finally rush in unrestricted, and paws at your hips with a desperate look in her eyes.
“Your mouth,” she whispers like she’s hurt and you quickly get off her, the emptiness gaping in your cunt now, and sink to your knees.
Agnes rips off the condom and her cock is weeping precum and it looks angry and painful with how red it is.
She grabs your hair preemptively before you envelope her tip with your mouth and hollow out your cheeks. She lets out a strangled groan, both of you apparently past the point of caring if you get caught, and she throbs on your tongue.
Agnes pumps her cock in hard and fast and you gag but relax your throat so she can use you however she wants. Her face contorts with pleasure; she’s close, you can see and feel it.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come in your mouth,” she gasps and you nod eagerly, sucking and licking and swallowing around her thick length that’s making your jaw ache. You feel tears gather in your eyes and you’re not sure how you’re going to hide your ruined state from the partygoers. “And you’re going to be a good girl and swallow all of it, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” you garble around her cock.
Her hips jerk and the vein in her forehead throbs furiously and then she thrusts up one last time, stiffens, and lets out a slow groan, idly moving her hips while she pumps a load of cum into your mouth. It’s salty and hot and you make a muffled sound as more strands keep shooting out.
You swallow all of it the best you can and Agnes nods approvingly. You can feel some of it leaking out of the corners of your mouth and you hope that none of it is dripping onto your shirt.
“Fuck, you’re good,” Agnes says despite herself and you hold her cock in your mouth as she softens and then she slides out, fully limp. The praise settles warmly in your cunt.
She leans forward to wipe off the excess cum and holds out her finger to you. You suck her off it and she bites her lip at the feeling. Her spent cock gives a little twitch and you wonder if you’ll get her back in here before the party is over.
You’re willing to bet that you will.
Agnes stands up and you scooch back on your knees to give her some space. She tucks her cock back into her boxers and zips her pants before fixing the buckle. Her booted foot slides your jean shorts back over to you and she holds out a hand.
You reluctantly take it and she pulls you up. You fix your underwear and then put your shorts back on while evaluating Agnes’s pants. There’s a few wet spots, but someone would have to look closely to see them with how dark the fabric is.
Agnes looks at you and barks out a laugh. “You look well-fucked.”
And of course, you smirk.
When you both rejoin the party, no one notices that you came out of the sitting room together, looking significantly more disheveled than before. Thankfully, there was an incident with the dessert that your mom had to take care of, so she didn’t have the chance to send out a search group for you.
Agnes crumples her plate up and slips the condom in between the folds and throws it away, all physical evidence of your tryst gone.
You’re pulled into a group of relatives, who are all so excited for you and can’t wait to hear about what you’re going to do next.
You feel someone’s eyes on you and you look across the room to find Agnes staring at you. You give her a wicked smirk and she raises her bottle of beer.
Summary: When Hollywood’s strangest new director begins quietly shopping her next script, Matt Remnick loses his mind trying to find her. Mysterious, brilliant, and barely reachable, she’s the kind of director that could give him his Rosemary’s Baby… if he can track her down.
Maya Mason isn’t worried.
Because the strangest woman in Hollywood that the studio is chasing? She already has her.
Word Count: 9K
Warnings: explicit smut, strap-on use, MDNI
A/N: This is just a quick little Maya fic I wrote while catching up on The Studio finally, I definitely want to write more Maya so any suggestions would be great xo
Matt Remick bursts into the conference room like he’s just come from war… or worse, a breakfast meeting with Griffin.
He’s got that look. Wide eyes, rumpled blazer, the smell of overpriced oat milk clinging to him like defeat. But he’s grinning like he just found the last golden ticket in Hollywood. “Big news,” he says. “Huge news.”
The team’s already waiting, Sal is sprawled in his usual seat with a breakfast burrito and a hangover, Quinn tapping away on her tablet with one AirPod in, and Patty Leigh sipping tea like she’s three seconds away from biting someone.
Sal doesn’t look up from his phone. “You always say that and it’s never huge man.”
“No,” Matt says, too pumped to be insulted. “No, this is real.”
Patty sighs and sets her tea down with careful grace. “What is it Matthew? You look like you’re about to wet yourself.”
Matt drops his phone on the table, screen facing up. It’s paused on a still from Wolves at the Well, that shot, the one with the lake and the antlers and the girl screaming underwater. Instantly recognizable. Instantly iconic.
“She’s looking for a studio,” Matt announces, reverent. “She’s looking for a studio.”
Quinn looks up. “Who is?”
Matt lets the silence drag just long enough to be dramatic. “Y/N Y/L/N.”
A pause.
Quinn straightens. “Wait. Seriously?”
Patty’s brows raise, skeptical but intrigued. “She’s leaving her indie? I thought she was some kind of cursed forest nymph who only works with companies run out of moss-covered cabins.”
Matt is glowing now. “Nope. Word is she’s looking for a studio. Not an indie label, not some moody investor with a fetish for Icelandic grief dramas. A studio. She wants scale. Reach. And after Wolves exploded? She’s got leverage. She wants to tell bigger stories and still keep control. We can offer that.”
Patty leans back, calculating. “How sure are you?”
“I’ve got three sources,” Matt says. “And her agent’s being cagey, which means it’s real.”
Quinn stares at him. “She’s the biggest thing in film right now. Her movie’s still breaking streaming records. If she’s even considering going big…”
“She is,” Matt says. “And I want her here.”
Silence.
Patty lifts a brow. “You really think she’s going to give up witchy obscurity for a studio boardroom?”
Matt grins. “Not for any studio. But this one? If we pitch it right? We can blow A24 out of the fucking water.”
Patty leans back, amused. “And who, pray tell, is going to convince her?”
Sal whistles low. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the plan?”
Matt points around the room like he’s handing out weapons in a war room.
“Quinn- I want everything. Press, panels, podcast interviews. Get inside her head. I want to know what she wants before she does.”
“On it.”
“Sal- find out who else is sniffing around. What they’re offering, who she’s talking to. No one moves without us knowing about it.”
Sal nods, already typing on his phone.
Matt turns to Patty. “You’re producing the pitch. She’s not a ‘take her to lunch and flatter her’ type. She’ll want vision. Integrity. Respect. Sell her on what we aren’t.”
Patty gives a slow, dangerous smile. “I do love a challenge.”
Then Matt turns to Maya.
And the energy shifts.
She hasn’t spoken. Head to toe in Louis Vuitton streetwear, tight ponytail, three rings on each finger, legs crossed like she’s not even paying attention. But her jaw tightens at the sound of your name.
She’s already read your new script. She read it in bed while you lay next to her, legs tangled with hers, chewing the end of a pencil and asking if she thought the ending was too kind. She didn’t answer. She kissed you instead.
“You marketed Wolves at the Well,” Matt says. “She loved that campaign. She said it was the only time her work didn’t feel… diluted.”
Maya says nothing.
“She trusted you,” Matt continues. “You get her tone. You get her weird, terrifying mind. If anyone can figure out how to bring her in, it’s you.”
Maya exhales slowly. “She doesn’t do meetings. She doesn’t do people.”
Matt shrugs. “Then don’t make it feel like a meeting. Make it feel like whatever the hell she needs it to be. We just need her to talk to us.”
Maya tilts her head. “You want a horror film with a ten-minute silent sequence where a woman stares into a mirror and rips her teeth out one by one, and you think I’m the key to selling it?”
Matt grins. “Exactly. And I think you’ve still got a line to her.”
Her eyes narrow. “What makes you think that?”
Matt shrugs. “Because if I were her, and I trusted anyone in this hellhole, it’d be you.”
A beat.
Maya leans back in her chair, her expression unreadable.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says.
~
The boardroom becomes a war room.
Matt’s pacing again, sleeves rolled up like that helps him think. He’s surrounded by stacks of folders, half-eaten pastries, open laptops, and a terrifying number of Post-it notes.
“We can’t find her,” he says, hands in his hair. “I mean, what the fuck, we cannot find her. Where does she go when she disappears between projects?” he demands. “Nobody just vanishes anymore.”
“She does,” Quinn says, flicking through a spreadsheet. “She doesn’t have a personal Instagram, hasn’t been seen at a public event in eight months, and there’s literally one known address on file, some cabin in Northern California that may or may not exist.”
“She’s not completely off the grid,” Sal argues, waving his phone. “She liked a tweet two weeks ago.”
Matt spins on him. “What tweet?”
“It was about practical effects in horror. But the tweet got deleted, so…”
“So she’s alive, but elusive.” Matt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great.”
Sal doesn’t even look up from his screen. “No publicist, no assistant, no active socials. Her website is literally a black screen with a Latin quote and a candle that burns out if you hover over it too long.”
“That’s performance art, not contact information!” Matt snaps.
Patty sips her tea. “She’s a ghost with awards.”
Matt slams a file down. “I promised Griffin we were talking to her this week. I called her the next big thing. The anti-Marvel. The future of smart cinema. He said, and I quote, ‘We need her in the building before A24 eats our souls and pisses out another Oscar.’”
Patty doesn’t blink. “And you told him you had this in the bag didn’t you?”
“I panicked!” Matt throws his arms up. “And now we’re screwed.”
He turns, wild-eyed, to Maya, who’s lounging in her chair with one knee up, chewing on the end of a pen and looking like this is the most fun she’s had in months.
“You marketed her last movie,” Matt clings to the one link he has to you. “You got her. You understood her. You got into her head. If anyone knows where she might be, it's you.”
Maya stretches slowly, deliberately, and shrugs. “Maybe she’s just… busy. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
Quinn blinks. “Isn’t she developing something?”
“She’s always developing something,” Sal mutters. “The question is where. And with who.”
Matt’s pacing again. “We’re talking about the woman who made a horror movie about intergenerational trauma and demonic taxidermy and made it a hit. She’s brilliant. She’s unstable. She’s perfect. And she’s missing.”
Patty tilts her head. “She’s not missing. She’s choosing not to be seen.”
Matt points at her like she just unlocked the final puzzle piece. “YES. Exactly. She’s choosing. And we need to give her a reason to choose us. We need bait. Blood in the water. Something that says, ‘We get it. We’re not like the others. We won’t sand down your edges.’”
Sal sighs. “You’ve got a weird artsy cinephile boner for this woman haven’t you?”
Quinn looks toward Maya. “Seriously though… no leads at all?”
Maya shrugs again, slower this time. “Maybe I didn’t leave the door open far enough.”
Matt groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. We are so fucked.”
Maya just smiles. Calm. Knowing. Not offering anything. Not rushing. Not helping. Not yet.
Hours pass.
The conference room gets darker as the sun goes down, but no one bothers with the lights. The glow from laptops and phones and half-dead chargers is enough. A shrine to failure, if you asked Maya, which, blessedly, no one does.
Quinn ks scrolling with the intensity of someone hacking into the Pentagon. “Okay, I found a podcast she did anonymously five years ago under a fake name. I think it’s her because she mentions a childhood fear of mirrors and references a book no one else ever talks about-”
Matt cuts her off. “Is there an email?”
“No,” Quinn says, without missing a beat.
Sal’s got three tabs open: Reddit, IMDbPro, and a very messy spreadsheet titled WITCH LEADS. “Someone swears they saw her in Prague. Someone else thinks she’s living in a commune in upstate New York.”
Matt looks physically ill. “I told Griffin we had momentum.”
Patty snorts from where she’s taken up residence at the head of the table, reading over a dog-eared draft of one of your old scripts. “She is actively avoiding being found. This is artful silence. Intentional disappearance. She’s not playing hard to get. She’s playing divine to be untouched.”
“She has to want something,” Matt insists, like he’s trying to manifest you. “People don’t vanish unless they want to be chased.”
“Or left alone,” Quinn offers gently.
Matt groans and flops into a chair. “Why does she have to be like this?”
Maya, still perched like a cat on the edge of her chair, flips her pen between her fingers. “Because if she wasn’t like this, you wouldn’t want her half as much.”
The room stills for a beat.
Matt narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
Maya lifts a brow. “A little.”
“You know something,” he says, sitting up straighter. “You’re being weirdly calm.”
“I’m always calm,” she lies.
Quinn glances over. “Seriously, Maya, no old contacts? No secret email? No unlisted number?”
Maya yawns. “If I did, don’t you think I’d have used it by now?”
Patty side-eyes her. “Would you?”
Maya doesn’t answer. Because the truth is: she hasn’t even tried. Not really. She could send one message. Just one. And you’d answer. But where’s the fun in that?
~
Three long, caffeine-stained, sleep-deprived days since Matt declared, loud and confident, that you were in play.
You were not in play. You’re hovering above like a spectral deity, ignoring every pitch deck and soft outreach like none of it matters, which, to you, it probably doesn’t.
Griffin is starting to hover. “Any updates?” has turned into “When will I see something?” and now it’s morphing into That Tone—that sharp, glossy warning that means the countdown has started.
Matt is in executive hell.
So he does the only thing he can do to cope: gets drunk and high with Sal and spirals through someone else’s movie.
Before the film, though, they hit up a spot Sal swears will “cure all emotional disease”, a high-end Italian place in West Hollywood that’s all mood lighting, rich velvet, and wine lists the size of novellas.
They meet at a high-end Italian place with dark velvet booths, moody jazz, and wine lists thicker than a studio script rewrite.
“I can’t believe she’s ghosting us,” Matt says, sinking into the booth. “Us, Sal. She makes one demonic deer movie and suddenly we’re not worthy of her divine witch vibes?”
Sal takes a sip of red wine and shrugs. “You knew what you were getting into. This is why I date Pilates instructors.”
Matt ignores him. “You know what the worst part is? It’s not even rejection. It’s- it’s nothing. She hasn’t even acknowledged we exist. It’s like trying to cast a fucking spell and getting static.”
Sal leans back. “You’re mixing your metaphors, man. You need carbs. Or a Xanax.”
Matt raises his glass. “Or both.”
Matt waves for a martini like it’s a sedative. “She’s out there somewhere. I know it. And we’re gonna lose her. I can feel it.”
Sal shrugs, flipping open the menu. “Then let her go. Find another terrifying gay auteur.”
Matt glares. “She’s the terrifying auteur. There is no one else.”
But before Sal can mock him further, something shifts in the room.
Matt glances up and freezes. There, in a deep velvet booth lit by a golden sconce, sits Maya Mason.
All sharp cheekbones and matte lipstick, black Gucci suit jacket slung over her shoulders, wine glass in hand. Her posture says I’m relaxed, but her eyes are calculating, ever so slightly narrowed.
Matt freezes. Elbows Sal.
Sal glances over and lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t peg her for this level of bougie.”
Matt perks up. “Oh my god. Maya’s here. Should we go over?”
Matt starts to stand.
And then… you appear.
A soft, sudden presence moving through the space like perfume flitting over from the bar like a dream or a hallucination or some kind of punishment designed specifically for Matt’s crumbling sanity. You’re wrapped in silk and leather, a drink in one hand, your expression easy and unhurried.
You’re glowing under the amber light, glass in hand, lips glossed. You walk toward the booth without a second of hesitation. You slide in beside Maya, lean in, and press a kiss to her cheek. She murmurs something, barely audible, but her arm wraps around your waist. You settle into her side like it’s yours. Like it’s always been yours.
Matt blinks rapidly. “She’s the mystery of the industry. The director no one can contact. She communicates in riddles and metaphors and one-word emails and now she’s just… she’s just- here?!”
They both duck slightly behind the wine rack like two deeply uncool spies.
“Do we go over there?” Sal whispers.
“I can’t,” Matt hisses. “I’m wearing H&M.”
He peeks again. You’re laughing now, soft and warm, gently nudging Maya’s shoulder as you sip something golden from a heavy crystal glass. Maya says something and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. You smile up at her like she built the sky.
Matt slumps back down, clutching his drink. “We’re dead. Griffin’s going to turn me into a chair.”
Sal mutters, “Holy shit.”
Maya glances up and sees them. Her smile drops a millimeter. Her eyes narrow. Fucking hell. She takes a long, slow sip of her drink. Not because she’s thirsty, but because she needs a second to breathe through the coming wave of Matt’s voice, emails, frantic walk-and-talks, and existential screeds about visionary cinema.
You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”
Maya smiles at you, soft but thin. “Yeah. Just spotted something annoying.”
You turn, casually following her gaze, eyes landing on the two stunned men standing by the maître d’.
You clock them instantly.
Maya exhales, like this is exactly the kind of nonsense she’d been trying to avoid. She rubs your thigh under the table, gently, grounding.
“Listen…” she mutters. “Continental studio… Matt and Sal over there, they want to make your next movie.”
You blink again, surprised but not rattled. “They do?”
“They’re fucking gagging for it.”
You tilt your head, amused. “Is that why they look like they’re about to pass out?”
“Yup.”
You giggle softly and kiss her cheek. “How flattering.”
Maya sighs, resigned. “So much for a quiet night.” She holds Matt’s gaze for a beat. Then lifts her glass.
A quiet, unreadable toast.
Across the restaurant, Matt stares into the middle distance like he’s experiencing ego death. “I’m going to throw up,” Matt mutters.
Sal raises his wine. “To lesbian espionage.”
You’re halfway through dessert, some ridiculous tower of hazelnut praline and dark chocolate that Maya ordered “because you deserve nice things”, when the shadows shift beside your table.
You glance up.
Matt Remick is standing there, eyes wide, smile tight, like he’s just come face to face with a god and doesn’t know if he should bow or cry.
Sal’s with him. Two steps behind. A little too much wine, a little too confident.
“We’ve been trying to reach you!” Matt says, breathless.
Maya groans under her breath.
You blink. “Clearly.”
Matt laughs nervously, motioning at the booth. “Can we- uh- join you? Just for a minute. We don’t want to interrupt. Well, we are interrupting. But we don’t want to.”
You glance at Maya. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back, arms crossed, watching with the calm of a lion in tall grass.
You nod and gesture to the other side of the table. “Go on then.”
They slide in like two college freshmen sitting down with the headmistress.
Matt clears his throat. “First of all, let me just say… we’re huge fans. Everyone at the studio is. Your work is… it’s revolutionary.”
You give a polite, noncommittal nod. Maya sips her drink, unmoved.
Then Sal leans in, far too casually. “Didn’t know you were a lesbian!” he says, grinning. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that- I mean, honestly it’s my most searched porn tab.”
Matt physically recoils.
You blink. Once. Slowly.
Maya does not react. At all. Just shifts, placing her hand casually on your thigh under the table.
Sal keeps going, like a man joyfully flinging himself off a cliff. “No, seriously. I mean, it’s hot, right? You two together. Power couple. You got that dark academia meets streetwear vibe. Like if The Craft had a PR department.”
You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head ever so slightly. “This,” you say flatly, “is who wants to make my movie?”
Matt slaps Sal’s shoulder hard enough to shake the table. “Ignore him. He’s… he’s not usually like this.”
Maya leans in then, finally. “Oh, no,” she says, voice syrupy with sarcasm. “He’s exactly like this.”
Matt’s smile stretches thinner. “We just wanted to let you know- if you’re developing something new, we would love to talk. No pressure, obviously, but our door is wide open.”
You study him for a moment, sipping your drink. You don’t answer right away. You just… let the silence grow. It stretches long enough that Matt starts to visibly sweat.
Then finally, you look at Maya. “I thought they were gonna be taller,” you say.
Maya snorts into her glass.
~
Maya’s been smirking the whole ride back. She kicked her heels off in the car, feet in your lap, your fingers tracing slow circles against her ankle while she casually recounted every second of Matt and Sal’s implosion over dinner like it was the highlight of her year.
“‘Didn’t know you were a lesbian!’” she says, mimicking Sal with a cartoonishly terrible voice. “‘It’s my most searched porn tab!’ Babe. Babe. I almost choked on my fuckin wine.”
You laugh softly, leaning your head against the leather seat. “You loved it.”
“Oh, I loved watching you scare the shit out of them. I could feel Matt’s soul trying to exit through his eyeballs.”
You hum, smiling to yourself. “He really looked like he was meeting the cryptid he’s been chasing for years.”
Maya grins, sharp and smug. “And she was just sitting in my lap the whole time.”
Later, at home, you’re curled up in bed together. Maya’s shirt is unbuttoned, her skin warm against yours, one arm thrown over you like she’s never letting go. The lights are low. The city hums far below the windows.
She’s scrolling idly on her phone, probably reading headlines about someone else’s PR failure, when you shift closer, pressing your cheek to her collarbone.
“Maya?”
She hums in response, not looking away.
You trace your finger along the inside of her wrist, gentle. “Want me to pick your studio?”
That gets her attention. She lowers the phone and looks down at you.
Your eyes are soft, wide, full of something quiet and real. “Give you complete control over the marketing?” you ask, voice like silk. “Let you run the campaign. Do it your way. No committee. Just you.”
Maya stares at you for a moment. “You’d do that for me, baby?”
You nod, nuzzling into her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course I would.”
She exhales, long and slow, like she wasn’t expecting that to hit her so hard.
“Fuck,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “I really got you, huh?”
You nod again, smiling, utterly gone for her.
She kisses your forehead, her lips lingering. Then she pulls back just enough to look down at you with a slow grin. “Yeah?” she murmurs. “Alright, baby girl. I’ll set up the meeting.”
You smile, nodding, and then lean in again, just a little, just enough to brush your lips along her collarbone.
She freezes for a second.
You press another kiss, soft and slow, just below her throat.
“Baby,” she says, voice a warning, a whisper.
You don’t answer. You just kiss higher, up the slope of her neck, the angle of her jaw, your breath warm against her pulse. You feel the way her arm tightens around you, like she’s trying to stay cool, trying not to let on that she’s already halfway gone.
Then she turns her head, catches your mouth with hers. It starts soft, slow and indulgent, her fingers slipping into your hair as your lips move against hers in lazy, exploring rhythm. You tilt into her, pressing yourself closer, one hand slipping under the open edge of her shirt to rest against her stomach.
Maya deepens the kiss like she’s claiming it, her hand sliding down your back, pulling you more fully into her lap.
She breaks away just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours. “You get like this when you make big promises?” she murmurs, smiling against your mouth.
You smile back, lips brushing hers. “Only for you.”
She kisses you again, hungrier now. Less patient. You’re still curled into her lap, fingers splayed across the bare skin of her stomach under her unbuttoned shirt, your lips brushing slow, reverent kisses up her throat like you’re praying to her body with your mouth.
She lets you.
Lets you worship her like this, patient and slow, kisses trailing higher, deeper, lips barely parting, breath warm against the spot just below her jaw that always makes her shudder. And when she does, when her fingers tighten in your hair just a little, you smile against her skin.
“Fuckin’ brat,” she mutters, voice thick, but she’s already tilting her head to give you more.
You kiss her jaw. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth.
Then you pull back just enough to whisper, soft and saccharine, “Want you.”
Her hand slides down to your throat, not rough, just there. Just holding. “Yeah?” she murmurs, thumb brushing under your chin, tipping your face up to meet hers.
You nod, lips parted, eyes wide and open in that way that always makes her lose her fucking mind.
“Want me to take care of you, babygirl?”
“Please.”
She kisses you hard this time, no patience, no softness. Just heat and teeth and tongue. Her grip on your throat tightens a little as she pushes you back into the pillows, climbing over you, her knee parting your thighs with practiced ease.
“You offering me your film and this sweet little body in the same night?” she growls, voice low and dangerous, mouth dragging down your neck now. “You trying to kill me, baby?”
You gasp as her teeth catch your collarbone. That makes her laugh, deep and warm, before her mouth returns to your skin.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, hot against your chest. “Mine to kiss, mine to fuck, mine to show off when the studio begs for your name and you’re sitting in my lap.”
Your fingers dig into her back, hips rising to meet her. “Yes, Maya…”
“You gonna be good for me?”
“Yes/ yes, I’ll be so good… ”
“You are good,” she purrs, trailing her hand down between your thighs, fingers slipping under your panties like you were made for her. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”
And when her fingers finally slide into you, slow and deep, you cry out for her, high and sweet and already undone, and Maya grins like she just won. Because she did.
Her fingers are already inside you, deep and slow, dragging along that perfect spot that makes your thighs tremble and your breath catch in your throat. Maya’s body is draped over yours, shirt half-off, hair falling over her face as she watches you like she’s memorizing the way you fall apart.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “So sweet, baby. Can’t believe this perfect little thing belongs to me.”
Your hips rock up to meet her hand, helpless and greedy. “Maya…”
She curls her fingers just right and you gasp, eyes fluttering closed, head tipping back against the pillows. “Uh-uh,” she says, voice sharp, dominant. Her free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Eyes on me.”
You do. Because how could you not?
Her smirk softens at the edges. “Look at you,” she whispers. “So powerful out there. Untouchable. And now you’re under me, legs shaking, begging to come.”
You nod, desperate. “Please- please, Maya…”
“I know, baby,” she coos. “I’ve got you.”
She fucks you with deliberate, punishing strokes that make your back arch, your nails claw at the sheets, your voice turn to broken little moans that only she gets to hear.
“Who makes you feel this good?” she demands, her mouth at your ear now, her pace unrelenting.
“You do,” you gasp. “You do, Maya!”
“That’s right.”
She doesn’t let up. Her thumb finds your clit, circling in slow, sinful rhythm as her fingers thrust deeper. You’re close. So close. And she knows it. She feels it.
“Come for me,” she commands, voice low and dangerous. “Now.”
And when you do, it crashes over you like fire, white-hot and consuming, your whole body shaking as you sob her name. She holds you through it, fingers still moving as you writhe beneath her, overstimulated and soaked.
You’re gasping, lips parted, body trembling and she still doesn’t stop.
“Again,” she says, quieter now. “I want one more.”
“M-Maya…” You’re already wrecked, legs weak, tears in your lashes.
But her hand doesn’t leave you. Her mouth kisses your throat, your cheek, your lips. Her eyes stay on yours.
“You said I had control, didn’t you?” she whispers.
You nod, crying out as she thrusts again. “Yes- yes- fuck- yes!”
“Good girl.”
You’re shaking.
Your chest is heaving, thighs soaked, voice cracked open into raw little gasps. And Maya still hasn’t let up. She hasn’t stopped touching you, hasn’t moved from where she’s curled against your body, fingers still inside you, lips still on your neck.
“Fuck, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked with praise. “You’re so good for me. So perfect like this.”
You can’t speak. Your throat is raw from moaning, your body so sensitive that even the smallest movement makes your hips twitch. But Maya isn’t finished. She licks into your mouth when you try to cry out again, muffling your moans with her kiss, letting your broken little sounds melt into her tongue as she keeps her rhythm steady.
“Come on, babygirl,” she says, voice molten. “One more for me. Just one more. You can do it. I’ve got you,” she purrs. “You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you?”
You nod, tears spilling over as your eyes squeeze shut.
“That’s my girl,” she says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Fucking take it.”
Your climax hits harder this time, like lightning, like something primal cracking loose inside you. You sob her name, the sound helpless, wrecked, as your body arches into hers and the pleasure rips through you like fire.
Maya doesn’t stop. Not until you’re trembling, gasping, pleading for her mouth instead of her fingers. She finally slows, eases her hand out, kisses your cheeks, your wet lashes, your trembling lips.
“Shhh,” she whispers, wrapping herself around you. “I’ve got you, baby. You did so good for me. So fucking good.”
You collapse into her, boneless and broken and safe. She pulls you close, her hands now stroking soft and slow down your back, murmuring against your hair, “I’ve got you. I’m here. I love you.”
The room is still hazy with the aftermath, your body soft, spent, sprawled across Maya’s chest as she strokes your hair with slow, possessive fingers.
You’re trembling in that delicious, floating way. Your skin feels fever-warm, your lips swollen from her kisses, your thighs aching from being held open so long. Every inch of you is humming, fucked out and fully hers.
And Maya?
Maya looks like a goddess. Lipstick smudged, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with satisfaction.
She presses a kiss to your hairline.
You breathe out her name like a prayer. “Maya…”
She hums, low and amused, fingers still stroking your spine. “That was sweet, baby. You took it so well.”
You nod, nuzzling closer. “Wanted to be good for you.”
“I know,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You were. You always are.”
There’s a pause. Then her fingers tighten a little in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “But I think someone forgot her manners.”
Your breath catches. Your thighs instinctively press together.
“You gonna thank me properly?” she purrs, tilting your chin up to meet her eyes. “Or you gonna make me ask again?”
You whimper. “Want to. Want to thank you.”
She smiles, slow and dangerous, and shifts onto her back, guiding you between her thighs with the smooth confidence of someone who already knows what you’ll do. Who owns what you’ll do.
“Show me, then,” she says, voice all velvet and command. “Show me how grateful you are.”
You settle between her legs, kissing her thighs reverently, softly at first, until she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs you where she wants you.
She’s soaked for you. Already aching. And when your tongue finally drags over her, slow and sweet, she lets out a low, shuddering moan that makes your heart stutter.
“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice shaking now. “My good fucking girl.”
You lick into her like she’s holy, like this is your altar, and your worship is earned. You’re gentle, focused, letting her control the rhythm, her hand guiding your mouth, her hips twitching up against your tongue as she gets louder, messier, more desperate.
You moan against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through her.
“Fuck… fuck, yes- don’t stop, don’t you dare- ”
She comes with a sharp, broken cry, thighs clenching around your head, her voice shattering into a gasp of your name like it’s the only word she knows.
You stay there.
Kiss her through it. Lick her clean. Keep your mouth soft and open on her until she’s twitching, panting, tugging your hair to pull you off with a sharp hiss.
You look up at her, eyes shining, and whisper: “Thank you, I love you.”
Maya groans. “Fuck. Come here.”
She pulls you up, kisses you filthy, tasting herself on your tongue and rolls you into her arms, both of you ruined and radiant in the glow of it.
Sunlight spills through the curtains, warm and golden, casting a soft glow over your skin as you stretch slowly beneath the sheets.
You’re still a little sore. Your thighs ache in that perfect way, your lips are swollen from kissing, and there’s a faint, delicious hum still rolling through your muscles, reminders of everything Maya did to you last night. How she took from you. How you gave her everything.
She’s already awake.
Propped against the headboard, hair mussed, one arm lazily draped around your waist as she scrolls her phone with the other hand, wearing only her open silk robe and a smirk that spells danger.
You blink up at her, sleep-heavy. “What’re you doing?”
She doesn’t look away from the screen. “Texting Matt.”
You groan and bury your face in her hip. “Poor man.”
She grins. “He’s fine. I’m giving him the gift of hope.”
You peek up. “What’d you say?”
Maya hits send with a little flourish, then turns the phone toward you.
<Maya: You’re getting your meeting. Wear something that doesn’t scream ‘desperation.’>
You burst into sleepy laughter, curling closer to her. “You’re so mean,” you mumble against her skin.
She strokes your hair. “He’ll live. Probably already printing t-shirts that say I Met Y/N Y/L/N and Survived.”
You giggle again, then go quiet.
Maya glances down. “What?”
You look up at her, eyes soft. “I’m glad it’s you.”
She pauses. Smile fading into something warmer, deeper.
“I know,” she says, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Me too.”
Then her phone buzzes. A message from Matt.
<Matt R: OH MY GOD. WHEN. HOW. WHERE. WHO DO I CALL. I’M READY.>
Maya sighs dramatically and locks her screen. “This is what I get for letting the masses know you’re mine.”
You hum, smug. “You love me.”
She kisses you. “I fucking do.”
~
The conference room is spotless. Brighter than usual. Like someone turned up the lights to overcompensate for the impending dread.
Matt Remick is pacing again.
Quinn’s at the end of the table, calm on the outside, but absolutely sweating through her blouse. Sal’s already had two coffees, half a croissant and is fidgeting so hard the table rattles.
And Maya? Maya’s lounging in her chair like this is a boredom exercise, one leg crossed over the other, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses still on even though they’re inside. Her expression is unreadable, cool and calm, the faintest smirk playing at her lips.
“She’s late,” Matt says, not for the first time.
“She’s not late,” Maya replies, not looking up. “She’s theatrical.”
Quinn eyes the door like it might explode open at any second. “Do we stand when she comes in?”
Matt actually considers it. “I don’t know, do we?!”
“She’s not the fucking Pope,” Maya mutters.
Sal’s bouncing his knee. “I think I’m gonna throw up. What if she hates the pitch? What if she says nothing and just leaves?”
“She won’t leave,” Maya says, now finally pulling off her sunglasses, revealing that infuriating glint in her eyes.
“How do you know?” Matt asks.
And that’s when they all hear it: the elevator ding.
Everyone freezes.
Maya uncrosses her legs slowly, deliberately. “She’s here,” she says.
Sal stands so fast he knocks his chair back.
Matt smooths his blazer, then immediately un-smooths it, then just gives up and wipes his palms on his trousers.
The footsteps echo down the hallway.
Quinn breathes out, once. “Okay. Show time.”
Maya leans back in her chair, sipping her coffee from her obnoxiously big Stanley cup like the goddess of chaos she is. “She’s gonna eat you alive,” she says, deadpan.
Matt doesn’t know if she’s joking.
And then the door opens. You enter the room like a shadow falling over water, quiet, poised, the kind of still that makes people hold their breath without realizing it. The moment you step through the door, the air shifts. Matt bolts upright. Quinn straightens her notes. Sal tries to stand but mostly fumbles his coffee.
Maya’s already sitting back in her chair, legs crossed, wearing a black Gucci hoodie layered over a YSL T-shirt, obscenely expensive sneakers up on the edge of the table like this is a meeting she couldn’t care less about. But her eyes don’t leave you. Not once.
You take the head of the table. Say nothing. Let them sweat.
Matt starts first, of course. “We are thrilled you’re here. Honestly, this… this means a lot.”
You blink.
He keeps going. “We’ve been talking internally about what kind of slate makes sense for where film is heading, where you’re heading. And your voice? We think it defines the next era.”
Quinn jumps in. “Your work doesn’t compromise, and neither do we. You’d have creative control, a team that gets the tone, the language, the darkness.”
“We’ll protect your process,” Matt adds quickly. “We want to empower you, not get in your way.”
“We’ll give you whatever you want,” Sal says, before realizing how that sounds. “I mean, not whatever, but like… most things. Within reason. Or- outside reason, if it’s, like, cool.”
You stare at him.
Maya pinches the bridge of her nose.
You sit at the head of the table, spine straight, legs crossed, eyes focused on a fixed point in the distance like you’re seeing something no one else in the room can.
The others: Matt, Sal, and Quinn, are still mid-pitch. Words flying, ideas piling up on top of each other, offers and promises and desperate energy all funneled toward you.
And you’re still.
Maya clocks it immediately. She hasn’t said a word since you walked in. Just sat quietly off to the side in her usual luxury streetwear combo, arms folded, eyes locked on you.
But when your fingers twitch on the armrest, barely, like a flicker of static, she moves. Not dramatic. Not showy. Just real. She stands, walks over, and places her hand on your back. Palm flat. Warm. Steady. Her other hand rests on your forearm. No words. No looks exchanged.
And you exhale.
Barely a sound. But Maya feels it.
Your shoulders loosen. Your eyes slip closed. Not all the way, just enough to quiet the noise. You lean into the touch. Just a little.
And that’s when Quinn sees it.
It clicks, not in some cinematic, revelatory way. Just quietly. All at once. You’re not mysterious because it’s your brand. You’re not untouchable because you’re trying to be.
You’re just… different.
Your silence isn’t curated. It’s instinct. The long pauses. The blank stares. The way you drift just slightly outside the rhythm of a room. You’re not avoiding them because you’re a diva. You’re avoiding them because you’re anxious.
Quinn glances at Maya who is now gently running her thumb along your arm, still facing forward like she doesn’t want to make a scene, and sees it for what it is.
This isn't a strategy. It’s care. Maya’s anchoring you while the others scramble to impress you. And it’s working.
Matt hasn’t noticed. He’s still going, talking fast, trying to pivot into something with buzzwords. Sal keeps jumping in with half-formed ideas.
But Quinn watches the way your lips part just slightly, like you’re finally able to breathe again.
And Maya? Maya just mutters, quiet enough for only you to hear: “You’re good, baby. They’re just noise.”
You don’t respond.
You don’t have to.
Matt is mid-sentence, something about festival reach and global rights, his voice hitting that slightly manic pitch of a man dangling off the edge of a dream.
“- we’d leverage the marketing momentum of Wolves at the Well, of course, but frame this next project as your arrival. The next evolution of your vision, scaled but intact, and-”
“Matt,” Quinn says, calmly but firmly.
He falters. “What?”
She holds up a hand. “Just… give me a second.”
Sal blinks. “Wait, what-”
“No, seriously,” Quinn says, her eyes never leaving you. “Let’s stop. Right now.”
Everyone turns.
You haven’t moved. Still sitting there, Maya’s hand resting gently against your arm, your fingers now loosely curled into hers beneath the table. Your eyes are half-lidded, face soft but unreadable.
Quinn sees it again, the stillness, the disconnect, the focus. But also the touch point. Maya’s presence. The grounding.
Quinn leans forward, lowering her voice like she’s speaking across a sacred line. “We don’t want to pitch at you,” she says. “We want to work with you. However that looks.”
You blink slowly.
Matt looks confused. Sal is squinting like he’s missed half a conversation.
Maya says nothing. Just lets her thumb glide against your wrist again.
And that’s when you speak.
Quiet and measured like every word has to come out slowly, or else you’ll lose your nerve. “I want Maya to have everything she wants.”
Matt frowns. “What?”
You lift your gaze. Steady now. Direct. “I want her to have whatever she wants.”
A beat.
“I know you want me,” you continue, voice calm but unwavering. “But I only trust her.”
Silence. Not dramatic silence. Loaded silence. The kind that settles into every corner of the room and stays there.
Matt runs a hand through his hair, laughing, just once, like it escaped him. “Okay. Okay. Fine.”
Maya squeezes your hand under the table.
You sit there, spine straight, Maya’s hand still tucked gently over yours on the table. Matt looks stunned. Sal’s blinking like he missed a scene. Quinn is unreadable, but watching, always watching.
Then Maya clears her throat and stands. “Now give us the room.”
Matt blinks. “What?”
She jerks her head toward the door. “Out. Five minutes.”
Quinn nods immediately, dragging Sal by the arm. Matt hesitates, glancing at you one last time before sighing and following.
The door clicks shut.
And no one hears footsteps retreating because of course they don’t leave. They stay just outside. Pressed up against the glass wall like they’ve got a right to any of what’s about to happen.
Inside? Maya turns to you, arms crossed, eyes soft, but still sharp enough to cut.
“You were fucking incredible,” she says, quiet and sure. “You know that, right?”
You don’t answer. Not with words. You’re up before you know it, rising from the chair like you’re being pulled to her.
Maya barely gets her arms open before you’re on her, hands in her hair, mouth on hers, kissing her like you need it to live. It’s not graceful. Not curated. It’s messy. Desperate. Honest.
She catches you easily. One hand on your waist, the other fisting in the back of your shirt as your mouth moves hot and hungry over hers.
You mumble against her lips, voice cracking, “I was shaking. I was shaking, Maya.”
“I know,” she says, kissing you again. Slower this time. “But they didn’t see it. You held the room. You made the call. You were fucking brilliant, baby.”
Your hands are everywhere, cupping her face, grabbing her shirt, trying to climb into her skin. “I hate meetings,” you breathe. “I hate rooms like this.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted to hide.”
“I know,” she says, grounding her palm at the small of your back. “And you still did it.”
She kisses you again, rough and claiming, and you melt into it, letting her hold your weight like she always does. Her hand slides up your spine, holding you tight, kissing you like she’s proud. Like you’re hers. Like you always have been.
Outside the door, Matt whispers, “Are they… are they making out right now?”
Sal nods, reverent. “I think she just cried on her a little.”
Quinn’s smirking. “She chose Maya, not us.”
And inside?
Maya breaks the kiss only to murmur against your lips, her voice hoarse.“You want me to tell them you’ve made your decision?”
You nod, breathless. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Tell them I’m yours.”
Maya grins. “Oh, they know.”
The door swings open.
Maya strides out like a woman who’s just pulled off the heist of the century. She’s grinning. Smug. Unbothered. Lips a little redder than they were ten minutes ago.
Sal looks up, stunned. Quinn raises an eyebrow, already clocking the lipstick situation.
Matt shoots to his feet. “Well?”
“She said yes,” Maya says, without ceremony. “You can unclench now.”
Matt nearly wilts with relief. “Holy shit. Okay. Amazing. What do you need? What do we need to-”
“I want a proper budget,” Maya cuts in, already gathering her bag like she’s about to leave a crime scene. “None of this pretend-support bullshit. I want a full team, proper spend, launch runway, and I want control of the marketing. Not a taste. Not a ‘collaborative’ voice. Control.”
Matt nods, fast, desperate. “Yes. Fine. Whatever she needs.”
“Good,” Maya says, slinging her bag over her shoulder, grin spreading. “You can tell Griffin she’ll be in touch with a script by the end of the week.”
Sal blinks. “She’s already finished it?”
“She’s already writing a sequel,” Maya says, breezing past.
“And where are you going?” Quinn asks, voice amused, arms crossed.
Maya flashes a wicked grin as she opens the door. “I’ve got a meeting with Mackie and Ron Howard at the Sunset Tower in twenty. And then I’m taking my girl home.”
Matt’s jaw drops. “You’re- wait, what?”
But Maya’s already gone.
And behind her? You trail after her quietly, your fingers brushing hers. Head down. Lips kissed raw. You don’t say anything to the room as you leave.
You don’t need to.
Because Maya already said it all.
The SUV is silent, the tinted windows shielding you from the chaos you just left behind. The studio’s glass façade disappears behind you like a fading mirage.
Maya’s sitting beside you in the back seat, legs wide, arm slung lazily along the backrest behind your shoulders. Her other hand rests firmly on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, idle circles through the fabric of your trousers.
You haven’t said much since leaving.
You don’t need to.
She breaks the silence first. Voice low. Warm. Slightly smug. “You were a fucking machine in there.”
You laugh softly, head dropping to her shoulder. “I was shaking.”
“And still owned the room,” she says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You didn’t just say yes to the deal, you dictated the terms. You looked Matt Remick in the face and said, ‘I trust her, not you.’ You could’ve spat in his latte and he still would’ve thanked you.”
You smile against her neck, quiet and dazed.
“I was just trying not to cry.”
Maya scoffs. “Yeah, well. You made me want to cry. Proud tears. Or maybe power-hungry tears. Still unclear.”
Her hand squeezes your thigh, harder now.
“Seriously, though,” she says, glancing at you. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A beat of silence.
Then her voice drops even lower. “You know what happens to good girls who hand me entire marketing budgets and creative control?”
You lift your head slowly, lips parted, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.
“What?”
Maya leans in, grinning like the devil. “They get fucked stupid.”
~
The house is quiet when you get in.
Your shoes are off before you realize it. Your hands are a little shaky, your breathing shallow like you’ve just finished running, but it’s not fear. It’s the come-down. The crash after the biggest high of your life.
You’re going to direct your film. With a real budget. With real backing. And with Maya’s studio. You’re going to make your movie. And you didn’t cry. Not once.
You’re in the middle of the living room, fingers pressed to your lips like you’re still trying to convince yourself it’s real, when you feel her behind you.
Maya slides her arms around your waist from behind, her mouth at your neck. “You did it,” she whispers, low and sure.
You nod slowly. “I didn’t cry.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“I talked. I said what I wanted. I told them to trust you.”
“You were perfect,” she says, and there’s no hesitation in it.
You turn in her arms to look at her, eyes wide and glossy. “I didn’t think I could-”
Maya cuts you off with a soft kiss. Then another. And then she pulls back, eyes dark. “You didn’t just do it,” she says. “You owned it. You handed me a whole fucking studio’s trust, like it was nothing. And you know what, baby?”
You shake your head, dizzy with her voice.
“I’m gonna make you feel everything tonight.”
She kisses you again, slower now, hands moving down your back to squeeze your ass as she walks you backward toward the bedroom.
“You trust me?” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Good. Strip.”
Your breath catches.
Maya steps back just enough to pull her gucci hoodie off. Her bra’s black, expensive, perfect. Her eyes never leave yours.
You pull your shirt off slowly, fingers fumbling slightly, body humming. By the time your clothes hit the floor, she’s already reaching into the drawer by the bed.
When she turns back, she’s got the harness on, low-slung, black leather, heavy with promise. Her eyes burn into you as she adjusts the straps, slow and practiced.
You’re already trembling.
“Get on the bed,” she says. “Hands above your head.”
You obey.
You always obey for her.
She climbs on top of you, straddling your hips, kissing you deep, one hand cupping your jaw, the other tracing down your throat. “Still with me, babygirl?”
You nod, lips parted. “Always.”
And then she takes her time. Mouth on your neck. Then your chest. Her tongue curling around each nipple, licking and sucking until you’re whining, arching up into her, begging already and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it.
“You gonna let me fuck you slow?” she whispers, kissing down your stomach.
“Yes… please… ”
“Gonna let me take care of you?”
“Yes, Maya…”
She kisses your thighs reverently. Then slips a hand between them, parting you gently. She leans down, kisses your clit once, softly. Then again. Then sucks it just hard enough to make you gasp. By the time she slides the tip of the strap into you, you’re already panting, needy, hands gripping the sheets. And still she moves slowly. Inch by inch.
“You’re so tight for me, baby,” she murmurs, watching you fall apart. “So fucking wet.”
You moan, high and desperate. “Please- please, Maya…”
“I know, babygirl. I got you.”
She fucks you with long, deep strokes, no rush, no teasing. Just possession. Her hand on your stomach to hold you down, her strap dragging against every perfect spot inside you as she watches you lose yourself beneath her.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours. “Say it.”
“I’m yours…I’m yours, Maya- fuck!”
“That’s right,” she growls, picking up the pace just slightly, her hips rolling into you in smooth, relentless rhythm. “All fucking mine.”
And when you come, crying out her name, back arching off the bed? She doesn’t stop. She kisses you through it. Fucking you deep and slow until you’re trembling, overstimulated, wrecked. Only then does she slow down, hands soft again, kisses returning to your chest, your face, your lips.
“Breathe, baby,” she murmurs. “You did so good. My perfect girl.”
You nod, eyes fluttering shut as you collapse beneath her.
Safe.
Home.
And completely hers.
~
The room is low-lit and warm, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only comes after. After the chaos. After the fight. After the fuck.
You’re both in bed.
You’re curled into her side, skin bare but for the threadbare Stevie Nicks tee you stole from her weeks ago and never gave back. Legs tangled under the sheets, arms wrapped around her waist like you’re anchoring yourself to something real.
Maya’s already half reclined, propped against a velvet pillow, silk YSL pyjamas buttoned down just enough to flash the edge of her collarbone. She’s got a facemask pulled up on top of her head like she forgot she meant to use it. Her phone’s on the nightstand. She hasn’t looked at it in an hour.
The only light comes from the old black-and-white horror film flickering across the flatscreen, The Haunting, or maybe Carnival of Souls, something you love with too much reverence for anyone else to touch.
You’re transfixed. Eyes wide. Body relaxed in the way it only ever is when Maya’s hand is resting between your shoulder blades, fingers moving in lazy, absent circles.
She watches the screen for a minute. Watches you watch the screen. Then she laughs softly under her breath. It’s affectionate. Disbelieving.
“Jesus,” she murmurs, lips ghosting against your hair. “I’m dating the next big name in cinema and she’s still just a little cryptid watching ghost films in my bed.”
You don’t even look at her. “I heard that.”
“I meant it.”
You hum, small and smug.
She shifts slightly, brushing her nose against the crown of your head.
You’re not talking. But your hand’s curled into the silk at her waist, absentmindedly twisting the fabric between your fingers like you’re grounding yourself there.
It makes her chest ache.
There are meetings waiting in her inbox. Contracts to finalize. An entire launch strategy to sketch out for a movie that doesn’t even exist on paper yet.
But none of it matters right now.
Because you, her strange, brilliant, batshit little artist, are asleep in her arms, breathing slowly, dreaming vividly, probably whispering storyboards in your head as you drift.
She smiles, slow and full, and tightens her arm around you.
And for a moment, just a moment, Maya Mason, queen of twenty-city press runs and million-dollar deadlines, just lies there. Holding her girl. Breathing in your soft weirdness. Letting herself be still.
And as the film plays on, grainy and echoing with ghostly screams, you mumble something into her neck. Something half-formed and sleepy.
“Fog machines…”
She stifles a laugh.
“Yeah, baby,” she whispers. “You can have fog machines.”
Hi ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ I was wondering if you could write Dark Agatha Harkness x fem reader about Reader discovering that she has a stalker but she doesn’t know the stalker is Agatha
Doll
Pairing: Dark! Agatha Harkness x Reader
Warnings: Stalking, drinking, kidnapping, drugging. 18+ MINORS DNI
You stare at the photo and messages for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. For about a month now you have been getting messages and random things left on your doorstep by someone. At first the messages started out pretty normal. You had merely thought it was a wrong number situation. But eventually things got creepier. Photos of you in places were being sent, messages of what you were doing and how pretty you looked in what you were wearing. You had tried to report it to the police but every time you went to show them the evidence it would disappear.
The photo you were currently staring at was one of you sleeping last night. The person was sitting beside your sleeping body when they took the photo. You tried to look for anything that might help you identify the person but all you could see was the glimpse of some sort of ring. Above the picture was a series of messages. You went out with friends last night to a bar and ended up dancing with some girl. The messages started out with compliments like always. “You look really pretty in that dress” and “did you wear it for me?” before they got more aggressive when you started dancing with the girl. “Why are you dancing with her?” to “I'll kill her if you let her touch you again” That had been the message that got you to walk away from the lady. Later that night when your friend had dropped you off at home there was a vase of fresh flowers on your dining table. Your drunken mind shook it off. When you woke up this morning there was medicine and a glass of water sat beside your bed. At first you brushed it off but then when you looked at your phone and saw the photo you got scared.
Your eyes are torn away from the photo by your front door opening. Looking over you watch as your friend Agatha enters. The two of you had been friends for about a year now when a mutual friend Wanda had introduced you both. Walking over to you she shakes a bag of takeout.
“Heard you went out drinking last night. Figured you’d want some actual food.” She sits beside you on the couch as she takes the food out of the bag. The foods from your favorite breakfast and you smile at her gratefully though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What's wrong doll?”
“Its just…The person. They're still messaging me” you sigh as you run your fingers through your hair.
“The police?” She says as she sets the food onto the table. She stands after a second to go get plates and silverware.
“Still won’t do anything. Any time I try showing them evidence it just disappears off my phone.” Agatha only lets out a hum as she comes back into the room. She walks in with two plates, silverware, and a glass of water. Setting the plates down she puts some food onto one of them before handing it to you. As you go to take it your eyes catch sight of a ring on her finger. You stare at it for a second. It looks exactly like…
“Doll!” Agatha shouts and you snap out of it. Your eyes fly up to her face and she looks at you with concern. “You okay?” You nod quickly and take the plate. You eat silently as your eyes keep flickering down to the ring. It looked exactly like the one in the picture. The picture of you taken last night. It couldn’t possibly have been her though. She wouldn’t right? Though it would make a little sense. There was no sign of forced entry and she was the only one with a key…
“Where…Where did you get that ring?” You ask after a few minutes. At this point your plate was empty and you had set it onto the coffee table. You reach for the glass of water. Your throat suddenly feels dry as her eyes darken a bit. You take a drink and grimace a bit at the weird taste. It was probably just tap water.
“Oh this jewelry stand. Got it a few days ago.” You can only nod. Surely there were a hundred rings like that one. It has to just be a coincidence. You continue to drink the water until it’s almost gone. You set the glass down as suddenly your head feels weird and you get a bit dizzy. Your body sways as you try to fight the sudden sleepiness that takes over.
“Agg don fel good” You mumble as your words start to slur together. Agatha merely chuckles as she brings you into her arms. You fight against her no longer feeling safe. Your hand reaches for your phone but it’s pushed away with a puff of purple.
“Easy doll. Don’t fight it. Let the drug do its job.” Her hand starts running through your hair as she tries to coax you into sleep. “I’ve been watching you for so long. Had to beg Wanda to introduce us. I was hoping you’d fall for me quickly. But you were taking so long. So I had to do something. Hiding the camera’s into your room. Sending you little gifts. But you never looked at them happily. No. You always acted scared. Then..Then last night you just had to test me. Dancing with that girl. Letting her touch what's mine? I just couldn’t help myself. But it’s all gonna be okay now Baby Girl. Just go to sleep. When you wake up you’ll be home.” Your body shivers at her words and you try to push away again but your limps betray you and instead you fall further into her body. Before you know it everything turns black.
Premise: A very important study on what a rough quickie with Halsin would look like. All very scientific, you understand 👀😏
• Halsin x gn!Tav • 18+ • Act 3?
Gn!reader POV, no mention of gender, quickie, rough, established relationship, slight Dom!Halsin, grease lube spell for your comfort, head empty hole filled, pet name
1k words
Feast my tagged pretties! 😅😏 @optimisticgrey @enbyofwaterdeep @spyvstailor
Thank you to @rayskittles33 for this boobalicous pic of our Druid 😜🥴 I know the story says no time to remove clothes, but C'MONN! 🤷🏻♀️😅
_____________________________
"We have to be quick." You warn, hurrying to unbuckle your belt, as Halsin shuts and locks the dining chamber door behind you both.
"Then we have to time for removing clothes," Halsin growls, pushing you roughly down on the long feasting table, "lie still, my heart."
He hoists your legs straight in the air with one large hand, your ankles held between his proud fingers. Then with the other hand, unceremoniously yanks your trousers and underwear off and up in one movement.
Gathering them up to your knees, he conjures a localised grease spell in his hand and pumps his thick cock three times, then rubs the rest on your twitching hole, venturing a firm finger inside. You gasp, throwing a hand over your mouth at the graceless intrusion.
"Not your usual decorum today, love?" you question through a tight pant.
"You asked for quick, my heart and if this is to be quick. I cannot be gentle." He warns, eyes hooded and jaw set.
Holding your legs together against his chest, he aligns himself and prods your tight entrance with his massive cockhead.
"Breathe deeply for me, little fawn. And stifle the scream." He instructs, pushing himself inside your tight walls.
Your chest hollows as the pain of his broad cock spears your sex, screwing your eyes against the tears pricking, and slamming your hand across your face to muffle the shout.
He doesn't stop, using the grease spell to slicken his entry, he drives himself inside to the hilt in three long strokes; gasping to the sky as he reaches the base.
The throbbing twitch of the intrusion painful, you hiss at the uncomfortable sting. Your face contorts, your breath held through gritted teeth.
"Breathe, my heart. It will help." He coaches, smoothing your thigh lovingly.
You know. You know it's worth it. It's always worth it.
"Fuck me, Halsin. It'll feel good once you stretch me to fit around you." You keen behind your fingers, breathing through the momentary discomfort.
Halsin acquiesces and begins pounding into your tight hole, the satisfying slap of skin on skin connection echoing around the chamber.
You breathe deeply through the deep thrusts of Halsin's girthy cock, listening to how good his groans rumbling in haired chest sound. The tension in your body loosens, as the muscles relax around him, welcoming his gargantuan size. You release the grip on your mouth, as the feeling ripples over your body.
Your jaw slackens and your eyes roll up. Arms splay to the side, you mewl out, "Yes, yes, yes."
The table clatters and screeches underneath you at the sheer force of Halsin's hips driving inside your now pliant body.
"Yes, my heart. Body limp, head empty, getting thoroughly fucked out by 'The Mighty Bear of the Emerald Grove'." He growls out the nickname you gave him the first night you had sex. You reply a blissed cackle, as your head flops around, in rhythm with his viciously pounding hips.
The roiling pleasure radiating from your core had you in a chokehold, you could barely breathe from desire and lust. He'd never been this demanding before. This rough and careless.
Gone was the tender lover you knew, and while you missed him gently preparing you to take him; you couldn't deny that seeing him this voraciously feral for you wasnt immensely - licentiously - vulgar and erotic.
Looking up at the towering Elf above you, your legs crossed at the ankle, pressed against his chest. His one hand holding you there, the other digging bruising fingers into your hips.
Slamming up inside you, Halsin grunts and groans. The grease and sweat mixing to make the sex slippery sweet. Hitting the bundle of nerves inside you at the perfect angle, your body begins to tremble.
Halsin sees your change and knowingly drives faster, leaning his body down over you and fucking into you deeper.
He moves to play with your sex, to use his hand to drive you to ecstasy quicker. Your breath sticks in your chest and it heaves to keep up, shuddering out a loud moan.
"You're not getting away, little fawn. I have you, and I'm going to paint your insides white with my seed. I will claim you. Claim you as mine. Mine." He rumbles the last word thorough his chest and picks the pace of his hips to snap against the backs of your thighs even quicker, stroking your sex in sublime synchronicity, "Mine."
It's too much, as you hurtle full speed towards release. Your hands fly to grasp any of him you could muster, to delay the inevitable but he shirks off your meager attempts.
You try to move away but his strong grip keeps you trapped.
A strangled scream wrenches from your chest, as your climax pulls you under, drowning you in a sea of Halsin; of his autumn scent, his divine spirit, his inscrutable loyalty and his delicious, thick cock spurting inside your walls as he roars in rapturous abandon above you.
Release crashes down around both of you, as you feel your sex flood, coating him and yourself in your essence. He slams his hips against you, burying himself to the hilt as he spasms inside your exhausted body. Heaving out loud, whined breaths through a tense throat, he twitches the last spurts of cum.
"I think that lesson was sufficient." He irks a brow, a cocky grin on his face.
You barely had enough time to comprehend the orgasm you'd had, before he slips himself abruptly from you. Patting you on the ass and pulling down your garments, sliding them under your cheeks.
Tucking himself still half-hard, covered in grease and a sinful mixture of both your cum, into his waistband; he smirks down at you.
Your legs uncomfortably bent off the table's edge, you clumsily sit up, "What lesson was that?" You ask unsure, readjusting your garment's rough placement by Halsin's hand, your eyes still bleary from tears.
"That when I need to, I can be quick. And that I choose to spend countless hours pleasuring you by agonising choice. As not to excite myself into ending everything too soon." He cups your jaw and sweeps his tongue inside your mouth. Gods, he still tastes like sex. How could you still need him after just cumming?
"Oh." Was all your scrambled brain could manage, ears still ringing.
"Now, you'll spend the rest of the day with my seed leaking from your aching hole, until I fill you again tonight." He croons against your lips, "Now, thank me."
"Thank you, Halsin." You blubber, still not quite present.
He bares down on you, thumbing your cheek softly, "Good, little fawn."
•°•°•
There's plenty more smutty goodness where that came from, take a peek! 👀🥴
Also, lemme know if you'd like to be tagged in future posts. I may turn this into a mini series 🤔🤭
Maggot mommy seems to be the stereotype of toxic woman (And I love that, damn it! 😩 ) her jealousy would be sick as fuck (a demon lol) we're not talking about a common relationship here, we're talking about involvement with a possessed person, the demon has a hard nature to live with. Let's continue with my idea of that posting about what would happen if you were smelling unknown. Imagine that instead of her fucking and score like there's no tomorrow she'd be crazy (Much more than the common) and it was in your direction in a way that says I'll rip your members out of course we'd panic when remember what her nature and the bodies you saw when came to the building out of curiosity.
Ellie would realize your panic and stop moving animally (I like to think she still has a human side even though she knew she'd kill us like rats) so that pause made by her would be your chance to run, you didn't even stop to think about why she just stopped, the fear that the situation generated you blind. You'd leave the building and go home, spend hours thinking about whether it was a mistake or not leaving her without giving explanations, but for the sake of your mental health (we don't have 🥴) You'd stop thinking about that and go to sleep, tomorrow is another day!
(Now we'll think outside the box) Days would pass, you avoid going to the building afraid of the consequences of your previous behavior and not going to visit Ellie (I would never do that, she's much to overcome 😩) So you make a decision for your good (Burro, if I may say) from not go to the building anymore, you fear for your life. Your life would be like before, very boring without your red-haired deaditis, but damn it, it was your choice to leave everything in the past. But do you think Maggot mommy would just let you go like this?
The Deadite would go after you, smell you like a goddamn hell dog, of course he'd find you, even left a message on your wall (Lovely) And when you came home after a tiring day of work feels the familiar old blood odor, that already causes a tremor on your spine. So after searching the house something dead you come across your wall stained with something red you'd rather imagine that it's paint even though you know it's not, the message wasn't a threat but it was short enough for you to know it wasn't a request.
It was a simple "go back", but it was enough to get you to take your keys and go towards the building, back to the place you should never have left, back to who you never should have left behind.
@lilith6909 I'm sorry, I don't think I focused on what you wanted. 😥
English is not my language, this makes the text confusing. sorry guys.
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