Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The text from Rio glares at you like an accusation, and your stomach churns as your mind flips through a range of lame excuses you might use to cancel.

If you follow through with meeting Rio on Friday, after everything that happened tonight with Agatha, you can’t help but feel like it would be a betrayal. But what if you make Friday just about Rio’s next project? Talking about the role she has in mind for you?

You don’t need to know about her and Agatha’s past, even though you can’t help but want to.

And maybe you can just tell Agatha the truth: that you need to get your next job lined up. You have rent and bills to pay, after all. Witching Hour will be in post-production for months in the new year, and it’ll just be another job.

Right?

You bite your lip, glancing back at the bathroom door.

You feel her even now. Agatha. Just a few feet away, still sleeping, completely unaware of the chaotic mess inside your head. But your reflection in the mirror doesn’t lie.

A sheen of sweat glistens on your forehead. Your pupils are still dilated, and you look white as a sheet.

And then there’s the nosebleed.

It’s stopped, but the faint red stain beneath your nostril makes you panic. You grab a tissue, wetting it and dabbing your skin before tossing it into the toilet. Your hands tremble as you glance down at your phone again, rereading Rio’s text and then looking back at your crazed Google searches. Your futile attempt to find out if earth-shattering sex could literally kill you.

The search results stare back at you, unhelpfully suggesting that what you're experiencing is either completely benign or a death sentence.

You groan and rub your hand over your face.

The faint noise of Agatha stirring from the other room draws your attention.

Her husky, sleepy voice calls out. “What are you doing in there, angel?”

It makes your stomach twist, and you hesitate. You turn on the faucet as if running it will quell her curiosity.

“Uh… just needed to wash my face.”

Silence. For a moment, you think she might have gone back to sleep.

But then she calls out again.

“Is everything okay?”

You close your eyes, gripping the sink harder. You don’t know how to answer that—not when your body feels like it’s buzzing with leftover static from whatever the hell that dream was.

“Yeah, all good,” you reply, a little too quickly.

Another rustle of sheets. You glance at the door, watching the shadows shift under the crack. For a moment, you think she might get up and come to check on you, but the shadows still again.

“Don’t be long,” she calls softly. “I want to hold you.”

Her words hit you with a warmth that floods over your whole body.

And then you’re bracing yourself against the sink again, because now?

Now it feels like you can hear faint whispers in your head. A faint voice whirling and swirling in your thoughts. Similar to the one that called “CUT!” in your bizarre dream just now.

The bathroom light flickers twice above you.

What the fuck is happening?

You close your eyes, desperate to will it all away. But instead of finding relief, your mind plays everything back like an old movie reel behind your eyelids:

Her voice, low and rough, echoes in your head, pulling you back to Stage 21.

“And if you’re offering all of you, then I’m taking it, all of it.”

You see her face above you, eyes dark and wild, her breath ragged as her hips slam into yours, over and over, your legs helplessly open to her as you just take it.

“I’m obsessed with you, in ways you can’t even imagine—fuck.”

The feeling of her swirling her arousal with your own as she ruined you.

“And if you ever doubt that…”

The memory is lucid. Vivid—too vivid.

The hum gets louder and vibrates. The air crackles and splits, atomising like nuclear fission. Lights above you flickering violently, shadows bending unnaturally.

“I’ll remind you. I’ll remind you how much you’re mine. Got it?”

You close your eyes tighter, as if that will help, but the darkness is no reprieve. Flashes of earlier overwhelm you—her dominance, her obsession, her raw, unfiltered need.

The wet heat of her body, the way her arousal had mingled with yours, the ghost of her confessions tearing you apart.

The buzzing becomes unbearable, drilling into your mind, your bones, until—

CRACK.

The bathroom light above you bursts with a pop, plunging the room into pitch blackness.

What the fuck.

The sudden silence in the absence of the hum feels deafening, and you stand in the darkness of the bathroom trying to make sense of what just happened.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. These movie set trailers? They’re nice, but they’re not exactly the Four Seasons. The bulb just blew a fuse. That’s all.

A ridiculously timed coincidence.

You take a deep breath and splash your face with water one last time before shutting off the faucet. When you return to the main room, you make sure to keep your phone hidden in the pocket of the sweats Agatha gave you, before discreetly dropping your phone back into your bag.

“There she is,” she says, and the raspy warmth in her voice makes you want to leap at her. She lifts the sheet, inviting you in. “Come back to bed, kitten.”

You slide into bed beside her, letting her arm drape possessively over your waist. She nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“The bulb in your bathroom blew out,” you whisper. “Maybe just a fuse or something, but it went just like—"

“—shh. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. Along with whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours,” and you feel her warm breath against your nape.

The way she says it, so natural, so easy, almost makes you forget the bizarre storm still swirling within you.

But even as her breathing turns sleepy and soft against your neck and her warmth seeps into you, your mind refuses to quiet.

What is wrong with you?

And why does she make everything feel so much more?

You’re awoken early that morning by the sound of a truck reversing in the studio lot outside, its incessant beep, beep, beep stirring you from sleep.

Agatha wakes up shortly after. It’s a hot late-August morning, and you groan, almost feeling hungover without having had a drop of alcohol. The pull-out couch hadn’t helped, but everything your head went through last night? You’re feeling it now, and you feel like you’ve only had a couple of hours of sleep.

“Mmmh, this is the last time we spend the night in here,” Agatha groans into the back of your neck. She’s spooning you, and she sleepily pulls you closer into her.

“God, what time even is it?” you whisper groggily, willing your eyes open. You turn in her arms to take in the sight of her first thing in the morning. The orange light of the early morning sun is peaking through the closed blinds of her trailer, swimming over the lines of her defined cheekbones, her dewy skin radiant in the morning haze. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “…and morning,” you hush.

Her arm tightens around your waist, pulling her naked body flush against yours. And suddenly the layers of her sweats she’d loaned you feel unbearably in the way.

Because everything feels hot.

“Morning, hot stuff,” she murmurs. Her voice is still thick with sleep, and it induces a small ache between your legs.

You blink at her and smile. “You’re the one making it hot in here.”

And it’s true.

Her dark hair falls in wild waves around her face, and the golden sunlight filtering through the blinds paints her in a glow so ethereal it’s hard to believe she’s even real. You reach out without thinking, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her lips evolve into that signature smirk. The one that sends your stomach sinking and flipping all at once.

“Careful, hon,” she whispers, blue pools flicking down to your lips then back to your eyes. “If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never make it out of my trailer today.”

You swallow. Hard.

Before you can respond, she presses a quick kiss to your forehead then sits up, groaning as her body protests. “Be right back, I gotta pee.”

As she shifts, you notice the heat in the air. It's sweltering in the trailer, almost stifling, and you notice that you can no longer hear the hum of the air conditioning.

“Ugh, seriously. What is with this heat?” Agatha mutters, wiping a hand across her forehead before she realises. “Shit, I think the air con’s out. It's like a sauna in here.”

She swings her legs over the side of the pull-out bed. You stare at her back and think, how can someone’s back be that sexy?

You take in the subtle lines of her shoulder blades. The way her hips dip down and give way to the curve of her ass. Her perfect, delicious ass.

She grabs her silk robe that had fallen away from her body last night, sliding it over her shoulders and tying it loosely around her waist.

You watch every step as she walks to the bathroom and when the door closes behind her, you sigh. The heat in the trailer is stifling, and Agatha’s sweats are clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You shove the covers off you and sit up, tugging off your sweater and kicking off the sweatpants with a frustrated groan.

The air is still hot as it meets your bare skin, and you lean back against the mattress. It's a slight relief, but not enough. Your head still feels foggy, and your body aches from the pull-out bed—and from Agatha utterly ruining you.

But the tornado of memories of last night stir within you, leaving a heat that has nothing to do with the temperature of her trailer.

You hear a flush, the sound of running water before it stops, and a moment later, Agatha re-emerges. She looks far more awake than you feel. Her silk robe is still loosely tied, giving way to the line of her clavicle and a discreet glimpse of her cleavage. Her hair falls around her shoulders in soft, messy waves.

Her gaze lands on you, and the corner of her mouth lifts into a knowing grin as she takes in your flushed state and the pile of discarded clothes on the pull-out bed.

“Well, well. Look who decided to get comfortable.”

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “It’s boiling in here.”

Agatha saunters closer, and her hungry stare is already working its charm.

“Mhmm,” she hums, stopping at the foot of the pull-out. She tilts her head and lets her eyes drag up every inch of your naked body with sleepy blue eyes. “It certainly is.”

You notice her inhale deeply, as if to stop herself from staring too much. As if she’s suddenly remembering the weird turn you took last night. And you can see the restraint in the way the square of her jaw tightens.

“You sure you’re feeling alright, angel?” she sits next to you on the mattress, and presses a hand to your forehead as if she’s assessing your temperature.

“I’m fine, promise,” you say quietly.

Because the way that Agatha had just consumed you with her eyes just now? It makes you forget everything else. And you watch as her smile turns into a smirk, her permission that she’s allowed to devour your body with her eyes once more as she takes you in.

Her hand moves down from your forehead, grazing your cheek, before her fingers trace your lip line. Your mouth parts for her instinctively, her long fingers dancing closely to your breath. Her lips part at the same time, and you watch as her chest rises and falls as you lazily kiss her index and middle finger while they tease your mouth.

And then her hand begins its descent; fingers dragging slowly down your neck, following the path down your shoulder.

You watch her innate focus as you lay next to her on the pull-out, and you don’t think you’ve ever been studied this closely before.

Like she’s an artist sketching out the essential lines before pouring her soul into every detail.

Agatha’s fingers linger at your collarbone for a moment, her thumb brushing against the delicate hollow just below it. Her eyes follow the trail of her hand. You can feel her brain tick over as she memorises you.

And you wonder how familiar you’re becoming to her now, every curve. Every inch.

Her hand dips lower, tracing along the soft line of your sternum. She doesn’t rush. Her blue eyes burn as if they’re entranced by you. And your breath catches the second her long fingers trail over the soft swell of your breasts.

“Mine never looked like this,” she whispers.

And you watch as her lips remain parted.

Watch as her tongue dances at the sight of your pale nipples, hardened by her touch and the cooler air now you’re free from clothes.

“Just so pretty. So perfect,” she breathes.

Her words cause a pink heat to bloom across your skin. You manage a breathless laugh, though it fails to disguise you trembling under her explorative hands.

“I bet yours were just as irresistible when you were my age as they are now.”

Her lips twitch to a smirk, and she leans down towards you, long brown hair brushing against your shoulder. You stare needily up at her parted lips.

“Oh, I assure you, sweetheart. These?” And her hand cups your breast fully, her thumb grazing over the peak, before squeezing and drawing out a gasp from your lips. “Are something else entirely.”

Your head falls back against the pillows, and you can’t control the moment your body arches instinctively into her touch. Agatha watches, her glare turning hungrier by the second.

She takes her time.

As if committing every sound you make, every reaction you give, to memory.

She climbs on to the mattress again properly now, hovering just over you. Her other hand trails lazily down the length of your side, fingers skimming the curve of your small waist, the dip of your hip, before curling possessively around your thigh. Fingers brush tentatively over the bruises from her high heels, pink and purple and in full bloom.

And before you can process the thought, she’s pressing against you, and your skin is simmering and igniting again all at once.

Making everything feel hotter than it already is.

And, god, you can’t quite believe you’re getting into this situation again. This uncontrollable tension that just builds and builds; ready to combust at any second with just the faintest hint of kindling.

“Please,” you whisper pleadingly. "Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

Her full lips meet yours and start slow and sleepy in the heat of the trailer.

But it’s only seconds before her tongue meets yours, parting your lips in a haste that consumes. No longer teasing or tentative. It’s a kiss that stakes its claim, as she seems to be addicted to doing; over and over again.

You reach up, hands trembling, tangling through brunette waves. The soft silk of her robe begins to fall down one shoulder, exposing the curve of her breast which your hand has no trouble finding as she sinks further down into you.

And the need to touch her is overwhelming. An innate craving.

You both gasp the moment she shifts and her thigh presses into your core, feeling your slick wetness between your legs. But the ache from last night is still there. You're still ruined from her, and you’re not sure you can handle it again.

You wince.

“Agatha, I—”

“Hmm?”

“—I don’t think I can. But…” you pause, staring up into cerulean eyes, taking in her blown pupils.

You don’t say anything else.

Instead, you lean up with a sure certainty that hits you all at once. You flip her over, grabbing her arms so you’re gripping her wrists.

You take her in as she lies there under you, her brown hair fanned out on the pillows, her floral robe falling away deliciously to reveal the expanse of her soft skin. Exposing the swell of her breasts to the stifling heat.

You stare down at her with your heart pounding.

You’re breathless already, just at the sight of the woman old enough to be your mother beneath you.

And the look on her face?

Fuck.

How the tables have turned. You can see the pleading look in her eye, even if she tries to hide it.

And your eyes trail down to the perfect jutted tip of her nose, to the cupid’s bow of her lips, her mouth parted just for you.

Agatha’s blue eyes darken with a knowing glint. And as your eyes travel down her neck, across the line of her clavicle, down to the valley between the swell of her breasts, you see her nipples practically begging for your needy lips.

And you realise she doesn’t need anything else from you.

She just needs your hands.

Your mouth.

Your full attention.

You lean into her, both of you gasping as skin meets skin. And then you lower your lips to her chest, surrendering to the invisible pull that tethers your eager mouth to her flushed skin.

You press soft kisses against her collarbone before moving to the top of her breasts. You breathe and sigh against her, and she melts under your mouth. You sense her breath catch somewhere in her throat, hear her suck in a mouthful of air.

And suddenly she’s arching upwards from the mattress beneath you, urging you to go further.

And your eyes are close, so close, to the peachy skin of her nipples, pebbled to the air and aching for your mouth to close around them. You let your eyes travel up to stare at her, holding her eyeline as you trail hot kisses down the valley of her breasts. You lick her right down the middle, and you see her skin shiver.

“Fuck, hon,” she breathes. Her voice is husky, throaty; and it makes you almost come undone there and then. “Jesus…”

Your eyes hold her there, and you let your hands trail up her sides first, gliding over her waist, before they travel up the sides of her breasts. Your fingers slip to the edges of her robe, fingers splayed and tingling as they take in as much of her as they can. You delicately undo the silk tie at her waist, and freeing her from it once and for all as the floral fabric falls to her sides.

And her like this? Silk robe undone and falling to her sides, revealing the swells of her breasts, the expanse of her pale skin kissed by the hot air of her trailer, goosebumps rising in wake of each of your kisses?

You could lose yourself in the sight; let time slip away entirely, and still never quench your craving for her.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that?” she rasps.

And she slides her hands up into her hair as she watches you, bunching up her wild brown waves. Her lips are parted as she stares down at you, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. Because the feeling of teasing her tastes too sweet.

You plant hot kisses across her sternum, causing her hands to rake through her hair further as she draws in a deep breath.

“Don’t play coy, sweetheart. You know what mama needs.”

“Maybe I do,” you say, biting your lip before you arch a brow. “But maybe you should remind me, mommy. Just to be sure.”

Her reaction is instant. She brings her hands down from her hair and runs them deliberately over her own breasts right in front of your face. She’s squeezing and pushing them together as if to demonstrate exactly what she wants. Your eyes drop to her hands, transfixed, watching as the veins in her wrists strain while her fingers grasp her soft curves.

Agatha’s voice is a smoky whisper now.

And she’s impatient.

“Watch closely, pet. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.”

And then her long fingers find her nipples, rolling them slowly. Coaxing them to full attention. She lets out a low, throaty moan as she tips her head back in pure bliss.

A strangled sound escapes you as you watch her, and you’re utterly spellbound. The way her lips part, the faint quiver in her chest as she toys with herself—it’s too much.

And you can’t take it anymore.

You lean forward, mouth open, no longer teasing as your lips close around one taut peak as her hands remain firmly grasping her breasts. Agatha gasps again, her back arching off the mattress as you suck her nipple gently, your tongue flicking over the sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice breaking into a soft gasp. “Just like that, baby girl. Don’t stop.”

Her praise—and that fucking pet name—spurs you on, and you move to the other breast, lavishing the same attention, your hands bracing her waist as your mouth works. You feel her melt beneath you, her body trembling and responding to every kiss. To every flick of your tongue.

Her hands leave her breasts and fall to your head. Cradling you. Guiding you.

You’re not sure the air could get any hotter, but somehow it does. You can taste the thin sheen of sweat on her body.

“Such a good girl,” she breathes, and her words unravel you as much as they seem to unravel her. “Such a good girl for mommy.”

Her words send you spiralling. You service her breasts obediently, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firmer, flat laps with your tongue. Your fingers buzz with an eager ache, and your hands replace hers to squeeze and knead her breasts.

Her chest heaves under your mouth. And her breaths are shallow and desperate as her nails scrape lightly against your scalp. She grinds against the air, and you know what she needs.

You shift your body lower, angling yourself until your thigh slips between hers. The moment your leg presses up against her cunt, she gasps harshly, and you hiss as her fingers tighten in your hair.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers.

And that’s when you feel it.

She’s soaked. Dripping. Making a mess.

And she grinds down against your thigh, coating your skin with her lust.

“Oh my god,” you hiss as your lips brush the flushed skin of her chest. “That’s it. Use me.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she stops, her gaze snapping down to meet yours. The vulnerability in her expression almost has you floored.

And then it hits you. An epiphany. A delicious discovery. Because you can feel her; wet and throbbing against your leg, see the way her chest flushes pink, her breathing quickly turning into shallow pants.

“Know what I think?” you murmur. And you let your lips hover just above the stiff peak of her breast, as you feel her fingers tangling ever tighter in your hair. “I think, you can come from me just sucking on your tits, mommy.”

And with that, your tongue swirls around her aching nipple as her body jerks beneath you.

Agatha gasps harshly, throwing her head back into the pillows as if the words themselves have undone her. “I—what…?” she stammers, and her voice cracks on the single syllable. Her hips shift restlessly, and her grip on your hair tightens, shoving you closer into her breasts. “God, don’t—” she cuts herself off with a sinful moan as you take her fully into your mouth, sucking hard as your tongue lavishes her with attention. “Just—just keep going…”

And her usual domineering composure is nowhere to be found.

Instead, she’s a trembling mess beneath you. “I can’t—oh, god—just like that, baby. Don’t stop. Don’t stop…”

Every sound that escapes her drives you on. Your eager hand kneads her other breast, and you palm and squeeze until she’s moaning louder. You’re utterly mesmerised by her.

And she’s staring down at you with a look that you’ve never seen before. Eyes hooded and desperate all at once.

“You’re so sensitive,” you whisper. And you let your voice drip as your lips leave her breast, only to press kisses along the curve of the other. “Is this really all it takes, mommy?”

Her answer is a strangled whimper, her head shaking as if to deny it, but her body betrays her. She arches into you, her back lifting from the mattress as your mouth closes around her other nipple, and the sound that escapes her is utterly wrecked.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice rasping with desperation. “Please don’t stop, angel.”

“You love my pretty lips sucking your tits, don’t you?” you murmur, and her expression crumples at your voice.

“God, yes. You—” she chokes on her words as your tongue flicks over her again, her hips pressing upwards in a futile attempt to control the situation. “Mama can’t think straight when you—oh, fuck—”

And you moan yourself as she grinds herself harder against your thigh; her whole body bucking beneath you.

You’re dying to touch her. To have her come undone around your fingers. Because after all this time? You’ve still not been inside her.

But right now? Right now, all you want is to see if you can make her come just from the way you worship her breasts. With the soft skin of your thigh being her only point of relief.

And you’ve never felt so powerful, so deliciously responsible for her coming undone.

You shift your thigh just right so that you’re over hers as well, and a gasp catches in your throat. Your own hips jerk forward instinctively, and you whimper above her.

“You can’t think straight when I what?”

“I can’t think—fuck—when you,” she moans long and loud, grinding hard against your thigh, “when that pretty mouth of yours is…god—sucking on my tits.”

“Like this?” you ask, your voice low and teasing as you swirl your tongue around the sensitive peak.

And it’s at that second that your teeth graze and nip at her hardened nipple, drawing a choked sob from her lips.

Your hands are everywhere, one sliding down her side to rest on her hip, guiding her movements as she grinds against you, the other still kneading her breast, your fingers brushing against her hardened nipple in time with your tongue.

Rocking into her, you both moan at the same time, yours muffled as your mouth never leaves her. Your tongue circles around her nipple, teasing again before you suck it back into your mouth.

“God, baby girl, you’re gonna make mommy come,” her voice is hoarse and desperate now. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

You pull back just enough to meet her gaze, your lips wet and swollen as you take in the sight of her. Her blue eyes are glassy, her pupils blown wide as she looks down at you with an expression that’s equal parts awe and desperation.

Your tongue closes around her nipple once more, and you squeeze with your hand. Hard.

And with that, you rock your thigh harder into her, your skin burning with her heat.

“Take what you need, mommy.”

You squeeze her hip with your free hand, guiding her movements, urging her to ride your thigh, guiding her pleasure until you feel it. You feel her pulse, her body convulsing against you, her wet cunt grinding and coating the smooth skin of your thigh with every drop of her arousal.

Then, out of nowhere, there’s a knock.

An annoying, insistent knock at the door of Agatha’s trailer.

Agatha growls, her grip tightening in your hair as she shoves your face into her breasts. “Fuck's sake,” she mutters through gritted teeth, her hips not slowing. “God—no. Not now—”

You stop for just a second, staring up at her. She’s utterly furious and face flushed at the interruption.

"Agatha? Are you in there?” comes a man’s voice from the other side.

“Uh, yeah, just a second. Shit,” she mutters. “What is it?”

She stares you dead in the eye, warning you not to make a sound.

Daring you to not continue.

“We need to talk about tonight’s shoot,” the voice calls again, and you realise it’s the first assistant director.

“Fine,” she snaps, utterly irritated. “Just—give me a minute…”

And a wicked idea sparks in your mind.

Slowly, deliberately, you shift, your tongue flicking over her flushed skin before taking her nipple into your mouth. You suck gently at first, testing how far you can push her composure.

“I’ll be right—” and then her breath catches, her pupils widening because you’re sucking; sucking in so deliciously that your whole mouth almost surrounds the entire curve of her breast.

“Shit,” She hisses, before calling out. “I’ll be right there—fuck…”

You can’t help but smile. The sound of her voice breaking between words only adds to your satisfaction. Every time she struggles to speak, the desperate rasp in her tone only makes her that much hotter.

The first AD doesn’t leave, though. “Agatha, how long will you be? It’s pretty urgent—”

“Okay!” she hisses, but then she sobs quietly, “God, right there—” her voice breaking as her hands tighten in your hair. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, baby girl—”

Another soft knock at the door.

“I’m COMING,” she shouts to the interruption. Her voice almost cracking under the pressure before her breath catches on a moan.

“That’s right,” you whisper. “You are coming. You’re gonna come on my thigh, aren’t you mommy?”

And she shudders at your words. Because your teeth are sinking into her soft skin, marking her breasts all over, claiming them, and you suck with greedy intent.

You’re hungry. Thirsty.

And suddenly that familiar hum starts in the back of your head—the faint buzzing that had plagued you last night. You wince, trying to kill it.

But as your teeth bite down harder and you suck in and release her nipple with a ‘pop’ from your lips, you feel it.

She’s pulsing, convulsing; grinding her lust all over the smooth of your thigh.

“Shit, baby girl, don’t—oh, fuck!”

Her body shudders violently as she comes, hard.

Her moans break into incoherent gasps and cries, and she grabs a pillow to stifle herself. Her hips buck against you, and you hold her through it, your needy lips still working and sucking her oversensitive nipples. Your thigh catches her climax.

And you wallow in the way her body trembles beneath you.

But before you can even process it, she shifts away from you frantically, her hands almost forcefully pushing you away like the inconvenience you are as she scrambles to get out of bed.

Her breath is ragged, her brown hair wild and tangled around her flushed face, her breasts marked with your bite, nipples hard as rocks. She reaches for her robe with frantic urgency, eyes darting to the door, panic setting in as the first knocks once again.

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, snatching the robe around her body, hastily pulling it on. “Stay here,” she commands, but the aftershocks of her orgasm are evident in the tremble of her voice. “Do not make a sound.”

She hurries to the door of her trailer, and you lick your lips at the sight of how her silk robe fails to hide her peaked nipples through the fabric.

Hot.

She cracks the door open, raising an arm to shield you from being fully visible, making sure the first AD can’t see you still inside the trailer.

“What is it?” Agatha asks, trying to keep her voice as casual as she can.

“Power outage,” the first AD replies. “The whole place is kaput.” There's a brief pause as he seems to register her appearance. “Did... did you sleep in here last night?”

Agatha quickly gathers herself, and you watch as she leans in the doorway nonchalantly as she answers. “Yeah, well, you know, we didn’t finish shooting until late. I stayed behind to wrap up some things... paperwork. And crashed here.”

“Right…” you hear him mutter. And the hint of suspicion in his voice has you grabbing the sheet on the pull-out to hide beneath it.

“Anyway,” Agatha huffs. “How bad’s the power issue?”

“It’s bad,” he says. “They’re working on it, but it’s not looking good.”

“Fantastic…”

“I’ll let you know when I know more,” you hear him pause. “Shit, Harkness. Your trailer is like a sauna. Aren’t you hot in here?”

“Well, you know. No AC with the power out. It makes sense now, I was gonna call maintenance to check it out.”

“Yeah, well, just making sure you’re not too hot in here,” he says, oblivious to what was happening behind closed doors barely a minute ago. “Anyway, I’ll keep you posted.”

You smirk from behind the sheet, knowing that Agatha is definitely dying inside.

“Yes, yes, please do,” Agatha nods quickly, and without another word, she shuts the door in his face, locking it behind her.

She pauses with her back against it for a second, before taking in your face grinning at her from behind the sheet on the pull-out.

“Shut up,” she glares at you smirking at her on as she makes her way back to the pull-out.

“Hey, I didn’t even say anything…” you feign innocence. “That was hot, though. Seeing you all flustered like that…”

“That was a risky little game you played.”

“I think you loved it,” you bite your lip, “and now I know that you can come just like that.”

“God…” Agatha runs her hands up to her face, exasperated and you love it. “You're going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, mommy,” you wink. “I’ll try to be good… now that I know just how easily I can get you off, just like that,” and your eyes travel down to the outline of her nipples through her silk robe. “Promise.”

Agatha rolls her eyes but doesn’t hide the subtle curve of her lips that betrays her.

“Anyway,” you ask, thinking back to the first AD’s interruption. “What was that about tonight's shoot?”

Agatha sighs. She runs a hand through her tousled hair. “Power’s out across the whole place. Nightmare. Not sure we’ll be able to shoot tonight.”

You nod slowly, her words sinking in as flashes of your chaotic dream surge to the forefront of your mind. The flickering lights last night, the overwhelming buzzing, the bathroom light blowing… all of it hits you in a wave.

“Agatha...” you start hesitantly. “This is gonna sound really fucking weird.”

“What, hon?”

You take a deep breath, trying to string your thoughts together to make them sound more sane.

“I think... it was me. I had this insane dream, and—”

Agatha just blinks, her expression shifting into one of amused disbelief, though she doesn’t interrupt. She’s listening, at least.

“—and when we were in Stage 21 last night," you continue, "the lights going wild, the buzzing… then the bathroom light blew last night. And the whole time my head was doing that… thing.”

Agatha’s lets out a small laugh, and she shrugs. “Oh, honey. I think you’re overthinking this. Coincidences, that’s all.”

You knit your brow as she dismisses it so casually. But your mind is racing.

Maybe it’s not just mind-blowing sex, you think. Maybe it’s everything-blowing. Power grids included.

“Sure,” you mutter, though you’re not entirely convinced.

Agatha leans down and squeezes your thigh. “Trust me. You’re just tired, I’m sure,” and then she’s biting her lip. “Maybe I really did fuck you senseless last night.”

And the way she lets those last words drip in front of you has you quivering and clenching. You blush and let out a quiet laugh.

“Maybe.” You leave it, for now. Even though you still feel off.

“So, now what?” you ask, changing the subject. “And what about… you-know-who?”

“Why don’t you head home for the day?” Agatha suggests, standing up and opening a window of her trailer to let some of the stifling air out. “I’ll keep you posted about the shoot tonight.”

Your stomach sinks at the thought of leaving. A glance at the time shows it’s not even 8am yet. And you clutch at your mind for an alternative.

“Can we…” you hesitate, almost holding your breath before asking. “Can we go grab some breakfast? I’m starving.”

Agatha pauses.

You watch as her hand holds her hip as she considers your offer. She glances around her stuffy trailer. It’s only the morning, and the heat is already unbearable without the AC, and seems to weigh her options.

And with no power on set, she doubts there’ll be coffee or breakfast available anytime soon.

“Okay,” she nods, surprising you so much that you blink in disbelief.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. I know a cute little spot a bit outside the city. Not too far. Just a half-hour drive or so. It’s quiet, secluded.”

You feel a sudden pang at her words. One that’s becoming familiar now. Outside of LA. Quiet. Secluded. Because of course it is. Those words sound innocent enough, until you’re reminded that you’re her little secret all over again.

“Right. Sure.” You nod, and a sigh creeps out before you can stop it.

“Don’t be like that. I’m…” she pauses. “I’m trying.”

Her gaze drops to the floor for a moment before she looks back at you. And it’s weird. Seeing her vulnerable and slightly pleading.

“We still have to keep this private, hon,” she admits. “You know how it is. The public, the movie, the press... everything can spiral out of control so fast.” She runs a hand through her hair, letting out an exasperated breath at the heat of the trailer. “But… I suppose there’s no harm in a little breakfast between two gals, is there?”

You swallow your feelings and nod.

“No. I guess not.”

“Good. Now, how about we take a cold shower, since I’m assuming there’s no damn hot water in here.”

Her words catch you off guard, your brows shooting up. “Wait… together?”

She smirks, already turning towards the tiny bathroom. “Unless you’re suddenly shy?”

“I’m not shy,” you say defiantly, but your heart is hammering in your chest as you stand frozen for a moment. Agatha, still in her silk floral robe—that fucking robe—looks over her shoulder with a knowing look in her eye, and then gestures for you to follow.

“Well, come on then, superstar. Unless you’re planning to melt in this sauna while mama cools off?”

You don’t need her to ask again as you follow her into the cramped bathroom. You realise how ridiculous this is—two people trying to squeeze into the smallest shower imaginable—but there’s no backing out now. The bathroom door shuts behind you with a click.

Agatha tugs at the knot of her floral robe, the silk slipping off her shoulders. Liberating her body that you’ve grown addicted to with a grace that leaves your throat dry.

It pools at her feet, and she turns on the shower before glancing at you with a raised brow. “After you,” she teases, and she tugs you forward.

The blast of cold water from the shower makes you gasp the second you step in, and she joins you in seconds. Her naked body presses almost flush against yours in the tight space.

“Holy shit!” you cry, trying to pull back, only to have nowhere to go.

Agatha bursts into laughter, a rich, throaty sound.

“Oh, come on, hon. Don’t be such a baby. It’s just a little cold. And you could do with cooling off.”

“A little cold?” you retort, shivering as the icy spray hits your skin. “I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Please don’t, I like your ass too much,” she teases, before gripping and squeezing your ass with slender fingers.

You just about die.

Her laughter grows, her body shaking against yours as she tips her head back into the water. Strands of damp brunette hair curl against her neck and shoulders, and despite the freezing temperature, the sight and feel of her is enough to heat your blood.

“See? It’s refreshing.”

“Refreshing?!” you retort, rolling your eyes. “I don’t think my nipples have ever been this hard,” you laugh, and you didn’t even mean for it to even sound like that.

“Why else do you think I wanted you in here?” she smirks, leaning down into you. “That was my plan all along.”

Something shifts in the air between you then. Her words hang, her breath mingling with yours in the tiny space. The laughter fades, replaced by a tension you can’t ignore.

Your gaze locks with hers, water dripping from her lashes and down her flushed skin. Slowly, her hand slides up to cradle your cheek, and you sigh as her thumb traces your jawline.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, and her voice has a softness to it that hits you harder than the cold water of the showerhead.

You lick your lips, staring at her through strands of your wet hair.

“Yeah?” you whisper, and you sound breathless. Because her words had hit you harder than you’d realised. And your heart is racing as her face inches closer.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

The moment snaps instantaneously, and suddenly her lips are on yours. So delicate and soft at first. But then her tongue finds yours as she kisses you with a heat you can taste. The icy water is forgotten entirely, and the tiny bathroom of her trailer narrows even further.

Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer. As if it were even possible. Your fingers tangle in her wet hair, and you gasp needily into her mouth as she sighs against your lips.

And god, it doesn’t matter that you’re freezing your ass off. Because the heat that ignites within you as you feel her strained nipples graze against your own is enough to make you forget everything.

You let out a soft whimper, and Agatha pulls you in closer, elegant fingers sliding down the nape of your neck before travelling up again to tangle in your hair.

You break away for just a moment, for an agonizing second.

“I can’t get enough of you,” you whisper, and it’s breathless. “What have you done to me?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.

She lets out a breathy chuckle against your jawline, before painting your neck with her hot mouth.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, and the kiss turns into a lingering moment where you just hold each other; standing there in the tiny shower as the cold water cascades around you. Your hands trail down her waist, splay over the curve of her ass for a moment, as her fingers dance down your spine and stroke your back.

And it truly doesn’t matter how cold you are.

Because she makes everything feel warm, hot.

Molten, and completely alive.

When you finally step out of the cold shower, Agatha hands you a fluffy white towel before looking in the closet of her trailer for something for you to wear. She grabs a striped tee; soft, white and navy, slightly oversized. Probably designer.

“Here. This should fit you,” she says, before her smile turns into a smirk. “And lucky for you, your skirt from yesterday isn’t too wrecked.”

You do your best to blink away visions of your skirt shoved up haphazardly out of the way while she ruined you.

“And underwear?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow, half-joking. “Since you ruined mine and then… you know.”

And the wild visions of you tasting your own arousal after she’d used your own underwear to shut you up come flooding back in waves. 

Agatha knows it, and you can tell she’s reminiscing too. She leans back against the doorframe of the closet, arms crossed with that that warm smirk that makes you dizzy. 

“Guess you'll have to go without.” And she gives you a deliberate look from head to toe, taking her time.

“I know you'd love me to go commando,” you mutter and you catch the approval in her eye already. “But can I keep some dignity for just one morning, please?”

She steps into your space, closing the distance. And the warm rasp of her voice drops lower as she leans in. Enough to make your heart thud.

“Fine. Wear mine then,” and with that, she opens one of the small drawers, bringing out a lace thong. Just for you. Your breath stalls as the vision of Agatha wearing it instead floods your thoughts. “Just as hot. I think I want you in this.”

And Agatha holds the thong in her hand, before passing it to you with the kind of confidence that makes your knees feel utterly weak.

You both get ready in haste in an effort to leave the sweltering trailer as soon as possible; you in Agatha’s tee and your black skirt, her in a casual white tee and some loose fitting pants. She grabs some oversized sunglasses from her vanity, and the look of her so casual is not lost on you. How does she make effortless look so sexy?

You can’t help but feel yourself clench at the thought, and the feeling of wearing Agatha’s underwear doesn’t exactly help the situation.

She pins her hair up loosely in a bun, and gets ready to leave.

“My car is just parked around the corner, hon.” Her voice sounds casual but you can tell she’s tense. Even now, as she opens the door of her trailer and looks outside to make sure the coast is as clear as it can be. “Okay, let’s head out.”

It hits you then, just as you step out behind her and let the door close before she locks it. Her driver hadn’t picked her up last night. She’d driven herself. The implication creeps in, and you wonder if she had always intended for last night to play out exactly as it had done. Right from your punishment in Stage 21 to you staying with her overnight in her trailer.

It makes your skin shiver a little, but you shrug the thought aside.

And the LA sun is hot as it beats down on the studios, even at this time of the morning. Fall can’t come soon enough, you think.

The studios appear mostly empty as you walk through the lot thanks to the power outage. You reach her large black SUV, the one she’d bundled you into and rescued you in after that fateful party. You slip into the passenger seat as Agatha slides into the driver’s side and starts the engine.

And you sigh in relief as the air conditioning hits your face.

“So, where are we going?” you ask, looking at her as she pulls out onto the nearby studio lot road.

“This cute little place up Topanga Canyon. It’s beautiful. I think you’ll like it.”

You glance at her as she navigates the LA streets, and you find yourself staring at her practiced hands as they grip the wheel.

You’d always been partial to women’s hands. But hers?

God. The length of her fingers, the veins that appear in her forearm, travelling to her wrist. And there’s one in particular; one which runs towards her thumb which drives you utterly insane and makes you weak. You miss her eyes as her oversized sunglasses perch on her face. And her nose. That perfect jutted tip that does something to you. Perfectly defined in its own right.

And she catches you staring. She glances at you with a smile before setting her eyes back on the road.

“You’re staring, sweetheart.”

“You make it hard not to,” you reply. And you smile back at her before resting your chin in your hand as you lean against the passenger side window.

“Charmer.” She winks, and you swallow.

And you take in the view as the streets open up as you leave the studios and downtown LA behind. Gradually, busy LA traffic gives way to gentle hills and arid shrubbery as Agatha merges onto the freeway.

As you leave the city, you feel like you can breathe that little bit. You twitch your nose, closing your eyes for a moment as if making sure that the incredulous humming and buzzing of your mind has completely stopped.

After a while, you glance at her again, trying to redirect your wandering thoughts. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

She raises an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. “Shoot.”

“Where do you live?” you find yourself asking as curiosity gets the better of you.

She pauses as if considering whether it was finally time to let you in that little bit more.

“Los Feliz,” she says after a beat, “near the observatory.”

You process that for a moment, imagining her elegant Hollywood mansion nestled in the hills, tucked away with a view of the sprawling city below. It fits: Agatha Harkness, in all her effortlessly powerful glory, in a place like that. Rich in history and mystery. The place where old Hollywood charm blends with lavish upscale mansions. And of course she's near the observatory. A place where celestial possibilities seem endless; where the stars feel closer.

“I’d love to see it.” You mutter quietly, as if the suggestion itself could scare Agatha away.

But it doesn’t.

And you watch as she taps her fingers on the steering wheel absentmindedly, before adjusting her oversized sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. Then she leans back in her seat; saying words that are so simple yet so earth-shattering all at once.

“Well, maybe it’s time you did.”

And you freeze. At first, you wonder if you misheard her. And your mind races at the prospect of a door creaking open into a part of her world you’ve only imagined.

“Really?” The word comes out quiet and small. Like you’re scared she might take it back.

But she doesn’t.

“Friday,” she says casually, as if it isn’t totally monumental. As if it’s just another date on the calendar and not a seismic shift in your dynamic.

Your breath catches. Friday.

The same Friday that Rio has booked a table for two at Death & Co. To discuss her next project, sure. But potentially so much more than that, as your co-star’s voice echoes in your memory:

“If you really want to know who you’re dealing with, you should talk to someone who’s already been through it.”

Shit.

And now? Now, you have a decision to make.

“Friday sounds great,” you just about manage to say, even as the pit in your stomach grows. 

“Good, I’ll send a car for you at 9pm.”

And that commanding assurance that she exudes; her instructions without questions… makes you pulse and panic all at once. Because you are desperate to see the place she calls home. You’ve thought about it enough, caught tiny glimpses from the photos she sent you.

And by glimpses, you mean the four-poster bed that you’d caught sight of in photos she’d sent. And god, how you’d let her do anything to you. You’d be everything she needed you to be.

You’d offer yourself up without question.

You imagine her practiced hands, long fingers tangling in your hair, shoving you down into luxurious sheets. Making sure that you were devoted, pliant, and completely hers to ruin.

You can’t help but imagine her anchoring you to the sturdy posts of her bed. You’d let her restrain you, give her that power, let her take everything.

The thought makes you weak. Heat whirls within your chest, plunges down to your stomach to settle between your legs.

Your mouth feels dry, and your head tingles with the threat of a headache again.

Before you can process the thought further, the car veers off the freeway, and the landscape begins to shift. The bustling chaos of Los Angeles melts away. The road narrows and winds into the rugged beauty of Topanga Canyon. You take in the rolling hills, the occasional glimpse of eclectic hillside homes.

And it really is beautiful.

Eventually, the car slows, and you spot a café perched on a bend of the canyon road. A large wooden sign reads Café on 27. You can sense the charming, bohemian vibe already.

Agatha parks up, and even something as simple as her leaning over and gripping your headrest as she turns into reverse somehow gets your skin humming.  

“Perfect spot for a little escape, don’t you think?” she says as she cuts the engine.

You step out of the car and breathe in the fresher air, the buzz of crickets harping around you as you take in the canyon landscape. You follow Agatha to the entrance and take in the rustic exterior as you walk along the deck.

And it’s pretty breathtaking as you step inside.

A cosy oasis. String lights hang suspended between trees, and panoramic views of the canyon stretch into the distance. You smell fresh coffee as you walk in, and the whole place looks like some sort of rustic treehouse.

And it’s quiet. Peaceful.

Much unlike the commotion of your mind.

There’s only a couple of other breakfast goers inside, and you can tell by how relaxed Agatha looks that’s she’s glad for it; appreciating the calm.

“Wow, good morning, ladies,” the waiter greets as you both step into café. His tone is friendly, and you can tell that he’s already spotted Agatha for who she is instantly. His smile grows wider as he straightens his posture. “Big fan, by the way. Huge fan.”

Agatha offers a relaxed, easy smile in return. “Thanks, darling. You’re too kind.”

And as you glance at her, then back at him, you can feel the weight of it. The way everything had spiralled with Agatha, how far the two of you had ventured into each other’s orbit and lost control.

It had been so easy to forget just who she was.

This icon. This powerhouse Hollywood director who had crafted dreams, told stories that shaped millions, and cemented herself as a living legend.

You can’t help but smile to yourself.

He gestures to the patio area outside, where the deck opens up to the sky. Giving the perfect view of Topanga Canyon.

“I’ve got a perfect spot for you. One of the best tables in the house. Right this way.”

Agatha follows first as he leads you both to your table. It’s a table that faces and overlooks the whole canyon, overlooking lush green trees with the hot sun just filtering through. And you smile and take everything in as you walk behind the older woman in front of you.

“It’s stunning here,” you say as you step out onto the deck, partially looking at the sprawling view, partially at her. 

“I thought some peace and quiet would do you good. How are you feeling now, hon?” Agatha settles into her seat on the patio, and you take a seat next to her. 

You pause, because you’re unsure of how to answer.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “A bit hazy but, I think I'm okay.”

You pause, biting your tongue before you feel your confidence bubble.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, too.”

She doesn’t look up, doesn’t offer much. Her eyes stay fixed on the menu as she flips the page.

“Oh?”

And this is your chance. Because you don’t want to lie anymore. You don’t want to lie to her. You can’t hide anything from her, and your punishment in Stage 21 proved all of that.

Your heart pounds behind your ribs.

“It’s about Rio…” and you take a deep breath, “I told you she wants me to audition for her next project? Well, she wants to meet to discuss it with me.”

Agatha tenses. Her fingers stop mid-flip on the menu, and you notice it. Her shoulders stiffen. Her defined jaw tightens. You watch her face carefully, but she doesn’t look at you.

“Can you just… tell me what happened between you two?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it, and you immediately regret how direct it sounds, though you can’t unask it now.

Before Agatha can respond, the waiter appears again, his smile too cheerful as he sets a notepad in his hand.

“So, ladies! Can I get you two started with some coffee and food?”

Agatha doesn’t respond immediately, so you decide to.

“French toast and some fresh coffee, please,” you order quickly.

Agatha sighs. You can tell she's exasperated at your question, before she finally responds to the waiter. “Coffee and the omelette for me please, hon.” She hands back her menu and the waiter leaves, leaving you in a silence that you can tell Agatha is letting linger on purpose.

After what feels like a painful age, she finally breaks.

“You want to know if we were together, is that it?” she asks bluntly.

And you shift uncomfortably in your seat, caught off guard by her directness.

“Well, I—”

“—we were,” she finally says.

And it hits you all at once.

Because you knew. Your co-star had all but confirmed it. You knew there had been something between them, but hearing it from her makes it solid. Concrete. You weren’t quite ready for it, though. Because a hundred possibilities flood your mind:

What that could have meant, how long, how deep, how complicated.

And you hate yourself for the vague jealous nagging inside you. The envy that you weren’t the first. Just like your co-star had told you.

But that doesn't mean that you weren't still important. And Agatha had given you that confirmation herself.

“So, what happened?” you do your best I-really-really-don’t-care voice.

“Well, I already told you, she couldn’t keep up. She—” Agatha pauses, waits for a moment as she spots the waiter returning with your coffees. “Thanks,” she gestures, and you echo her gratitude as you wait for him to leave again.

And then she leans on to the table with her elbows as she looks out at the canyon over her cup of coffee.

Finally, she continues.

“She didn’t like the way I did things.”

You stare at her with your brain spinning. You can’t help but push further.

“What… things?”

The question escapes you before you can stop it, and you’re immediately aware of how much is left unspoken in her words. Your mind races with too many possibilities pulling you in, everything from work dynamics to personal power plays to forbidden moments behind closed doors.

Because you know first-hand what Agatha is like once the cameras stop rolling.

“Work, mainly,” Agatha replies, springing you back from your thoughts. “We work very differently.”

You don’t know what to say, or what questions to ask next.

But Agatha speaks for you.

“Look, if you want to audition for her next film, I’m not going to stop you.”

You pause, staring at your coffee as if it can give you the answers you’re looking for.

Because now’s your chance.

“She’s asked me to meet with her on Friday,” you finally admit, the words slipping out before you can second-guess yourself. “It’s strictly work. I promise.”

You can see the hesitation in her eyes, even through the reflection of her sunglasses.

“But if you don’t want me to go, I won’t,” you add.

She sucks in her bottom lip, thinking it over. Thinking you over. She takes another sip of her coffee, her gaze drifting back to the rolling green landscape below the deck. There is so much of her that you don’t know, and so much that you’re dying to.

“No, it’s fine. Go. Just…” she sighs. “Everyone has their own way of doing things. There’s two sides to every story. Everyone makes mistakes. And everyone’s always in it for themselves. Especially in this business. Remember that.”

And you furrow your brow as you study her, because you hate how it seems that her answers only ever leave you with more questions.

“I’ve learned some things the hard way,” she adds. As if to herself.

You take a deep breath and offer her a smile. “Hey, Agatha,” you reach out your hand to brush her forearm. “I trust you, okay? You’re brilliant. Nothing she says will change how I feel about you. You’ve given me so much, and I love working with you,” you bite your lip, “…among other things.”

The moment your hand touches her, she visibly flinches—just a small, almost imperceptible movement, but you catch it anyway. And you’re not sure if it’s the vague public display of affection, or something else that causes it.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling your hand back, feeling your face flush. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts in. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

She takes a sip of her coffee, her sunglasses hiding whatever thoughts might be swimming behind them. Perhaps, she's pissed. Or perhaps, even having breakfast with you in this quiet oasis feels too risky for her. And you're not entirely sure what she's sorry for; you assume it’s for her flinching at your touch, but you can’t help but think there’s more to it.

But at least you’ve told her the truth. And maybe you’re in the clear. For now.

There’s just the lingering matter of your co-star, and how exactly Agatha plans on dealing with her. It looms over you, hangs in the shadows and in her silences. You want to ask her now; ask her what her next step is. How Agatha plans on dealing with it, but it feels too loaded on top of everything else you've just asked her.

You take another sip of your coffee as you look out over the canyon. But you can’t help but steal glances back at her.

“I’m still invited to yours after on Friday, right?” you try to make light of the situation.

“Oh, you’ll be coming to me after, honey. Don’t even question it. I’ll make sure of it.” And with that, she leans in, her voice dropping to that low, intoxicating rasp. Quiet enough, just for you. “After your little meeting with her, you’ll no doubt need a reminder,” and she finally turns to look at you, blue eyes piercing as she peers over the rim of her sunglasses. “Just to reset your priorities and remember exactly who you belong to.”

“I could never forget,” you say as you feel your breath get stuck in your throat.

Because it’s true. You couldn’t.

Not now.

And maybe not ever.