You Wanna Guess? - smut +18
Do I Make You Nervous, Ellie? - fluff ?
Do I Make You Nervous, Ellie? - Part 2 - smut +18
An inch away from more than just friends - fluff
━━━━━━━━ 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 ━━━━━━━━
Joel "meeting" you for the first time - fluff
Getting Caught in 4K - fluff
━━━━━━━ 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈 ━━━━━━━
Jackson Girlfriend!Ellie Headcanons - fluff
College Ellie Brings You to Joel’s Farmhouse in Texas for the Summer - Headcanons - fluff
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, teasing, making out, fingering (r! receiving)
w/c ≈ 1100
It was one of those sweltering afternoons where the heat seemed to wrap itself around everything, suffocating and sticky. The sun was merciless, shining down on the street like it was trying to set the asphalt on fire. Abby had gone out for her usual workout, and you decided to do something to surprise her when she got back, wash her truck. After all, she’d been complaining about how filthy it was, and you couldn’t deny that it needed some love.
You stood in the driveway, hose in hand, wearing a simple tank top and cut-off shorts, the kind you knew Abby loved. You figured you might as well have a little fun with it. You started with the basics, spraying the car down with water, watching as the droplets clung to the hot metal before sliding down in perfect little streams. It was relaxing, therapeutic almost, until you saw Abby come jogging towards the house earlier than expected.
“Hey, babe,” she called out, her usual cocky smirk tugging at her lips. Sweat glistened on her skin from the workout, and her grey tank top clung to her muscled frame. The sight of her was always enough to make your heart race. "You're early," you teased, biting your lip as you watched her approach. Abby looked like she was about to grab you and kiss you senseless, and you knew that look all too well. "Couldn't stay away from you," she said, her voice low as she eyed you up and down, clearly appreciating your outfit, or lack thereof.
You grinned mischievously and made a show of bending over to reach the bucket of soapy water, knowing her eyes were glued to you. You dipped the sponge into the suds and started scrubbing the hood, arching your back a little more than necessary. Abby’s sharp intake of breath made you feel powerful.
"You enjoying the view?" you asked, glancing at her from over your shoulder with a smirk.
Abby crossed her arms, leaning against the side of the truck, her gaze dark and hungry. "You know I am." You chuckled, giving the sponge a slow, deliberate squeeze, letting the soapy water cascade over your hands, down your arms, and onto your chest. The water soaked through your tank top, clinging to your skin and making the fabric almost see-through. You could feel Abby’s eyes burning into you.
You turned, watching her as she eyed the now-glistening surface of the truck. “You know,” she started, voice dropping an octave, “you missed a spot.” Her hand landed on the trunk, but her eyes never left yours.
“Oh, did I?” you asked innocently, stepping closer to her, your chest almost brushing against hers.
Abby’s hand came up, cupping your chin gently as she leaned down, her breath hot against your lips. “Yeah,” she whispered, voice thick with desire. “Right here.”
Before you could say anything else, Abby was on you, closing the distance between you both in a matter of seconds. Her large hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her as her mouth crashed onto yours in a heated, possessive kiss. The truck was forgotten; the heat outside was nothing compared to the heat building between you two.
Abby broke the kiss, her breath hot against your lips as she spoke, her voice rough. "Get in the backseat. Now." Your pulse quickened as you obeyed, excitement thrumming through your veins. You opened the door and climbed into the backseat, the smell of leather filling your senses. Abby followed close behind, shutting the door with a thud.
You barely had time to sit before Abby was on you again, her hands roaming your body with urgency. She lifted your soaked tank top over your head and discarded it on the floor, her lips immediately finding the sensitive skin of your neck. You moaned softly, arching into her as her hands slid down to your shorts, unbuttoning them with ease.
"You drive me crazy, you know that?" she growled against your skin, her hands slipping beneath your shorts, fingers brushing against your already soaked panties. You gasped, gripping the leather seat as her fingers teased you through the thin fabric. "Abby, please," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.
She didn’t need to be told twice. Abby yanked your shorts down. Before you could process it, her fingers were slipping past the waistband of your panties, finding your wetness. You moaned louder this time, your head falling back against the seat as she started to rub at your clit. "You're so wet for me," she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You want me to fuck you, don’t you?"
"Yes," you whimpered, your body trembling under her touch. "Please, Abby."
Her lips curled into a smirk against your skin, and without hesitation, she pushed two fingers inside you, stretching you in the way only she knew how. You gasped, clutching her biceps for support as she began to move, slow at first, teasing, until the rhythm built and built, and your body was arching into her, craving more.
Abby’s thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles as she fucked you harder, the sounds of your moans and the wet, slick noise of her fingers moving inside you filling the tight space of the truck. Your legs trembled, your whole body on fire as she drove you closer and closer to the edge.
"Fuck, Abby-" you panted, barely able to form coherent thoughts as pleasure wracked your body.
"Cum for me, babe," she murmured, her voice commanding yet tender, her lips brushing over your ear.
That was all you needed. With a loud cry, your body convulsed, the wave of your orgasm crashing over you as Abby continued to fuck you through it, her fingers relentless and perfect. You could barely catch your breath, trembling in the aftermath as she finally slowed, pulling her fingers from you and watching with dark, satisfied eyes as you came down from your high.
She kissed you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours as if she wanted to claim every part of you. When she pulled back, her lips were curved into a cocky grin. “You put on one hell of a show,” she teased, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the seat, your body spent but satisfied. “Seemed like you enjoyed it.”
“Oh, I did,” Abby said, her voice low and dangerous. “But next time, I’m washing the car. Let’s see how you handle that.” You smirked, already imagining what would happen when it was her turn to tease you.
Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader x Rio Vidal: The Prize
Summary: Agatha has been fighting to reclaim her prize from Rio for a long time.
AO3
Included: dark themes, lesbian drama & yearning, near-death experiences, smut; biting, orgasm denial, praise kink, degradation, s&m, blood, fingering, cunnilingus, use of pet names, begging
Words: 9.7k
Tag List: @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @white--lillies @imtrashinflames
1750
Glowing hands press over the seeping wound, magic swirling around them, diving inside. There’s no satisfaction of watching the flesh knit itself back together. Instead, your magic drifts right back out like smoke.
Oh Goddess.
“Do take your time.” Agatha snaps, voice strained, “I have absolutely no plans.”
Five types of poison are immune to tangible magic. You know antidotes for three. Staring hard at the wound, you look for the blackened edges consistent with Nightrot, finding the flesh as red and irritated as to be expected. Is it swelling or screaming that goes with Alewife’s Revenge? A glance up at her face finds it normal. Her lips are pursed.
Your hands shake, one hovering over the open wound in her middle, the other clutching your head. Remembering has never mattered more so why is your mind empty? Pieces of information slip through your fingers like sand. Dozens of cadavers, hundreds of hours of study; useless.
Unable to rely on your memory, you scramble across the floor for the dagger that’d flown from the wall. The little light coming from the boarded windows prompts the metal to glint. The edge of the blade is sticky with blood, beneath it a metallic sheen that can only be a witches poison. You hold it up to the slant of light to see the color.
“Are you out of your mind? Heal me!”
You drop the dagger the second the poison glints purple. You slap your hand over your mouth, panic beginning to course through your veins; the body’s own special brand of poison.
How are you going to tell her?
“I’m trying!” You snap, voice breaking.
It’s a cruel joke that the poison should be so well matched to the witch bearing its effects. You stare at the edge as it rocks from being dropped, your stomach turning when the color doesn’t change. If only you could be wrong this once.
Were you a lesser witch, you’d curl in a little ball and quail under the weight of your failures. The idea is seductive. Yet, you turn to Agatha where she lies, pale and sweating on the floorboards. The pallor of her skin makes you whimper.
“Agatha,” You start, your voice holding just enough, “it’s Saura’s Dread.”
Things click into place behind her eyes despite the glazed-over look to them. She fights to find a way out of this, but you know well that the reality cannot be avoided.
“Give it to me. You’re wrong.”
“I know poisons better than most.” You hand the dagger over anyway.
“That’s not saying much.”
The comment stings, but you let it slide off you. You cannot give into petty squabbles now. With so little time to find a solution, you have to focus.
She stares hard at the blade as if willing it to change.
“Brew the antidote.”
“I can’t.” You whisper.
There’s a flicker of something in her gaze that looks suspiciously like rage. Your own internal fire leaps to meet it; of all the emotions to look upon you with—rage? As if this is your fault? You’re not the one that dragged her into this old cabin, intent on sifting through the contents.
It’s not your fault. You know that as the truth. Yet, shame floods you.
“You’re a healer.” Agatha spits, “What good are you if you don’t know the antidote?”
“Someone didn’t let me stay with my coven long enough to learn it!”
“The next time someone tries to keep you from me, I’ll let them.”
The fire in your chest ebbs. An old argument at an inconvenient time. There will be no rough makeup sex following this argument, no unspoken apologies in Agatha’s kisses. All the time, all the bodies; they cannot be for nothing. They mean too much.
Fleetingly, you feel pity for your old coven. In their minds they had attempted to do the right thing. Keeping you from Agatha must have seemed reasonable. But you remember how many bodies they made, how pleased it made Her.
Saura’s Dread takes its victim within six hours. This, you know confidently. The demise is slow and painful, a poison intended for torture. You can’t stand to see Agatha in this kind of pain. You’re not ready for her to be just another body.
“I’m calling Her.” You say.
“No.” Agatha counters, “She’ll never let me live it down.”
“You won’t live down anything if you’re dead, Agatha.”
“I won’t die.”
She’s an idiot.
Magic flowing into your fingertips, you trace familiar symbols on the floor. They glow bright and then dim as they wait. Around your neck sits an old, jagged bone, tied by a thread; you use the end of said bone to split your palm and drip blood over the symbols.
Agatha’s mouth is moving, but you don’t listen. You mutter the incantation in latin under your breath. The words—old and comforting—curl your tongue in ways that you’ve only known between two pairs of legs. You end the incantation with the key that gets you around the waiting list; Her name, Her true name.
There’s a blinding flash of light and a puff of fog, but the symbols contain it. You catch the glint of white teeth.
“You rang?”
Rio smiles, clad in darkness and bone and that same beauty that always stops you in your tracks. Upon seeing her, you breathe easier.
“We need your help.”
“You wouldn’t have called so formally if it was quality time you wanted.” Amusement dances in her eyes.
She eyes the symbols on the floor. They no longer glow, but still they contain her. She scuffs a foot along them.
You smudge the symbols and the containment drops. Stepping over the magic as it sinks down into the earth, she catches you by the waist and devours you; lips and teeth and tongue dominating your own, leaving you helpless to do anything but give in. And you’re all too willing to do so.
When she pulls back, you’re breathless. Somewhere in the fray your lip has begun to bleed. Rio soothes her tongue over the wound and you feel it close.
“Hand.”
You offer the demanded appendage, palm up. She places a kiss in the center and licks the blood from her lips.
Rio turns her head to where Agatha has dragged herself to sit against the wall. The rise and fall of her chest is slow, but there. She glares at the two of you. You flush while Rio grins.
“Hi, sweetheart. You look like shit.” Rio says, delighted.
“A side effect.” Agatha grits out, “The same can’t be said for you.”
Rio tilts her head back and laughs. It’s deep and rich and fills you with thoughts that are not appropriate for this situation. The hand on your waist squeezes as if she knows. Then, she releases you.
She crosses to crouch before Agatha, devious smile shifting to something softer. One of her hands works through a lock of Agatha’s hair, brushing it out of her face.
“What did you get yourself into?”
Agatha’s eyes drop to Rio’s lips, but she stays silent.
“Saura’s Dread.” You choke out, shame winding itself tight inside you, “I don’t—I can’t brew the antidote.”
You should have done more to push off Agatha’s agenda; just so you would have finished your research. A few extra days wouldn’t have hurt. They would’ve infuriated Agatha—and Rio by extension—but then you would know the solution instead of watching her slowly wither away.
Rio doesn’t look away from Agatha, but you know the soothing tone is for you, “It’s okay.”
Something passes between the two that you miss. One moment, Rio holds Agatha’s face in her hand, while Agatha—hesitantly—leans into the contact. The next Rio is standing between the two of you, toying with her knife, all business.
You feel a chill pass through you at the unfamiliar territory; staring into Rio’s eyes and finding the affection buried away. It stings more than knowing how you’ve failed.
“You’re asking me for life in a bottle.” Rio says, grinning, “What do I get in return?”
Short of knowing that Rio would fix it should you ask, you find yourself shamefully bereft of anything with value. You search the space for anything to bargain with. Agatha’s eyes should be looking at you with knowing, but her gaze doesn’t leave Rio.
When Agatha tilts her head and grins, turning on the bedroom eyes, you pause.
“What you’ve wanted for years.” Agatha says, “Brew me a little potion and you can have her all to yourself.”
Rio’s brows shoot sky high. You tilt your head, then freeze. It’s you. Agatha’s bargaining you.
There should be a sweetness in knowing you’re the only thing of value she has to offer, yet the taste is sour on your tongue. The words feel like a punishment, a reprimand—and not the kind you’ve begged at her feet for. That awful part of you would rather Agatha die than ever willingly give you up and Rio eyes you as if she knows it. Does it please her to know how they’ve twisted you?
One mistake, you think bitterly, and Agatha throws in the towel. Despite all the near-death experiences you’ve endured at her side. Despite the years you’ve spent together. You never expected a punishment of this proportion.
You bite your tongue. At your sides, your fists clench and unclench. They glow with the anger you can’t keep hidden.
Pride rears its unhelpful head and you speak before you can stop to think, “My life for Agatha’s.”
Rio’s full attention is on you, then. Her eyes are bright.
You speak directly to her, “I’m bound to you and The Road until such time as Agatha traverses it to collect me.”
Had you not been so focused on Rio, you would have noticed Agatha flinch at your suggestion. Her wide, glassy eyes stare at you. You do not give her the satisfaction of your attention. If she is going to be cruel, so can you.
Your terms are a challenge; and Agatha doesn’t turn down a challenge.
Her devious, wicked mask clicks back into place. Rio’s expression is pensive. Despite the poison working through her system, Agatha almost looks as powerful as her best day.
“You’d let me steal her away, O Death?” Agatha teases.
The comment is salt in your open wound. You glare, wishing more than anything that you could wrap your hands around her pretty neck and squeeze. You want her not only to beg—but to apologize.
But Rio’s eyes haven’t left you for a second.
“Alright, sweetheart.” Rio says, “Your life, bound to mine, until Agatha comes to get you.”
In it you understand the desire you both share; to have Agatha, one way or another. You wonder if the desire for possession is your own or something you’ve learned from her.
From her pocket comes a small glass vial. She tosses it to Agatha, who only barely catches it. She cradles it like something precious.
“Drink up.” Rio orders.
Then Rio is there, arm around your waist, holding all your pieces together. You lean into her comfort as color returns to Agatha’s cheeks.
“Te veo.”
--
1754
“She waits for you.”
Agatha whips around, purple crackling at her fingertips. At the edge of the clearing, Rio leans her weight against a gnarled tree, eyeing the withered husks of once-witches in the grass with interest. She looks almost predatory.
“Does she?”
Rio nods, eyes shifting to Agatha, “Like a puppy. It’s almost pathetic.”
It is pathetic, is what she should say. Time and affection have curbed her tongue on this small thing at least. On you. Agatha’s smile is knowing.
Rio has pulled her punches toward you since the beginning. Agatha’s never minded. It’s almost sweet watching the oldest force in the multiverse tiptoe around a witch barely into her second century. Is it that craving for ancient knowledge in your veins that renders Rio down, or is it simply your pretty face?
Does it matter?
“I don’t have what I need yet.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “Witches these days don’t have the power they used to.”
“Or maybe you’re leveling the population before they have time to strengthen.” Rio raises a brow.
Agatha thinks, deliberately dramatic, then shrugs, “No, that’s not it.”
With a shake of her head, Rio steps out from the treeline, and closes the distance across the clearing. Agatha watches every step with dark eyes. The stench of death and magic sends a chill down Rio’s spine; there’s nothing more delicious than a life snuffed out.
The wind slows in the trees as if sensing her. Birds silence their sweet tunes. There is frantic rustling in the trees somewhere as creatures do all they can to get away.
Yet Agatha stands, waiting, and allows Death to pull her into her embrace.
One of Rio’s great loves is watching skin split so she can lap up the blood at her own pace. Yet, when her hands settle on Agatha’s hips, they’re gentle. She doesn’t open wounds with her teeth. Rather, she moves her lips over Agatha’s until she can’t breathe. Agatha is wary when she pulls back.
Rio shrugs, “A message from her.”
“I see. Forgiven me, has she?” A slow, taunting grin, “Anything from you?”
“Have you earned it?”
“These bodies didn’t make themselves.”
A tilt of her head, as if considering, “Maybe you’ve earned something small, then.”
And they meet in a clash of lips and teeth. Rio’s hands are everywhere, leaving behind deep claw marks that make Agatha moan into her mouth. Agatha’s own nails pierce through cloth and skin at her hips but draw no blood. She tries to push Rio backward toward one of the trees, she just needs a little leverage and Rio’s thigh to—
Rio pulls back. She grins something wicked at the flash of Agatha’s purple.
“Something small.”
Agatha makes a face, batting her lashes. Rio doesn’t give in.
“You’re awful.”
“You love it.” Rio says, then her face takes on something more serious, “Don’t keep her waiting, Agatha.”
Then she’s gone as if she was never there; the only evidence being the bleeding marks on her skin. Agatha stares at where she stood for a long time before moving on.
--
1801
The Road changes, you’ve seen, as the covens come along. Small cottages, ancient ruins—the most interesting was an old system of catacombs, though it lacked the remains you’d been intent on studying.
Your favorite, though, is the bower, absent of any illusions or spells.
Beneath a canopy of purple leaves upon a seat of grass, you watch the events unfold from afar. An old curved trunk sits at your back keeping you upright. The animals—lost familiars, mostly—wander up to you here, nibbling at fallen leaves and taking up residence in your lap.
From outside it could be mistaken for a simple tree. Yet, beneath it, the world is at your fingertips. The position of your place presents the underside of millions of glowing leaves to your view; lives, Rio said, witch and non-witch alike.
You find the one you love best among the foliage. You trace your finger down the purple veins, hoping she feels you, thinks of you, misses you. The veins seem to glow a little brighter at your touch.
Rio doesn’t enjoy you toying with them; worried a wrong move on your part will take a life too soon, upsetting the greater balance she’s beholden to. But she taught you how to handle Agatha’s. Trace, never prod. Caress, but never pluck.
A black cat settles in your lap and you sit straighter.
Soothing a hand down her back, she purrs. Her little body presses against your stomach and basks in your warmth.
“You really are too predictable.” Rio says.
She stands a few feet away, clad in dirt and muck, yet still beautiful. Always beautiful.
“I like it here. It’s comforting.”
“You like being close to Agatha.” She corrects.
The leaf in question glows brighter as if sensing the mention. You trace a finger along the edge, willing all your love into it.
“This is all I have of her.” You admit.
Something like softness creeps into Rio’s face. As soon as it appears, it recedes. She joins you under the canopy. The cat in your lap startles and leaps from your lap, darting back into the underbrush.
You had never thought to secure some token of Agatha’s, then. Now, with nothing of her’s to hold close, you settle for her life-line, begging it to tell you her whereabouts and if she’s safe; it is always silent. Rio is, too. She doesn’t mention much when you ask, though you know she knows the actions of every life tied to her.
The Road is a wonderful home. Rio is an attentive partner. But you ache, still, for the other set of hands you knew; those who were predictable in their firmness, balancing the sudden changes of Rio’s own.
“You’re crying.” Rio says.
Her face is dark, but fury lingers around the edges. Something like worry flutters in and out of her eyes. You have nothing to say, so you only nod.
Then you’re in her lap. Rio’s bunching up your dress to your waist, canines embedded in your neck. Her nails dig into your hips and the blood warms you. You whimper.
Lips kiss down your neck while a hand hovers between your legs. You bear down, desperate for any friction to dull the ache. And she gives it to you. Her hand is exactly where you want it, fingers rubbing and pressing, and you grind your hips hard, harder until you’re right there.
And then her hand is gone.
You whine. Your hips move of their own volition, searching for that pressure to send you right over the edge. Rio’s lips catch your own in a bruising kiss and you whimper into her mouth.
Needy, desperate, you can almost hear her say.
But when she pulls away and digs her nails in harder, she whispers, “Cry for me, sweetheart.”
She alternates between giving you what you crave and rescinding it for hours. You whimper, moan, and beg. She laughs and repeats herself—cry for me. You lose count of how many almost-orgasms tighten your body just to go unfulfilled. You do cry. You sob and she’s there, tongue licking up your tears and knuckle deep inside you, thumbing over your clit until you have what you want.
You’re not sure how long you lay there, after, crying against her.
--
1833
Rio’s arm is warm where you’re wrapped around it. She leads you through the winding stone streets, around grand buildings with stained-glass windows. Some of the scenes depicted in the glass are beautiful, simple; but the majority are Catholic in nature, dripping with sadness and guilt. You shake your head.
Passersby nod or tilt their hats, but don’t seem to see you. Their eyes go especially glassy when they look at Rio.
Whereas you’re clad in a dress of rich layered fabric, Rio has opted for more masculine attire. The low heels of her dress shoes click upon the stone. The unwrinkled fabric of her suit smells of smoke.
Your heels don’t quite agree with the stone. After the fifth time of a near-twisted ankle, you huff, “Could I not have worn flat shoes?”
“The heels compliment your legs.”
“You can’t even see them.”
“Yet.” She winks.
You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat suffusing your cheeks. Another nod to a passing couple and Rio makes a sharp turn. You’re led into a damp, dim alleyway.
The ground is made from rough slabs of uneven stone. You curse when your heel slips and only Rio’s strength keeps you standing. Water slides down the walls on either side, thick moss growing in the cracks. You reach out to feel it only for your hand to come away red.
If not for Rio pulling you along, you’d have screamed. Blood cascades down the walls. From it grow dark, twisted plants you’ve studied beside The Road. Beneath the plants and out of them come bones; most have yellowed with age, but there is the occasional bright-white specimen.
Surprise aside, you lean toward the bones with interest. Still, Rio presses on.
The alleyway is growing slimmer by the second. Should it continue to do so, you’ll be forced to walk behind Rio, and the thought makes you tense.
Rio squeezes your hand, “Relax, sweetheart.”
“I’d relax more if I knew what we were doing here.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Before you’re forced to walk single-file, you come to the end. Rio traces a counter-sigil upon the stone. With a shudder, a door is revealed. Above the silver knocker, embedded in the door, sits an unblinking eyeball. The blue pierces you.
Rio pulls and slams the knocker. The eyeball falls from the door and hits the ground with a sickening pop. You nearly shriek while Rio makes noises of delight.
“Ooh,” She chuckles, “we’re not the first to arrive.”
You try not to think about what the eye must look like now, “Can I go home?”
“Why so squeamish all of a sudden? You handle the cadavers I bring you just fine.”
“That’s different. That’s research.”
“Who says this isn’t, sweetheart?”
The door opens soundlessly. Inside, the scene is much the same; another dark, slim space, though notably absent of plants and body parts. The owner of this place must be allergic to candles, the lighting situation is just pathetic.
Rio waits. When you make no move to walk inside, she sighs, nudging you with a hand on your lower back, “Ladies first.”
You’re not sure if being first or last is the worst. If anything is to jump from the walls now, you’ll take the brunt of it; you’re reminded of that day with Agatha all those years ago. Rio’s warmth at your back offers the strength you need to continue. Though, you do cling to her hand the whole way.
The hallway empties into a full room. Dark shelves match the height of the walls, on them jars full of ingredients. There are tables boasting dozens of drawers, though none sit open. Glasses and tools and cauldrons line the tabletops. In the center of it all are two figures; well, one figure and one corpse.
You can’t catch your breath. She’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.
“Agatha.” You whisper.
Agatha turns and smirks. She doesn’t look nearly as surprised to see you as you do her. Upon seeing you, her expression softens, eyes full of affection and longing. It hardens a bit when she glances behind you.
“You ruined the surprise.” Rio says, arms crossed, though one motions to the corpse, “We needed her.”
“What could you possibly need with a poison witch?”
“Our darling healer wanted to study with her.”
Something like regret turns Agatha’s face when she regards you. With a wave, she produces a thick book full of yellowing pages. You tilt your head when she offers it to you.
“Her life’s work. I’m sure there’s more here somewhere.” Agatha shrugs.
You take it and hold it to your chest reverently. All this time you thought Rio was putting you off about finding a competent poison witch and yet here you are, standing in her apothecary. She lies dead on the floor but you couldn’t care less when the real gift stands before you.
You long for her. You ache to feel the gentle caress of her hands on your face, the threat of her nails on your scalp.
A look at Rio tells you she isn’t entirely pleased with the turn of events. Yet when she sees your excitement some of her ire dissipates. The yearning in your eyes must be plain, since she gives you a single nod.
Book of poisons tossed onto the tabletop, you throw yourself into Agatha’s arms. She’s as steady as you remember. Her hand grips your chin and forces your lips to hers. Her hands are predictably firm wherever they land. She grips you as if afraid you’ll slip away. But her kiss, oh gods her kiss; soft lips and taunting, sharp tongue. The length of her body pressed against your own and so warm.
There are hands in your hair and this is all you’ve wanted—all you’ve craved for years. Why, then, do you feel the urge to cry? To rip the heart from your chest and banish it to where it won’t hurt?
Agatha is warm and steady. You bury your face in her neck and her in yours. Your hands shake with the force of clinging to her.
The feeling is bliss. Yet, it isn’t complete.
You glance over Agatha’s shoulder to Rio. She stands in the doorway, watching the scene with dark-eyed interest; but there’s a weariness in the set of her shoulders.
“Beloved.” You call, holding one of your hands out to her.
Rio raises a brow. Her eyes don’t stray from your outstretched hand.
“This is your gift, sweetheart.”
“And it’s incomplete without you.”
Her eyes stray to Agatha, who has taken to watching her, too. This time, Agatha’s eyes don’t harden. They maintain that soft look you melt for.
Agatha extends her own hand alongside yours.
“Come on.” Agatha urges, soft.
You watch the resolve break moments before she wedges her way into your embrace. Her fingers lace through yours, but her face is pressed into Agatha’s neck. She pushes and nuzzles like she wants to become part of her. It reminds you of the cat that visits the bower—Ebony—but you don’t dare say so.
Agatha’s hands leave you to caress Rio’s face. A thumb rubs along her cheekbone. You press yourself against Rio’s back, unable to glimpse her face but sure of the longing in her expression.
In a perfect world, there would be no separation between the three of you. No clothes, no emotional barriers, not even flesh to keep your hearts from mingling into one. You settle for Rio’s hand in your own and Agatha’s blue eyes locked on you.
You lean over Rio’s shoulder and kiss Agatha, your free hand fumbling with getting into the former’s pants. She chuckles darkly in your ear. It ignites a spark in your chest; a dangerous longing for this to remain, to be always. You try to push it away and focus on how Rio moans in your ear instead.
--
1869
“Will you walk with me?”
Rio nods, smiles grandly, “Of course.”
You laugh. She holds out her arm, ever the picture of a gentleman, but you lace your fingers through hers instead.
As a rare treat, you lead. You pull her along the road. The leaves change beneath your feet, from silver and black to the hues of autumn and then to pure green. The Road opens its arms into a clearing bathed in the color. Only the stone building in the center stands apart.
Upon your approach, flowers grow in the flattened grass where you step; honeysuckle and heliotrope, baby’s breath and red chrysanthemum. Rio glances over her shoulder as the blooms spring forth.
Ivy grows up the walls of the building. You brush a gentle hand over the leaves.
Crumbling, worn headstones en masse wait behind the building.
Rio tilts her head, “What is this?”
The door is unlocked. You knew it would be. The Road cannot keep you from this place.
Inside is warm and hazy. Papers with elegant scrawl cover every surface, books half-open litter any free spaces. Shelves line the walls, jars bearing various specimens. Plush couches overflow with deep, red cushions, begging you to sit and stay. A fire cracks in the fireplace.
Rio turns this way and that. She wanders around the room, flipping through books. A fingernail taps against a jar full of eyes. An errant paper is plucked from where it sits haphazardly atop the mantle. She stops.
You know the paper the second she comes into contact with it; can remember the way you wax poetic about how beautiful she is, how safe you feel in her arms. She picks another, then another, so on, and you know every word the second she touches them; the way she unwinds in Agatha’s arms, her face twisted in perfect fury, the lightless turn of her eyes when she teeters on the edge of wickedness.
She looks at you, vulnerable and unsure, “What is this?”
“My heart.”
“That… then why is all of this here?”
Her hand shakes the papers for emphasis. You resist the urge to laugh, lest she think you’re making light of her. Death can be cruel, but you try not to be.
You step close. Gently, the papers are extracted and returned to their places. Rio stares and hardly breathes as you take your face in her hands.
“You pulled away after that night.” You whisper, finger tracing her cupids-bow, “Do you think I touch you only because it is convenient?”
Rio’s lip curls. Fists bunch at her side, crackling with green light. You feel the rumble of her anger working through her chest. She tries to pull from your hold, but you don’t let her.
“Do you think I kiss you and pretend it’s her?”
Rio snarls, “I will kill you if you don’t stop talking.”
You smile. The threat is a real one, but you don’t fear it; the outcome is remaining by her side. With one hand you reach and pull one of her fists between you. You unravel it, trying not to flinch against the bursts of power over her skin. You press the palm of her hand over where your heart resides inside your chest.
The snarl fades just so. Fury still lingers in her eyes. You press your hand over hers and will her to see, to know.
“Look at the walls.” You order.
Upon the walls, plain and dark, shimmering scrawl appears. Agatha Harkness, it reads in shaky lettering; like a name carved into a tree. One signature turns into ten and ten into countless. Purple and shimmering is Agatha’s brand upon you. Rio yanks and reaches for the dagger she keeps handy.
Rio’s true name appears in shimmering green letters, then. Same as Agatha’s, there are countless signatures. They conjoin and overlap until the walls of your heart look like nothing more than a child’s colorful scribbles.
She stares at the walls in disbelief. The knife in her hand clatters to the ground.
“I’ve carved your names upon my heart so I’ll never forget who it belongs to.” You whisper.
“Sweetheart…”
You bend and collect her blade, pressing it into her hand, “Now do it yourself.”
Her hand wraps around the handle reflexively. Rio’s hand doesn’t leave the spot over your heart, feeling the steady, truthful beat.
“It’ll hurt you.” Rio says. She doesn’t bother hiding the desire in her voice.
You urge, “Make me hurt.”
Each artful stroke of her blade is slow. You whimper, but grip her wrist and push the blade deeper into your flesh. She scoffs when tears flood your eyes. The tears run down your cheeks while you smile, filled with bliss and ache in equal measure.
It’s a gift to love so deeply it wounds you. You never want her to stop; who, aside from your shared scar, holds such power? Who else in the world could touch your heart truly enough to carve into it?
There’s delight in her every movement. She consumes the pain of millions and yet, none of it is of her own making. She can only relish in what others have done; torture for a being who remains eternally intimate with the greatest methods of drawing out agony. Death has no free will but that you offer her—and she takes what none else would give, ravenously.
Is it enough?
Not forever, something tells you, you think it might be her, but for now.
--
1925
“You called?” Rio asks.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re avoiding me.”
Agatha leans against the wall beside a small window. The pane has been slid upward, letting in the sounds of the city below, releasing the smoke of Agatha’s cigarette into the air outside.
The cigarette is clutched in gloved hands. Her expression is amused as she draws in and releases the smoke, watching it form the shapes she wills. Though it has no effect on such a witch, Rio admires the object’s capability of bringing Agatha infinitesimally closer to her.
“We’ve been busy.”
“Busy or not, I’d say twelve bodies earns me a visit. And with the bulk of good booze I just removed from the market, I’d say I’ve earned a little more.”
An obvious lure with paltry bait, still Rio bites, “What do you have in mind?”
“Let me see her.”
She should. You’ve come to accept Agatha’s absence in your life, but she sees how much time you spend in the bower, and how you flinch when her name comes up. Rio hadn’t expected the frequency of Agatha’s name on the lips of covens walking the road to be so overwhelming, but it always drives you right into her arms; that she will relish.
But Death is not giving. She takes. Taking is, in fact, her favorite hobby. Twelve bodies is not enough to make up for the haunted look in your eyes. She wants more—will have it. Agatha has to earn you.
“I’ll need a little more from you.” Rio drawls.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill that many witches here with the nightlife?” Agatha throws her hands up. Ash flies from the forgotten cigarette.
The sounds of Chicago seem to grow louder, as if to aid her point. Rio grins. She crosses the small space and takes the cigarette, snuffing it out on the back of Agatha’s hand. The action prompts a quiet moan.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. What I want, you have an abundance of.” Rio’s smile widens as she manipulates Agatha’s hand, removing the glove, pushing and prodding until purple flashes along the flesh.
A cooling breeze sneaks in the window and rustles the fringe along Agatha’s dress. It’s a beautiful thing, short and decadent. Rio knows you’ve enjoyed the few sightings of the period fashion you’ve glimpsed, but like her, you’d enjoy this specific dress in a pile on the floor.
Agatha’s eyes stare at where Rio’s flesh meets her own. Her eyes are contemplative, calculating. She hesitates. And that is her fatal mistake.
Rio throws her across the room with a shove. Agatha’s side hits one of the walls and she falls, face-first, onto the mattress she’s been sleeping on. The springs shriek at the sudden weight. Agatha snarls, throwing out a blast of purple that slams into Rio’s chest. Rio moans something filthy.
There’s a brief struggle where Rio does her best to keep Agatha pinned; to the bed, to the wall, wherever there’s a surface. Yet Agatha is slippery. Her magic whisks her right out of the hold Rio puts her in and wherever Agatha wills it; which currently, is behind the other witch so Agatha can kick the back of her knees. Rio kneels not of her own volition.
She braces to stand, only to find the blade of her own dagger at her throat.
Rio’s gaze has lost any warmth. Her affection is buried deep, beneath layers and layers of earth she craves to bury Agatha in right this second, “You’re breaking her heart.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, you like seeing her cry.”
“When I’m the one responsible.”
Agatha rolls her eyes. She maintains a carefully ambivalent expression. Rio knows better; knows, under all that forced emotion, that Agatha’s heart is waging against her head, warring over her selfish desire to keep every bit of power.
Then, something shifts. Rio feels it. Agatha has made her choice and it isn’t you. And it ignites a rage in her chest unlike anything she’s felt in centuries.
She snatches the dagger back from Agatha’s grasp and only just barely resists the urge to bury it in her chest. If she has to drag Agatha back to you kicking and screaming, she will. You would like that, wouldn’t you?
“I’ll kill you.” Rio vows, and means it. Agatha can’t run away from the two of you if her soul is Rio’s to keep.
Agatha’s eyes flash with fear. Then, she grins around it, “If you can catch me.”
Latin words roll off Agatha’s tongue faster than Rio can comprehend. She recognizes the words and what they mean, where they’ve come from. Rio reaches out with her magic for the Darkhold too late; it, and Agatha, have completely vanished from her awareness.
When she returns to The Road and finds you pacing before the bower, she stops short.
“Did you—is she dead?” You ask, worrying your lip. Though your eyes dart every which way, looking for whatever manifestation of Agatha you believe she’s brought you.
“Sweetheart…”
--
1937
“Do you think if I cut you open you would heal too fast for me to do any research?”
Rio tilts her head, considering. She’s sprawled out on the plush couch inside the physical manifestation of your heart, toying with her knife, having a staring contest with the unblinking jar of eyes while you jot down thoughts into notebook number… well, she’s lost count.
“Probably.” She answers, “I’m also not sure I have organs.”
You pause, “How is that even possible?”
“Magic, sweetheart.”
Leaning back, your mind begins to race; given how old she is, it would only make sense that the organs the body came with are gone, rotted away—but would the flesh not go with it? You massage your temples. Life magic is no easier to understand than Death magic.
There’s only one way to test your hypothesis. You stand from your place at the table and cross to her, straddling her hips where she lay on the couch.
“I want to see.” You say, holding out a hand.
Rio hands over her dagger and sinks further into the couch, as if that is possible. She grins up at you with no shortage of delight. You do your best to tamp down on your own grin.
The flesh beneath your hands is warm and smells of damp earth where you peel away her shirt. Her eyes darken with every inch of flesh revealed to you. Firm and unafraid, you press the tip of the dagger down against her sternum. The action earns you an exaggerated moan.
You rip the dagger away, glaring, “Behave.”
“Or what?” Rio taunts, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek.
“Or I stop letting you watch my dissections.”
She tenses, “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I, beloved?”
“Get on with it.”
You lean down and steal a quick kiss. It melts away the darling little pout on her lips.
When you press the dagger back down, the flesh bends, but doesn’t open. You tilt your head and press harder. Rio watches, unphased. There is absolutely no give to her flesh. It gets to a point where you’re pressing your entire body weight behind the dagger, but Rio only laughs, squirming as if the action tickles.
You whine and sigh. The dagger is dropped unceremoniously onto her chest while you lean an elbow against the back of the couch, sinking somewhat into the cushion.
“If you want live specimens, we can collect some.” She soothes.
The idea isn’t intolerable, but you shake your head.
“They scream too much.”
“Anesthetic exists, sweetheart.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
You look away, tracing the walls and their offerings with your eyes. Upon them hang paintings of your own making; scenes of life, death, love, fear—mostly fear.
The human condition fascinates you, always has. Of the emotions to study, fear is the hardest; it is always fleeting in your wake; your face is too kind, too trustworthy, wiping away any sense of the unease you seek to study. You stare at your paintings and feel only distaste, knowing they’re not quite right.
You can’t claim to have always had such taste. No, a cultivation for the finer flavors of life and death takes time. You can pinpoint where the itch started, however; that day in your childhood village when a dying soul reached out to you—scarcely were you a day older than four—and found no assistance.
How beautiful it was; grisly, messy, but beautiful. You did not flinch away. Rather, you found yourself drawn in, eager to see more. And being of a coven of healers, your desire was fulfilled. Death was yours before you knew her name.
Looking down at her, she stares back, unashamed to be caught. The heart in your chest—which has felt so stagnant in recent years—warms toward something almost pure.
Rio will one day claim your soul. This, you know, and accept; your soul belonged to her the second you watched that woman die. You fear the when. What becomes of you when she claims your soul? What if you have yet to conduct all the research you desire? There is so much still to learn and you know she’ll abandon it for the chance to keep you.
You love her, but you’ll never forgive her the knowledge you’ll one day lose. The warmth in your chest doesn’t ebb.
Her top is still splayed open from your attempt at dissection. A healthy amount of flesh is bared to your eyes. You trace one finger from her neck to the center of her chest and tap, just above where a heart should be.
“When you come for me,” You say, “I want to hold your heart in my hand.”
“You already do.” She utters.
“Will you let me study it, then, when I’m but a soul?”
“You can study whatever you wish as long as it leads to me.”
--
1989
Agatha dwells on mistakes, often. She just doesn’t allow them to distract from her purpose. She is ruthless, to her very core.
She spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to open the damned door to The Road. One coven after another, all failures. There is an obscene beauty in claiming a reward for what would otherwise be failure on her part.
Time passes, enemies made, promises broken. She shrugs them all off. Yet she can’t shake the feeling of your hands in her hair, on her face. The lingering whisper of your kisses haunts her. The Darkhold whispers to her, oftentimes in language she shouldn’t comprehend, and it offers her the solution, should she just be patient;
The Scarlet Witch
--
2026
The power that floats before you is biting and all too familiar.
It fights against your hold, twisting and writhing like a wild animal, desperate to return to its mistress. But you’re stronger for now. The Scarlet Witch threw this power into the ether in her attempt at playing Death, and now it is yours to hold until Agatha comes for it.
Anger rubs against the heart in your chest like a cat. You lean into it, feeling your own power respond to subdue that which isn’t yours.
Rio watches beside you. She runs her fingers through the purple electricity contained in your palms, laughing when it fights her. Lips press against your temple.
“Not long now.” She assures you.
You feel longing and fury in equal measure.
“I want her soul, Rio.” You whisper.
A small chuckle, low beside your ear. It sends shivers down your spine. Her hand grasps your chin and turns you to face her, her lips meeting your own. The kiss is soft. You melt into it.
She pulls back, tone careful, “You didn’t walk The Road, sweetheart.”
You have not earned what The Road promises to grant.
--
2026
Agatha doesn’t expect the end of The Road to look like Agnes’ Westview home, nor does she expect to see Rio perched on the roof, leaning back, as if waiting. But every step closer to the front yard makes her more furious.
She is owed her prize.
Upon her first step in Agnes’ yard, the front door opens, and she is blasted with something so strong that it knocks her back to The Road, on her back. She groans. Yet, she feels more alive than she has in centuries. Her body shudders with its missing piece; her power curling up in her veins, pleased to be home.
She sits up, wincing at the ache in her bones that continues despite the gift she’s received. Leaves stick to the back of her arms, little pieces having crunched beneath her weight and adhered to her skin. She does her best to brush them away while getting to her feet.
Rio remains on the roof, grinning.
There, on the porch of Agnes’ house, is you. All the glory of you.
Agatha’s heart leaps in her chest despite the scowl on your face. To her, you haven’t aged a day; still the young, fresh-faced witch following at her heels, dizzy on knowledge and the thrumming power inside. Time has not erased the love she has—so great it threatens to bring her to her knees.
“Dearest…” Agatha murmurs, taking a half-step forward.
“You have your prize.” You sneer.
Your heart aches, begging you to go to her; hasn’t it been centuries? But your pride holds you back. She left you here while she gallivanted around the world getting what she wanted.
There’s a brief flash of hurt on Agatha’s face, before it morphs into a wicked grin. Her posture changes, too, to something more proud, as she slinks across the yard toward the porch. You resist the urge to take a step back.
“No, I don’t.” She drawls, “Are you going to be a good pet and come home willingly, or do I have to put you on a leash?”
Something inside you burns for her. You ache for her touch, for her to force you to do what she wants. It creeps through the cracks of your pride and turns it into something else. You stick out your chin. Agatha snickers.
Magic pulses in your palms, pulling various items from around you to throw—not fast enough. Agatha has you kneeling with your hands bound in a blink.
“That’s not very nice, dear. And after all I’ve done to get here.”
You regain some of your fight, snarling, “You left me here.”
Agatha hums.
“Into the deal you stumbled your way into. I’m not the one who tied herself to The Road in a fit of pride.”
“You were leaving me regardless. If I was going to be handed off, I was going to do it on my own terms.”
“Did I specify a length of time in my proposal? Was there any explicit mention of how long She could have you before I came back?” Agatha asks, mean-spirited joy in her eyes upon watching the realization dawn in your own. All that time you spent agonizing… when you had shackled yourself, “Years lost because you wanted to be a self-righteous brat.”
There’s a lilt to her voice that clues you in to everything you’d once seen instinctually; Agatha has been in just as much anguish as you have, left to walk the world alone. You see the pain in her eyes. Just like then, you try to get to her now, eager to fix it, to wipe it away.
The binding around your arms keeps you stationary. You whine and pull against it.
“Agatha,” You whine, “I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” She says. Then she turns to your left, finger poised and accusing, “And you—you kept her away from me.”
Rio shrugs, smiling, “I couldn’t just make it easy on you.”
Agatha waves a hand and Rio is kneeling on the porch at your side, similarly bound. Yet where you look pained, she is delighted.
“I’m sorry.” You repeat, “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
“That doesn’t change that you were.”
A cloud of purple smoke announces your arrival to the inner bedroom of Agnes’ house. It doesn’t look like what you’ve seen from Rio, though. Where Agnes had been bland and cookie-cutter, this is rich fabrics and deep wood. It is Agatha through and through.
You and Rio kneel side-by-side at the foot of the bed, where Agatha perches. Her beautiful blue eyes don’t miss the slightest movement you make. She’s clad in a dark robe with snakes and flowers that has Rio leaning forward in interest.
Agatha’s eyes lock on you, “You’re going to apologize. Properly.”
“I’m sorry—”
“With your tongue.”
Leaning back on her forearms, Agatha spreads her legs, and you feel the desire in your body rush through you. It’s so strong you feel your head begin to pound. She’s pink and dripping and all you want is to do a good job for her.
Yet, ever the brat, you lean forward and start with kissing her inner thighs. With every press of your lips to the delicate flesh you murmur an apology. She sighs.
A hand weaves into your hair and yanks you back. Her eyes are dark. Her face is set in a punishing expression but you see the yearning in her that matches your own. She yanks again, lighter, and you moan.
“What did I say?” She asks, before directing you where she wants you.
Witches don’t subscribe to the idea of what a human would call heaven, but upon tasting her, you think you could get behind it. She’s warm and sweet. You flatten your tongue and drag it along her slit just to collect a better taste of her. Agatha’s hand presses you in harder as she moans.
Without the use of your fingers, you have to use your tongue well. You stiffen it as much as you’re able when you delve inside her and hope it is even slightly close enough to satisfy. The pathetic sounds reaching your ears—breathy moans, sweet whimpers—tell you that you’re doing fine.
“Good girl.” Agatha breathes out.
You clench around nothing. You’re sure that you’ve ruined your undergarments thoroughly from how wet you are.
Eager for more praise, you direct your attention to that small, fleshy bundle of nerves begging for your attention. You swirl your tongue around her clit and her hips stutter, before they grind against your face with a renewed sense of purpose. You smile.
“Yes—there, more—” Agatha stutters.
You were born to do as she commands. All you want is to make her happy. Following her directions is as easy as breathing.
The tip of your tongue alternates between circling her clit and flicking it. Every flick earns you a high-pitched oh! and a firm grinding of her hips. Her thighs are tightening around your head, but she’s putting up a good fight. Her legs quiver.
“There—there—I’m going to—” Is all the warning you’re given before Agatha shrieks and comes while rutting against your mouth. You lap up every drop of her wetness you can get with glee. You did this, you brought her this pleasure; the knowledge sends a happy jolt through you.
Agatha’s grip on your hair releases and you lean back, taking in big lungfuls of air. She stares down at you with a thoroughly fucked-out expression that makes you preen.
Then she leans over and pulls your lips to hers. She moans against the taste of herself on your lips, tongue collecting the flavor from your lips. You throw every ounce of love you possess into the kiss—willing her to understand the longing you felt, the thousands of hours you spent watching her lifeline just to make sure she was safe.
“Good girl.” Agatha murmurs, pressing little kisses all over your face, “My good girl.”
“All yours.” You agree.
She laughs, low and smooth, “That’s not quite the truth, is it?”
The two of you turn to regard Rio in unison. She remains in the position Agatha left her in, kneeling and bound. You admire her restraint at not breaking the bindings. Though you guess Agatha wouldn’t take kindly to that.
Rio’s eyes are black with desire. They dart between the two of you. She takes in the wetness on your face, licking her lips. You can feel her eagerness for a taste.
She’s writhing a bit in her restraints, pressing her thighs together and wiggling, looking for any source of friction she can find. Agatha tuts and she stops. If it were up to you, your face would be between her thighs, ears enjoying every sound she makes. But it isn’t up to you.
Agatha scoots back up the bed until she’s sitting against the headboard. That’s when you feel the restraints on you fall away. She beckons the two of you with a finger and you both follow the command, eager.
“Come here.” Agatha urges you specifically, patting her bare thigh.
You obey and straddle the appendage, shuddering against the feeling against your throbbing clit. There’s a split second where you think of just grinding down and taking what you want. But you don’t—you have to be good.
Words pass between Agatha and Rio during your silent struggle. When you look, she’s lying along the length of the bed, legs bunched up and spread wide next to you.
“What am I going to do with you both?” Agatha muses.
“Fuck us?” Rio drawls.
“You, my good girl,” Agatha says, ignoring Rio as she soothes a hand through your hair, “are going to use me until you come. And my bad girl isn’t going to come until I tell her she can.”
You shudder, whimpering, while Rio whines next to you. Agatha kisses your forehead while dealing a slap to Rio that makes her groan.
A hand settles onto your hip and begins to guide you through the motions of grinding against her. The friction is difficult to attain with how wet you are, but you do what you can, crying out everytime the pressure is just enough to make your toes curl. It won’t take long for you to finish.
Your face is buried in Agatha’s neck, where you press loving little kisses to the flesh. As a result you cannot see Rio. But you hear her; every movement of Agatha’s deft fingers through her wetness, every growl and keen of desire, every slap of Agatha’s hand when she gets a bit too eager. She won’t last long either, from what you can tell.
The image of Rio and Agatha in your mind is enough to push you toward that delightful little taste of death. Your hands tighten over Agatha’s shoulders.
“Agatha, can I—please?” You plead.
“So obedient, asking for permission even when you don’t need to.” Agatha praises, “Go on, darling.”
With her hand guiding you and her voice in your ear, you come so hard you see stars behind your eyes. You’re not sure what sound leaves your lips, only that your throat aches afterward.
You tune back in to hear a brutal slap of flesh on flesh. Rio snarls.
“Beg.” Agatha’s voice commands in your ear, though you know it isn’t for you.
Rio stays stubbornly silent.
The sounds of Agatha toying with her come to an abrupt halt. You don’t have the strength to lift your face from your refuge, but you can imagine that stubborn, yet pleading look in Rio’s face; wanting so deeply but not willing to give up what is required.
“If you don’t want to behave, she can have your pleasure instead.”
“No! I’ll—” You hear Rio grit her teeth, “Please, Agatha. Please let me come.”
Agatha laughs.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She coos.
Seconds—or maybe minutes—before Rio wails. There’s something primordial and animalistic wrapped inside it, almost like a growl. It makes you shudder. Then all that's left in the room is the sound of breathing.
You spent so long aching for something just like this. It’s beautiful, though you know it can’t stay; all three of you are far too ambitious to live a domestic existence, but it’s nice for now. You missed them. The heart in your chest feels complete again, filling to the brim with affection.
Tears seep from your eyes and you pull back before Agatha can question it, though you do feel her stiffen. You press kisses to her neck, her sternum, the inside of her wrist; then you grab Rio’s hand and press kisses to every pad of her fingers.
With every kiss, you murmur I love you.
--
2027
“If you don’t sedate him at least a little bit, his heart is going to give out.”
Rio’s sudden voice next to you isn’t surprising. You’ve grown used to her coming and going—Death waits for no one, after all. Her lips press to your cheek and you accept the affection.
“She did sedate him. Three times.” Agatha’s voice calls from the next room.
“Oh, I see.”
Rio leans over to examine the man on your table with no shortage of interest. He stares back, eyes impossibly wide. His heart rate picks up.
“He’s certainly not a witch.” Agatha’s leaning against the doorway now, arms folded over her chest, “Though it is taking a fair amount of magic to keep him subdued.”
“He’s no match for you, naturally.” You compliment.
Both Agatha and Rio grin at that. The former comes up behind you, hands settling on your hips. Her lips press against your neck. Then, she leans over and steals a kiss from Rio, who is all too eager to meet her halfway.
You smile. The heart in your chest threatens to burst—not unlike the specimen in front of you.
“Well, aren’t you sweet today.” Agatha comments.
“Aiming for a reward?” Rio asks.
Rio kisses her way up the flash of skin available to her eyes, making you sigh, leaning back into Agatha’s hands. Then Agatha’s lips fasten to the other side of your neck. Your head falls back and you laugh. Then you moan.
The experiment on your table is forgotten as you’re dragged into the next room and bent into all sorts of shapes you couldn’t even imagine on your own. Oh, well; if he dies before the six hour mark, you can always just find another one. The same cannot be said of the witches bracketing you. And oh, how beautiful that is.
Jackson had a way of making the world feel still. Days came and went, each one blending into the next with the simplicity of routine. For you, that routine often involved ending your day at Ellie’s place, curled up together watching whatever strange or offbeat movie she’d dug up. Tonight, like so many nights before, you’d settled into that rhythm, expecting nothing more than the usual.
Ellie greeted you at the door, her hair messy from what you imagined had been a lazy day of reading or sketching. You stepped inside, shrugging off your jacket, trying to shake the feeling that something was a little different tonight.
“Everything alright with you?” Ellie muttered, hands in her pockets. Her voice was casual, but you noticed the tension beneath it, something unspoken in the way she barely met your eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, following her into the “bedroom” where she’d already set up the movie Mulholland Drive. You threw yourself onto the bed while Ellie stayed standing, fiddling with the remote. She seemed more on edge than usual, fidgeting with her sleeves, avoiding looking at you for too long. You tried to shake off the weirdness, focusing on the movie as the opening credits rolled. For the first half, things were mostly normal. Ellie made the occasional comment, and you both laughed at the more bizarre parts of the plot. But then… the scene happened. A sex scene hit the screen, and the air between you two shifted in an instant.
You felt it immediately, the awkwardness that spread like wildfire. Ellie stiffened beside you, eyes glued to the screen but not really watching. Your heart pounded as your mind raced, hyper-aware of how close your bodies were. The heat from her leg brushing against yours suddenly felt like too much, like it was burning through your jeans.
You weren’t exactly a stranger to sex scenes in movies, but this time it felt different, more intimate. Too intimate. You risked a glance at Ellie and saw the tension in her jaw, her hand gripping the bedsheets tightly. She wasn’t handling it any better than you were.
God, why did this feel so… charged?
You looked away quickly, trying to focus on literally anything else. But the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. When the scene finally ended, it left an awkward tension that lingered long after. The rest of the movie passed in a blur. You weren’t paying attention anymore. All you could think about was Ellie, how her hand was so close to yours, how your heart was still racing even though the scene had long since ended.
When the credits rolled, Ellie jumped to her feet like she couldn’t handle sitting next to you any longer. “I, uh- I’ll get the couch ready for tonight,” she said quickly, moving toward the closet. You frowned. “The couch? You’re not coming to bed?” Ellie paused, looking over her shoulder, clearly flustered. “I just thought… maybe I’d sleep there instead.”
That didn’t sit right with you. Sleepovers had always been the same, you’d sleep together, limbs tangled in the small bed. The thought of sleeping apart felt wrong, but you didn’t argue. Not with things already feeling this weird. You crawled deeper into the bed while Ellie busied herself with blankets, but neither of you seemed able to sleep. The room was too quiet, too still, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her direction.
After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.
“Ellie?” You heard her groan, and then she shifted, turning over to face you. Even in the darkness, you could sense her eyes on you, wide and uncertain. “What?” she asked, her voice strained. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. This had been eating at you all night, maybe for longer than that. “What’s going on?” Ellie didn’t respond right away, and you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Finally, after what felt like forever, she sighed.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The answer didn’t surprise you. It didn’t make things easier either. You bit your lip, unsure of how to put into words what had been slowly building between you two for weeks, maybe months.
“You’ve been acting… weird tonight,” you said, feeling vulnerable. “Is it because of… the movie?” Ellie groaned again, this time louder, like she was frustrated. “No… yes… I don’t know!” She exhaled sharply. “That movie just… it got me thinking, okay?” Your pulse quickened. “Thinking about what?”
Silence filled the room again, thick with tension. Ellie seemed to be wrestling with something, and you held your breath, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice was soft and uncertain. “Us,” she whispered. “Are we… are we more than just friends?”
There it was. Out in the open. The question hung between you like a heavy weight. It was something you had never allowed yourself to think about, not really. But now, with Ellie lying there, so close yet so far, you couldn’t avoid it anymore. Your heart hammered in your chest as you sat up slightly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
Ellie shifted on the couch, and suddenly, she was standing. She climbed into the bed beside you, moving slowly like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there. Your breaths came out shallow as she lay down next to you, her face inches from yours, her expression unsure.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, and you swore you could hear both your hearts racing in the silence. Then, finally, Ellie leaned in, her lips brushing yours tentatively, like she wasn’t sure this was real.
The kiss was soft, hesitant, but it sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. You kissed her back, your hands instinctively finding their way to her hair, pulling her closer. The dam had finally broken, months of tension spilling out in that one kiss.
Ellie’s hands slid to your waist, and she pulled you against her, deepening the kiss. It was soft but intense, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. You didn’t know how long it lasted, time seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the feel of her lips, her hands, her warmth.
When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. “This is… weird, right?” Ellie whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her. You smiled, your thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Yeah,” you admitted, your own heart still racing. “But good weird.”
Ellie grinned, her hands still firmly on your waist, as though she was afraid to let go. “I don’t know what this is,” she said softly, “but… I like it.” You leaned in and kissed her again, the warmth of her smile still lingering on her lips. “Me too.” The rest of the night passed in a blur of soft kisses, whispered words, and gentle touches. Whatever you and Ellie had now, it was real, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to question it.
The party is louder than usual, the bass thumping in sync with your heartbeat as you sit on a couch, watching the world around you with a growing sense of detachment. You try to focus on the conversation your friends are having, but your attention drifts back to her, Abby.
She’s standing near the beer pong table, towering over the group of athletes she always hangs out with. Her loud laughter cuts through the noise, and her smile, the one that used to be reserved for you, now feels distant. The sight of her should’ve brought comfort, but instead, it’s a reminder of the growing distance between you two.
You nurse on your drink, taking small sips to calm the ache gnawing at your chest. You’ve been together for months now, though no one else knows. Abby’s never been open about what you are to her, not in public. The stolen kisses behind closed doors, the secret late-night meetups, the whispered promises when no one was around, it felt like a dream you were both chasing, but one you could never fully grasp.
And the hiding. Always the hiding. Her friends walk right past you without a second glance, unaware of how close you two really are. Or were. Abby never acknowledges you at parties. Never looks at you for too long when others are around. Like she’s afraid someone will piece together the puzzle and see the truth.
Your heart clenches when Abby catches your gaze from across the room. For a moment, you think she might walk over. But she doesn’t. She holds your stare for a split second before turning back to her friends, laughing at something they said.
That’s it.
You take a deep breath, already feeling the cold weight of inevitability in your bones. You can’t keep doing this. You’ve been telling yourself that for weeks, but tonight feels different, heavier. Final.
When you see her slip out to the balcony for air, you follow, even though your legs feel like they’re made of lead.
The cool night air hits you as you step out onto the balcony where Abby is leaning against the railing, staring into the distance. Her hair is tied back in that familiar braid, her muscular arms crossed over her chest. She hears you approaching but doesn’t turn around.
"Hey," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, though the quiet of the night makes it sound louder. Abby glances over her shoulder at you, her face guarded, "hey." You step closer, but not too close. Not like before. There’s a distance between you now, one that can’t be closed with just words.
The silence stretched painfully, thick with everything that’s been left unsaid for so long. You don’t even know how to start. But you know what you have to do. You know what’s breaking inside of you. “I can’t do this anymore,” you finally say, each word weighed down by months of hurt. Abby’s jaw clenches, and she stares straight ahead. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t keep being your secret.” The words spill out faster than you intend, raw and honest. “I can’t keep pretending we don’t know each other when we’re around your friends. I can’t keep waiting for you to text me at 3 AM because that’s the only time you feel safe enough to talk to me. I love you, Abby, but I’m tired of being hidden.”
She says nothing, her silence louder than anything she could’ve said. You can feel your heart breaking even before the words leave her mouth. You search her face, looking for any sign that she’ll fight for this, for you. But her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it shatters something inside you.
You feel your chest tighten, a hollow ache settling in your bones. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” She stays quiet, and that’s when you know. You’ve lost her, if you ever really had her at all. You take a deep breath, willing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not now. “Goodbye, Abby.”
And with that, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing alone in the night, her unspoken words hanging in the air.
-
The days that follow are agonisingly slow. Each one a constant reminder of what you’ve lost, or maybe what you were never allowed to fully have. You still see Abby on campus, at parties, in the dining hall, but it’s like you’ve become invisible to her. She doesn’t look at you. But you know she sees you. You can feel her eyes on you, watching from the shadows.
It hurts. It hurts seeing her, knowing how much you loved her, how much you still love her, and knowing she wasn’t brave enough to love you back in the way you needed.
But you try to move on, forcing yourself to smile, laugh, and go out with your friends. You flirt with new people, let them make you laugh, let them distract you from the ache in your chest. It works for a little while, but at the end of the day, Abby’s absence is a weight you can’t shake.
You miss her.
But you know deep down that you made the right decision. You can’t go back to being hidden. To being something she was too afraid to acknowledge.
-
It’s late, after another party you attended half-heartedly. You’re walking back to your dorm, the night air cool against your skin, when you hear footsteps behind you. The sound is familiar, and your heart sinks.
“Can we talk?” Abby’s voice cuts through the quiet night, and you stop in your tracks.
You don’t turn around immediately, your mind racing with all the things she could say. After a moment, you take a deep breath and turn to face her. “What do you want to talk about?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended, but the hurt is still fresh. She steps closer, and for the first time in weeks, you see her eyes, truly see them. There’s no more hiding behind jokes or silence. There’s just Abby, raw and vulnerable.
“I miss you,” she says, and it’s almost painful how vulnerable she sounds.
You sigh, crossing your arms. “You miss me, or you miss having someone you can sneak around with?”
She winces, and you can tell your words hit her hard. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
She takes a step closer, her eyes pleading. “I…I didn’t know how to handle it. Being with you, feeling what I feel for you, it scares the hell out of me. I’ve never been good at talking about this stuff, about…who I am.” Her voice wavers, and she takes another breath before continuing. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you by hiding us, but it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I do. I care so much it terrifies me.”
You swallow hard, feeling the familiar tug in your chest. “Then why couldn’t you just-”
“Because I’m scared,” she cuts in, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of losing everything, my friends, my family. But I’m not scared anymore.”
You blink, thrown off by her words. “What does that even mean?”
Abby takes another step forward, her eyes pleading. “It means I’m ready to be with you. For real. No more hiding. No more secrets. I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore. I just... I care about you. I need you.”
Your heart pounds in your chest, her words almost too good to be true. You want to believe her, but after all the hurt, you’re not sure you can. “I’ve heard this before,” you whisper, looking away. “What’s different now?” “Because I know what it feels like to lose you,” she says, stepping closer until she’s right in front of you. “And I can’t... I don’t want to live with that anymore. I love you. I’m done hiding.”
Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. She’s standing there, offering you everything you’ve wanted, but part of you wonders if it’s too late.
“I need more than just words, Abby,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “I need you to show me that this time, it’s real.”
“I will,” she promises, her voice steady. “I swear, I’ll show you.”
You look at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, the honesty that wasn’t there before. And maybe, just maybe, she’s telling the truth this time.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Pairing: singer!natasha romanoff x model!fem reader
Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, making out, tribbing, porn with plot, fic based on Madonnas and Jenny Shimizu's relationship in the 90's
w/c ≈ 2000
Natasha Romanoff was a force of nature on stage and a global icon. The world adored her, worshipped her every move, her voice, her presence. Her performances across Europe were breaking records, with people flying across countries to watch her perform. But beneath all the flashing lights and roaring crowds, her mind was always drawn back to you, an undeniable craving pulling at her whenever you were apart.
Tonight, after another concert in Paris, that craving was stronger than ever. The encore had barely ended, the applause still ringing in her ears when she slipped away backstage, grabbing her phone with a hunger she couldn't ignore. She dialled your number, her fingers trembling slightly. When you answered, your voice soft and teasing, it sent a spark of desire straight through her. "Hey, superstar," you greeted, a smile in your voice. "How was the show?"
Natasha leaned against the dressing room counter, her heartbeat quickening just at the sound of you. "It was fine," she murmured, her tone low and sultry, the music she had just performed was still thrumming in her ears. "But it would’ve been better if you were here." A beat of silence lingered before you chuckled, the sound rich and knowing. "Missing me already?"
"I need you," Natasha breathed, her voice husky with intent. There was no point in pretending, she didn’t just miss you, she needed you. Every muscle in her body was aching with the memory of your touch, your skin, the way you felt beneath her. "Get on the first flight. Come to me."
It wasn’t the first time Natasha had summoned you like this, calling you away from your world of flashing cameras and runways to be at her side, even if only for one night. You were both high-profile figures, always on the move, but when she called, you came. Every time.
You could hear the command in her voice, the silent plea, and it stirred something deep inside you. "I’ll be there," you replied, and hung up, your pulse quickening with anticipation.
-
Within hours, you were on a plane, Paris-bound, the city lights glowing in the distance as the private car Natasha had sent waited at the airport to collect you. The car sped through the quiet, rain-slicked streets of Paris until it finally pulled up at the discreet hotel where she was staying. The driver escorted you up to Natasha’s penthouse suite. No security checks and no questions asked. You were whisked through the lobby with the kind of efficiency that came with being connected to a world-class celebrity.
The door to her suite opened just as you arrived. There she stood, leaning against the doorframe, her hair still slightly damp from the post-show shower. She looked at you with a smouldering gaze, wearing nothing but a silk robe that hung loosely around her figure. "You made it," Natasha purred, her eyes dark with desire as they roamed over you, drinking you in. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," you teased, stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind you as she pulled you in close, her lips crashing against yours with an urgency that told you everything. Natasha never wasted time on words when she could show you exactly what she wanted.
You barely had time to breathe as she pressed you against the nearest wall, her hands already slipping beneath the fabric of your coat, fingers tracing the edges of your body with practised precision. "I’ve been thinking about this all night," she whispered, her lips brushing against your neck, "thinking about you." The heat between you grew instantly, the air charged with a tension that neither of you bothered to fight. Natasha’s hands were everywhere, possessive, demanding, and you could feel her need in every touch.
The bed was only steps away, but Natasha didn't have the patience to make it there just yet. She wanted to feel you, to have you right here, right now. Your clothes were gone in a matter of moments, discarded carelessly as she led you to the edge of the bed.
She pushed you down, crawling over you, her weight pressing you into the plush mattress. "You know what I want," she whispered, her voice thick with desire as her fingers began tracing patterns along your thighs. You bit back a moan as she took control, her touch skilled, knowing exactly how to unravel you.
Your hands travelled north, tracing the soft skin of her thighs and hips before slipping over the delicate fabric of her silk robe. With a gentle tug, you loosened the knot at her waist, the robe falling open with ease. Though you had seen Natasha naked before, the sight of her always took your breath away. Your eyes lingered on her chest, her nipples already hardened by the cool air. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to one, the warmth of your mouth a sharp contrast to the cold, drawing a low, satisfied groan from her.
As your mouth lavished attention on her sensitive skin, you could feel Natasha's body tense and relax beneath your touch. Her fingers tangled in your hair, a quiet gasp escaping her lips. Her back arched slightly, pressing her chest into you, silently begging for more. "You always know exactly what I need," Natasha whispered, her voice breathless.
You responded by pressing a soft kiss to her sternum, your lips tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. The cool air of the room made each warm touch even more intense. You pulled her closer, the silk robe slipping down her shoulders. The soft fabric gilded against her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
You paused for a moment, your gaze meeting hers. Tell me what you want," you whispered against her skin, your breath sending shivers through her. Natasha's lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned back,"I want to feel you," she murmured, her voice dropping lower. "All of you." With that, you laid down again and let her take charge. She repositioned your bodies, guided your thigh upward and positioned herself above you. The shift of her body, the warmth and weight of her above you, left you breathless. Natasha shuddered as she felt her clitoris nudge against yours, your gasp and indication that you were as sensitive as she was.
Your hands found their place on her hips, fingers grazing the delicate skin. She shivered slightly at your touch, and the sensation made your heart pound harder. You guided her slowly, savouring the way her body pressed against yours, the rhythm between you growing more deliberate.
With every slow movement, there were new sounds emitting from both of you. The way her eyes fluttered shut, the soft gasp that escaped her lips, these were moments you laid awake at night thinking about. You mirrored her pace, each motion purposeful, dragging out the delicious pleasure.
“You feel so good,” she whispered, her voice heavy with desire. There was something raw and honest in her tone that made your stomach tighten with want. You responded without words, your hands roaming across her body, tracing the line of her spine before gently pulling her down closer to you. Her soft skin, warm and inviting, pressed against you, and the sensation of being so close, so connected, sent a rush through your entire body.
Natasha’s hips began to move with more intent, her pace quickening as the friction between you intensified. Her head tilted back slightly, exposing the curve of her neck. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against her throat, the soft, salty taste of her skin grounding you in the moment. As her body rocked against yours, the air between you grew charged, each breath shared, each touch deliberate. You could feel her pulse quickening under your fingertips as she let herself get lost in the rhythm you had created together.
When she opened her eyes again, the intensity in her gaze made your heart skip a beat. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice raw with need. “I won’t,” you murmured, your words soft but filled with the same urgency that coursed through both of you.
Natasha’s hands trailed down your sides, her touch light and teasing, yet insistent. The friction between your bodies was almost overwhelming now, every subtle movement drawing you both closer to the edge. You could feel her tensing, the tension coiling tighter in both of you.“God, you’re incredible,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath against her skin.
Her response was a soft moan, her forehead pressing against yours as she let herself get lost in the sensation. You could feel her trembling, her body responding to every movement, every touch, and the knowledge of how close she was only intensified your own pleasure.
The rhythm between you grew more frantic, bodies pressing together with increasing urgency. You were both teetering on the edge, the pleasure building into something too powerful to hold back any longer. Natasha’s breath hitched, her hips moving with even more need, and you felt the moment of tension just before she came undone. Her body trembled above you, her moans breaking into soft gasps as the pleasure overtook her. The sight and sound of her, completely lost in the moment, sent you over the edge with her. Your own release crashed over you, the sensation overwhelming as you held her close, both of you riding out the waves of pleasure together.
As the intensity of the moment faded, you both collapsed into each other, breathing hard, bodies still trembling. The room felt quieter now, the tension replaced by a soft, lingering warmth. Natasha stayed curled up against you, her skin warm and flushed. For a moment, neither of you spoke, content to just lie there in the afterglow, feeling each other’s presence.
Finally, Natasha broke the silence, her voice soft and full of affection. “You always know how to take my breath away.” You chuckled, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart against yours. “You do the same to me.”
-
The first rays of morning light filtered through the curtains when you woke, the air still thick with the scent of her perfume and the aftermath of last night. Natasha was already up, sitting at the edge of the bed, her back to you as she stared out the window at the city below, wrapped in her robe.
She sensed your stirring and turned, her expression soft, but that guarded look already creeping back into her eyes. "I have to leave soon," she said quietly. There was a flicker of regret in her voice, but it was hidden behind the wall she's built between you. "The tour continues."
You sat up, the sheets falling around your waist. You understood the deal between you, the unspoken rules. You were her escape, her indulgence in the moments when the spotlight grew too bright, but nothing more. There was no room for more. "I know," you replied, rising from the bed, already reaching for your clothes. There was no need for affection, no lingering goodbyes. You both knew the routine.
As you dressed, you caught her watching you, her gaze lingering longer than it usually did. But she didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. Natasha was always careful to keep you at arm’s length, no matter how close she pulled you at night. With a final glance, you walked to the door, the cool handle in your palm. "Good luck with the next show." Natasha nodded, her lips curving into a small, almost sad smile.
"Thanks."
And with that, you left, the heavy door clicking shut behind you as you slipped back into your world, leaving Natasha Romanoff to continue in hers. But you both knew it wouldn’t be long before she called again. And when she did, you'd be there, ready to fall into her arms, if only for one more night.
Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, cheating, making out, fingering (ellie receiving), porn with plot
w/c ≈ 1330
Click here to read part 1
The days following your encounter with Ellie were restless, a strange combination of guilt and desire twisting inside you. You tried to focus on your husband, on the life you were supposed to be building together, but Ellie’s presence lingered in the back of your mind.
And then, one day, you find yourself standing outside her door again. There’s no ring lost in the sink this time. No pretense. Just you and the truth you’ve been trying to ignore since the moment you met her.
You knock, and when Ellie opens the door, the look in her eyes tells you that she’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.
She doesn’t say a word. She just pulls you inside, and this time, there’s no turning back.
-
Ellie pulls you inside with a firm grip, her hand sliding down your arm as the door clicks shut behind you. The air in the room is thick with unspoken tension, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against your chest. For a moment, neither of you move—just standing there, caught in the moment, her eyes locked onto yours like she’s daring you to make the first move.
But you don’t have to. Ellie takes a step closer, the smell of fresh paint on her clothes mixing with something distinctly her. Her gaze flickers over your face, pausing at your lips before trailing down your neck. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like she’s stripping away every layer of pretense you’ve built around yourself.
She lifts a hand, hesitating for just a second before brushing her fingers along your jaw, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. Her thumb skims across your bottom lip, and you can’t help the way your breath hitches at the simple touch.
“You sure about this?” Ellie’s voice is low, rough, like she’s been holding back for as long as you have.
Your heart pounds, every logical thought in your mind screaming at you to stop—to turn around, leave, pretend none of this ever happened. But the moment she touched you, the guilt faded, replaced by something far stronger.
Desire.
You close the distance between you, grabbing the front of her jacket and pulling her in. Your lips crash against hers, the kiss messy, desperate, filled with the frustration of days spent in tension. Ellie doesn’t hesitate, kissing you back just as fiercely, one hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing you against her as her other hand tangles in your hair.
It’s all-consuming, a release of everything you’ve been holding in since you first laid eyes on her. Her lips are soft, but the kiss is hungry, like she’s trying to claim every inch of you, and you let her. You let her take control because, in this moment, it’s what you need.
Ellie pushes you back toward the wall, your back hitting it with a soft thud, her hands never leaving your body. She’s everywhere at once, her fingers digging into your hips, her mouth on your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses down your throat. You gasp as her teeth graze your skin, a mixture of pleasure and pain sending a shiver through you.
Her hands move lower, skimming over the curve of your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. Her touch is warm, and you arch into her, craving more, craving everything she has to offer. Ellie groans softly against your mouth, and you feel her hands tugging at your shirt, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. The feeling makes you dizzy, makes the guilt that tried to creep in earlier dissolve into nothing. Right now, there’s only you and her.
Her lips leave yours for a moment, her hands still roaming your body as she murmurs against your skin, “I’ve been thinking about this for days.” Her words send a thrill through you, and you can’t stop the small moan that escapes your lips. She chuckles softly at your reaction, but there’s no teasing in her eyes, just raw unfiltered need.
“Ellie,” you say, your voice trembling, your hands tangling in her hair as you try to pull her impossibly closer. You feel her smile against your skin, but there’s something more urgent in the way she touches you now, like she’s afraid this moment could slip away at any second.
And maybe it could.
What happens when you leave this room? What about your husband? The life waiting for you outside. You’re only thinking about now, about the way Ellie’s hands feel on your skin, the way her mouth moves against yours, the way every inch of you feels alive in a way it hasn’t in years.
So, you swiftly change positions, grabbing hold of her and pressing her against the wall suddenly. Ellie groans as her back hits the wall, the force catching her off guard. Your movements are frantic, almost tearing her clothes off in your desperate need to feel her skin, to see more of her. Ellie is stunned by your boldness, quickly surrenders, just as eager for this as you are. She has no intention of stopping you.
Your hand trails down her toned abdomen, fingers gliding along the fine line of hair that leads to her core. Ellie buries her face in your neck, her breath heavy, soft moans spilling from her lips as your fingers brush through her pubic hair before slowly venturing lower. "No teasing," Ellie whines, her hips bucking toward you, aching for more. In response, you click your tongue in mock disapproval. Grabbing her jaw, you make her look at you. "I want to fuck you in your bed," you say, your voice low, gaze piercing into hers.
Ellie is already soaked as she leads you to her bed, the two of you stumbling into her room, lips crashing together in a desperate kiss. You push her down firmly, straddling her hips, keeping her pinned beneath you. With a quick motion, you pull your shirt over your head, and Ellie wastes no time unclasping your bra and latching onto your nipple. A moan escapes your throat as her warm mouth envelopes you, but there’s only one thing on your mind, making her cum.
Gently, you push her off, her body hitting the bed with a soft thud. Your hand finds its way back between her thighs, but this time, there's no teasing. You start rubbing her clit in steady circles, and Ellie trembles with pleasure, even though you’ve only just begun. Your eyes were zeroed in on her facial expressions, the way her eyebrows were knitted together and jaw hung loose.
Your fingers started to move down, then inserting themselves into her, you basking in the wonderful sounds that she was making. With every thrust of your fingers Ellie either moaned, gasped or whined. Seeing, hearing and feeling her against you was like being flung into space, her unraveling beneath you is intoxicating.
Ellie was starting to reach the peak of her climax, her walls tightening around your fingers, her thighs quivering, and her voice growing louder with every thrust. Her body tenses, hips jerking uncontrollably before she finally releases, melting into the sheets in a state of bliss. She feels weightless, like a puddle, floating in the post-orgasm bliss. You take a moment to admire her, the soft smile on her lips, her flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes. Gently, you lean down, kissing her tenderly. She hums against your lips, her gaze hazy as she looks up at you.
”You're so beautiful,” slipped from your lips as you saw her, not the fantasy you've built in your mind out of lust, but just her, raw and naked.
The two of you share another kiss, slower this time, before Ellie pulls away just enough to whisper, "Let me take care of you now." With a playful grin, she flips you over, her body already moving lower.
The ding of the elevator rang through the empty hall. Your husband was talking your ear off about some sort of work drama as the two of you stepped through the metallic doors. You leaned softly against the wall, eyes flicking to your husband as he pressed the elevator button to your floor. It was the first night that the two of you would spend in your new apartment. The place was supposed to be a new start for the two of you. You tried to let the move settle into your bones, but the newness felt off. Something was missing, something you hadn’t yet put your finger on. Your thoughts were interrupted, as the doors were about to shut, someone from further down the hall yelled out.
“Hold the doors!”
Your husband pressed the button, which opened the elevator doors yet again and in walks a figure that immediately draws your attention. She’s dressed in a worn leather jacket slung over a plain white t-shirt that clings to her lean, muscular frame. Her hands are shoved into the pockets of dark jeans, and there's a slight smudge of paint on her forearm, peeking from beneath the rolled-up sleeve. She has that effortless kind of confidence, the kind that demands attention without ever asking for it.
Your husband gives her a nod, polite but indifferent. You, on the other hand, feel a sharp jolt in your chest as you lock eyes with her. Those deep green eyes, flecked with just enough softness to draw you in, but sharp enough to keep you on your toes. She glances at you, barely a second, but the tension is undeniable.
Ellie nods back in acknowledgment as she walks past your husband, before she leans back against the elevator wall beside you and then shifts her gaze towards you. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a smirk tugging at her lips, and damn if it didn’t make your stomach flip. The elevator ride was short, but every second of it felt like an eternity under her sharp gaze. When the doors opened to your floor, she stepped out first, with a nod in your direction, her eyes lingering on yours just long enough to make your pulse race again.
You and your husband stepped out after, following her down the hallway lined with apartment doors. Then she stopped in front of one, keys jingling as she opened the door. You walked past, moving further down the hallway, but as you passed her you locked eyes once again. This time you sent her a wink, before she stepped inside.
-
Days pass. Your routine is simple, the mundane tasks of domestic life, your husband working long hours, leaving you alone in the apartment. But your thoughts keep drifting to her - the mysterious woman down the hall, who’s seemingly renovating one of the units in the building.
It starts innocently enough. You see her in the hallway a few times, catching fleeting glances that last a little too long to be accidental. Her presence is always lingering, her confidence radiating even when she’s just minding her own business with a toolbox in hand. There’s something so intoxicating about the way she carries herself, so sure of who she is, unbothered by the world around her.
Then, an “accident” occurs. You’re standing in front of the kitchen sink, washing dishes and absentmindedly fiddling with your engagement ring when it slips from your finger. It bounces off the edge of the sink, twirls once in the air, and falls down the drain with a soft, metallic clink. You bite your lip, staring down at the sink for a moment longer than necessary. Your husband won’t be home for hours. You could call the building maintenance, but where’s the fun in that?
Your mind immediately jumps to her.
Before you know it, you’re standing in front of her door, heart racing beneath your chest. You knock twice, listening to the echo in the empty hallway before the door swings open. Ellie leans against the doorframe, wiping her hands on a rag. She raises an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes as she takes you in.
"Need something?" she asks, her voice low and smooth, the kind that sends a wave of heat straight through you. You swallowed, straightening your posture, before calmly answering, “Yes, I do. I dropped my ring down the sink. Thought maybe you could help me out?” You raised an eyebrow, never faltering eye contact.
Ellie’s smirk deepened as she studied you for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between you. You could feel her eyes on you, dragging slowly from your lips and down your neck. She pushed off the doorframe and stepped forward, closing the distance between you until she was standing just inches away.
“Sure,” she said, her voice low, almost teasing. “I can help you with that.” She wipes her hands one last time before tossing the rag aside and grabbing a small toolbox by the door. "Lead the way."
-
Back in your apartment, Ellie kneels in front of the sink, sleeves pushed up as she unscrews the pipe beneath. You stand nearby, watching her every move, trying to distract yourself from the growing tension in the room. The way her hands move so confidently, so sure, it’s impossible not to admire her. She glances up at you, catching you staring, she quickly looks away, heat rising on her cheeks.
"Got it," Ellie announced, holding up your ring between her fingers. She stood up, handing it back to you with a playful grin. "Try to be more careful next time." You took the ring, but your eyes never left hers. "Thank you," you murmured softly.
She didn’t step back. Neither did you.
Her gaze dropped to your lips and your stomach fluttered. The intensity of the moment was almost too much, but you didn’t pull away. You just stood there, the air between you thick with desire. Ellie’s hand brushed against yours, her fingertips ghosting over your knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. It was just a touch, barely there, but it was enough to make you ache. You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out. You didn’t know what to say. So you just stood there, staring at each other, until the apartment door unlocked and your husband announced that he was home, shattering the moment.
Ellie stepped back, her hand dropping to her side as her gaze flickered away. "I should go," she said, her voice still low and teasing. “Thanks for the help…” you said, urging her to say her name. “Ellie” she quickly replied as she awkwardly reached her hand out. You shook it, “Y/n.” As if on cue, your husband stepped into the kitchen.
With a final nod, Ellie walked back towards the door, sending a nod of acknowledgment towards your husband. But before she was out of sight she glanced over her shoulder “If you need anything else…” she trailed off, leaving the offer hanging in the air.
And then she was gone.
The weight of the ring on your finger felt a little heavier that night.
The evening air was crisp, a gentle breeze sweeping through the streets as you pulled your car up to Ellie’s house. The date had gone even better than you’d imagined. Dinner, movie, and her constant smirk that made your heart flutter, it had all felt perfect. Ellie sat beside you in the passenger seat, glancing out of the window as if savoring the last few moments of your time together before stepping out.
"Thanks for tonight," Ellie said, breaking the silence but making no move to leave. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if she didn’t really want to say goodbye. “I had a really good time tonight.” you replied, your heart thudding a little faster in your chest. Ellie smiled, her lips curling up in that way that always made your heart skip. “Me too.”
Before you could say anything else, Ellie leaned over, her breath warm against your skin as she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. It was meant to be a simple gesture of thanks, but the second her lips touched your skin, something shifted in the air between you. You turned your head slightly, and suddenly, her lips were on yours, tentative at first, but then growing bolder when you kissed her back.
The kiss deepened, your hands finding their way to Ellie’s hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as she leaned closer, her body pressing against yours. The space between the seats felt too small, too confining, as if it wasn’t enough to contain the intensity of the moment.
Ellie seemed to feel the same way. Without breaking the kiss, she shifted, trying to climb over the center console into your lap. The car was small, though, and Ellie’s movements were anything but graceful. Her knee knocked into the gearshift, and as she twisted her body to straddle you, her foot caught on the edge of the seat. In the scramble, her butt hit the car horn with a loud, blaring honk that shattered the quiet night.
You both froze, the kiss abruptly cut off as you stared at each other in shock, wide-eyed and breathless. Then, as if on cue, the front door of Ellie’s house swung open, and there stood Joel, silhouetted against the light from inside.
“Ellie,” Joel called out, his voice gruff but not exactly angry—more like he had caught her doing something she shouldn’t, which was… well, accurate.
Ellie quickly scrambled off you, mumbling out a curse, nearly falling back into the passenger seat as she tried to regain her composure, then rolling the passenger window down. "Uh, hey, Joel…" She wiped at her mouth, trying to look nonchalant, but the red creeping up her neck wasn’t helping her case. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Joel raised an eyebrow, looking between you two before letting out a heavy sigh. "I was wonderin' why the car horn went off in the driveway. Didn't realize it was... this." His tone was stern, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes that he was clearly trying to suppress.
You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, Mr. Miller…"
Joel just shook his head, stepping back towards the house. "You two finish up your… uh, whatever it is you're doin'. Just… maybe not in the driveway, yeah?" He gave Ellie a pointed look before disappearing back inside.
The moment he was out of sight, Ellie let out a deep breath, slumping back in the seat, and you both burst into laughter.
"Well, that could've been worse," Ellie snorted, wiping a hand over her face. She turned to you, her face still flushed, still not quite over the embarrassment. "So, what are the chances we can pretend that never happened?"
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not a chance. I’m never letting you live this down."
Ellie rolled her eyes but leaned in to press one last soft kiss to your lips, this time careful not to trigger any more accidental honking. “Guess we’ll have to try this again sometime,” she murmured against your lips, her voice low and teasing, "but next time let’s make sure we’re in your room or something, okay?" “Yeah,” you agreed, your heart fluttering at the thought. “I’d like that.”
As she opened the door and stepped out of the car, Ellie threw you one last playful wink before jogging up the steps to the house, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a memory of the night you definitely wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
☆Ellie is nervous but excited as she drives you down long country roads to Joel’s farmhouse in Texas. She’s been looking forward to this trip for weeks, wanting to show you the place she spent so much of her life and, more importantly, introduce you to Joel. It's a huge deal for her to bring you home. The nervousness is written all over her face, though she tries to play it cool.
☆The reality of farm life hits quickly. On your first day, Joel hands you a pair of gloves and gives you a rundown of tasks you’ll be helping with: feeding the animals, harvesting vegetables from the garden, and assisting him with odd jobs around the house. You weren’t expecting a summer of manual labor, but the way Ellie grins at you makes it worth it. Ellie, of course, helps out too but is more inclined to sneak off with you whenever she can, convincing Joel that she's “just showing you around.”
☆The next day, Joel takes you into town to get a pair of proper cowboy boots. He raises his eyebrows at your low-top Doc Martens, chuckling softly. "Those ain’t gonna last long out here," he says with a knowing grin. You spend the afternoon at a local store, where Joel helps you pick out a sturdy, well-worn pair of boots that actually fit in with the work on a farm. Ellie watches from the side with a smirk, making jokes about how you’re becoming "one of them."
☆When Joel sees Ellie’s new eyebrow piercing for the first time, his reaction is immediate. He narrows his eyes at her, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. "What the hell is that?" he asks, though you can tell he's not really angry, just playfully irritated. Ellie grins at him, shrugging nonchalantly. "Got it like a month ago, looks good right" she says, like it’s no big deal. Joel rolls his eyes but doesn’t say much more. You catch him later, glancing at Ellie’s piercing with a small, hidden smile, though he’ll never admit he secretly thinks it suits her.
☆Ellie insists on being the one to drive you everywhere in Joel’s beat-up truck. The truck is ancient, with worn leather seats that creak, an air freshener that smells like a mix of pine and motor oil, and a radio that only catches country stations. Ellie loves it though, she drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh as you cruise down dirt roads, dust swirling behind you. You watch her in admiration as she taps her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.
☆Ellie starts laying her Texas charm on thick, especially when you’re alone. She exaggerates her accent, drawing out each “sugar” and “darlin’” with that slow, playful drawl just to watch you blush. She finds it endlessly amusing to tease you like this, especially when she calls you pet names in front of others, making you smile and roll your eyes in mock annoyance.
☆It’s underneath the vast Texas sky you and Ellie go to unwind each night. After long days of work, you and Ellie find yourselves lying out in the open fields, fingers intertwined as you gaze up at the stars. Ellie points out constellations with precision, her voice soft yet filled with excitement as she names each one. She talks about the myths behind the stars, of distant galaxies, and other wonders of the universe, drawing you in with every word. You listen in awe, occasionally sharing a quiet joke or stealing a kiss, your laughter mingling with the peaceful sounds of the countryside.
☆On the Fourth of July, you drive into the nearby city with Ellie, Joel, and Tess. The smell of fair food wafts through the air as fireworks begin to crackle above you. Ellie pulls you closer with every explosion, her arm wrapped around your waist as the sky lights up in bursts of red, white, and blue. It’s a rare, peaceful moment with everyone together, the sounds of laughter and celebration mixing with the warm night air. You catch Joel watching the two of you with a soft smile, seeing just how happy Ellie is.
☆Despite her usual boldness, Ellie becomes more reserved with public displays of affection around Joel. It’s not that she thinks Joel would disapprove - he’s always been supportive - but there’s something about showing that kind of vulnerability in front of him that makes her feel awkward. Instead, she sneaks in small gestures, a hand on your back, a quick kiss when she thinks no one is looking. Keeping most of her affection behind closed doors.
☆After a long day on the farm, you and Ellie find yourselves sneaking off to the barn for some privacy. The air is warm, hay beneath your feet, and the soft glow of moonlight filters through the gaps in the barn’s wooden boards. You’re mid-makeout when the barn door creaks open. Suddenly, Joel steps inside, immediately freezing in place when he sees the two of you. He clears his throat awkwardly, looking everywhere but at you two, before mumbling, "I'll uh... be outside," and quickly backing out. You and Ellie stare at each other, wide-eyed, before bursting into quiet laughter, trying to recover from the embarrassing moment. Ellie teases you about how you've officially broken Joel's ability to look her in the eye for the rest of the trip.
☆Mornings are spent in the garden with Tess or Joel, picking vegetables or watering plants. The work is slower and more peaceful than dealing with the animals, and you enjoy the chance to learn from Tess, who teaches you little tricks about gardening that Ellie never seemed to care about. Ellie lounges nearby, watching you work, occasionally offering to help but mostly just admiring you from afar with a lazy grin on her face.
☆While farm life involves hard work, it doesn’t take long for Ellie to find you more often than not cuddled up with the sheep instead of actually doing your chores. You’ll disappear for hours, only to be found in the barn snuggled up to a particularly friendly sheep. Ellie teases you about it, but secretly, she loves how gentle and soft you are, how even the animals seem drawn to your warmth.
☆It turns out Ellie has a ridiculous fear of the hens on the farm. One morning while feeding them, you watch in disbelief as she freaks out, practically running away from the clucking birds as they flap their wings at her. You laugh so hard you can’t stand, holding your stomach as tears stream down your face. Ellie glares at you, but the corner of her lips twitches up, seeing how happy you are here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
daydreaming about tennisplayer!abby who is the best in the game, she’s been dominant almost since she was able to hold a racket in her hand. with each year passing by, there wasn’t anything else she’d rather be doing. she’s cocky about it too. not in a way that’s obvious, but enough to make sure her opponents know how good she is. with her power backing her monstrous serve, she tends to leave everyone in the dust, well, until you. it’s the first time her matches have gone to a third set. you’re getting in her head and she’s not too fond of it.
you’re younger than her but fuck…you’re amazing. abby’s experienced enough to pull herself together in the match point before the tiebreak catches up with her. the white sleeves stay pure as snow along with her reputation. the fact she almost let wimbledon slip through her fingers isn’t lost on her. it leaves her exposed to future opponents, yet she displays her charming smile as you hold the runner’s up prize, your hips touching hers.
it isn’t until the after party, she finds you hiding away from the swarm of people, alone on the beach as the sand kisses your feet, the moonlight illuminating your glowing skin.
abby wishes she wasn’t enchanted with you. you’re the competition, the best she’s had in years at that.
“didn’t like how the match went?” you question, offering a sip of your glass of wine.
“i should’ve ended it sooner.”
“not even going to give me a little credit?” you smirk as she takes a few sips on the chardonnay. abby allows the substance to influence her decision. along with the few glasses she’s finished tonight.
“the abby anderson drops the second set but has a courageous victory against the new and up-comer.” you laugh, looking her up and down before settling on a deep pair of curious blue eyes.
“don’t sweat it, the headlines will be praising you. you’re the golden girl.” you assure her as your hands play with the chain, tugging on it as you maneuver her closer to you.
“what are you playing at?” abby quints, blonde eyebrows furrowed.
“nothing, m’just curious i suppose.” you play with the collar of her button up, her toned pecs slightly exposed. the defined line in the middle disappearing under the tank she wore underneath it. the golden chain laying deliciously on her freckled skin, you wanted to choke her with it.
whether you would get off from it, you hadn’t decided.
“i want to see for myself if you’re as golden as they say.” you play with the ends of her blonde waves, released from her constricted braid. you lean in, perfume invading abby’s senses as you place your hands on her toned abdomen.
biting your lip as you peak through your eyelashes, practically pressing your body against hers.
“i think you’re reading this wrong.” the burly blonde pressed but you pinch her side which lurches her forward. playfully, you bite her earlobe.
“mhm, i don’t think so.” you grin like a cheshire cat, her heavy breathes are the only thing to be heard.
you lean back, leaving abby no choice but to lean in. delightfully, your face turning as her lips ghost over yours. you smirk, eating every single moment of it right up.
“reach up my dress, abby.”
“um” she pauses, chuckling softly. “can you say that again? i could have sworn you just said—”
“up my dress, anderson.” you quirk your eyebrow upwards. daring the uptight tennis legend to take a step into something she really shouldn’t. she’s never been tried quite like this, but she’s also never had someone who made her entire body light a flame.
her firm hand slightly drifts, fingertips softly kissing your thighs, the smooth skin feeling tempting under her fingertips. she gazes at you expectantly, waiting for your next instruction as abby traces incoherent patterns on your skin.
“waistband.” you command. with hooded eyelids, her fingertips skim over your lace as she feels something square, round edges, as she slips the piece of plastic out from under you.
“your hotel key?”
you grip her chin, tugging at her bottom lip as she pouts deliciously. “yes….and if you want to put your hands up my dress again, you’ll use it.”again, you nibble on her earlobe. “anderson, you may not scream in the court like most, but i’ll get you there tonight.”
Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, shower sex, making out, fingering (r! receiving), porn with plot
w/c ≈ 1270
Your body ached. You were cold and tired. You had just come back from a team patrol. It was late at night, therefore the hallways echoed with each step that you took. As much as you wanted to close your eyes and let your body fall into bed, you decided to make your way to the showers. The clothes on your body were stuck onto you, fully drenched from the Seattle downpour and mud had infused into the fabric from accidental falls during combat. The fluorescent light in the locker room was not kind to your eyes as you peeled off the soaked fabric off your body.
You stood in the shower, trying to submerge yourself in the warm water. The shower curtain that surrounds you helps to keep the warm steam close. The rest of the shower room was eerily quiet this time at night, the only thing that could be heard was the water droplets echoing as they hit the floor. That was until you heard the door to the attached locker room open and then slam shut, which startled you out from your tired haze.
Someone stepped into the shower room, without announcing themselves. So, as you scrubbed your vanilla soap against your body, trying to get rid of the dirt from the patrol, you called out to the mystery person. “Hello?” after a beat the other person answered “it’s Abby,” you released a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “Anderson, you scared the living shit out of me!” you proclaimed, as she stepped into the other shower beside you. A chuckle and a “sorry, Y/n” could be heard from the woman on the other side of the shower curtain. You wondered why she decided to shower beside you, guessing that maybe she felt conversational. Your guess was right as she asked “How are you holding up?” “I’m alright, a couple of bruises here and there, a quite gnarly one on my hip though.” You answered, before turning the question to her, “I’m good, not even a scratch,” she answered back. “Way to rub salt in the wound, Anderson,” you said out loud with a chuckle. Another apology was uttered by Abby before she asked “How bad is the bruise?” “You can take a look at it if you want,” you answered back.
You didn’t think she would actually do it, but then the shower curtain moved and Abby’s naked figure took a small step inside. Your arms came up to cover your breasts and Abby tried to keep her wandering eyes at bay. You turned so your hip would face her, neither of you saying anything until Abby broke the silence with “Is it alright if I touch it?” You nodded your head, while humming out a consent. She reached her hand to your hip, carefully grazing it against your purple skin, unconsciously stepping closer to your body. You looked at her movements attentively, you couldn’t keep your eyes away from her, and why would you.
Her body was drawn towards you, she seemed to inch closer and closer, then her hand started moving towards your lower back, wishing to press your body against hers. “Is this okay?” She whispered out, you whispered back a breathy “yes.” You were now fully pressed against her except for your arms still shielding your breasts. Abby gazed into your eyes, it seemed like she was looking for something, you didn’t know what, but underneath her soft gaze you felt a blush and a smile creep its way onto your face. That reaction might’ve been what Abby was looking for, because she started to slowly lean her head closer to yours. Then you felt her lips on yours, the kiss was soft and careful at first but grew to be more messy. Your arms slung around Abby’s neck, and the two of you were now fully pressed against one another. Abby felt your pebbled nipples pressed onto the skin of her chest, which turned her on even more.
Abby moved her head down to press kisses onto your neck, as her hands simultaneously moved to grab at your ass. You moaned into the steamy air, when Abby was lightly nipping at your neck, then decided to mirror her actions. Your head was buried in her neck, still smelling the scent of rain that lingered in her wet hair. Then you were moved around and your back was pressed into the cold white tiled wall, you shuddered. The two of you were dishevelled, both faces red from the shower steam, hair clinging to every surface and both had a growing need of pleasure.
Abby’s hands had been roaming your body, until her left hand grabbed onto your right thigh moving it upwards to press it against her hip. Abby looked at you again, with that same look from before, you now knew what it was, she needed confirmation that you wanted the same thing as her. You looked at her face, it was flushed from the heat, expression just as soft. One of your hands came to move some wet hair from her face, as you gasped out “Abby, I want, need, you to-” She cut you off by capturing your lips in a kiss, moaning into your mouth, as her right hand which had been resting against your hip moved in between your legs.
Her fingers brushed against the length of your pussy, collecting your wetness to rub her fingers against your clit. You moaned into her mouth, she parted her lips to whisper, “you’re so wet, baby.” “All for you, Abby” you said, before pressing your lips against hers yet again and Abby couldn’t help but to moan at your statement. She decided to move it along further by moving her fingers down and inserting two of them. Your fingers tensed, digging blunt fingernails into Abby’s shoulders. You gasped as she started to move her fingers, curling them slightly. The pace that she set was slow, it felt really good, but you got impatient and needed more.
You started to grind and buck your hips against her hand, trying to signal to her to move faster while simultaneously, with a breathy moan uttering “please go faster, Abby,” and she did just that. Abby moved her fingers faster, while you grinded against the palm of her hand. It did not take long for you to build up to climax with her hand between your legs, her warm skin against yours, her moans and her encouragement for you to cum. Your body arched off the wall and your toes curled as the orgasm washed over you. Abby’s fingers moved as your hips bucked into them, but halted as you relaxed against her body. You were slightly leaning against her for support and soft praises were whispered from her lips.
She let go of your leg and you now had both feet on the floor, however you were still leaning against her body, enjoying the way she felt against you. Abby moved the two of you to the stream of water from the shower head above you, thankfully it was still warm. The two of you were basking in the warmth of the water but also in each other's presence. “You smell good,” Abby remarked as her head laid against your shoulder. You hummed, that giddy feeling spreading through your body, “It’s that vanilla soap” you said. She hummed, reaching for it on the shower shelf, “I like it” she said, as she lathered in her hands, then moving them against your body, washing you for the second time today.
☆ Entertainment in Jackson is limited, but movie nights are a constant in your relationship with Ellie. Thankfully, Ellie has a TV in her house, and many nights are spent cuddled together in her bed watching films. You two quickly discovered you don’t always agree on what to watch. To solve this, you both take turns picking movies. When it’s your turn, you sometimes choose horror films, which Ellie "watches" with her face buried in your neck, a pillow, or with her eyes tightly shut. It always amuses you how someone whose job is to kill infected can be terrified of ghosts and jump scares. Even if she’s afraid, she never complains. You would happily wrap your arms around Ellie and help her cover her eyes from what scared her.
☆ More on girlfriend!ellie is that she cannot be quiet during movies. She loves making snarky, dirty remarks about the actors and actresses, often with a grin on her face. She also has a knack for figuring out the plot within the first 20 minutes. Sometimes she accidentally blurts out her theory, forgetting that you might want to enjoy the movie without spoilers. But most of the time, she’s mindful and keeps her predictions to herself.
☆ Ellie always has cold hands, and for some reason, they always seem to find their way to you. Whether it’s under the covers or sneaking a hand under your shirt when you're not paying attention, she loves hearing your whiny complaint when her icy fingers touch your warm skin.
☆ Ellie has a habit of bringing you little trinkets she finds while on patrol. Broken jewelry, random rocks, tiny figurines, she always finds the strangest things, but she'll always justify bringin it home to you because she says that they reminded her of you. Over time, these trinkets pile up in your shared space. Ellie loves the cluttered, homey vibe. At this point, though, it’s more “messy” than “cluttered,” with stuff scattered all over the house.
☆ Teaching you to play the guitar is one of Ellie’s favorite things to do. She’s patient with you, gently correcting your fingers as you fumble over chords and she always insists that you’ll get better with time. Sometimes, when you’re just not getting it, she’ll take your hands and move them herself or hold the chords herself and let you do the strumming, all while smiling softly at you, humming softly in your ear.
☆ Ellie always begs you to cut her hair when it starts getting too long. Even though you’re terrified of messing it up, making it uneven or too short, she always reassures you. "Hair grows back," she says with a shrug. "I don’t care, but you’re the one who has to look at me every day" she jokes, easing your nerves. It’s become a regular routine now, and even though you’re still nervous every time, you’ve gotten pretty good at it.
☆ Ellie is notorious for stealing the bed covers at night. You’ll wake up shivering, only to find her cocooned in a mountain of blankets, fast asleep. You always manage to wrestle a bit back, but she’s a blanket thief through and through.
☆ Ellie tries her best to comfort you when you’re sad, but she’s not exactly sure how to do it. She’ll awkwardly pat your back or try to make you laugh with silly jokes. It’s the thought that counts, and you appreciate every clumsy attempt she makes.
☆ Ellie draws you all the time. She’ll scribble sketches of you in her journal, your eyes, your smile, the way your hair falls across your face. Sometimes she even draws your hands, completely obsessed with the little details. If she ever finds an old camera on patrol, she’ll snatch it up in a heartbeat. Ellie loves taking photos of you, capturing moments where you aren’t paying attention. She swears it’s because “the lighting was good,” but you know it’s just because she’s crazy about you.
Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, fic is based on Guess by Charli xcx featuring Billie Eilish, oral (r! receiving), kitchen sex, thumb sucking, porn with plot
w/c ≈ 1800
Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes away from you, more specifically keep her eyes from drifting down to your lower back, the small tattoo peeking out from the lowrise jeans you were wearing, however it wasn’t just the tattoo that was piquing Ellies interest. The black lace thongs that were sticking out were much more interesting.
-
It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday, but you decided that the two of you needed to get out of the small apartment you were sharing. You'd been cooped up there since Friday evening and Ellie would’ve been fully contempt with a weekend full of nothing but you two being close to one another, but you had other plans for how you were going to spend your Sunday and Ellie decided to tag along.
You started with lunch and then the two of you were roaming the streets of Boston, checking off boxes on your shopping list. First looking for new duvet covers and that's when Ellie noticed the black lace fabric sticking out. You were crouched, looking at some blue flannel duvet covers and Ellie couldn’t help but stare, because it was her favorite pair. The black lace ones, with the bow in the front. She also knew that they were part of a matching set and she wondered if you were wearing the bra that went with it. The black lace lingerie set was something you picked out together, Ellie's gift to you that Valentine’s day - which was more of a gift to herself, but that’s irrelevant.
It was as if the underwear you were wearing was haunting her. They were plaguing her mind. She tried to keep her composure, but they kept on reappearing throughout the day. At the bookstore, when you once again crouched down to look at the classics on the bottom shelf, or at the grocery store when you were reaching for something on the top shelf. Ellie was capable of keeping her hands off of you in public, most of the time. The two of you had been together for a long time at this point and Ellie had been in situations were she found you incredibly sexy, to the point where all she wanted were to press you up against the nearest surface and just fuck you sensless, but she’d often managed to keep her cool and wait until you were at home. Now however, she was a ticking time bomb and it was the underwear's fault.
-
The two of you had finally made it home and were putting away the groceries together. The way you moved around made the underwear peek out several times and Ellie couldn’t keep her composure any longer, she needed you now. So, Ellie decided to move towards you, wrap her arms around your waist and bury her head in your neck, breathing in your scent. “Ellie” you said while playfully trying to get her away from you, her breathing tickling the side of your neck. Ellie’s arms only wrapped tighter around your waist and she huffed out a “what” you could hear the pout on her face, “I’m not doing anything,” she continued, the pout turning into a smirk. “Yes, you are,” you chuckled, “you're distracting me, let me just finish up and you’ll get my undivided attention.” “ You better” she only huffed out, then returned to bury her face in your neck and her arms remained around your waist. She clung onto your body as you moved through the kitchen, putting away the remainder of your groceries. Then, as you promised, your attention turned towards her.
You turned around in her arms, your hands moving to cup her face. Ellie’s hands which used to have a respectful placement around your waist, were now drifting down and placed them on your ass and hips. Ellie sucked in a breath as she buried her thumbs underneath the waistband of your jeans, stroking the material she was entranced by the whole day. “What has gotten you so needy, baby?” you asked softly, Ellie answered by pressing her lips on yours. Because she was needy and she was needy for you.
Ellie’s hands moved to unbutton your jeans and when they laid on the kitchen floor, the place where they belong according to Ellie, her hands immediately gripped onto your thighs to place you upon the edge of the kitchen counter. “Been thinking about this all day, babe,” Ellie said while placing sloppy kisses onto your neck. “About what?” you questioned playfully, she had been giving you ‘bedroom eyes’ all day, but you couldn’t come up with a reason as to why. “The fucking underwear, baby,” she said looking into your eyes, while simultaneously cupping her hand inbetween your legs. You let out a strangled “oh” both for the clarification but also the sudden pressure.
Ellie’s lips trailed down your chin, neck and onto your fabric clothed chest, which Ellie immediately made an effort to remove. A curse slipped out from her lips as she saw that you were in fact wearing the matching bra. Her hands and mouth latched onto your lace clothed tits, massaging, licking and biting lightly. Your hands flung into her hair, weaving themselves through her auburn locks. “Baby please,” you pleaded, pushing Ellie’s head down to where you wanted her the most. She chuckled into your skin, lips placing light kisses down your stomach, “look who's needy now, sweet girl” Ellie muttered looking up at you with a smug look plastered on her face.
She grabbed onto your thighs, angling your hips upward for better access. Surprised by the fast motion you let out a yelp, as an apology Ellie kissed your thigh. Ellie’s hands were on your hips, keeping you in place, fingers weaving themselves in your black lace underwear, playing with the fabric, teasingly. Ellie’s lips were on the move, from light kisses on your plush inner thighs, to your lower stomach, but never at your center. You tried to guide Ellies head towards your pussy, but she kept on teasing kisses around it. You couldn’t fathom the level of self control she must have at this moment, if this was any other day, she would’ve already been two fingers deep already.
You let out a whine and uttered “fuck, Ellie please just-” when she moved away from your lower half, positioning herself to be face to face with you. You were cut off by the fast movement of her hand tangling in your hair, pulling at it slightly. A gasp was released by you at the sudden movement. Ellie gazed deeply into your eyes, “you’ve been teasing me all day baby, and I can’t have a little fun with you? Such a brat,” she said mockingly, one hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb slowly tracing your bottom lip. You pushed your tongue out slightly, licking her thumb. Ellie decided to move it along further, pushing her thumb deeper into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around it and started sucking. Ellie watched with fascination, and the facade of self control started to crumble. Deep breathing could be heard from the both of you, Ellie released her thumb from your mouth, with a last swipe of your bottom lip, before her hand disappeared between your thighs. “So wet for me,” she stated, while her thumb was stroking your clit through your soaked underwear.
Feeling how wet you were, Ellie decided to move downwards again, however this time at a much faster pace. Her head was buried between your thighs in no time, she gave one lick on your still lace covered core, before moving the fabric aside and dove in. She was lapping at your core like a starved woman. She was licking, sucking and lightly biting on your clit, pulling moans, whines and pleads out of your mouth. It was messy, Ellie’s lower half of her face fully drenched in your wetness. Her hands were holding your hips down, so you wouldn’t accidentally buck yourself off the kitchen counter.
The rhythmic sucking and licking on your clit was bringing you closer to an orgasm. Your head was thrown back, leaning against the kitchen cabinet, one hand buried in Ellie’s hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter. Your thighs were now placed on Ellie’s shoulders, her head secured in between your thighs. The apartment was quiet, except for the pornographic noises the two of you were making.
Ellie could sense that you were approaching climax, your body was tensing and you were grinding against her face, her suspicion was confirmed by you repeating “don’t stop” mixed with numerous curses. Ellie wouldn’t dare to stop, if she was honest, she probably needed this just as much as you did. Ellie did just as she was told to do, she continued. She continued to lap at your core, continued to moan into it, and continued to look up at you as you were approaching your climax.
It wasn’t long until your last throaty chant of Ellie’s name was vibrating off the kitchen walls, your body tense and sweaty. Ellie’s head was still locked in place between your thighs, the last grinds of your hips hitting her tongue. Then your body relaxed and slumped backwards, Ellie’s grip on your hips releasing as she straightened herself. Her disheveled face now leveled with yours. A smile spread on your face when you got a good look at the state Ellie was in, hair all ruffled, sticking to her forehead and neck, her mouth and chin glistening.
She leant in towards you, lips pressing against yours, this time much softer. Her tongue protruding into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself. Then her lips started moving again, down your chin, jawline, neck and towards your chest. You hummed at the sensations, your hands tangling themselves in Ellie’s hair yet again, pulling her upwards to face you. You saw the frustrated look on her face, she wanted a second round. You chuckled at her expression, playfully stating “I should wear these underwear more often, huh?” Ellie’s hands were yet again playing with the lace when thinking about her answer “I don’t think you can, they're ruined, but I can get you new ones,” she said smirking, looking up at you through her eyelashes. You kissed her, giving you time to think of a comeback. You parted your lips from hers, whispering against them, “Ellie,” “mhm?” she responded, you moved your lips closer to hers, “I shouldn't be wearing ruined underwear, right?” Gazing into her eyes, to see if she got the innuendo. She shook her head with a sly smile on her face, “you definitely shouldn’t,” she said, dragging your underwear down your legs letting them fall to the kitchen floor.
Natasha was startled awake, another nightmare. She sat up against the headboard, leaning her head against it, trying to regain her composure. After some deep breaths and scanning of her surroundings she came to the conclusion that she was safe, in your shared apartment, with your sleeping form right beside her. Natasha also knew that sleep would not come easy for her at this moment, still on high alert and she needed to calm herself down.
So, Natasha did what she usually does after a nightmare. She carefully climbed out of bed, doing her best to not wake you, because honestly it would do more bad than good for her right now. If you were to wake, you would be adamant about her getting back in bed and laying down in your arms. Something she normally loved, there was no place better on earth than being wrapped in your arms, but right now she just needed to be alone.
Natasha walked out of your bedroom and into your kitchen, the routine used to consist of her making coffee and then to sit down to think and breathe. Nowadays, rather than to make a cup of coffee, Natasha made a cup of chamomile tea. You were aware of Natasha’s little night time routine, after questioning her about the cold half-full coffee pot you would find in the mornings, and you suggested that a caffeinated beverage may not be the best for a good night's sleep. So, now Natasha’s night time beverage has changed to tea.
The apartment was dark, except for the warm kitchen illuminating the small space. It wasn’t fully quiet either, traffic and the last people making their way home after a rather successful night out could be heard. The noise from the streets of the city that never sleeps, had a calming effect on her, while she was sitting by your kitchen table. The cup of tea was now empty and her thoughts were at bay. She was ready to go back to sleep.
The empty cup was left in the kitchen-sink, but instead of making her way back to your bed, to you, she decided to lay herself on the couch. She took your decorative pillows and propped them up on one side of the couch and wrapped herself in your blanket which rested on the couch arm. The outside noise lulled her to sleep immediately.
-
You woke up to a twilight sky, you weren’t supposed to wake up at this early hour, but your unconscious felt that something was out of place. You turned towards Natasha’s side of the bed to discover that it was empty. You scanned the room, the en suite bathroom light was off, the covers next to you felt cold and the bedroom door was slightly ajar. You decided to investigate her disappearance. Stepping out of your bedroom, you found the sight to be endearing, Natasha sleeping on the couch, blanket pulled all the way up towards her neck, she seemed to be at peace.
What you decided to do was selfish, but you couldn’t suppress your need to have her close. You slowly and carefully made your way towards her, lifting the blanket from her hold and meticulously climbing in. You laid on top of her, she stirred a little from your movement, but it did not wake her. Your head was placed on her chest, her heartbeat, her warmth and soft snoring, washed a sense of calm over you. Nat would ever admit that she snored, not even a little bit, but she did and you found it adorable. Your eyes fluttered closed in no time.
-
When Natasha woke up a second time, due to the early morning sunrays seeping through your living room windows, she felt fully rested. She could also feel the extra weight on top of her, but it never worried her, she knew it was you. The warmth, the smell and soft hold you had around her brought her peace, she never wanted to interrupt this type of peace and luckily for her she didn’t have to, at least not today. It was Saturday and neither of you had anything planned. The two of you could stay like this all day and you probably would. She buried her fingers in your hair lightly scratching your scalp, she felt your stir, then slightly stretch and yawn. “Good morning sleepyhead” she said softly, her raspy morning voice and comment, making you bury your head deeper into her chest. A smile spread onto Natasha’s face when she heard your mumbled “good morning Nat” against her chest.
The two of you would definitely stay like this for the rest of the day.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, dom!natasha, sub!reader, stripping, strap-on sex (r! - receiving), porn with a little plot
w/c: ≈ 2120
Natasha’s alarm clock blared, cutting off her slumber and preparing her for a new day of work. After she turned it off, she rolled over and reached across the bed and discovered that your side was empty. She let out a sigh and wondered where you could be. After a short trip to the bathroom, Natasha made her way to the kitchen where she found you. You were swaying softly while flipping an omelet. Natasha stood and observed you for a second before moving towards you.
“Hey you” Natasha cooed as she approached. You smiled as you mumbled a good morning, while Natasha walked past to give you a kiss on your temple and then sat down by the kitchen island across from you. “What are you making?” she asked, “breakfast” you snickered. Natasha’s smile grew at your antics, “I can see that,” then her expression changed into a smirk and one of her eyebrows raised “what do want?” she said her tone was slightly accusatory, she could read you like an open book. You bit your lip, “nothing” you said as you quickly plated Natashas breakfast and placed it in front of her. Natasha followed you with curious eyes and before you could leave to clean up, she patted her lap and softly uttered a “come here.”
You sat down and snuggled into her neck. “Princess” she whispered as she moved you and her hands cupped your face that was trying to contain a smile, she chuckled at your expression and kept on looking at you trying to pry an answer out of you. “I want us to go and see a musical on Broadway,” you pouted, trying to sway her decision to your liking. “I don't know sweetheart” she said while looking away, “please Nat, it’s this musical about..” before you could continue your ramble Natasha stopped you with a kiss. It was sweet and quick and when it ended Natasha uttered, as quick as the kiss, “I really don't want to go, you know that baby.”
“Okay” you sighed as you moved off Natasha’s lap, but before accepting defeat you turned around, with a mischievous glint in your eyes. You slid into Natashas lap again, you sultrily asked, “What if I make your favorite dinner and swing by your office with a little surprise?” You bit your lip and wiggled your eyebrows in anticipation for her answer, “princess my day is full…” she said feigning apology. “What if I sprinkle something special before bed, after a really special dinner?” You looked at her with your best puppy dog eyes and yet again Natasha could not resist them. “You are not going to give up are you?” “No” you replied quickly. Natasha sighed “alright, what day?” “Saturday evening” “go book the tickets.” You flew off her lap and ran excitedly to book the theater tickets.
-
The door closed behind Natasha and she was welcomed by the smell of oven-baked ribs, the atmosphere was warm, soft jazz music playing while you yet again swayed in the kitchen with Natasha observing you. “Smells good” she announced softly as she walked towards you, you hummed as you felt her arms snake around your waist. “Don't you want to go and change out of your work clothes?” you asked, “Yes” she answered. But she did not leave, instead she started to kiss you neck and her hands started wandering across your body and almost underneath you pants, but before her fingers slid their way past the waistband of your pants, you lightly nudged her away and said “no, you are going to ruin the surprise” “baby” she whined, “no” you said as you kissed her cheek, moving towards the oven and away from her.
-
The dinner was enjoyed with flirty banter and light touching. Both of your faces were flushed by the flirty remarks and stomachs filled with butterflies with anticipation of what was to come. The dining room was filled with giggles and chuckles and as your wine glasses were empty and plates cleared, the two of you looked at each other with love. You broke the comfortable silence “go and take a seat on the chaise lounge in the bedroom and I’ll be there in a second” Natasha raised from her seat adjusting her pants and then disappeared into the bedroom. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath before doing the same, the only difference being grabbing the high heels that you had stashed behind a plant and putting them on and also pressing play on your phone to start the sensual song for your “surprise.”
You walked through the bedroom's french doors and took in the room. The lights were dimmed, some scented candles burned making the room feel and smell warm and Natasha patiently sat on the chaise lounge as ordered with a smirk plastered on her face, her blazer was laying over the armrest, tie slightly loosened and more buttons popped. She was at ease and leaned back with her legs slightly spread and thighs strained against the fabric of her pants. A blush spread across your cheeks, your mind a little fuzzy from the wine, however not enough to escape the feeling of embarrassment as to what you were going to do. Natasha nodded at you signaling “go on,” she had figured out what the “surprise” was and just waited for you to start. The music was filling the room and you swayed your hips to the slow beat, clicking your heels against the hardwood floor and simultaneously unbuttoning your pants and letting them fall to the floor. Hands slowly dragging your shirt over your head. When you reached Natasha you let her feel you stocking clad legs and heard a curse fall off her lips. Her hand dragged up your legs and snapped the string attached to the garter belt that kept your black sheer stockings. You giggled as you turned around and bent down slowly.
You continued your sensual movements all the way to the song's end and now you were seated in Natasha’s lap with her lips sucking on the column of your neck and restless hands grabbing and groping at your flesh or the black lace lingerie set you were wearing. The both of you were breathing messes, you from the physical activity of your strip-tease and Natasha from attacking your body. You took a moment to just breathe and enjoy the present, but the moment ended in a high pitched squeal from you, when Natasha abruptly stood up and carried you to bed. Another squeal that was followed by giggle echoed through the room when Natasha threw you onto the edge of the bed. Her frame hovered over you as her hands pinned yours beside your head and her lips clashed against yours, your legs trying to push her closer to you by circling the back of her thighs. “Baby,” she whispered and it caught your attention, she continued while slightly nodding to the right “I want you to look at yourself in the mirror princess, look how desperate you are for me huh?” Natasha returned to attaching her lips to your neck.
You turned your head to your left, looking into the huge full body mirror mounted on the wall, you let out a moan to what you were observing, but also to the sensation of Natasha giving a soft bite against your neck and simultaneously detaching your bra from your body. Natasha chuckled at how turned on you were, how your eyes were dilated and how you were squirming on the bed, as she stood up slowly, tie hanging from her neck lightly grazing your breast at her actions. Natasha pried herself from your legs and walked to the dresser beside the huge full body mirror, you whined at the loss of contact and Natasha’s stupid smirk was back on her face. The whining stopped when you heard Natasha’s belt buckle loosen and she dragged her pants and underwear down her legs and quickly dragged a harness up her legs. Then there was another whine heard in the room, which was followed by a chuckle from Natasha, she loved when you got like this, super needy and completely soaked.
She walked over to the place she originally had, standing in between your legs at the edge of the bed. She looked down at you with pity but also with amusement as she brought your legs up her body, ankles resting on her shoulders, the bottom of your heels facing the ceiling. She pulled your hips towards her and in the process the head of her strap-on accidentally hit your clothed clitoris and a groan rumbled in your chest. Natasha’s hand lightly grazed over your clothed pussy, feeling through the fabric how wet you were. Natasha herself needed to take a deep breath as your whining continued. She slid your underwear to the side and continued to softly run her fingertips against your slicked folds. Your whines turned into moans at the contact, but you needed more “I need you inside of me” you said while bucking your hips and pressing her hand harder against you. Natasha could see that you were about to explode if she did not listen to your command, so she complied.
Natasha slid her hand against her strap-on and stopped at the base, which she used as leverage to slide it into your hole. Her strap slid right in, which was no surprise because of the state you were in. She started to pump slowly at first, but quickly fastened the pace. Her hands started to wander from your thighs to your jiggling breast, cupping and pawing at them. This made Natasha body press closer to yours and made the strap-on hit deeper within you. Your breaths got deeper and moans were welling out of you, both with the deeper angle but also the way Natasha was playing with your breast. But you needed her closer, nearer, deeper.
The tie around Natashas neck was bouncing in front of your face with each thrust of her hips. You lunged at it, grabbed it and pulled Natasha closer to you. She was now completely pressed against your front, your knees arched over her shoulders and heels resting on her back. As your thighs were pressed against you, Natasha was slightly shocked at your action, but mostly impressed. Her thrusting had stopped, but the strap was lodged really deep inside of you and your eyes were shut and bottom lip caught in your teeth. Natasha started to move again and a gasp was released from you. Seeing your face scrunched and head thrown back, gave Natasha a rush and her thrusting was set to the same pace as before and with that you were starting to unravel. You were a squirming mess and you felt your climax approach. Natashas moans and mixed with yours, the sound from which your bodies were making and a quick glance in the mirror was what sent you over the edge. You didn't even have time to utter the words “I’m cumming” instead Natasha felt your body tense, shake and buck. She heard the moan released from your throat and felt her thighs soak. She slowed her rhythm until it came to a halt and your whole body relaxed against her. Your breath was labored and sweat was dripping down your forehead. Natasha smiled as she carefully removed your legs of her shoulders and started to graze her fingers against your thighs.
A sigh was released from you once you had calmed down and Natasha started to slip out of you. You whined because of sensitivity and Natasha muttered an apology while stroking your thighs. In your post-daze you felt kisses starting to litter your body and you couldn’t help but smile. You looked down at Natasha, who was now peppering kisses onto your stomach and weaved your hand through her hair, lifting her head upwards, urging her to come closer to your face for a proper kiss. Her lips attached to yours, and you moaned when you felt her tongue slip into your mouth. You combed your hands through Natasha's hair and hers were at either side of your head for stability.
Her lips detached from yours and her eyes gazed into yours, her demeanor was soft, but her eyes were still dilated. You brushed your hand against her cheek and she leaned in to give it a kiss, before she spoke, “Do you have it in you for one more?” You nodded with a smile and couldn’t help but giggle at how insatiable she was. “Climb up the bed for me sweetheart, I want to taste you this time.”
The air was stuffy as you walked through the living room, which was now transformed into a dance floor. People were bumping into you, but it did not matter, all you needed was to pee, which was not surprising after the amount of drinks, shots and sips from other peoples beer you’ve consumed. It was your third, maybe fourth?, trip to the bathroom, but this time your friend did not accompany you, because of some conversation with a guy, who was speaking alarmingly close to her face. As you trudged to the sea of people, you found your light at the end of the tunnel, the bathroom door. Luckily or, unluckily, for you there was only one person standing in line in front of the bathroom door.
-
Abby breathed out a sigh as she stood leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, she had stood there for what felt like an eternity, for what was supposed to be a quick trip to the bathroom before leaving the house party. The fucker that was taking their sweet time on the toilet was going to get an earful, for making her stay in what she would call hell on earth for even a second longer. She wasn’t the biggest fan of house parties, the reason being the people, drunk frat guys and sorority girls slobbering on each other in every corner, people half passed out on the couch, way too early into the night and people not being able to behave in general. She much more preferred sitting with her friends around a table at a bar, rather than screaming in each other's ears over awful music.
As she was leaning her head against the wall behind her, contemplating walking out, lose her last ounce of dignity and just pee behind the nearest bush. She felt someone grab on to her hands. She looked at you, a little bewildered, before you slurred out, “Hi, I'm so sorry, but can I please go to the toilet before you, please” You squeezed her hands to accentuate the urgency. Abby looked into your pleading eyes and released a sigh, she would be an asshole to say no to you, but she did herself also need to pee. You saw the reluctance on her face and added “I really really need to go to the toilet, I am going piss myself any second, please.” You said this with a chuckle, because of the absurdity of the situation, practically begging some stranger to let you cut in line to the toilet. Abby herself let out a chuckle and noticed that you hadn’t let go of her hands, she sighed out an “okay” you gave her hands another squeeze, smiled big and said a “thank you” in return.
Abby didn’t know why she had said yes, however if she were to be honest, it was because you looked so goddamn beautiful, your eyes, your smile and especially how good you looked in that little black dress you were wearing. She was already missing your soft hands in hers, as you released your grip, turned around and walked, more like stumbled, to the bathroom door and knocking your fist on it. You yelled out a “Can you please hurry up!” before retreating to stand in front of the opposite wall facing Abby, with your arms crossed over your chest, mimicking Abby’s stance.
You looked at her smiling and couldn’t help but to blush, Abby noticed and smiled back at you. If the situation wasn’t dire, you would have tried to flirt with her, start to compliment her outfit, then her hair, her eyes and of course her muscles. But now all you could do was focus on not peeing yourself in front of her. The flirting could wait.
-
Abby saw your demeanour change from giving her flirty glances and smiles to a serious expression, eyebrows knitting together and heavy breathing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, you muttered “I think I’m gonna throw up.” Abby sprung into action, making her way across the small hallway, her fist knocking hard against the wood, from your perspective it looked like she was going to punch a hole through the door. She yelled “Hey, you better come out, someone needs to throw up” and continued her banging on the door. It only took seconds before the door unlocked and a couple clumsily walking out of it. You sprinted to the toilet, got down on your knees, and vomited into the toilet bowl. Abby was immediately behind you, after closing and locking the door, and grabbed your hair and held it. After a couple of minutes, you laid your head on your arm against the toilet seat. Abby stroked your back, which she had done through all of it, and asked softly “Are you okay?” with a weak “yeah” you answered her. Abby helped you to stand up, you walked to the sink to rinse your mouth as she flushed the toilet.
“Is it alright if I pee?” Abby said, making sure that you're okay with her going first. “Yes, of course,” you said while trying to remove the mascara smudges under your eyes and Abby was a little surprised that you didn’t leave the bathroom. When Abby was finished, flushed the toilet and took a stand beside you to wash her hands, you yourself went to relieve your bladder. “Do you want me to get you an Uber or something?” Abby asked you when you were sitting on the toilet, she of course didn’t look in your direction. “No, I don’t want to risk throwing up in someone's car,” you answered. “Do you live far away from here?” Abby asked, “kinda” you answered, “How long of a walk?” “45 minutes maybe” you answered her. You were now by the sink washing your hands, with Abby standing beside you. “Let me walk you home then.” Abby said with a smile. “You don’t have to do that,” you told her, but she retaliated with “How will you get home then?” You just shrugged your shoulders, she continued with “I really don't mind, I promise. I just want to make sure you’re getting home safe.” “You sure you don't mind?” you questioned, “I am sure” Abby said with a smile.
-
The two of you now stood outside of the house, after retrieving your jackets from a small bedroom where they laid in a pile on the bed, and then having to elbow your way out of the house. You had just sent a text to your friend saying that you were going home and were now typing in your address into Abby’s phone. When you were done Abby looked at her phone and then started walking the route that her phone told her to go. You had your arm wrapped around her bicep for stability, no other reason. The two of you had made it a couple of metres before you looked at her and said “You're walking me home, but I don’t even know your name” Abby chuckled, when she realised that in all of the chaos of the night the two of you hadn’t mentioned your names. Abby put away her phone and reached out with her right hand inviting you to shake her hand, “I’m Abby, nice to meet you” she said with a smile, you giggled at her antics finding her very cute at the moment, before you released your grip on her bicep and shook her hand “It’s very nice to meet you Abby, I’m Y/n.” You mirrored the smile on her face, which you couldn’t get rid of even if you tried to.
For the rest of your 45 minute walk you and Abby talked about anything that came up in your inebriated mind. First the basics, like what the two of you were studying, your respective future careers, hobbies and what not. Abby was just enabling your continued drunken thoughts and questions about her. She found you quite amusing in the way you rambled about different topics. She also found you charming in the way you manage to slip in some flirty remarks about her, while still slurring on your words. As the walk continued however, your words became more clear and you regained your balance and towards the end of it you started to feel fine, having sobered up in the cool air of the night.
At the end of your route, the two of you stood outside the entrance to your dorm building. Either of you wanting the night to end. You went to hug Abby, which she reciprocated opening up her big arms which you then became enveloped in, while in the hug you asked her “How are you getting yourself home, Abby?” “I’ll just get an Uber,” she answered. You nodded at her as you stepped out of the hug, holding onto her hands, the two of you in the same position which you had started the night. “You could come up to my room, while waiting for it,” you suggested, while lightly swinging her hands and gleaming at her. She let out a chuckle, but her facial expression turned sincere, she softly said “I don't think that's a good idea.” You took a small step back. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed you were-” you started, but she cut you off, “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t think we should, given the state you're in,” she said genuinely.
You gave her a smile, and went in for a second hug, which she again reciprocated, you again spoke in the hug “Let me give you my number, so I can make sure you get home safe.” Abby looked at you and plastered on your face was a smirk. “Of course,” she answered, handing over her phone, she wasn’t going to let something like this just pass her by. When you were finished typing your phone number into her phone, you handed it back and said “I’ll see you around then.” Before walking off, you pressed a kiss onto Abby’s cheek and then all she saw was the back of you making your way to the door. She quickly saved your number as a contact, before turning back to look at you. You were now turned towards her at the entrance door and you gave her a little wave, she waved back and you stepped through the door and let it close behind you. Abby smiled to herself when she booked the Uber.
-
When you woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a headache, you tapped the screen of your phone and saw a new text message.
+1 (564) 000-0000
Made it home safe :) Let’s grab a coffee sometime - Abby
