//autumn aesthetic//

You and your mom had never seen eye to eye, but when she'd found out about you regressing, she'd flipped her lid. Throwing all your stuff onto the street. You'd gone off on your own for a few years before she contacted you again. 

You'd been in a relationship with Agatha for a year now. She was your girlfriend and caregiver. She'd accepted you right away, taking you in without a second thought. She nurtured and cared for you more in the first week of being together than your own mom had in the first eighteen years of your life.

When you mentioned to Agatha about your mom contacting you, wanting to reconnect, she was suspicious, to say the least, but let you make the decision. She knew how you were with such a big heart. You'd open up to Agatha about the things your mom did wrong, but in the same breath, you'd compliment something she'd done for you. Agatha knew better because of her own mom, of course, but she'd never bad mouth your mom without ever meeting the woman. 

"I'll be in the office while you two talk, but if I hear her say something, I'm coming out immediately and putting a stop to it." Agatha spoke in a stern but caring voice. Her hand cupped your cheek that you nuzzled into. 

"Of course, Mama!" You looked up at her with big doe eyes that made her smile. Kissing your forehead as the doorbell rang. 

"Go on. I'll be right in the office." Agatha said before sauntering off, and you answered the door. 

Your mom stood there, a scowl on her face, same as you remember. Her fake designer bag that you knew now that you'd seen the real thing with Agatha. You try to hug her, but she pushes past you.

"Is this actually your house?" She questions, looking around. 

"Well, it's my girlfriend's place, but I live here with her." You can almost hear your mom gag when you mention being with a girl. It makes you feel sick, like you've done something wrong.

When she gets to the living room, she stops dead in her tracks. She sees the toys you'd left out this morning. Some plushies, trucks, and dinos. All things your mom never let you play with. 

"Are you still on that…What was it?" There’s poison dripping from her words. You can feel your chest tighten. 

"Regressing and yes, mom. I do." You try to steady your voice, but it cracks a bit. The scoff that leaves her lips makes you feel like your blood runs cold. 

"Go on then. Go and regress. I thought maybe you'd finally grown up, but I see I was wrong, and I should have known you wouldn't change. You're just like your deadbeat father." Each word hits you like an arrow. You feel yourself regress before you can stop it. Feeling like that little kid she'd yell at for the smallest thing. 

You sniffle, looking at your feet, feeling so small and stupid to think she'd change. 

"Hey!" You hear Agatha's voice raise in a way you've never heard. Both your mom and you snap to attention. Your moms eyes widen just a bit when she sees Agatha. She's older than you, and it's obvious to your mom. She looks like she could be your mom. "You don't get to talk to my girlfriend like that, and you certainly don't get to come into our house and make jabs at our lifestyle choices that hurt no one." Agatha seethes, her heels clicking on the hardwood of the living room. She steps and sizes up your mom, standing more than a few inches taller even if she wasn't wearing heels. 

"Who are you to tell me how to raise my daughter?" Your mom spits back.

"Agatha Harkness. Your daughter is an adult. You barely raised her. I'm helping her heal. I only allowed this because she thought you'd change, but you haven't. You still just want to tear your own and only child down. A real mom wouldn't do that. A real mom would love their child unconditionally." Agatha didn't stop or back down. 

Your mom fumed, unable to respond properly before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as the door slams shut behind your mom, Agatha’s hands are on you—gentle but firm, steadying you before you can spiral any further.

"Alright, sweetheart," she murmurs, cupping your face with warm hands. "She’s gone. She’s never coming back. I promise you that."

Your breath hitches, body trembling as you try to process everything. The words, the way she looked at you like you were something broken. You don’t want to feel this way. You don’t want her to have any power over you.

Agatha knows. She always knows.

"Deep breaths for me, darling," she coaxes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "There you go. Just focus on me. My voice, my touch."

Her thumbs trace soothing circles over your cheeks before she guides you toward the couch, settling you into her lap with ease. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it anchors you.

"You’re safe," she reassures, tucking your head under her chin. "You’re my precious little one, and I won’t let anyone hurt you."

The words melt into you, each one a balm over the wounds your mom tried to reopen. Agatha rocks you gently, humming something soft, fingers carding through your hair.

"You are not weak," she continues, voice filled with quiet conviction. "You are not pathetic. You are my sweet, perfect little love, just as you are."

Tears well up in your eyes, the emotions too big, too overwhelming. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, and Agatha is already there, pressing soft kisses over your temple, your cheek, your nose.

"Shhh, I’ve got you," she whispers, pulling the softest blanket around you both. "I always will."

She lets you cry, lets you bury yourself in her warmth, in her scent, in the safety she wraps around you like armor.

When your sniffles quiet, she shifts just enough to meet your gaze. "Would some warm milk help, my love? Maybe a bath?"

You nod shyly, and she smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. "Good girl. We’ll do both, then."

She carries you effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all, murmuring soft praise the entire way. She sets you down only to start running a warm bath, adding lavender bubbles because she knows they’re your favorite.

As she undresses you with delicate fingers, she tuts softly. "My poor baby, all worked up over something that woman said," she sighs, brushing away a stray tear. "But she doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Not anymore. You have me. And I will always, always take care of you."

The bath is warm, soothing, and Agatha stays close, washing your hair with slow, deliberate strokes, rubbing your shoulders until all the tension drains away. When she lifts you out, she wraps you in the fluffiest towel, drying you with all the care in the world.

Then, she dresses you in soft pajamas—ones she picked out just for you, with pastel colors and little stars.

By the time she’s settled you back into her lap on the couch, a bottle of warm milk in hand, the weight of the day has faded into nothing.

"You’re mine, my sweet little one," she whispers, pressing one last kiss to your forehead as you nuzzle into her chest. "And I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Your heart hammers in your chest. If you bring this to her, it’s real. Your palms are clammy, they’re shaking. Your entire body is shaking. You can hear Fin’s voice down the hallway, in the break room where Sonny left donuts, it’s gravely and low — far away. It reverberates against your muscles like they’re panes of delicate glass. The sensation of him cutting right through you feels like it did when you’d accidentally zap the tip of your finger in time with the metal tweezers during operation. It’s jarring, unexpected. It startled you.

Your hand is trembling now. You can’t bring this to her, but she’s the only place you thought to go. You don’t want to drop this on her — on Amanda and Sonny, Fin and Kat, — but it gets laid on SVU anyways the second a cotton swab touches the laceration on your cheek. She raped you. You’re the special victim now.

A knot forms in your belly, the reflection of your sunken eyes and temporarily discolored face in the reflective pane on her office door is sickening. You’ve been shaking for a while. It’s not new. Your fingers had started going when he’d gotten mad over a wine glass. Your jaw had started when a fistful of your hair was snagged and guided into the brick fireplace you’d once tenderly decorated with stockings. Your knees… maybe the force of her shoving you down onto them before she’d unzipped her pants had shattered your kneecaps. You can’t be sure. The only thing you feel is blinding cold or blinding scorching heat ripping deeper into one of the many bleeding wounds on your body.

“Hey, can I help you?” Your body goes rigid when a familiar voice cuts through the office. You love that voice. That voice has become like a sister to you in the years that you’ve been at svu. That voice sends fear coursing through your body. This is real. This is real. This is real. She raped you. She took the one thing from you that she promised he wouldn’t. You know who it was. Of course you do. Thirty-nine percent of sexual violence is committed by someone you know. You just had to fall into that category.

You don’t know how you’d gone unnoticed for so long. Everyone here was so perceptive, yourself included. If the officers at the front didn’t catch someone upon entry, someone on your team did, but it could’ve been half an hour that you’d been standing in front of Olivia’s office, unable to force yourself inside, and unapproached by a Detective — a colleague, friend, mentor. These people were your family, and you’d never wanted them to see you like this. Like another one of the people they’re burdened and empowered to aid. It’s a rewarding job, one that you all do graciously, but its taxing, and you're personal. You’re not self absorbed to know that this will rattle the precinct.

Amanda’s hand sweeps across your back, and you might’ve jumped ten feet into the air with the way you recoiled so automatically, your bruised bones that felt like jelly beneath blood puffed skin aching at the quick motion. Your hair fell away from your face, the hoodie that you always wore overtop of your work clothes slipping off your head until Rollins could see you — identify you.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She cooed, that southern drawl at the forefront of her concern as her eyebrows drew inward. Her fingers flexed, her left hand reaching for her hip; an unconscious response that sparked when she and Carisi let themselves be pulled together. You swallowed thickly, panickedly bouncing between her concern filled blue eyes and the phone strapped to her belt. In an instant, both of her hands were cradling your face, pulling your jaw one way and then another like a frazzled mother. She was a mother. Billie and Jesse were so lucky to have her. Your heart sinks at her concern. It can’t fall much farther than it already has today.

Amanda’s knuckles rap on Benson’s door before you can even process that she’s pulled you into the warmth of her embrace and tucked you beneath her other arm. “Liv,” She speaks firmly, but it lacks the usual depth of her beacon when she’s truly in Detective mode. This isn’t Detective Rollins that's guiding you into a disclosure, it's Amanda; the woman who has become your sister in the years that your lives had been so intertwined.

“Oh, my god.” Olivia gasped when her eyes flickered up to find Rollins’ at the door curiously. You stood meekly at Amanda’s side, your gaze set on the floor even though the blood smeared across your favorite hoodie was evidence enough of some kind of assault. Olivia didn’t need many more context clues to figure out what the nature of the assault was as her eyes scraped across the purple handprint peeking out from the collar of your button-down.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to undress from last night’s shift.

“M-My, I— I—“ You stuttered, your teeth sinking into your lower lip when it became evident to yourself and the women around you that you weren’t in any position to lead the conversation right now. Olivia nodded, setting her reading glasses down on the mound of paperwork that had accumulated since the start of the week.

You didn’t flinch so hard when Olivia’s hand swept across your back, guiding you over to the couch beneath three windows. The blinds were pulled shut, but you could recognize Kat’s figure pacing by her desk as you sat down. Amanda closed the door before she joined you and Olivia on the couch. Neither woman expected you to realize that your eyes watched Amanda carefully, on edge that she’d flee unexpectedly.

“Alright, sweetheart, can you tell me what happened?” Olivia asked softly, keeping a hand on the small of your back where there was thankful a patch of fabric clear from blood. She would’ve handled the bloodied garment regardless had it been stained, but keeping her hands clean was an honored bonus in this line of work.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a sob caught you off guard, tumbling out of your mouth and into the relatively empty office. “She raped me.” The words came out between you beginning to hyperventilate and release another broken sob. “My girlfriend.”

Olivia nodded, letting you sit with that information for a few seconds before she prompted you with another question. “Okay. What else can you tell me? What do you remember?”

In that moment, beneath the soft current of her comfort extended like the pillowy feathered wings of an angel, you couldn’t be a victim. The switch that was always there in the back of your mind flipped, and every sense that hadn’t been overruled by searing pain remembered where you were, what you did for a living.

You cleared your throat, mucus pooling on the back of your tongue that you swallowed thickly. The texture of silicone still irritates your lips, the ghost of a memory vibrant enough to pull you beneath the tide of stimulation like it was still happening. Your tongue poked out to lick at your lips, and although your shoulders squared, you didn’t pull away from Rollins who had found a way to hold onto your leg without you realizing when she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. It kept your knee from shaking, bouncing up and down as anxiety ate away at what remained of your strength. “I, um, I went home last night. Late. Sonny and I got caught up at the corner, he showed me pictures of the girls from over the weekend, because I couldn’t stop by…” Your eyes flicker to Rollins, begging her to believe you, to remember that you always come over on Saturday, but last week you’d been unable to for one reason or another.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Rollins nodded, her hand brushing hair off of your cheek. You're not even sure when that happened. When it had fallen out of the rats nest at the back of your hair and slipped into the blood still freshly weeping from your tender wounds. “Alright, so you and Sonny got caught up talking, what happened after that?”

“I went home. B-Back to my apartment.” You stumbled over your words, flashes of last night coming to you quickly, disorientingly. “Um, s-she was already home from work, or maybe, m-maybe she didn’t go. I, uh, I never really got the chance to ask. I put my bag down on the couch and she was in the kitchen. You can tell when she’s mad. Her shoulders cave in, and she puts more weight on her left leg than her right. And, and, she… she was so mad, and I didn’t know why, until she threw a wine glass at the wall. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” You crumbled, your eyes damp, willing tears to fall, but they’d seemingly dried out. You’d cried yourself dry.

“This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Olivia’s voice was firm, just like it was when she talked to any victim, regardless of whether you had reason to believe they were guilty of something equally relevant in a case. But, that courage that she extended like an olive branch — like it didn’t chip away at fragments of her happiness in the middle of the night — caught in the back of her throat with heavy emotion. You weren’t a kid. You hadn’t come into the station requiring to be handled like one or overseen like one, but you were young. Only a year out of the academy and already being thrown at her feet with pride disguised as something else, something intimidating that would dissuade you, unravel your true intentions and fit with Special Victims.

You hadn’t let Olivia down for a second, and in becoming her rising star of the squad, she’d gotten to see your softer side. Like how you cry with a victim when you don’t think any of your team is around to watch the tip of your nose quiver. And how you get down to any kid's level, regardless of their anger and how that anger was channeled irrationally. She recalls many scratches and bite marks adorning your forearms on a particular case, but by the end, you’d be the only one the child had wanted when they rushed off the stand in hysterics. She’d taken you under her wing. Guided you when she’d seen how you let this job affect you. You’d become something of another kid to her, though you were sufficiently less expensive then Noah, even if you pinned your tab on her after every night out.

“Does she…” Amanda swallowed, seemingly unable to say the words that were at the tip of her tongue. Even if you didn’t realize it, your body was in fight or flight mode, and all that you were concentrating on was disclosing your assault to Olivia before you passed out, a throbbing in your head from when she’d thrown you into the bedroom door prominent and blackening. Your vision is blurred with black pearls, though nothing is as iridescent as the glimmer of twinkles between the black dots whenever your gaze dances to the lamp on Olivia’s desk. “Does she hit you often, sweetheart?”

You don’t know when that started. Whenever you broke down, Amanda resorted to calling you some variation of a pet name that dulled the ache in your heart just enough to force you into clarity again. You noticed that she fell that to strategy sparingly, but let it run rampant with you. You could assume it all came back to the relationship she had with her sister — you’d had many conversations about how she saw you as a kind of second chance — but you’d never asked, but you didn’t want it to stop if it was something she was unaware of. Amanda Rollins was not unaware of how slivers of your broken heart healed whenever she showed you she cared, but she’d let you think she was. That was just the shit sisters did when heart-to-hearts sounded unappealing and unnecessary. Whatever Rollins' reason was, it had prompted Olivia to indulge in the same affections. Though, you think Benson inevitably would’ve let her walls down around you regardless. She was horrible at hiding her soft spot, even when Fin declared favoritism in a meeting tauntingly.

“Yes.” The words are hoarse as they pass your lips, but you don’t let yourself deviate from what you’re here to talk about. You swallow dryly, in desperate need of water, but you can’t wash away the evidence that’s slapped across your tongue and your throat. You know the drill. “S-She raped me in the bedroom. On the bed. T-The sheets are pink. The, the, um, the straps in the closet. S-She threw it there before she stormed out. Um, I, I— I passed out after that. My, my u-underwear’s, um, it’s my pocket— she, um, she left them on, but I… I couldn’t, I couldn’t walk in here in them… I—“ You dissolved into tears, and Olivia didn’t hesitate to pull your face into her chest, careful of the cuts that leaked crimson liquid.

Olivia held you for a couple minutes while Rollins stepped out of the room. The only reason she’d been able to sneak out was because Olivia had replaced the weight of her palm on your thigh, keeping that one knee steady the same way Rollins had before the blonde crept into the main room to inform the squad. She knows where your girlfriend works, she knows where your apartment is, all of them do. They know you. They’ve all gone to incredible lengths to know everything about you that you're willing to share. Fin could tell Benson your coffee order off the top of his head, even though he adamantly denies remembering that you like low-fat soy milk, vanilla cold foam — not syrup —, and one (specifically one) extra scoop of ice.

“I know, I know.” Olivia conceded, patting your blood damp hair. Her face met an uncomfortable sheen of concern when her digit twitched, aware of a certain thickness that coated rings and knuckles. “Did you hit your head?” She asked softly, pulling away from you only to inspect your pupils. “Can you follow my finger, sweetheart?” She holds a finger in front of your face, or maybe it’s two, you’re not sure, but you do as she asks only to be met with a sigh of displeasure. “Alright, we need to get you to the hospital. The squad car will be quicker. Sirens and lights.”

“N-No.” You choked out, aware of what that meant; implied. A wounded officer. Sirens and lights to seal the reality. You were raped, beaten, already victimized and striped of your dignity, you couldn’t swallow your pride enough to continue letting it happen. You’re a New York City Detective; a Special Victims Detective, you know every step to avoiding this, how had you let it happen? “No, no, I-I’m fine!” You weren’t fine, not at all and you knew it, but somehow that was the only defense you could find that would explain your apprehension to her. Somehow, Olivia saw through you either way.

“No dispatch. Just you, me, and Rollins. We‘ll relay only what’s necessary to Kat, let Fin take the reins in detainment and interrogation. This stays close until it can’t, I can promise you that. Rollins probably already called Carisi, a warrant is probably on the way as we speak. But we cannot do anything about that until we help you. So, let me help you. You’ve done it before, I know you can do it again.” She encouraged, her fingers tickling the wrinkled skin of your shin. Your quivering lip keeps the pale patch distorted and red, and Olivia hates how her eyes continue to drift to the monument of sadness on your face.

“I-I’m so sorry!” You sob, breaking down, losing any kind of grip on your emotions as the adrenaline waned and was replaced with whatever traumatic response your body could force out; right now it was apparently hysteria. “I’m sorry! For forgetting what you taught me! I shouldn’t have let it happen! I-I should’ve stopped it! I h-had my gun, a-and my taser, and I’m a d-dective and she’s a-a-a fucking shelf stocker b-but I froze and I shouldn’t’ve! N-Not again!” There it was. The root of your frustration, your inability to accept where you found yourself. Olivia froze, her hands on your face becoming stones for a single second before she melted and held you tight, like you were just as young and malleable as Noah — like she could still rewrite all the trauma before it impacted you emotionally and mentally forever.

“Again?” Olivia had to ask, because she needed to know if this had happened before, if you were only disclosing now because it had left you physically marred. You wouldn’t have been able to hide this. Not from her. Not when any excuse never would’ve explained the mark on your neck of all the injuries that littered your once glowing skin. Olivia had complimented you yesterday, knowing you’d been down a rabbit hole of moisturizers that could combat the budding Spring weather in New York. Today, she couldn’t even tell that the dry redness on your cheeks had cleared up, the blood splattered nad caked onto your skin concealing any kind of recognizable progress.

“I was twelve.” You whisper, because after years in her Unit, beneath her command and her angel-like affection, you’d learned where her brain wanders when answers are left unspoken. “Not her.”

Olivia nodded, because that’s all that she could do. She needed to call her babysitter. There was no way she was leaving you until you got that discharge slip from the charge nurse, and even then she’s sure her and Amanda will duke it out over who you stay with while you heal — neither one is going to let you back at that apartment until your girlfriend has either been arrested, or moved out and far from Manhattan at all.

“You have all of the control now.” Olivia reminded you, shying away from her typical promise of it all getting better at some point, in some way. This will never go away, the first account never went away, it ruined relationships, destroyed opportunities, left you feeling so impossibly boxed into an alleyway at points, but… it did lighten. You didn’t feel so shackled anymore, but part of you could credit that to getting away. You’d gotten away from home, from your family and the connections to your attacker, built a new life, one on the mission to become a police officer. You’d surpassed the biggest dream you’d ever had already. What else did you have to push yourself toward? “I’m with you, at every step of the way. You’re not alone, not anymore, sweetheart.”

Before you could respond, not that you had the words, or the capabilities, the concussion you assuredly had beginning to get the best of you, Rollins burst into the room. “Cap, Fin’s got a warrant.”

“Send him and Kat. We’re going to Mercy.” Olivia nodded, “I need to call my babysitter.”

“I already called her. Sonny’s taking the girls to his Moms. I’ll text him to meet us there.” Amanda nodded, rounding the couch to approach you. You hadn’t even realized Olivia stood up, arranging her blazer over her shoulders until the buttons of her blouse were hidden away. “Hey, sweetheart,” Amanda caught your attention, slowly easing her touch onto the small of your back until she could guide you to stand. “There we go, take it easy.”

Your vaguely aware of Amanda directing Rollins where to guide you, but in a moment of clarity, all you registered were the faces of officers and secretaries in the precinct watching you be walked out, their whispering words haunting your already terrorized mind.

“With me, sweetheart. All you need to do is stay with me and Rollins until we get you to Mercy. I know you can do that.” Olivia stepped up beside you, blocking your sight until fresh air broke across your face.

The helicopter is loud. Even louder is your heartbeat in your chest. Hard thuds against your ribcage, barely containing the feelings inside of it.

It's too dark to see the water below you as the blades buzz above your head. It's almost a relief as the wind picks up, rocking the tiny little floating lounge above vast amounts of terrifying nothingness.

You don't remember the last time you were able to breathe normally.

Was it at the club with her hands on your skin? Was it in your apartment with your lovely new roommate and Agatha's portrait on the Forbes magazine cover? The image glossy and half rolled over where you'd shoved it into your bag. Maybe a little careless. Maybe you knew you'd get the real deal soon.

Goosebumps on your cold skin despite your cheeks feeling hot and if being in her penthouse somehow wasn't safe enough for you, her island certainly will be.

Certainly? Hopefully.

A private paradise for the two of you. All those things she'd talked about...did she expect you to come here so soon?

You'd imagined a romantic vacation. Hammocks out of place for the Hamptons and waking up together in the private bubble of bliss. Like a honeymoon that lasts forever.

Just the two of you, and all the peace money can buy.

How long will it take you to realize that Agatha can't and won't live like that?

Every instance of normality is quickly replaced by something complicated, terrifying or an alluring combination of the two.

Including Agatha herself.

It's hard to imagine her preparing for you to come here at all, despite her words. A new level of sharing her space with you, somewhere so private she's retreated there in whatever emergency this is.

Despite her bragging, you don't actually know that much about this island of hers. Is it one big house? A little village? Wanda's island seemed like one massive complex, but Agatha had made a point of having lots of special rooms.

Her island is almost certainly bigger, you think. If everything else is anything to go off of. If there's something to compete at, Agatha is making sure she's winning.

How are you supposed to process all of this?

If only there was somebody you could talk to. Properly talk to. Jake could never have been your friend, it seems obvious now. The late nights with him watching the television too loudly. His gross cups stacking up in the sink and the subtle digs thats have become far less subtle as time has passed. He didn't understand you, and it seems he never will.

But Maggie, maybe there could have been something there. It didn't seem like she was the kind of person to be nice to you just because you lived there. Someone sweet, with pure intentions and a kind heart.

She seemed like she wanted to be your friend.

And predictably, you've picked the woman that looks at you like you're lunch. The woman that has committed so many absurd HR violations, she's somehow forced you into needing her to feel human.

But you can't think like that.

Agatha is difficult, and she is intense. But she cares. It's obvious in the cherry syrup she keeps in her penthouse and the laugh she lets out when you press her buttons. In the way she looked at you when she didn't think you noticed back at the gallery.

When she rented the whole space out so you could take a closer look at the artwork. A thoughtful memento from the date stored as a surprise in the car. Teaching you wine like she wouldn't ever judge you.

It can be hard to get her into that headspace.

But you've made your decision.

Floating above the midnight sea, it's too late to turn back even if you wanted to. So, you try to focus on your breathing and hope you’ll be landing soon.

Despite it all, you just can't wait to be in her arms again. Despite her causing these problems, intensifying them and running away without telling you where she was even going.

It's push and pull. A shifting conversation of not being able to stay away from you, and sending you away without a text message…only to tell you she's been recording you in secret while you lay on her bed.

Even though you've shared her space, eaten dinner in her bed and met her friends, one thought makes you question everything.

What if for her this is some kind of game that's gotten out of control?

And for you, well, this is your whole life.

Although your bag holds almost nothing important, although you're yet to rest or remove the image of that man from your brain, all you can think about is whether she's okay. Whether she's stressed. Scared. Overwhelmed. Whether she's changed clothes, whether she's had anybody bring her food or make her coffee. How much whiskey she's gone through while on strategy calls.

Swept from the rough sheets of your apartment and flown to a private island at the hands of the only person who can make your life more meaningful and more disastrous at the same time.

And you probably won't even get a raise for it.

Dim lights come into view as the helicopter sways and drops slowly, you suspect it must be landing but it's almost hard to tell with the dark and the breeze.

You grab onto the arm of the chair. The leather squishing between your fingers as your grip intensifies.

Landing.

It's certainly landing and it feels worse than when her hand was in yours. At least you knew she had it under control. Something about how she can switch between her silly sarcasm and the quick, controlled voice she can command boardrooms with. It makes you feel like she could fix anything.

Just close your eyes. Imagine her warmth, her skin finally on yours, the smell of her perfume and her shampoo. The safety and security she brings you just by being near. You pull out your phone to check the time. The battery is low. This day is too fucking long.

The pilot says something through the headset and you pick up approximately none of it trying to focus on not losing your shit as the whole thing moves about in the wind. You'd hoped there’d be more test runs of this thing before you had to ride it to the island, and you never imagined doing it on your own.

Well, maybe in some distant fantasy you'd indulged once or twice. When your head hits the pillow and your brain shows your subconscious in vibrant shapes and colors. When her bed becomes your bed, and her house becomes your house, and flying to the island to see the Agatha Harkness is a normal occurrence. You'd cook dinner for her and rub her shoulders after a long day. She'd finally learn to make you pancakes and buy you a teddy bear on valentines day.

You know you can't think like that. But if you could control your dreams, would you change any of it?

With your eyes forced closed so tightly you start seeing glittery squares, the whole thing finally stops moving.

It's silent.

Less bumpy than maybe you expected.

Your fingers are still bursting through the leather when the door is opened for you and with wobbly legs, you're able to step out. Your useless bag in one hand and the other trailing along the exit of the helicopter, grabbing onto the arm of the pilot as he helps you stand.

The helipad is enormous, and you suspect Agatha was being somewhat modest about the island as well as the yacht. Maybe less modest, and more financially clueless.

Agatha.

She knew you were coming, she'd sent for you.

You need her. Her body holding yours. Her warmth on your freezing skin and the sound of her voice purring in your ear.

So where is she?

"Thanks." You're able to muster up as you release the pilot from your clawed grasp. It comes out barely audible and you clear your throat before attempting anything else.

The place is almost entirely dark, with red lights on the helipad. As the sound of water hits the shore, you fully grasp the fact that you're on an island.

She literally owns the ground you're walking on.

It’s hard to take in, looking around as you head toward what you assume is her house. One large building surrounded by several smaller ones. Orange lights coming through the windows.

It’s almost too dark to see, like she hadn't plan on you coming at all and somehow hasn't prepared in any way to collect you. The firm texture of the helipad becomes crunchy as you head up the path. Gravel or sand under your feet, something unsteady.

Is she as bad as you'd worried? Sat hunched over a laptop covered in crumbs and drunk out of her mind?

You wouldn't care. You could help her.

Helping her is part of your job.

Maybe she's picking snack wrappers up off of the carpet. Maybe she's brewing you a pot of tea or cooking you a hot dinner. Putting on a jazz record and warming you pajamas.

The thought is preposterous, but you walk towards the lights anyway.

Other buildings and trees pass you as you head further up the path, small lights on the ground lighting up as you stumble up the gravel texture. It seems mostly modern, with large windows and a chimney. Most of the house already in darkness.

Is she really not coming to find you?

The gravel turns solid as you wander up the steps of the house like some kind of confusing trial you're now a part of. The door enormous, rounded at the top with the shape of the moon inside of the glass.

Do you knock? This feels like a humiliation ritual all on it's own.

What could she possibly be doing?

You hesitate for a second before your knuckles hit the wood three times.

Despite the frustration that's becoming more noticeable within you by the second, it’s hard to outweigh the excitement and sense of relief already bursting out your chest.

For a long minute, there's nothing.

The sound of the water.

The whistling of the breeze.

Your breath as you continue to grow more and more annoyed....she really didn't bother to pick you up?

After everything she's put you through?

Until the door pulls open, and your eyes finally rest on her once again.

A cream colored sweater high on her neck, a brown blazer draped over the top and a glass of red wine in her hand.

She looks surprisingly, perfect?

"Agatha!" You burst towards her without thinking, the stress of the past god knows how many hours bundling inside of you until you can't hold yourself back as she stands in the dim lighting.

You hadn't even registered the expression on her face as you collide with the expensive fabric of her jacket.

Her free arm catches you, and the softness of your body that was preparing for a wholesome hug is thrown off when she shoves you against the wall without a second to spare.

Air leaving your chest in surprise and exertion as the smell of cherry and red wine hit your senses.

You don't get a hi.

You don't get a hug.

Her hand is on your throat, looking over your face like she's examining you. Keeping you in place as she scans over your skin. Nails digging into your cheeks as she inspects your features.

"Did anybody hurt you?"

Her words are sharp and her eyes are wild.

You suddenly feel embarrassed you even went in for a hug in the first place. She’d just been so soft recently. You’d been playing a game of silly dates and romantic dinners before it all fell apart.

Shaking your head, Agatha takes a sip of her wine and releases your neck.

Already desperate for her touch as soon as it leaves you.

You didn't realize how hard she was squeezing until the pressure is suddenly gone.

Her hand presses firmly down your chest, trailing hard over your stomach and finding the waistband of your pants.

It's not even been a minute since you showed up here.

"Agatha I–"

"Shh. Do you even know how frustrated I am right now? I can't even think straight I just—" her left hand fumbles with the button on your pants until it pops open, she doesn't waste a second longer before she's pressing against you with her fingertips. "—just let mommy relax..."

You're not sure how you're already getting wet, is it from the simple action of her hands on you despite their intention? Are you conditioned by the smell of alcohol on her tongue? By the roughness of her hands when she grabs you like that?

It would be embarrassing. But Agatha doesn't make you feel embarrassed.

She makes you feel important and necessary.

You push back against her without thinking as she slips aside the fabric of your underwear. You should have worn something prettier, for some reason you thought maybe you'd just go to bed.

She doesn't care, the fabric is only a barrier for her. She doesn't look, she doesn't need to.

Her eyes closed as you study the gentle lines of her skin. A soft hum leaving her lips. Her touch making you shudder, the salvia you swallow making a louder noise than you anticipated.

Agatha's movements are slow, delicate and controlled as she lets your body adjust to her. Collecting your wetness on her fingers without another word, without a question or a demand or a kiss.

There's apparently no time for pleasantries as she presses two fingers inside of you before even saying hello. The pressure of the intensity is soothed instantly as she groans. Like the simple act of being inside of you is enough to relax her after the disaster that was the past few days.

"What are you—fuck–" you struggle for words as she thrusts into you, her expression easing and softening as you adjust around her.

"You can take it, can't you?"

Agatha gives you a moment, feeling your body melt against her touch. Her thrusts slow as she studies your face, is this what she was thinking about while she watched you on her bed?

Wanting to fuck you right here in her isolated hallway?

"Just couldn’t help myself” she whispers as she picks up the pace, her palm flat against your clit, her voice hot against your ear.

Your legs begin to tremble beneath you as she picks up the pace, quick and erratic, like she's been waiting to do this all day.

Maybe she has.

"There's my girl, come on." Her words are deep and settle right through you as she shamelessly takes what she wants, it's too much too quickly, your stomach tightening and your hands in her hair before you can stop yourself.

Her softness. You missed her softness. But you missed this too.

"Let me feel it. Let go. There you go." She gasps, watching you through hooded eyes, blues dark as she curls her fingers in your throbbing cunt.

It's too much and not enough as soon as you're reunited with her, the way your body welcomes her like it's branded with the same initials as her cars.

The smell of her is in your throat.

She looks far too perfect for a woman on the run.

She knew she wouldn't be able to wait.

That's why she didn't meet you at the helipad.

You come right there, whimpering against the wall with her name on your lips.

Her hair still in your hands as you settle. Deep breaths and shallow breaths between the two of you.

Your chest feels things it shouldn't. Words it shouldn't for a woman so rough with you, your boss no less.

You push them away.

"I uh—" The blues of her eyes instantly softer as you finally move in too quickly for that hug. Her free arm pulls around your waist, the other outstretched so you presumably don't knock her wine over.

Priorities.

Agatha's hand settles on the small of your back as you inhale the cherry of her perfume, and something salty. Maybe it's the jacket.

Her brooch digs into your chest, shoving against your collar bone. You don't care.

You could live in this hug forever.

"Hi." You finally exhale after a long, long second.

Expecting her to pull away.

She doesn't budge.

She rests her head against yours. The woman in that suit on the cover of your magazine.

"Hi."

"You smell like salt."

"That'll be the sea, hon." Her words are matter-of-fact. Her body warm and comforting, the stability after your legs were shaking is a bonus.

You hug her tighter.

She let's you.

"I missed you."

"I know."

She pulls back so she can take a sip of the red liquid, and you're finally able to get a little look at the hallway. Lamps on the wall light the expansive space. Artwork in expensive frames.

You'd be excited if you weren't so damn exhausted.

"Can I get you a glass of wine?"

She seems far too casual about the situation and although you would have killed for a glass of wine on the way out here, all you can think about is being unconscious next to her while she sucks up all the air in the room with her snores.

"God no. No thank you I mean. I just...It's been a really long day."

"Well, that's why I offered." Her hips sway as she moves down the corridor ahead of you, you follow her without question as she leads you into a kitchen, the bottle of wine sits almost empty on the side. The label isn't something you recognize from your wine tasting adventure.

"Just as well. I think this one is too strong for you." Agatha's long fingers grip the bottle as she empties the rest of the wine into her glass. "It's a little bolder, a little more full-bodied."

In this light you can see the lines under her eyes.

She does look tired.

The kitchen is wide, small dim lights under wooden countertops glow in the room. You know you're sleepy, because you don't even care about gleaning every piece of information you can out of the space.

Until your eyes fall on the overflowing trash can. Ready to pity her for having to do her own chores and ask questions about how it's already gotten so full, when you see it hanging out the top of the trash mountain.

"Agatha you ordered Taco Bell to your island?"

She almost flinches on the pour.

"What are you, the taco police?"

"Oh my god. Did you send a helicopter to get that? Was it even hot?"

She screws the lid back on the bottle before launching it in the recycling bin anyway. Recycling all the wine bottles must really offset all of the jet emissions. The things a woman will go through for queso. That was not in the Forbes article. You've created a monster.

"I mean, no, not really. But that's why I have staff. To fetch me things."

"I knew I would regret taking you there. You need actual nutrients. You need to eat vegetables.”

“Tacos have vegetables. Although I did pick most of the lettuce out. But you’ve seen me eat a salad.” She drips the last few red splashes into the glass, holding it upside-down to make sure she's really getting the last of it.

"I don't greatly enjoy you telling me what I can and can't do. You know i'm in charge?"

“Please just try and balance the things you eat.”

"I lived a long time before you started bringing me lunch, you do know that, don't you?"

Agatha's sauntering towards you, nails drumming on the counter as she approaches. Your arms fold over each other like you're on display in the middle of the mostly-empty room. Where are all her appliances?

"Well yeah but...not as well."

Good one. Heiress Harkness didn't know true living until she met you.

She laughs one loud 'ha!' with her head thrown back. It's hard to pretend to be even a little mad when she's so outrageous.

You can't wait to be in her bed.

She's already beginning to leave, waltzing away a few steps ahead of you. You were hoping she wouldn't go so soon, playing hard to get even when you've been in her vehicles more than you've been in your apartment recently.

"Come on. Let me show you to your room. You look worn out."

You start following her anyway as she pushes off of the counter and begins to enter her hall-maze again. You are worn out. That doesn't mean you want this to be over. You only just got her again.

Wait did she say?

"My room? Wait. No."

You plant your feet firmly on the floor. "...I don't want my own room. I want to stay with you."

She turns on her heel. Swallows in the silence between the two of you, you're slightly further away than you initially thought, it feels tense again. Like maybe you had imagined all the fun you had at the movies and the club. Maybe the taco wrapper is all the evidence that's left of that.

Your eyes focus on the way her body moves under the dim light. The waves of her hair as the highlights catch under the lamps. It's messy. Messier than usual maybe. You know she's been running her hands through it the way she does when she's overwhelmed. You could untangle it, if she'd let you, you doubt she will.

Her posture is perfect, but there's something behind her eyes that's clearly bothering her. Maybe it's just all of the recent problems. Maybe all of the problems aren't just recent, and she hasn't lived a normal and relaxing life since...well, ever.

There's no way you're sleeping without her.

"I just thought you might want your own space, because of tonight and because of—" her eyes wander from your face to your half-empty bag "—all of your luggage."

The smirk from her own joke is plastered on her face as she spins, contunuing down the hallway, past several oak doors and various paintings you'll get a better look at tomorrow.

"Please can I stay with you?"

Your voice comes out smaller and more distant than you intended. She doesn't turn back, she doesn't reply. Just a swig of the wine and finally stopping at one of the many doors.

Agatha turns the doorknob, the house responds with a croak as it settles. Like it's welcoming you.

Her hand ushers you inside the room, your feet finding the soft dark carpet as you brush past her into the space.

Is this the guest room? She's really going to make you beg to sleep with her after everything?

You are not above begging.

She knows it.

"As if i'd let you sleep on your own." She slams the door shut behind her.

You nearly pass out at the tenderness of her words as a lamp shaped like a paper lantern casts a warm glow across the bed. The sheets crisp white and delicate looking like a clean hotel.

Your body aches for it almost as much as it aches for her.

You throw yourself down, sitting at the edge of the bed and kicking off your shoes like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like being swept away to the CEO's island after a break-in is just a normal weekday afternoon. The people at work wouldn't believe this. And if they did, they'd call you some help immediately.

The sheets smell too fresh. Too clean, ironed and perfect.

She didn’t sleep here last night.

You should be thinking about how she got into this mess. About the danger that comes with being with her. About her secrets, her temper, your differences. About what she was doing last night, and what she'll do tomorrow to solve it.

But all you can think about is hoping she doesn't spill red wine on the white sheets as she leans over you, taller now you're sat. Moving in close until she's a shallow breath away from you.

The heat from her skin in your breathing space.

You swallow. Not sure what's happening now.

Not wanting to look stupid from asking.

And not wanting to apologize in case she tells you off.

You brace as Agatha Harkness places a delicate kiss on your forehead.

Your body relaxes so much at the unusually sweet gesture you practically melt into the high thread count beneath you.

"I'm glad you're safe." She whispers, her lips are soft against you before she's standing tall again like she's cracking her shoulders. "...And that..." She clears her throat, almost kind of awkwardly. "...That you're here."

"...Me too."

You want a thousand more kisses.

You don't want to scare her off.

"It was scary. At the penthouse. I didn't know, I mean— I didn't know what was going on for a second. I thought that would be the best place to be, you know? I hope I didn't intrude going into your house like that."

Agatha turns, facing away from you as she takes off her jacket and delicately hangs it over the back of a chair. Her thin wine glass placed on top of her dresser next to some objects you can’t quite make out. Maybe a photograph, definitely some books.

You don't mention how you snooped through her stuff. You just open your bag, tipping the contents onto her bed to grab one of the many snacks that fall out onto the sheets. You are so glad you bought a lot of these things.

If you weren't so emotionally and physically drained you'd probably feel odd. Like you're intruding. Like you shouldn't be treating her space like this. Like you don't belong.

Instead you finally feel the familiar domestic comfort of the woman you're dating.

Even if she's not going to let you call it that.

But two dates is dating.

That's just science. Or dating law.

Agatha is rolling up her sleeves as she takes off her necklace and unclasps her bracelet. You watch her as she unwinds for the evening. Her hair flows down her back as she faces away from you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You realize that outside of sex, Agatha seems to mostly get undressed in different rooms.

Her taking off her jewellery feels soft...and unusual.

In a good way.

"It should have been safe. It's never happened before...I have top notch security." She doesn't sound comforted by the thought of the security, she suddenly sounds extremely frustrated.

"I pay the best of the best to watch over all of my belongings. My safety. Fucking—"

Her voice is louder like she's remembering how she feels in real time. Her house. Her things. Her safety. Her girl.

"One of them has seriously got some explaining to do, I don't even know where to begin with him."

You rummage through your snack pile for something that'll curb your stress cravings. Although her talking about the incident as she undresses, discussing it like she has a plan, even though each word feels louder and angrier than the last, it feels like you can let her take over and passenger princess this whole runaway thing.

"And for god's sake, they found out he knew the code because someone had left little melted chocolate fingerprints on the keypad, I mean can you believe it?! It's probably the fucking housekeeper! I knew she was—"

She turns as if on cue to see you holding a Snickers.

You didn't even register what she was saying. Fuck. Wait. Is she serious? You were that focused on getting out of your apartment you didn't even notice? Are you five?! Wait. Did you even eat any candy before you left? Should you defend yourself? It's been so intense you can't even remember.

You want to drop the chocolate. You don't. You clutch it tighter like it'll protect you from her wrath, her eyes are angrier than you've seen her in a while, vicious and furious as she marches over to you, her eyes flickering between the snack pile and your face.

You miss the forehead kiss.

"Are you fucking serious?!"

She raises her hand without thinking about it as you sit below her, you gasp, eyes closing quickly as you brace for impact.

You're not sure whether you flinched or not as you cower beneath her like a terrified animal.

Agatha settles for a growl and an angry grasp of the air instead of instinctively hitting you.

"How old are you? You're getting melted chocolate all over my penthouse and now you're bringing it to my island? Why do you even have all of this?”

You shy away.

“Look at me when I’m taking to you!"

"I don't— I don't know!"

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

Don't bring up the m&ms you found in her stuff-drawer.

Don’t tell her she’s messier than you’ve ever been.

Don't say it might not have even be you.

"I mean I— I bought it all because I was trying to get your attention, with the credit card. I'm sorry I didn't mean to, I left so quickly I was just...I said I bought food—"

"This isn't food. This is what you bought with my money?"

You're not sure what you're supposed to do now.

"You have no idea how much trouble you're in oh my god."

She paces on the ground, her hand on her forehead.

"Do you know what that penthouse is evaluated at? And you rubbed your little chocolate fingers all over it? I should—"

Don't cry.

Don't mention you do know what it's evaluated at because you were literally Googling it this morning.

Don't cry.

"—I don't even know what I should do with you. I don't even know."

Her hands are wild in the air and you can tell she's trying to hold back on terrifying you.

You shrink back into yourself. Are you supposed to say something?

"I'm sorry."

She stops. Her nostrils flared as she looks down at you.

"I'm really sorry, he came to my house and I was really scared and...the day before at the club was scary and I just— I just wanted to feel close to you and I wanted snacks I guess and I— I left my house all stressed and nervous I didn't even think about it I didn't even notice I feel so stupid!"

You can't tell yourself not to cry again, it's already too late as the tears stream down your face. They're hot against your flushed skin as the overwhelm of the last few days all floods out of you at once.

And Agatha just watches.

Just for a minute.

Just blank behind the eyes in a way that's new and unreadable.

Both hands grabbing the air as she watches you break down on her bed.

The silence is uncomfortable and you hesitate in your realization that this can't be the relationship you need.

Agatha swallows, sits.

"Oh."

The weight of her body settles in beside you on the bed as her arm wraps around your waist once again and the familiar sense of comfort returns.

You should flinch. You don't. You nuzzle closer to her like she didn't just hold herself back from hurting you. Your mascara on her cream sweater.

"My baby."

Her voice is slightly above a whisper as you sob onto her cashmere. "I shouldn't have..." But it trails off when she can't decide whether to apologize or make an excuse for her behavior.

Should you have even come here? Leaving behind Maggie and Jake and the only normality you had left to be here with her?

Her hand doesn't move in a way that's relaxing. It stays rigid like she's not sure how to hold you, she just knows she has to.

And although you expect her to pull away, Agatha makes no attempt at moving when you can finally breathe again.

She takes a deep breath.

"I shouldn't have raised my voice like that."

You sniff. "It's okay."

"...I just, I'm sorry...I usually wait for you to leave."

"I know."

She nods as she takes a second before moving off of you, her hand flexing as she picks one of the snacks from your pile. You aren't sure what will happen now as the air feels lighter, but not quite right.

You accept her apology.

You don't mention the S word.

She's ripping the packet open before you can lecture her about her health again.

"You should have brought the magazine too."

You blink.

"What?"

"The Forbes." She takes a bite of the candy bar. "You should have brought it. Did you see how good I looked in that photo?"

You did.

"How...did you know about that?"

"Did you like the interview? Or just the photos?"

You laugh, taking a bite of your own. Your breathing back to normal. It's okay. Everything is okay.

"I mean, I liked the photos the interview was..."

Agatha stands, pulling her sweater over her head and throwing it on the ground, the chocolate held between her teeth.

She's not wearing a bra and the dim lighting shows off the muscles in her shoulders.

You try not to stare as she opens up a mahogany set of draws, pulling out a black vest and slipping it on.

There's no fucking way you're going to sleep next to her like this tonight oh my god. Will this ever begin to feel normal? Will your moments with her ever feel ordinary, even when they are?

"I mean, it was fake. Obviously."

"Fake?" Her face is a dramatic shocked expression as she turns to look at you. "You think I'm fake?"

She makes you giggle like a baby.

"I mean, I've spent time with you. I think you were pretending to be somebody else. Which makes sense, I mean you're in the public eye I wouldn't—"

"Stop talking."

You nod.

“Do you have pajamas in your snack bag or do you need a t-shirt? I don't really have anything else in this room." She rummages aimlessly as you try not to stare at her biceps. "I can go find something. A dress shirt, or—”

The concept of what’s even in your bag falls right out of your head at the mention of her giving you a shirt.

“—Can I have a t-shirt?”

She’s already sifting through her drawer again before you finish the sentence, fabric of different colors squished all around as she finds something for you.

In a second she’s flung a large grey piece of cotton at you, and you’re glad your reflexes don’t fail you as you reach up to shield your face from it. Spreading the fabric open you get a good look at the yellow faded print.

Yacht Club Italiano '93.

Like something you'd find in the back of a thrift store. But you know she wouldn't shop there. Agatha probably doesn't even know what a thrift store is. This is a memory. A memory of hers, draped across your skin.

The woman from the magazine. Your boss, cold and cruel. The woman people refuse to make eye contact with as she walks through the corridor. The woman who owns this house, and this land, and this city, is eating a KitKat as you get changed into her Italian yacht club shirt from 1993.

Your clothes feel suddenly uncomfortable as you stand to change, Agatha slips out of her pants and leaves them in a lump on the ground. You're too tired to tell her to use the hamper.

You're too distracted by the skin of her thighs to see when she finishes the KitKat and instantly reaches for another candy bar, before pushing the rest of them onto the floor in one big careless swoop.

The cotton slips over your skin like it was always meant to be there.

Did she really wear this in the 90s? Does she wear it still? Does she keep all of her old clothes? It dawns on you you've always seen Agatha as so current, so present. Always this terrifying, this powerful and this perfect. Even when she tells you stories about when she was younger, or even when your eyes scanned that photograph of her and Rio. She just seems so...constant? Always knowing exactly what to say and do. Always having this element of control, despite you knowing that isn't true.

"How old were you in 1993?" You ask as you slip under the covers. You should really brush your teeth after the sugar but the thought of getting up again makes you feel like you might die.

"Twenty."

Agatha isn't looking at you, she's fishing through a different drawer for a makeup wipe and begins rubbing her eyes much, much too hard.

The stress of your day and the anxiety of the evening rub away with her mascara. You're not sure why she bothered wearing any makeup, or such a precise outfit. Unless it was for you? No. That's a silly thought.

You snuggle into the softness of the white sheets as the old shirt holds you in it's thirty years of memories.

"Did you enjoy it? The yacht club?"

Agatha had mentioned she could drive boats, she must have done it more recently than 1993 though.

She hums, long and slow as she leaves the makeup wipe on the dresser and takes a couple steps over to the bed. She's so beautiful in the light. Her hair waved and wild as she fixes her parting.

She makes you feel feral.

The sheets are soft under your fingers as you pull back the covers for her to get in next to you.

"No. Not really."

Of course she'd give you the shirt with the shitty memory.

You're not sure whether to pry as her head hits the pillow. Her side profile a perfect series of backlit shapes as you watch her think. The lamp glow bouncing off of the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones.

"It's ok. You don't have to talk about it."

"Mhm. It's not entirely bad. It wasn't my intention to give you that one. I didn't look at the print."

Well now she's just being ominous.

"Then?"

"They just didn't like me, at the yacht club. It's stupid." If you could go back in time and start a riot in the Italian yacht club in 1993 maybe you would. But you can't. So you stay quiet and let her relive the memory. "...Well. I mean. I don't know. I probably deserved it."

That's probably true. She slides her hand over her face.

"But you're so friendly and welcoming?" You smile, catching your lip under your teeth.

"I know right?" Her hand reaches out and forcibly turns out the light so you can't look at her. Either it's one of those ones that's touch sensitive or she's just murdered it.

You shuffle a little closer to her body. You were hoping to be in her bed, but this is more than you could have ever asked for.

"Then what happened?" You don't touch her, not right away. Settling your skin in the warmth that’s radiating off of her.

"I just...I got out of boarding school when I was eighteen. The yacht club was something my mother signed me up for after she refused to let me buy a boat. I should have known it'd be agonizing."

"I thought you liked boats and stuff?" It's hard to avoid your words spilling out like you're talking to a toddler.

"I do. Like boats....and stuff." Her tone mocks your voice, before she clears her throat like she's in too deep to back out of this conversation.

"I don't know...I think they thought I was bad. Pompous and annoying...I liked the sailing. They stopped inviting me to their dinners and group activities after the first day. I spent the rest of my time there on my own."

If you could go back in time and start a riot in the Italian yacht club in 1993 absolutely you would.

Really, you should be asking questions about the poker club. The island. The break-in. But you want nothing more than to imagine a twenty year old Agatha Harkness buying a t-shirt because she wants to learn to sail.

You pity her.

You know she doesn't like that.

"Isn't everyone at a yacht club pompous and annoying?"

In the dark you hear her raising both of her arms up, before slamming them back on the bed.

"Yes! I'd hear them whispering rumors in the hallways in exactly the same way I'd heard them when I was at the school and I just—" she takes a sharp breath, her words are faster like she can't quite catch up to what she's going to say.

It's unlike her.

She's usually so in control.

"—and it’s exactly the same way my mother would talk about me, exactly the same way they talk about me in the headquarters and I think maybe—" you're startled as she stands too quickly, blinding you suddenly when she turns the lamp back on.

"—if everyone thinks i'm so fucking terrible already, maybe it's easier if I just am."

You're not sure how this all started from your yacht club shirt, shielding your eyes with your arm as they adjust to the sudden change, sitting up you watch her grab her robe from the hook on the back of the door.

"What? Agatha, where are you going?"

"For something stronger than wine."

For the amount of drinking Agatha does you've yet to see her properly intoxicated, but the combination of anger and whiskey sounds relatively terrible for the two of you right now.

"Don't. Please. Please just stay here?" You gesture to the bed, patting it which you regret instantly when she her eyes turn cold like something inside of her has been switched on.

"I need to calm down."

"Have you tried breathing? That always helps me?"

Her smile sits the wrong way around on her face. The blues of her eyes look almost wet as she swallows. Is she about to scream or cry?

"Breathing? What are you, a shrink?"

You knew you shouldn't have suggested that, crawling to the edge of the bed to try and reach for her.

She flinches away.

"Please just come back to bed."

"You talk to me like...I don't even know." Like she's important? Like she's more than the mask she puts on? "It's ridiculous."

And just when everything feels so right, she loves to make it feel so wrong.

"Everything they say about me is true, you know that, right?"

You clear your throat in a room that suddenly feels too quiet.

"No. It's not. I've met you."

"No you haven't."

Will this relationship always be like this?

Your heart race increases like you're prey, when it suddenly dawns on you that you might be. Agatha drops the robe, leaning against the door when she sees you waiting for her.

Not leaving, not cowering. Waiting. Kneeling at the edge of the bed without even being aware of where your body is, and what it's doing.

"Well then I want to."

"You don't."

Her voice is low.

"Why?"

Maybe you shouldn't be poking her, encouraging her when the fire is behind her eyes and there's nobody around to save you. But you're hers. And whether she knows it or not, she's yours.

"You wouldn't want to be here with me."

"I always want to be where you are. I see the good in you."

She scoffs. "There is no good…You're so naive. Coming here. Now you couldn't leave even if you wanted to."

Your skin feels hot. You can't tell why.

"Agatha. Stop trying to push me away. It's not going to work."

"You know what people say about me. Online. In the newspapers. At the galas when they think I can't hear them."

A few steps closer, and she's able to reach out and touch you, holding your chin in place to look at her, too soft for the spite in the words. "At the club...and on Wanda's island."

"Why do you let people believe those things about you?" The words come out half-baked.

Croaky and more nervous than you perhaps realized.

Her grip is firmer as you grab onto the sheets beneath you, balancing yourself as she stares upon you with an expression you can't read. Somewhere between awe, desire and pure, true disgust.

"You hear all of those things and you still follow me everywhere...like a sad little fucking puppy."

One hard shove to your chest and you're flat on the bed, her frame climbing onto yours. Straddling your hips. Her hands finding your wrists, pinning you down as her face hovers above yours.

That look in her eyes.

Perhaps that look is pity. Pity you can't see the truth. Pity you've fallen for her charms and constant disarming. Pity you've ignored the warnings from others. Ignored the warnings from Agatha. Pity she can't truly respect you, because you're just that pathetic.

"I don't believe them." You try again, harder. the words feel firmer in your mouth this time. "I don't believe what anyone says about you."

You aren't sure if you're telling the truth or not.

"Then you're dumber than I thought you were." But her lips are inches away from yours. And deep down, you don't think she means that either.

Her hands are slow and controlled as they move from your wrists to your neck. Wrapping around your throat softly like a warning, eyes pale like she might kill you, or kiss you. Maybe you'd let her do both.

Her hands rest. No pressure. Just the promise of what she could do to you if she wanted to.

"And it wouldn't matter if they were true." You breathe heavy, in time with her. She grimaces.

And this time, you know you are telling the truth.

The smile that spreads across her lips is a cruel one, and this is not the same woman that kissed your forehead earlier.

"You don't even care?"

"No."

Her fingers tighten, slowly, steady. The smell of wine on her lips.

"If they were true, you wouldn't want me to let go of you right now?"

You shift beneath her.

"No."

"Does anybody even know you're here?"

"...no."

"The tallest penthouse. A private island. Nobody even knows you're with me...where exactly would you be able to go? Your apartment is in my name."

The vein in her forehead is more prominent than it was a half hour ago, but as you lay beneath her, focused on the tone of her words and the venom in her voice.

"I fucking own you."

You still feel safe.

"I know. You can't keep me away from you."

"Does anybody even know you belong to me?"

"...No. Nobody."

Agatha's lips crash into yours before you're able to process what's happening, the taste of merlot and lies and things she can't or won't tell you.

And you still see the good in her.

If the world says you’re wicked, why not just be wicked?

Her tongue is in your mouth, deeper as your fists find her hair.

She doesn't like that, releasing the grip on your neck and finding your wrists again. Interlocking her fingers with your own as she grinds her body against yours.

"They will." She breathes when you break free from her lips.

Another kiss. Heat and fire and the thin fabric of her vest and yacht club italiano separating you from her.

"I thought it was a secret." You breathe, mouth dry.

"I have too many secrets."

You don't care. You want the gardens of the chateau with her. You want to see the yacht club anyway. The french attic. Every house of hers in every country. Every terrible club in every terrible neighborhood she bought. All of it.

Agatha shifts her weight, her bare thigh slipping between yours, a gentle moan spilling into your mouth as she kisses you again. Grinding her body against yours as you push against her. The fabric of her underwear is soaked as she moves against your thigh.

You know she can feel you too.

"My poor little slut. You're awfully wet for someone who should be scared of me."

You gasp against her lips.

"I'm not scared of you."

"God. Shut up."

Agatha climbs off of you abruptly, watching you lean back onto your arms as she peels off her underwear, probably dumping it on the floor with everything else.

"Lay back down."

You obey as she crawls over you again, continuing to move until her thighs are either side of your head.

You swallow.

You don't move.

She's dripping.

Fuck. Settling down on your mouth until all you can taste is her, all you can breathe is her and even if you have been manipulated, you don't care about that either.

She's everywhere, your hands on the soft of her thighs as she rides against the flat of her tongue. The taste of her consuming you, looking up at her head thrown back. Hair wild and free. Lips parted.

Your cover star. Your boss. Your everything.

"This is the only way I can get you to shut up, huh?"

You try to talk. You can't. She groans against the vibration of your lips against her clit.

Her mess dripping down your chin.

"Mommy's pretty little doll loves saying all the wrong things. Lay there and be useful."

And you do.

As if you'd want to be anywhere else.

She's rough. Her hand reaching to find something to grab onto. Your hair, the wall, she settles on the bed frame, shifting her weight as she forces herself against your lips. Your air overtaken by her.

"You don't even know what you're saying. Just that fucking desperate for me."

Her nipples hard under the thin fabric of her vest, but you don't dare try to touch.

"My perfect, pathetic girl."

Her thighs lock against your cheeks as her moans get louder above you. Your fingers in the soft skin of her thighs, smooth and warm. Her legs shudder as her breaths stutter.

"Fuck—stay fucking still"

Not being able to breathe is a privilege when it feels like this. When it's all for her pleasure.

“Ggonna come on your pretty lips baby—fuck—" her voice is higher, weaker "—so glad you came.”

Her cheeks flushed as her hands move back to her hair, pushing it out of her face as her forehead wrinkles. That face you've come to love. The silence that comes right before the cries.

She shakes, pornographic noises erupting from her, eyes forced shut as her movements become more erratic.

Throbbing against your tongue as she finishes making use of your face.

You can’t help but gasp when she shifts back a little.

Her breathing loud as she wipes the sweat from her eyebrows with the back of her hand.

“Jesus Christ.”

With your eyes closed you can feel her climbing off of you, your lips covered in her.

She's silent only for a moment as her chest rises and falls.

“You look pretty like that.”

You swallow.

“Thank you.”

The ache between your own thighs is unbearable as she settles herself back on the pillow besides you.

It’s hard not to squirm as she catches her breath and wets her own lips, she notices without even having to take a proper look at you, obviously.

“Aw.” She coos, rolling over to get a better look at your soaked face and desperate, pleading eyes. “Is someone feeling needy?”

Embarrassingly so.

“I— yeah”

“Well, you did come all this way…” she taunts, propping herself up on one arm, her palm flat against the yacht shirt as she feels your nipples harden beneath her touch. Your skin alert as she drags her experienced fingers across your stomach, walking down to grip your thigh.

Goosebumps left in her path.

“…I bet you’re already leaking for me...You always are.”

That is an understatement.

Her fingernails tease across your skin, clit aching with desperation as she reaches under your waistband again.

Gasping softly when she feels you against her.

“My my, is this all for mommy?”

“Yeah— yes.” You nod your head furiously, bucking up into her, the taste of her still on your tongue. Desperate for something, anything.

“Even after everything?”

"Always."

She glides against your clit too easily, the pressure perfect like she's done this a thousand times. Like she knows you inside and out. Circling slowly, and then too gently. Too precise. Too much and not enough.

"All alone with me." She laughs, biting her lip as she watches you fall apart for her, and only ever her. "Nowhere to go."

You can't tell if she's trying to scare you off again.

"I just want you."

"...You have me...The things I'll do to you."

Her fingers dip lower, collecting your wetness between them as she presses against your entrance, teasing gently before following the curve of your body further. Placing the gentlest pressure against your ass.

"Aw…You're so wet my cute little thing, I could probably slip right in...I never did get to see that pretty diamond..."

God. You almost forgot about that. Her touch is so much gentler than when you tried that. Maybe she should help you next time.

"But your mistress needs to keep you nice and ready for when she wants to use you, you understand don't you?"

You nod, choosing words when her eyes shift colder.

"Yea. Yes. I understand."

"You know how stressed out I get during meetings." She purrs. "I want you to be the perfect assistant. My perfect little toy."

The pressure of her finger is more intense as she pushes against you, the feeling not foreign but certainly less familiar. Her eyes are on you, looking for any suggestion of a safe word or hesitation.

"Are you going to let me touch you here? You'll like it. I always know best, don't I?"

You nod, a firm and pleading "yes" when she hisses in response.

To your surprise she removes her hands from you, only to flip you onto your stomach in a quick, controlled move. Her grip already pulling your panties down before you can get comfortable on your front.

"Mommy wants to see everything she owns."

Exposed and trembling as her hands return to you, kneading the soft curve of your ass before she's right where she wants to be.

She's right.

She slides in easily.

Slowly, little by little. A wide soft smile painted on her face as she watches you relax around her. Your head turned to the side, straining to try and see her as she takes what she wants.

She thrusts just a little, enjoying the visual of you letting her decide what’s best for you.

"Oh." You gasp, reaching for her. Her eyes on yours as she moves a little more, and a little more after, picking up the pace as your brows furrow.

"There's my girl." She purrs as her thumb grazes your clit.

You swallow the spit on your tongue, tasting her as she watches you unravel.

"You're doing so well hon, fuck...I can't wait to feel this tight little ass stretch around my cock while I'm on a stupid fucking client call."

You clench around her at her words, at the thought of being so perfect for her. Picking up her dry cleaning, bending over her desk, and getting right back to making photocopies when she's done.

Your moans become more and more raw as she fucks you harder, the sound of skin on skin and ragged breath as she crawls palms your flesh with her free hand.

"There you go honey. My good girl. Do you love it?"

She can tell your close, she always can. But your body is so sensitive, she could be doing anything and it would be enough.

"Answer me slut, do you love it?"

"I— yes."

The pressure on your clit is too much as she pushes you over the edge, she gasps as you tense around her.

"Aw, you do?"

Your body hot and tense as she slips out of you agonizingly slowly, her thumb gentle as you ride out the aftershocks.

Until it's just the two of you in the silence again.

Mouth dry as she looks down at you. Agatha watches you as your heartbeat slows, sitting back on her heels.

You wish you could read her mind.

"Well..."

She starts, and you know the rest can't be good because the only possible thing you want to do next is go to sleep.

"…We should probably go get cleaned up."

The worst thing anyone could ever have suggested.

"I really don't want to do that." You need a glass of water.

"You have to." Her tone is stern, your body feels like jello. "Do I have to bend you over my knee?"

"Maybe."

"What if I lure you in?"

She's Scooby snacking you right now and you know it.

"With what?"

"I'll give you a t-shirt with a good memory."

You sit bolt upright.

"And you'll tell me about the memory?"

She rolls her eyes but she's already standing and opening the drawer.

"Yeah. Whatever I'll tell you about the memory. Just take a shower."

"Will you shower with me?"

She takes a deep breath.

"...no. I'll meet you here in 10."

---

The shower is scalding hot and you can't quite figure out the dials, opting to pre squeeze the gel on your body, and hop in fast and smart. You'd ask for help if Agatha wasn't so anti showering with you.

But even though you want it all, the roughness, the softness, the domestic moments and the care. You want to respect her boundaries.

So you spin fast in the shower and hope you're clean enough to pass potential inspection.

Does she shower with it this hot? You thought she was from Salem, not hell.

You're in the towel before you can ponder anything else. Drying yourself off quickly so you can skip to the part with the t-shirt and the pretty cheekbones of your boss.

She's already on the bed with messy hair and the same vest when you return, making you wonder if she even showered or whether she just wanted you clean.

But as you get closer, the smell of freshness radiates off of her. Expensive bath products like she's a human spa.

You're sure you'll grow to love it, but it all you want are the smell of cherries and coffee and wine.

The t-shirt is already laid out as Agatha scrolls through her phone. Does she even get signal all the way out here? It occurs to you that you know nothing about owning islands in any way, and have one million questions she'll hate you for.

The shirt on the bed is black, less faded, with a small chest design.

Employee of the month, 2015. The company logo right underneath.

"What is this?" You ask, picking it up and taking a closer look. This thing is hardly worn.

"It's your happy memory shirt."

She's still on her phone as you drop the towel and slip it over your head.

That gets her attention.

The phone is on charge in an instant as she watches you climb back onto the bed. It's even softer than you remember and it must be so, so late by now.

"I didn't know we had employee of the month shirts." You state flat and confused. is this a joke? This is a joke.

"We don't."

Agatha climbs under the covers, seemingly uninterested in telling you her story.

"So....story?"

The eye roll again.

"I had an advisor in 2015, because we had terrible employee retention and I couldn't figure out why."

She's certainly the why.

You don't tell her that.

"He said if we gave people employee of the month stuff, they'd feel happier. They'd want to stay longer."

This somehow doesn't make any sense still. Who was employee of the month this year?

"And did it work?"

"Well I gave myself the shirt and fired him. So I don't know."

"Why do you even want the shirt?!" You can't help but laugh as you crawl under the covers opposite her. She's ridiculous.

"Well I was the best employee, and I hated that guy so... We never did it again. I guess you're employee of the month now."

"Wow thanks boss this means so much to me. I love it."

"Does it make you want to work harder for me?"

"Yes that's absolutely why I work so hard for you, not any other reason."

“I picked you to be employee of the month because you never spill a drop of coffee when you get it from the store. You’re great at replying to emails and my plane journeys are always perfectly stocked.”

“Any other reason?”

“Hmm. Let me think…no.”

The tender playfulness between you settles. It feels comfortable. Right.

And kind of like you're at a sleepover.

Your skin feels on edge, in a good way. Butterflies in your chest that risk escaping as she suddenly reaches out and pulls you closer to her by your waist.

You place your arms on her chest as she holds you close.

You want to poke fun, and you also don't want to draw any attention to her actions.

"I'm just cold." She states like she can read your mind. "Don't get used to it."

But she's warm. She’s so warm. You’re both probably too warm to be this close.

Her hair still smells like cherries and salt.

"Can I ask you a question?'

If you focus you might be able to hear her brain work.

"No."

"What if it's an easy one."

She sighs. You can feel her hands clench for a moment.

"Okay. What is it?"

"What perfume do you wear? I like it...it’s so sweet."

"I have it custom made from an Italian company. I went to the factory, to sample the scents I liked."

She swallows in the silence that follows.

“Before you had to leave…” she starts up again, half awkward and half sleepy “…I had fun. On our date. Like I was young and stupid instead of old and stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“…neither are you.” She blinks slowly and softly. Her body relaxing into the bed. “…but I make stupid decisions.”

“Me too.”

Maybe that’s why you’re both right here right now. Or maybe you can tell yourself that. You both know the clear, obvious reason.

“Can I ask about—"

The blackmail. Your mother. The man. The accusations she’d half confirmed were true.

“No. Not right now...”

It’s frustrating, it’s scary.

“…please.”

She’s too soft to argue with.

“Okay.”

But as her hands hold you close to her chest, and as you settle in to sleep close to the woman you’ve been chasing. Your brain has the same things on repeat.

Lies. Fraud. Other women. Murder. Secrets. Dirty money. More secrets. Agatha’s terrible memories.

“Tell me something nice about you?” You ask, voice slow and sleepy.

“Something nice? No.”

“Please. You have stuff to say, you’re nice.”

“I am not nice.”

“You’re so nice. I think you’re nice.”

“I think you’re tired.”

You are tired.

You can’t sleep.

“Tell me about your rabbit.”

Agatha leans over and slaps the lamp shut, you’re crawling over to her and filling the space before she even has a chance to adjust.

“My rabbit?”

“You told me you had a rabbit.”

She sighs.

“I have a rabbit. As in currently.”

The gap between you opens again as you pull back to try and see her face in the darkness. Moonlight shifts through the curtains just a little, her face fresh but exhausted. The tiny lines on the side of her lips.

“You have a rabbit?”

“Yes.”

“You have a rabbit. As in now. The present. And he’s alive?”

She makes a face you can’t quite see in the shadows.

“What you think I’m nice but not nice enough to have a pet?”

“I thought you’d like, have a goldfish you killed by accident. Maybe a scary dog. Oh, or a cat. You guys could ignore each other.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Rabbits are so floppy and cute!”

You squeal as she groans. The woman who made you cower earlier has a little soft friend. Unless she’s lying again.

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god and you’re serious? Where is he, what’s his name?”

“He’s in France. And I’m not telling you his name.”

Her sleepy voice is almost as cute as the rabbit information.

“Oh you’ll fly me to your island but you won’t tell me the name of your secret rabbit?”

“He’s not a secret. He just didn’t come up. And don’t get too attached to him. You don’t even know him.”

Is she defending herself or the rabbit?

“You don’t get to know rabbits. They start off great and only get better. Unless he’s like, evil. Does he bite?”

“He’s not evil and he doesn’t bite. I mean, unless he’s has evil thoughts. He seems normal. He just sort of, I don’t know. Hops around.”

“You let him LOOSE?”

“Oh my god. Yeah. I’m not gonna cage the rabbit...Then where would I put you?”

You’d playfully smack her but you don’t want to discourage her from that idea

“Why did you get a rabbit?”

“Can a woman not want a rabbit? What’s with all the questions? Go to sleep.”

She pulls you in again so you’re pressed against her, despite her words sounding more serious.

“Okay.”

You close your eyes, breathing her in. The security you needed last night.

“…why are you so surprised?”

She wants to keep talking.

She wants to keep talking.

“I’m just so excited imagining you talking to a little rabbit. Being all cute with it. I can’t wait to see this.”

“Oh I see, you think you’re gonna get to meet him.”

“Well when you take me to France duh I’ll meet him. He lives there, Agatha.”

She scoffs.

“We can talk about it. Go to sleep.”

"Why did you lie in your interview? You pre-approved the questions."

"Go to sleep." She grunts.

"You said you listen to podcasts. You hate podcasts."

"I hate everything."

"You like rabbits."

She shuffles, her grip loosens and tenses again, like she seriously debated ending the cuddle over this.

"Go. To sleep."

"I've never seen you eat a healthy breakfast."

"Coffee is healthy."

"Coffee with syrup is not healthy. And that's not breakfast. Breakfast is like, an egg or—"

"—Stop talking about the interview. I say that stuff so people get off my back."

"Because you're famous?"

You tense your whole body in case she hits you.

"I'm actually going to kill you dead if you don't go to sleep right now."

The wind picks up outside. The sound of it against the windows, the sound of Agatha’s breathing slowing, calming. You hope you sleep before she starts snoring.

Her sheets under your skin as you rest in her safety, knowing tomorrow you’ll need to have a conversation.

A real conversation.

A real unveiling of secrets.

—-

omg. i'm alive?

This will be on ao3 like I said. I was going to post it today but predictably my wifi is messing up, so i'm on mobile ( I may have continued to draft in tumblr ). Would rather sort it soon on web. I'll let you know! <3

Taglist: @mommyissuesismypersonality @chlondykebar @sweetmidnights @rmaximoff @hannah-0730 @milflovers4 @neverfindmegone  @absolute-memegarbage @wifeofmanymilfs @marcelinaceciliarose @marcelinaceciliarose @6stolenangel9 @pianogirl2121 @hagofswords @natashasmuse @htinha157 @@wandanatsub @morgananyx @galaxybaby @greyella @w4ndsversew0nder @daffodil-heart @isixxxx

There are plenty of bars in the city, and most of them are co-ed, hosting spaces where both predator and prey hybrids can be comfortable. There's a few that are targeted towards specific species, with atmospheres and menus that center them. You've been to quite a few rabbit clubs. This one, however, is catered towards predators. It's not a strict rule, but it's one of those social rules that are just understood that you should follow.

You never liked rules very much.

You push the heavy wooden door open and step inside. Almost immediately, your nose twitches as its sent into overdrive. The smells hit you like a meteor, a mix of hybrid musks that has your rabbit instincts screaming at you. Heads turn and glance at you as you walk to the bar, a few eyebrows raised, tails swishing with curiosity, but no one says anything about your presence.

The leather barstools are nice, but worn, squeaking a little under you as you sit. You wait patiently for the bartender to come over, watching him speak in a low, deep voice to a couple of patrons who were here just before you. He's a wolf hybrid, but strangely the fur of his ears and tail are much lighter than his black hair. An arctic wolf, you muse. You rest your head in your hand and watch him move.

Your parents used to say that you were too curious for your own good, especially when it came to danger. They always got calls from school saying you got into tussles with other kids on the playground, provoking them or just thinking you were able to scrap with the big dogs—literally. Multiple teachers and counselors expressed concern for the behavior, citing that it was very unusual for a rabbit to be so willing to put themselves in these situations. It was like your fight and flight instinct were swapped.

As a teen, your focus shifted to school, so you mellowed out a little. But you still had a reputation for not backing down from a fight. You're pretty sure your unwavering attitude is the main thing that kept you from being shoved in lockers daily. That and being a teacher's pet.

It's funny, really. Everyone who meets you always expects a trembling bunny, and instead they get met with a spitfire jackrabbit. Flipping those expectations on people always amuses you, and it's gotten you a lot more respect as you've climbed your way through the hellscape of academia.

But part of you misses the adrenaline rush of a good scrap.

"What can I do ya for?"

You glance up at the wolf bartender, who seems to be watching you with the same curiosity that you were watching him. He cleans a glass as he waits for your response.

"What do you have that's fruity?"

A feline hybrid next to you snickers at the request. You ignore them. The wolf pauses his cleaning for a moment as he thinks, sets the glass down, and starts grabbing some things from the back counter. He looks at what he has for a moment then turns back to you.

"Don't usually get a lot of fruity requests, but I do have some stuff. Just gotta go to the back to get something. That okay?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. I'll be right back."

As you wait, you idly spin the stool around a bit by pushing your foot off the counter. Your rabbit ears sway with each motion. They quirk up as you pick up on various conversations around the room. Someone telling a friend about their promotion at work. A group of friends comforting a girl after a breakup. Animal senses come in a lot of handy when you're nosy.

"I'm telling you, I'm done with her this time."

"You've been saying that for years, Agatha. I have a hard time believing this is the final straw."

"We're divorced for a reason."

"And yet, you still hook up constantly."

"A woman has needs, Wanda."

This conversation has you zeroing in, looking towards the source of the voices. Standing at a table near people playing pool, you spot the pair whose chatter has made its way to your ears. Two women, both nursing what looks like it might be bourbon and coke. As they keep talking, you identify the one closer to the bar side as Agatha, the apparently divorced woman. And you are so thankful she is, because suddenly your ambitions for the night have found a target.

Her hair is wild and dark, a deep brunette that looks almost black in the dim lights of the bar. As she moves and the lighting shifts, you can see streaks of silver running through her waves. Pointed ears, perfect little triangles, sit atop her head, and a bushy tail the same color as her hair, grey streaks and all, swishes behind her. If you had to guess, you'd wager she's middle-aged, maybe late 40s to early 50s, judging by the distinct lines of her face when she shifts expressions and the easy confidence that she carries that can only come with decades of spending time in bars like this. When she opens her mouth to speak to the woman next to her, you can see her sharp canines.

A silver fox. Both literally and figuratively.

The other woman, Wanda, is also a fox, her hair and fur a red-orange that reminds you of autumn. She's pretty, closer to your age than Agatha's. But your sights are set on the older woman.

Someone clears their throat behind you. You spin back around to face the bartender again. He's placed a drink on the counter. The glass is filled with a pink-peach color and garnished with a maraschino cherry.

"Here you go. I hope it's okay," he says awkwardly. You thank him and tell him not to close your tab yet. Luck willing, you'll be buying another drink soon.

The cocktail is good, a bit sweeter than you hoped, but a nice flavor nonetheless. You sip it and play with the tiny straw, stabbing the cherry as you swing back around to scan across the room. Your brow furrows when you look over and there's only one fox still at the table. Where did Agatha go? Did she leave before you could even meet her?

Your body twitches, alert, as someone walks up behind you.

"Looks like a little bunny got lost," a low voice that can only be described as sultry speaks.

Pushing off the counter again, you spin to face her. Agatha stands before you, empty glass in hand, looking you up and down. Regarding you with cool blue eyes.

"Not lost at all. I'm right where I wanna be," you reply, leaning an elbow on the bartop.

"So, you want to be staring at a pair of vixens across the bar like a creep?" Agatha raises an eyebrow. She clearly expects the callout to fluster you, but you simply shrug.

"Wasn't trying to be creepy. Just admiring the view." Both of Agatha's brows raise now, visibly surprised by your boldness. You return the accusation. "Did you come over here just to intimidate me?"

This makes Agatha set her glass on the counter, leaning over you. Her tail lashes behind her. The sharp points of her fangs gleam when she opens her mouth to speak. "That depends, bunny. Is it working?"

"Not in the way you want it to."

"And what way do you think that is?" Agatha asks smoothly, never pulling back. She taps her fingers against the bar, her claws making a light tapping sound on the polished wood.

"I think you expected me to run," you say, tilting your chin up to meet her heavy gaze more firmly. "Probably thought I'd hightail out of here the second you flashed your fangs."

You take a sip of your drink again, keeping your eyes on her. She glances at your lips pressed against the glass momentarily, almost imperceptibly, before they dart back up to your face. Before you realize what's happening, Agatha steps back. You think that she's about to leave, disappointed that she couldn't scare you off, but then she turns to the person sitting on the bar stool to your right.

"Move. I'm taking this seat," she snaps at them. When they start to protest, she snarls, and they relent, uninterested in getting into a fight over a seat. Agatha looks smug as she sits down.

"You always that pleasant?" You tease.

"No, I'm in a good mood, so I'm being extra nice."

You introduce yourself, and Agatha says her name curtly in response. You choose to omit the fact that you've been listening to her conversation and learned her name that way, but you have a feeling that she might have guessed that already.

"Should you tell your friend you're abandoning her?" You nod your head towards where Wanda was left standing.

"She'll figure it out." Agatha waves a hand dismissively. She waves to get the bartenders attention, and he takes her glass to get a fresh drink.

"I'll get that," you tell him as he sets Agatha's drink down. His eyes dart between the two of you, a bit of surprised on his face, but he simply nods and leaves you alone again.

"What do you do that you can just go buying drinks for women, hm?" Agatha asks as she brings her glass to her lips.

"I'm a waitress, but I'm still in school. I'm also a TA," you explain.

"Undergrad?"

"PhD."

Agatha looks impressed, and you beam a little.

"What field?"

"Anthropology."

"Small world," Agatha smiles. She points at herself. You try not to let your eyes linger on her sharp claws. "History professor."

"At Westview?" She nods as she takes a bit of ice from her glass and crunches it. "That's where I'm studying. I'm surprised I haven't seen you before."

"I don't linger around campus often. Too many of my students love to barrage me with annoying questions and ask for life advice."

"I'm not actually on campus that often either, to be fair. I'm usually running from my last class to get to work."

"How do you fit going to predator bars and ogling women into your busy schedule?" Agatha asks casually. You scoff, nose scrunching up. Agatha grins, finally having caught you off-guard. "Seriously. What are you doing here, bunny?"

"I'm allowed to be here," you sneer.

"That's not what I mean." Agatha sets her half-empty glass down and rests her chin in the palm of her hand. "A bunny doesn't just wander into a building full of drunk predators."

"Maybe I do." You bristle at the assessment.

"In that case, you're dumber than I thought." Agatha shrugs.

"Did I mention the PhD?"

"You did, and I stand by my statement." Agatha watches you start to grow frustrated with her, a greatly amused smile on her infuriatingly pretty face. "The way I see it, you're here either because you're dumb and horny, or just plain dumb. Pick your poison."

Heat rises to your face. You reach for your drink to try to occupy yourself while you come up with a response that doesn't make you sound as flustered as you are, but your glass is empty.

You've prided yourself on defying the timid rabbit stereotypes for your whole life. Nothing has ever truly made you cower. You've presented the thesis that you've dedicated your entire being to in front of a board of intimidating faces and didn't waver. But now, face to face with a beautifully terrifying woman almost twice your age, is where you're forgetting yourself. Your heart is beating at an ungodly pace, your foot tapping nervously against the footrest of the bar stool.

This is the first time you've understood what it means to be prey. Though you're sitting in place, you can't help but feel like Agatha is hunting you. It's the way she's been watching, waiting for her perfect moment to strike. To hit you with the blunt observation that she somehow knew would finally make you stumble.

But you're not going down without a fight.

"Projection is a dangerous game, Agatha."

A beat. Agatha scoffs, shaking her head with laugh. "Oh, you're just asking for it, aren't you?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you though?" She leans in closer to whisper into your ears. Her hot breath brushes against them, and they twitch, which makes her chuckle. "Tough bunny just wants someone to put them in their place. That's why you're here."

You run your tongue over your teeth, eyes darting up to meet her. Agatha is looming over you now, her hair a curtain around you. You're positive she can hear your heart beat. You wonder if she can also smell your arousal that's starting to pool in a wet heat between your legs.

She probably can, given the fact that you can smell hers.

It's thick and musky, much more intense than the prey hybrids you usually sleep with. And you desperately need to press your face against her and have it surround you completely until your scents are so intertwined that they're indistinguishable from each other.

"You're making an awful lot of assumptions here." Your snarky responses are getting less potent by the second.

"Am I?" Agatha raises a brow. She sits back a little, starts counting off on her fingers. Long fingers that she definitely knows how to use. Veins along her hands down to her perfectly toned forearms that you've been drooling over since you saw her from across the bar. Of course she's rolled her nice button up sleeves up to her elbows. It's bait for anyone who loves a hot, powerful woman. "Bunny walks into a bar catered towards predators. Bunny watches a woman old enough to be her mother from across the room. Bunny has a whole lot of pride that she's had to wear like armor to get where she is."

"Your point?"

"Bunny is trying to cut off my assessment and divert my attention." You huff. Agatha continues with a smirk, "All that is to say, you like a challenge. You like to push boundaries. If you didn't, it would take you about five minutes to find a dozen other bunnies who'd be down to fuck you."

"Two dozen, probably," you mumble. Agatha gives you a look that says "I know I'm right, but thank you for confirming it." Feeling defensive but unarmed, you cross your arms over your chest and glance away from her intense gaze. "I thought you were a history professor, not psych."

"History is my main interest, but analyzing people is my real talent."

"Are you done?"

"I could probably keep going. Do you want an analysis on your various psychological complexes too? Or is that too explicit to do in public."

"No thanks, Freud."

"Rude. But if you want Freud, I can give Freud."

"Don't—"

"How's your relationship with your mother?"

The noise you let out is nothing short of a feral whine of frustration. You try to play it off, act like it was a squeak from your stool, but Agatha isn't that stupid. Her ears perk up, and her lips curl up over her teeth. You blink, body reacting off pure instincts as you lean back and away from her. A low chittering sound hits your ears, and you realize it's her. It must have been as involuntary as your own noise, because Agatha shakes her head a bit, ears flopping in a rather adorable way, before steeling her gaze again. She lets out a little snort of air.

"I'm leaving. I'll be waiting out front for an Uber. You have about ten minutes to decide if you want to follow."

And just like that, she's getting up and walking away from the bar.

Ten minutes. Nine now, as you pay for your drinks. Eight by the time you're opening the front door and looking around, ears rotating atop your head and nose twitching as you seek out the fox.

Agatha is leaning against a lamp post, foot propped up against the fire hydrant next to her. A cigarette is perched between her lips for a moment before she pulls away and lets out a stream of smoke. She's facing the street, but you know she hears you approach by the way her tail swishes and ears move.

"Bunnies shouldn't follow foxes, you know," Agatha hums, still looking out at the few passing cars. You let out a wavered sigh, the cool night air allowing you to see your breath. It mirrors the smoke she's exhaling. "You're just asking for it."

"I know what I'm asking for." Your words come out childish, like a kid who's determined to try something they're not usually allowed to do.

"I don't think you do," Agatha says, looking over at you now. You stand firm, unmoving. She brings the cigarette to her lips again. The end glows red. Pulls it away. Breathes out. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Hold out your wrist."

The request is strange, but when she flicks her cigarette a bit and steps closer to you, blue eyes dark and hungry, you realize what she wants. It's a test. She's showing you that she's not going to go easy on you just because you're a cute rabbit hopping into the fox's den. It's a little crazy, and for the first time all night—or possibly the first time in your entire life—you start to think you've bit off more than you can chew.

But you've never met a test that you couldn't handle.

You hold out your wrist for her, chin up to face her fully. Agatha grins, toothy and a little menacing. Holds eye contact as she takes your wrist in her hand. Her fingers easily circle around you, meeting over your pulse point. She can feel how fast your heart is racing.

The tender skin burns as Agatha presses the cigarette against you. You visibly wince, but you refuse to pull away. She holds it there, until the embers start to fade, and then finally takes it away. You let out a stuttered sigh of relief, eyes watering at the corners. Agatha is still holding you by the wrist. Her thumb rubs over the burn mark.

"Good girl."

A shiver runs through your body. You're trying to find any coherent response, but the tension is fogging your brain. All that you manage to squeak out is, "Can I kiss you?"

Agatha simply pulls your body into her own, cupping your face and crashing her lips into yours. You squeak again, fingers grasping desperately at her shirt. Anything to ground you. You've kissed a lot of people, but none have made you feel even close to this. Agatha's fangs graze your bottom lip, nipping and suckling at the soft flesh. You can feel your body trying to go limp.

Blood smears across your mouth as she bites too hard. Agatha pulls back suddenly, breathing heavily. Her eyes are wild, mouth twitching like she didn't want to stop. Your body hums, arousal spiking impossibly as you see just how much she's affected by this too. She runs her tongue over her lips, tasting your blood.

"Fuck," Agatha breathes out. She looks almost surprised that she lost a bit of control.

"Yeah. I agree." You reach up and swipe some of the blood away from her chin with your thumb, and she smiles. Maybe satisfied that you didn't get freaked out by her feral instincts peeking out.

A car rolls up to where you two are standing, asks for Agatha. She nods at the driver.

"Ride's here."

Agatha doesn't ask if you're coming with her. She doesn't need to. You follow her into the backseat, closing the door behind you with a soft slam.

As soon as the car starts moving, Agatha is on you again. She kisses you eagerly, then trails her lips along your jaw down to your neck. You tangle your hand in her hair, scratching at her scalp right at the base of her ears. She makes a noise that sounds like a mix of a purr and a growl. You feel her press her nose against you and inhale. The hand that's gripping your thigh tightens.

"You smell so fucking delicious, bunny," Agatha says against your skin, voice husky. Her teeth graze against your neck. Your rabbit brain reacts, and your human brain is too aroused to push the feeling away. Your body tenses, freezing in place as it tries to tell you that there's danger. Agatha rubs her hand over your thigh. You feel her claws through the fabric of your pants. Those also set off your instincts, but the slight pain when she bites your neck again is enough to snap you back to reality.

"You gonna fuck me or eat me?" You tease, but your voice wavers.

"Both. But the latter in the former sense."

"What?" You blink. Agatha's fingers brush against your crotch. "Oh."

"Not as quick as you were earlier, hm?" Agatha laughs.

"Your wording was confusing," you mumble defensively. You tug on her hair, and she growls.

"Mhm, or you're just not the smartest in the room like usual."

"I have very little doubt that you're smarter than me, but you have age advantage."

Agatha snorts and pulls back from your neck. She rubs her thumb over your bottom lip, pressing hard enough to make that still sensitive cut dribble out a few more drops of blood. Instead of licking it off herself, she pushes the digit into your mouth. You wrap your lips around her and lave your tongue over the pad of her thumb, holding her gaze with wide eyes the whole time. The taste is metallic and unappealing, but the weight of her fingers on your tongue distract you from that.

"Oral fixation," Agatha says simply.

"Oh shuhup," you garble through the finger still wedged between your lips. Agatha cackles and removes her thumb. "You're the one who smokes."

"That's addiction, not psychosexual."

"Two of Freud's favorite things."

"Your little rabbit teeth are cute," Agatha hums, tapping her index finger against your lips.

Your face feels warm, and you turn away from her gaze. One of the signature traits of rabbit hybrids was the distinct front teeth. You grew up hating them. It was definitely a learned insecurity from schoolyard jabs through your childhood, but they stuck nonetheless.

For a split second, you believe that maybe Agatha is giving a Mean Girls-esque fake compliment. But you get the feeling that if Agatha were Regina George, she would've told that girl straight to her face that she was wearing the ugliest effing skirt she's ever seen.

So, you take the compliment.

The car rolls to a stop in front of a nice row of townhouses. You thank the driver. Agatha ignores them and gets out of the car swiftly, taking you by the hand and leading you along. You follow her up to a small two-story house. The yard is a little overgrown, but it's nice otherwise. You resist the urge to go sniff around what looks to be an abandoned flower garden below her porch while she fumbles with her keys.

Once inside, you look around in the darkness. Agatha doesn't bother flipping the lights on. Both of you can see well enough.

"Your house is nice," you say, admiring all the vintage furnishings. With curious eyes, you wander over to a tall bookshelf, scanning over the titles. It's mostly non-fiction, which you expected from the history professor. Agatha seems to have a morbid curiosity in tragic historical events, given the array of books about everything from the Titanic to the Hindenburg disasters. But the number of those pale in comparison to the sheer volume of Agatha's witch trials collection.

Your body twitches, and you suddenly feel a warm presence behind you. You know she's been watching you this entire time, but it seems she's growing impatient. Fair. You might've been tempted to flip through the very out-of-place Dolly Parton biography if Agatha wasn't ready to finish what you started.

Agatha wraps her arms around you, her mouth finding your neck once more. You gasp as she nips you. Not quite drawing blood this time, but certainly enough to bruise. Her body presses against yours. When you feel a slight bulge pressing against your ass, you almost have to grab onto the bookshelf to steady yourself.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I'd rather see if I can get you drunk on something else," Agatha murmurs against your skin. She punctuates the sentiment with a roll of her hips, and you groan.

Boldly, you push back against her, grinding your ass against her clothed cock. Agatha curses under her breath, her hands falling to your hips. She pulls away from your neck, and you know exactly what she's busy looking at. You flick your cottontail purposefully, and Agatha exhales a stuttered laugh.

"Fuck, that's adorable." Agatha gives another hard thrust and slaps your ass playfully before pulling away. You try not to whine at the loss. Before you can complain, Agatha says, "Bedroom is upstairs. Door at the end of the hall. Lead the way, bunny. I'm right behind you."

"Why don't you lead the way? It's your house." To answer your question, Agatha slaps your ass again. You snort. "Pervert."

"Excuse me for wanting to look at that cute tail of yours more."

Even as you walk up the stairs, the tension in the air is palpable. While you know that Agatha is trailing you, it's a bit eerie having her lurking behind you. Especially when she lets you get a few steps ahead of her. It feels like she's stalking you rather than letting you lead.

"You're weird."

"Why's that?" Agatha asks in a low voice as you reach the bedroom.

You spin around to face her, but keep walking backwards until the back of your knees his the edge of her bed. You're expecting her to push you down onto it, but instead she just gets as close as possible, looming in your space. Chest to chest, you can feel her breathing against you.

"Just are." Your eyes drop down to the bulge nudging against you. You lick your lips.

"Very well put, bunny," Agatha snorts. "If you're not going to say anything useful, how about we put that mouth to work?"

You reach out to unbutton her slacks, but she slaps your hands away.

"Nope. Get on your knees first."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Am I just going to unbutton them when I'm down there? What difference does it make?" You scrunch up your nose at her. Agatha's buttons are very fun to push. Her brow furrows adorably and the vein in her forehead becomes more prominent as she tenses.

"The difference is that I want to see you on your fucking knees," Agatha growls. "But if you want to be a stubborn thing, you strip first."

"But I wanna see you—"

The sound of fabric ripping hits your ears before you realize whats happened. Agatha has taken her claws and shredded them down the front of your shirt. The fabric parts in a tattered mess, exposing your chest and tummy to her hungry gaze.

"You're paying for that," you huff, trying to act offended and not give away that the action made your cunt throb.

"You know, for someone who literally wanted this, you're doing an awful lot of talking and not much being a good little fuckbunny."

That is not something anyone has called you before, and you think it just changed your brain chemistry.

Agatha smirks, fully aware that she just activated that little submissive part of your brain that you've been hiding behind sass and annoying questions.

"Am I going to have to repeat myself, bunny?" Agatha tilts your chin up with her finger, her claw poking into your skin. "Surely you remember what I just told you to do."

Trying to pretend you still have some dignity left, you shed the remains of your shirt and put it aside. Agatha runs her hands over your tummy and up to your chest, palming your tits through your lacy bra. Normally, you'd want her to play with you like that for a bit longer, but with how the nights been going, you're far past ready to get down to business. You slide to your knees in front of Agatha, the plush rug under you a soft cushion against your delicate skin.

"Good bunny," Agatha hums, patting your head condescendingly. You shake your head to get your ears unruffled when she pulls back. "Now you can unbutton, sweetheart."

The palms of your hands are sweaty, but you manage not to tremble as you reach up and thread the button through the hole. The heat of her arousal is searing. Agatha is wearing purple lace. The dark curls of her thick bush peek out of the waistband and through some of the thinner parts of the fabric. That sight is already mouthwatering in itself, but you can't even dwell on that because you're face to face with the thick bulge of Agatha's cock.

Strained against her panties, you can't tell how big she is yet. But you're stopped dead in your tracks as the smell of her musk drowns out any other thoughts. Agatha might get her wish of getting you cockdrunk before it's even out.

"Fox got your tongue?" Agatha asks, looking down at you with a fake pout. "Aw, poor bunny. Do I need to help?"

A needy whine is your only reply. Agatha laughs and slowly, teasingly, starts tugging her pants and underwear down.

Her cock springs free the second that the lace is peeled away. Your senses are absolutely overwhelmed. The smell of her is still making your entire body buzz, and now you have to remember how to function as you try not to drool at the sight of her dick.

Agatha wraps her hand around the base, giving it a few pumps. You'd wager it's about five or six inches. Thick. As her hand reaches the root again, your eyes dart to her sack. You've never done it with anyone before, but you kind of want to press your nose against her balls and try to get her musk directly from the source into your head. Or wrap your lips around them and massage them with your tongue. Or take her cock while you're laying upside down over the edge of the bed so that her sack press against your nose while you deep throat her. Or—

"Bunnyyy," Agatha singsongs. You don't snap out of your haze, you simply let your eyes drift up to her face. The way she's towering over you makes you feel so small, helpless in the face of whatever she chooses to do with you.

It's her pheromones, you tell yourself. That's why your head feels like it's full of static instead of real thoughts. Even though your pheromones shouldn't even be compatible as two wildly different species—predator and prey, no less.

Or, maybe the stark difference is why you're so overwhelmed. The rabbits you've hooked up with never elicited even close to this response.

Agatha taps the tip of her cock against your lips to try to focus your attention. You part your lips, tongue darting out to lick a dribble of pre-cum.

"Wider," Agatha urges, hooking her thumb in your mouth to wrench your jaw open for her. You give her no resistance. Her finger runs over your teeth, back and forth over the more prominent rabbit ones. "Don't use these on me. Don't want my dick snapping like a carrot."

"Won't." You promise and open your mouth a little wider.

"Good bunny."

The tip of her cock presses against your tongue as she pushes in. You groan as you taste her pre direct from the source. Agatha's breath hitches almost imperceptibly as she sinks deeper into the warm wetness of your mouth, but your ears just barely pick it up.

She doesn't hesitate to push as deep as she can right away. The look in your eyes might be getting more dazed by the second, but in them she can see the determination to prove yourself to her. Agatha's cock lays thick and heavy on your tongue, sliding towards the back of your throat. Her fluffy tail has stiffened behind her. Your nose twitches, getting closer to her pelvis. Her bush brushes against your nostrils and you wrinkle your nose as her hair tickles you. Agatha must find the sight of your nose scrunching up amusing. She grips your head and pushes you all the way down. You gag.

"Aww, is the wittle bunny wabbit getting overwhelmed?" Agatha coos down at you, voice dripping with mocking condescension and an exaggerated pout on her lips. The "wittle wabbit" nickname is something that would normally make your skin prickle with irritation. But you can't exactly think straight right now, and from Agatha's mouth the degrading tone is hypnotic. You make a little gurgling whine around her cock as you adjust to the feeling of her in your throat. Your nose is mashed against her now, buried deep in her bush.

"Breathe through your nose, bunny," Agatha encourages. If Agatha doesn't let you up for air, you might die happily here. The puffs of air that you exhale through your nose are unsteady. Agatha runs her hand through your hair, flattening your ears against your head. "C'mon, you're a big girl. You can do it. In…"

You inhale. As you do, the scent of her musk hits you hard. It shouldn't be possible for your head to feel this empty just from Agatha's smell. But here you are, moaning around her dick. Agatha curses at the vibrations, hips jerking. She remembers she's supposed to be guiding you, voice coming out strained as she says, "And out…"

When you exhale, she pulls back ever so slightly. Then Agatha starts thrusting, her cock gliding over your tongue. In and out. Back and forth. Your eyes droop, and your body is strangely relaxed as your throat is being used for her pleasure. Arousal is soaking through your panties now, growing slick and uncomfortable, but you can't be bothered to focus on that.

You're jolted from your meditative state as Agatha's hands wrap around your rabbit ears. You glare up at her. Rabbit hybrids ears are very sensitive. Luckily, the human part of your genetic make-up means they're not devastatingly fragile. But the feeling of someone grabbing them does make your heart beat rather fast.

Agatha senses your tension and pauses her movements. She doesn't move her hand from your ears, but her grip loosens a bit. Her other hand comes up to your jaw and cups it gently.

"Nod if this is okay," Agatha murmurs under her breath.

You don't ponder it for long, far too eager to push your comfort for the sake of getting rough treatment from Agatha. You nod. Agatha smirks and tightens her grip again.

"Tap my thigh twice if you need to stop."

That warning is the last one you get before Agatha starts fucking into your mouth again, this time, using your ears as a handle to guide your head. It hurts a little, but it's a similar sensation to when past hookups have pulled your hair. The sting tugs at your scalp, but the pain is colliding with pleasure.

"Fuck. Fuck yes. Take it."

The room is filled with the guttural sounds of your throat working around her, coupled with a rumbling growl from Agatha's chest and a muffled whine from your own.

"Arch your back and stick your ass out," Agatha orders through gritted teeth. "Wanna see your cottontail shake while I use your mouth."

You shift, spreading your thighs and pushing your hips back so that Agatha can admire your ass from above. You flick your tail teasingly, and Agatha's cock twitches in your mouth at the sight. As Agatha gets more and more frantic, fucking your mouth faster, you notice something. When your lips get closer to the base of her cock, you feel them stretch a tiny bit more than they were earlier, like Agatha's cock is starting to swell at the base.

Before you can worry about it, Agatha yanks you off of her. You squeak and wince, and she breathes out a clipped apology when you rub the base of your ears.

"God, your mouth is so good. Almost made me knot."

Since you're rubbing your ears to soothe them and your mind is currently centralized between your legs, you don't fully register what Agatha's said. You hear "nut" and assume she just didn't want to come yet. Maybe her refractory period isn't what it used to be. Makes sense. Age and hormones will do that.

Agatha draws your attention again, cupping your jaw and rubbing it with her thumb. You lean into the touch, a small buzzing noise escaping you. Agatha's ears perk up. She laughs, an amused chittering sound.

"What's that?"

"Oh." Of course she heard it. Your cheek goes warm under her touch. "Sometimes rabbits do that. When they're happy. Or aroused."

"Mmm, all it takes is a cock in your mouth to get that cute noise out of you?" Agatha asks with a smirk. Too flustered to respond, you just shrug. The smirk turns into a full grin. "What happened to all that backtalk, hm? I guess you really are just a needy little fuckbunny."

"No…" You say with zero conviction in your voice.

"No? So, I shouldn't fuck you then?" Agatha bends down and reaches slowly for her pants, her cock still leaking between her thighs. You could absolutely call her bluff, and normally you would. But the logical side of your brain is nowhere to be found.

"Wait." You stop her. She laughs in your face.

"That's what I thought. Now finish stripping and get on the bed."

You scramble to obey, shedding the rest of your clothes until you're completely naked. Agatha follows suit, unbuttoning her shirt quickly and tossing it aside. When she unclips the lace bra that matches her panties, your mouth waters at the sight of her tits. Puffy, sensitive nipples practically begging to be sucked. But she clearly has other plans. Agatha tells you to lay back against the pillows, so you scoot your way up and rest your head against the silk pillowcases.

"So obedient now," Agatha hums as she crawls up the bed. You watch the way she stalks towards your body, the muscles of her body moving like a Renaissance art piece. "Dumb bunny think she's all high and mighty, but she just needed to be reminded where she sits on the food chain."

Your cunt pulses and legs spread. Agatha can see the way your pussy reacts, so she continues with a low, sultry voice that could lure even the most suspicious prey into her trap.

"About an hour ago, you would've died rather than have someone dare insult your intelligence. But now, here you are, practically moaning when a mean old fox calls you dumb bunny. This is why you went searching tonight, isn't it? You just needed someone to put you in your place. Needed to embrace that prey side of you that you've stuffed away for so long."

The truth of the statement makes you turn away, eyes shiny with need and a couple of tears. Agatha is hovering over your body now, her thick hair falling in your face. She grips your face and turns you back to face her. Unable to hide from the truth, you nod. You swallow nervously as you see her lick her lips.

"Don't look so frightened, bunny. I won't tell anyone what a needy mess you get when you finally find someone willing to bite back." Agatha's voice is slightly softer. The tenderness must surprise her as well, because she kisses you sloppily to divert your attention. She loves the way you're shaking under her. Pure arousal is pumping through your body, and you're not sure how much longer you're able to stand not being filled. When Agatha pulls back a bit, you nuzzle your face against hers, making whining noises.

"Silly rabbit. Such a pathetic creature. Can't even wait one more second to be filled?" You shake your head. "Too bad. I need to taste you first. I promised to eat you, didn't I?"

Her lips trail down your neck, leaving bites along the way. Agatha gives your tits a little bit of attention, flicking her tongue over your nipples to listen to you squeal, but she's on a mission.

Her hands grip your thighs, spreading you open for her hungry gaze. Agatha leans in and inhales, her tail lashing as she smells your soaked cunt. Her tongue lolls out, and before you can comment on how long it is, it swipes through your folds in a long, firm push. Your head falls back against the pillow, back arching as you feel her start licking you eagerly.

Agatha's fox tongue has little bumps meant to help groom fur, and the feeling of that ridged, wet muscle lapping at you like she's been starved for months has you seeing stars. You wrap your legs around her head, your fingers grasping at her hair. Anything to ground you.

"Ah!" You moan, thrashing under her. "Don't stop, I'm close!"

Agatha doesn't speak, but her gaze never leaves you. Her nose brushes against your clit as she fucks her long tongue inside of your aching hole. Claws dig into the meat of your thighs as she tries to hold you still. You might be bleeding, you're not sure. All you can feel is pleasure that practically has you passing out as your orgasm crashes through you.

Despite the mind blowing climax, you're not nearly done yet, and Agatha knows it. Agatha pulls back just enough to reach between your thighs. She spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, groaning at the sight of you.

"I've never seen anything like this, bunny," Agatha murmurs, her lips shiny with your slick. "So red and open. It's like you were built to be fucked."

When your cunt clenches visibly at her words, a bit of your cum squeezes out and down to the sheets. The sight makes Agatha pounce into action.

There's no more words shared between the two of you. They're not needed. Both of you know what the other needs right now. The raw, animalistic need is all-consuming. Agatha sits up and rolls you onto your stomach. You're already moving into the position she wants, so she doesn't have to do much. Once on all fours, you raise your ass in the air, practically shoving yourself against her body.

Agatha positions herself behind you, stroking her cock as she gives you a slap on your flank. Your fluffy tail flicks back and forth, wafting the scent of your need around. You feel her claws dig in at the sight.

There's barely any time between Agatha rubbing the tip of her cock through your folds and almost her entire length being shoved inside you. Both of you let out feral noises at the feeling. Agatha starts rutting into you, draping herself over your back so she can latch her teeth into the back of your neck.

The sound of her grunts fill your ears, with the wet slapping noise of your bodies meeting as she fucks you serving as the backing track. You're glad that Agatha can't see your face from this angle, because you're sure that you look like a wreck. Eyes rolled back in your head, mouth hanging open and drool down your lips.

You've never been filled so perfectly. The thickness of her cock drags against your walls with each thrust, sending shockwaves up your spine and reducing your brain to a pile of mush. Another orgasm sends your body into a shaking mess, moaning into the pillow when you lose your balance and can't hold yourself up anymore. Agatha doesn't mind though. She sits up, shoving your face further into the pillow and fucking you faster.

"Gonna fuck you so good that you never want another cock," Agatha growls lowly. "No more rabbits for you, baby. You're gonna crave this from now on. Thick predator cock breeding this pretty pussy."

Her voice is starting to sound higher pitched, and you can tell she's close. You want to make her come. You want to feel her breed you. With what little strength you can muster, you start pushing your hips back to meet hers. She gasps, cock pulsing inside of you as you fuck yourself on her cock. The stretch of her feels so good that you don't notice that she's stopped going as deep, fucking you in small swift thrusts instead of the delicious ones that reach deep in your wanting hole. And you also don't notice the thickness at the base of her cock swelling again. All you can do is push, wanting her hilted inside of you and letting out a high pitched wail when she pulls back out a bit further, staving off her orgasm for a moment longer.

"Dumb bunny," Agatha breathes out. "Don't even know what you're begging for."

"I do. Please. Please, I need it," you babble mindlessly. You do know what you're begging for. You're begging for her cum. You're begging for her to claim you. To ruin you for anyone else.

Agatha hesitates for a moment before pressing herself against your back again.

"Okay. Okay, bunny. I'll give you what you need." She nips at your ears to distract you before shoving her cock fully inside you once more. It's bigger. Thicker. It's stretching your cunt at the entrance. You cry out, and she shushes you, lips against the back of your neck now. "You've got it, it's in. Just relax, and it'll go smoother."

Agatha's thrusts are shallow now, barely pulling out of you before hilting with each push of her hips. You thought the stretch would settle, but every time your cunt adjusts, it feels like the girth around the base of her cock swells even bigger, growing into a bulbous shape that catches against your hole.

And then, realization hits you.

Knot.

Agatha was right. You didn't know what you were begging for. She warned you earlier, and you misunderstood. And she was holding back now because she didn't want to knot you.

Knotting is meant for mating and is supposedly incredibly intimate for species that do it. Agatha probably hesitated because of course she would. She probably doesn't just go knotting any random hookup.

But she heard your desperate begging and gave it to you anyway.

Your impression of Agatha tells you that she wouldn't do something so vulnerable if she didn't really want to. This divorced woman who's old enough to be your mother is crossing a social boundary for you, just because you sat pretty and begged pathetically for her to claim you.

The brief panic you had disappears. Your cunt clenches and gushes around her. Agatha is letting out an endless stream of grunts and moans. The vibrations of them rattle through her chest and against your skin where she's pressed against you.

Even if you wanted her to stop, you're not sure that you'd be able to shove her off. She's too far gone now, too close to release that the only thing in her mind is finishing.

You wiggle your hips and clench around her deliberately. Agatha's eyes fly open, and you feel her pulse.

"Bunny, I—"

"Knot me, Agatha."

Agatha's eyes roll back and her entire body shakes. Her sweat slicked forehead drops to your shoulder as she manages a few more tiny thrusts before you feel a spurt of thin cum shoot into you. Agatha gasps when you squeeze around her, milking every drop you can.

The knot swells as the last bit of her load dribbles out. You bite the pillow at the feeling, the walls of your pussy gaping around the fleshy plug meant to keep Agatha's seed inside of you. The sensation is so painfully delicious that it has you rubbing your clit, urging one last weak orgasm from your trembling form.

Agatha's body collapses on top of you. She takes a moment to catch her breath before rolling you onto your side.

The sudden movement and tug of the knot at your hole makes you scramble. She didn't know that you were biting the pillow. The sound of fabric ripping hits both of you, jolting you from the post-orgasm haze. You blink and flatten your ears, straining to look back at her over your shoulder.

"Sorry."

"We're even now from the shirt thing," Agatha huffs out an exhausted laugh.

"Yeah, that's fair."

You can't turn to face her with her knot snug in your cunt from behind, so you can only get a glimpse of her beautifully wrecked appearance. Her hair is wild and pupils blown out so that they look like midnight rather than sky blue. Her tail is wagging slowly, content.

"Can you reach the nightstand? There's a water bottle there."

"Yeah."

After both of you chug half a bottle each, Agatha drapes her arm over you and nuzzles against your back. You try to free yourself and roll over to face her, but her knot is still just as swollen.

"How long does this thing last?" You ask.

"Depends," Agatha mumbles, sounding sleepy. "Could be soon. Could be as long as an hour and a half."

"What? That's so long," you whine.

"Don't you know anything about knots?"

"I thought it was like, a few minutes!"

"I know it's been a while since I've been in school, but didn't they teach you kids sex-ed?"

"They separate us by species! All I learned was rabbit sex. Anything else I've learned through experience, and you're the first person with a knot I've ever fucked."

"Maybe you should do your research next time then," Agatha shrugs.

"What was I supposed to do, look up fox breeding dynamics when I saw you at the bar?"

"Or not beg to get knotted."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You hike your leg up and kick backwards into her shin. Agatha yips. You giggle, which is cut off very quickly when you feel her teeth sink into the back of your neck, scruffing you like an unruly kit.

Prey instincts make you go limp, and Agatha lets out a satisfied snort.

"Don't get too cocky, bunny," Agatha says once she releases your neck. "I know all the buttons to push to make that bratty attitude of yours disappear."

"Not a brat," you mumble.

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it right now."

"It's not bratting."

"It is. Textbook even."

You give up, scooting back against her body fully so that you can steal her warmth. Agatha's fingers stroke your lower tummy. You wonder if she's thinking about her cock nestled inside there.

"Why'd you agree to knot me?" You ask after a bit of silence. "Isn't it like, meant for mates or something?"

Agatha's hand stills. Clearly, you struck a nerve. She makes up an excuse on the fly.

"I just wanted to see how it would feel inside you. Different species and all."

"Have you only ever fucked other foxes?"

"No." A beat. "My ex-wife is a wolf."

Ah. The ex-wife that she can't stop hooking up with. Something about this first-date knotting is screaming attachment issues (literally). But, not eager to have Agatha angry with you while you're locked together, you hold your tongue.

"Cool. I've never fucked a wolf before. Did she howl?"

"You really want to ask me questions about my ex while I'm inside you?"

"You brought her up, I'm just being following the thread of conversation."

"I bet your mouth gets you in a lot of trouble, missy."

"It does. Like the time it got me stuck on a fox's knot for an hour."

Agatha barks out a laugh and squeezes your tummy. You beam with satisfaction.

"Alright, that's enough out of you. You tired?"

"Physically. But I'm pretty awake still."

You feel Agatha wrap around you, and she grunts as she maneuvers the two of you. Her knot tugging at your raw entrance is a dull ache now. She repositions the two of you so that you're laying horizontal across the bed. Agatha reaches around you to grab a remote from the side table. She points it at the television mounted on the wall and turns that on before offering it to you.

"Pick something. We can shower after my knot goes down. Might as well keep yourself entertained."

You smile at the thoughtfulness and take the remote from her. Agatha falls asleep within about ten minutes of the documentary you turn on, snoring behind you with her nose pressed against your shoulder. You feel her drooling on your skin.

The warm stretch of her cock buried inside of you keeps your brain in a delightfully hazy space. It's just enough to keep you from overthinking about how you've never stayed with a hookup for more than a couple of minutes after they rolled off of you.

Steadily, her knot starts going down. After about a half hour passes, it's small enough that you could probably pull yourself off of it now.

But you're comfortable. And you don't want to wake the woman behind you by moving around so much. So instead, you settle in Agatha's arms, tug the blanket over the both of you, and wait for her to rouse from sleep so that you can shower together.

“Gooooood fuckin’ girl.”

You struggled to hide your wince as Eddie harshly slapped your cheek again: you were on your knees, your face raised to look at him as he knelt over you, directing your face in whatever way he wanted it to go. Some parts sweet, some parts rough - whether it was pulling your hair until your cunt twinged with need, or spitting in your mouth when it got too dry for him to fuck, or how fucking good his cock felt when it was shoved into your mouth, you took all of it enthusiastically. 

You hadn’t heard Venom’s commentary in a while, but at least Eddie seemed to be enjoying himself.

“That’s great, honey,” Eddie gasped as he slipped the tip of his cock in your mouth again: you sucked on it dutifully, slathering your spit over his already glistening length, but throughout all of it, your eyes were locked on his face.

He was almost out of breath just from watching you. “Jeez, that’s fuckin’ nasty…”

Overachieving, you responded by taking his whole length into your mouth until the tip of his cock slammed into your uvula and you were forced to gag.

You meant to stay there, but Eddie’s hand was buried in your hair very suddenly, tugging you backward: he evidently hadn’t been expecting that.

“Easy, honey,” he told you. “It’s not every day I got a girl jumping all over me, y’know.”

You sat back on the bed and stuck out your tongue for him, grinning widely. “Sorry.”

Inside his head, Venom scoffed.

PUSSY.

“N-no, don’t be sorry for anything,” Eddie managed to say to you as he allowed his cock into your mouth again, determined to keep Venom at bay inside his thoughts. “Feels so fucking good, just like that…”

Sucking him off until he came had to be the plan, you figured, so you kept going, keeping your tongue flat along his length as he fucked your mouth. His cock was so goddamn thick, and your tongue kept brushing along a prominent vein as you went. The best part was his hand, firm in your hair, ensuring he was using you in whatever way he wanted.

Meanwhile, Venom’s voice was a reassuring purr in Eddie’s ear.

SHE LOOKS SO GOOD LIKE THIS, EDDIE.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when Eddie decided he wanted to move: he was off of you in an instant, but he was grabbing your leg, indicating he wanted you to move with him.

His voice was soft, almost sweet, keeping you wet. “Up, honey, c’mon.”

Breathless, your heart pounding now that there wasn’t a hand in your hair anymore, you got off your knees and, following his direction, rolled over on the bed.

“Shit,” Eddie commented appreciatively, just before he spanked you harshly. “Pop that up for me, honey.”

Grinning sheepishly, you buried your face in the pillow and lifted your stinging ass in the air for him.

“Fuck,” he gasped as the palm of his hand brushed over your pussy - yeah, you already knew you were dripping, and the humiliation of it made you flush. “You always get this wet just having a dick in your mouth?”

“It’s just you,” you mumbled weakly, which earned your another spank.

“Just me, huh?” Eddie replied, mockingly, making your face burn. “Not V? You’re telling me this pretty pussy’s dripping just because of me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he’d spanked you directly on your pussy this time, making you moan weakly.

“Fuck,” you gasped, burying your face in the pillows. You had a feeling that Venom would’ve teased you endlessly if you moaned for him, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it when your pussy was already this wet, but God, you’d never been more tempted.

Inside his head, Venom was sounding impressed, but he hadn’t revealed himself yet.

KEEP GOING, EDDIE. YOU WILL BREAK HER.

Keeping your head in the pillow, you spread your legs wider for him, trying to expose as much of your pussy as you could. Spurred on by Venom’s praise, Eddie grinned.

“Fucking glistening,” he laughed, running a finger delicately along your drenched pussy, sending sensitive nerves haywire. “What a pussy. I mean, Jesus…”

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your damp inner thigh, and that simple, two-second touch had your mind speeding out of control with obscenities. No doubt about it, spreading your holes like this turned you on: you could feel your slick running down your inner thighs, and if your brain wasn’t jammed, you would’ve been begging for Eddie for Venom to come out, to finally fuck you.

Breathless with anticipation, you grabbed a fistful of pillows instead and waited patiently, keeping still.

Inside his head, Venom was chomping at the bit, too.

WHEN WILL YOU LET ME OUT, EDDIE?

Just give me a few more minutes, Eddie’s thoughts responded, a bit urgently.

He opted to pretend as though nothing had happened, keeping his control over you.

“Spread your legs more, baby. I want to see how turned on I made you.”

Moaning weakly, you did as he said, spreading your legs to reveal your glistening wet mess of a pussy: you had yet to touch yourself, or do anything to stop the spread of heat in your most sensitive spot, but you felt like if he didn’t touch you soon, you were going to go into cardiac arrest.

You closed your eyes and listen to him move closer.

Eddie’s hands were warm around your thighs, and you could feel him kiss both of your inner thighs - dear god, he’s about to kill you - before he kissed your clit, enveloping it with warmth. 

Everywhere. Oh God.

You gasped weakly. “Oh, Eddie…”

Again, Venom’s voice was a reassuring purr in Eddie’s ear.

YOU ARE UNRAVELLING HER, EDDIE. KEEP GOING.

“That feel good?” he whispered, kissing you softly again.

Well, fucking obviously: you were clutching the pillows above you with all your might, doing your best not to squirm in pleasure. “Eddie, please…”

You were so fucked out you couldn’t finish that sentence, but Eddie knew what it meant, and Venom did too.

LET ME OUT, EDDIE. YOU KNOW SHE WANTS IT.

“You need V, honey?” Eddie whispered from between your legs: he sensed from the growing warmth in his abdomen that he wouldn’t have control over his body for much longer, so he was determined to savour it for as long as he could.

You nodded weakly, flushed with pleasure - Eddie’s tongue may have been a natural, non-monstrous length, but it was pressed to your clit nonetheless, and it would’ve made anybody come after long enough. “Give him to me.”

That did it: Venom came out with a flourish, enveloping Eddie’s body entirely in black goo until he wasn’t Eddie anymore, but tendrilled and sticky and terrifying and one hundred percent Venom.

You almost came at the sight of him. “Oh, V…”

Venom’s tongue protruded from his mouth, licking clean his impressive row of fangs. His milky white eyes might’ve caused others to cower, but you stared directly into them, breathless. It was fascinating, really, how quickly Eddie had disappeared.

Venom’s voice was a deep purr, deeper than anything you’d ever heard.

DID YOU MISS ME, SWEET ANGEL?

“I did, V,” you gasped as a glittering black tendril snuck up your leg, “God, I - I want you so bad.”

Venom cocked his head to the side, watching you intently, like a predator watching its prey.

I TELL EDDIE THAT ALL THE TIME.

You gasped as the appendage finally breached your cunt, pulsating and sticky, giving you exactly the feeling of fullness you wanted. “Oh, Venom…”

The pillow you were clinging onto was gone in a second, replaced by two tendrils pinning your arms onto the bed. Before you knew it, two other tentacles were wrapping around your ankles, fully restricting your ability to move, and there you were, trapped on the bed as Venom was leering above you, his cock sliding in and out of you.

His pace was relatively slow, but you soaked up every pulsing inch succeeded inside of you, and every now and again, he’d make the tendril twist, bringing you closer to the edge every time.

I DON’T EVER THINK I’VE SEEN YOU THIS WET, SWEET ANGEL.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet, your thoughts responded incredulously, but all that came out was a choked, “Ngh!”

You were coming, you knew it, and it still hit you like a fucking freight train: the orgasm rushed through you as blood thundered to your brain, euphoria crashing over you at maximum intensity. Everything welling up inside of you just burst, and nothing had ever been so lovely.

You went deaf for a moment as the only thing you could hear was your heart absolutely pounding and the shrill ringing in your ears, but you knew you were gasping for breath, completely overtaken by this orgasm. You’d never tell Eddie, but it was Venom who knew how to pull orgasms from you like this, and only Venom, his glittering black cock absolutely destroying you from the inside out.

Of course, it was then Venom suddenly decided to slam his cock into you at full force, overstimulating you beautifully.

The confidence in his voice never wavered.

I KNOW YOU CAN TAKE IT, BEAUTIFUL GIRL. I HAVE SEEN YOU TAKE IT.

“Oh, Venom,” you were gasping over and over, but you couldn’t fully hear yourself over the ringing in your ears and the sounds of Venom’s glittering black tendril sliding in and out of your drenched, abused pussy, filling you up to the maximum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He did the pulsating, twisting thing inside of you once again, and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head: when he was pinning you down like this, you had nothing to hold onto, it was just you, the cock inside of you, and the threat of this monstrous creature swallowing you whole. “Oh my god, Venom!”

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT EDDIE SEEING THIS, SWEET GIRL?

“Oh, fuck, Venom…” you moaned from underneath him, incoherent now as his cock pistoned in and out of you. You were blathering, but the message was clear: don’t fucking stop!

Venom was smug, now.

HOW DO YOU FEEL KNOWING I CAN TAKE YOU BETTER THAN EDDIE EVER COULD?

“You’re better than Eddie,” you mumbled incoherently as Venom ramped up speed, “Loads better than Eddie, I just - oh fuck - holy shit, V, keep going!”

WILL YOU COME FOR ME, SWEET ANGEL?

Yes, I will, your thoughts responded immediately, but actions spoke louder than words: your second orgasm ripped through you as your legs shook, you were pushed to the point of insanity. This one really took you by surprise compared to the first, but you revelled in it, your vision flashing with white as Venom fucked into you. You could feel your body sinking into the bed despite the restraints, spent, and you almost thought it was over, but–

Venom, of course, didn’t care.

COME FOR ME AGAIN, BEAUTIFUL GIRL.

“V,” you whispered weakly, your entire body damp with sweat from your last orgasm, “I - I don’t think I can, I just came.”

Above you, Venom absolutely snarled, and his tongue slithered down to force your legs even further apart.

WHEN I SAY COME, YOU COME!

A second, bigger tendril sank into your ass this time, and you gasped: you were filled, completely and utterly filled, and God, you’d be lying if it didn’t feel so fucking wonderful.

“I - I’m gonna come,” you blathered, blinking hard as the realization set in: you were about to come faster than you’d ever come in your life. “I - I’m gonna come, V, holy - oh my god-”

The words I’m coming were lost in your throat, but it didn’t matter: in a matter of seconds, you’d came for a third time, and the euphoria this time around was still there, yet with a bitter and harsh edge. Your body was exhausted, but your pussy was drenched, and all Venom knew was to keep fucking going, so–

You adjust the strap of your heels, the mirror reflecting the dim glow of neon lights in the dressing room. Another night at The Velvet Petal, another round of dollar bills and fleeting gazes. Stripping isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills and keeps you in school. Plus, your roommate Wanda, the epitome of balance and chaos, has your back when things get rough.

The music thunders outside as your turn approaches. You don your stage persona: confidence wrapped in sequins and heels. But tonight feels different, charged. As you step out onto the stage, the crowd cheers, but it’s not the usual drunken revelry that catches your eye.

It’s them.

Five women, all seated in the corner booth like a scene out of a magazine spread, radiating power and wealth. Agatha, with her streak of silver hair and piercing eyes, exudes control, her tailored suit sharp enough to cut. Rio, effortlessly chic in a leather jacket, lounges like the queen of the world. Alice, the soft-spoken tech mogul, hides behind her glasses, but her smirk says she’s just as confident as the others. Jennifer, a successful actress, looks stunning and polished, her laughter like music itself. And then there’s Lilia, elegant and warm, her gaze lingering on you with unspoken approval.

As you move through your routine, their eyes never leave you. It’s unnerving at first, but then... intoxicating. They’re not here for the cheap thrills—they’re here for you.

After your set, you retreat backstage, heart pounding. Moments later, one of the staff calls you over. “The ladies in the corner booth asked to see you.”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and soon you’re standing in front of them, feeling like a deer in headlights.

“Sit,” Agatha says smoothly, gesturing to the empty seat in their midst. Her voice is commanding, yet inviting, like she’s used to getting exactly what she wants.

You sit, your hands clasped in your lap as their gazes sweep over you. It’s not uncomfortable—not entirely. There’s something magnetic about them, the way they move and speak as though they already own the room.

“You’re quite the performer,” Jennifer says, her red lips curling into a smile. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, giving them your stage name. They exchange amused glances, clearly unconvinced.

“Your real name,” Rio insists, leaning closer.

You tell them, your voice barely above a whisper, and Lilia beams. “Beautiful. Just like you.”

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Alice asks, her tone gentle but probing.

“Paying for school,” you admit. “It’s... complicated.”

Agatha smirks. “Not for us. What if we made it simple?”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“We mean,” Rio says, sliding a black card across the table, “that we want to take care of you.”

Jennifer’s hand brushes yours as she speaks. “No strings, unless you want them.” Her words carry a playful edge.

“You’ll have everything you need,” Lilia adds, her tone warm. “Money, support, and... companionship.”

Alice adjusts her glasses, her voice soft but confident. “We’re already close. This would just make you... part of the family.”

You blink, trying to process their words. They’re not joking—this is real. Five successful, gorgeous women offering to be your sugar mommas? It’s too good to be true.

“Why me?” you ask, voice trembling.

“Because you’re special,” Agatha says firmly. “And we know how to recognize something—or someone—worth investing in.”

You feel your face heat as they all watch you, their expressions a mix of affection, desire, and genuine interest. For the first time, you’re not sure if you’re the one holding the power—or if they’ve already stolen it from you.

“Think about it,” Rio says, her hand brushing your thigh as she leans back with a smirk.

“Oh, and here,” Lilia adds, slipping a velvet pouch into your hand. “A little something to help you decide.”

When you open it later, back at home, you find a diamond necklace and a check with a number that makes your head spin.

Wanda raises an eyebrow when you tell her. “Five sugar mommas? Girl, you’re either the luckiest person alive or the plot of a Lifetime movie waiting to happen.”

You laugh, but your mind is already racing. What would it mean to let them in? To be theirs?

The thought thrills you—and terrifies you in equal measure.

You barely sleep that night, the velvet pouch and its contents sitting on your bedside table, shimmering under the faint glow of your desk lamp. Wanda’s light snoring from the other side of the apartment is a strange comfort as your mind swirls with questions.

The next evening, as you walk into The Velvet Petal, you’re surprised to find the same booth occupied. The five women are waiting for you, their presence commanding the room just as much as the night before. Agatha’s sharp gaze meets yours immediately, and a subtle smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

You’re halfway through your set when you notice it—their eyes are on you, but tonight there’s something heavier in their stares. Possessive. Hungry. The way Agatha’s fingers drum on the table, the way Jennifer bites her lower lip as you lean into your routine, sends shivers down your spine.

You finish your set, and as you step offstage, you know you can’t avoid them. A staff member hands you a note:

VIP Room 3. Don’t keep us waiting.

Your breath hitches, but curiosity wins out over caution. You make your way to the back, heart pounding with each step.

When you enter the room, they’re already seated, their positions casual but exuding authority. The space feels smaller with them in it, the air thick with their energy.

“You came,” Rio says, lounging against the sofa like she owns it. “Good girl.”

The words ignite something in you, a mix of defiance and intrigue. “What do you want from me?” you ask, keeping your voice steady, though your pulse betrays you.

Agatha leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “We already told you. We want you.”

“And we don’t like waiting,” Jennifer adds, her tone playful yet edged with warning.

Lilia pats the seat next to her. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.”

You hesitate, but her warm smile and soft-spoken nature make it harder to resist. You take the seat, the proximity making you hyperaware of her perfume—floral, expensive, intoxicating.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” Alice says, her voice calm and steady. “You’ve worked hard enough. Let us take care of the rest.”

“We’re not asking you to give up your independence,” Rio says, though her eyes glint with something darker. “But you’ll find life’s a lot easier when you have five women devoted to your happiness.”

Jennifer leans in, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “And we are devoted, sweetheart.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t even know you.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “You’ll get to know us. Intimately.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck as Lilia’s hand gently rests on your knee. Her touch is light, almost comforting, but it sends a spark through you.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Lilia murmurs, her thumb brushing slow circles against your leg. “But we want you to feel... wanted.”

Rio smirks, her gaze dropping to your lips. “And we’re very good at making people feel wanted.”

Before you can respond, Jennifer stands, stepping behind you. Her hands rest lightly on your shoulders, her fingers tracing slow patterns against your skin. The intimacy of the gesture makes your breath hitch.

“You’re tense,” she whispers, her lips close to your ear. “You work so hard, don’t you? Let us take some of that weight off.”

Agatha’s eyes darken as she watches the scene unfold, a predator assessing its prey. “You deserve to be treated like the treasure you are.”

Lilia’s hand slides a little higher on your thigh, her movements gentle but deliberate. “Let us take care of you, darling.”

Your heart races as you look around the room, their eyes on you, their intentions crystal clear. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and more than a little dangerous.

“I... I need time to think,” you manage, your voice shaky but firm.

Agatha stands, her imposing presence filling the room as she moves closer. She reaches down, tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. “Of course, take your time,” she says, her voice low and commanding. “But don’t take too long. We’re not the patient type.”

With that, she steps back, and the five of them exchange knowing looks, as if they’ve already decided you’re theirs.

As you leave the room, your legs feel unsteady, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You can still feel the ghost of their touches, the weight of their gazes.

Back in the dressing room, you glance at your reflection, your flushed cheeks and wide eyes betraying the storm inside you. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into—but part of you doesn’t want to escape.

Back in your apartment, Wanda is sprawled on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She barely glances up as you close the door, your heels clicking against the floor.

“Rough night?” she asks, her voice casual, though she finally looks at you, frowning slightly. “You look... flustered.”

You don’t answer right away, instead shrugging off your coat and tossing your bag onto the counter. Flustered doesn’t even begin to cover it. Your mind replays the evening on an endless loop: Agatha’s commanding tone, Lilia’s warm touch, Jennifer’s whispered promises, the way they all seemed to orbit you like you were the center of their universe.

“Not rough,” you say finally, though your voice betrays you. “Just... weird.”

Wanda narrows her eyes. “Weird how? Did someone cross a line? Do I need to come down there and handle something?”

You shake your head, though the thought of her trying to “handle” Agatha makes you snort despite yourself. “No, nothing like that. It’s just... this group of women. They were... different.”

“Different how?” Wanda asks, now sitting up, her curiosity piqued.

You hesitate, unsure how to explain. “They’re... rich. Like, stupid rich. And they... I don’t know. They want to... help me?”

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up. “Help you how? Like charity? Or...” Her expression shifts to one of amusement. “...like sugar momma help?”

You stay silent, and that’s all the confirmation she needs. Wanda bursts out laughing, clutching a pillow as she leans back.

“Oh my God,” she says between giggles. “You’ve got five sugar mommas fighting over you? That’s the plot of a rom-com, babe. Or, like, a very specific fanfiction.”

“It’s not funny,” you mumble, though your cheeks burn. “They’re serious, Wanda. They said they want to take care of me.”

Wanda calms down, though her grin remains. “And what did you say?”

“I said I needed time to think.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “And what do you want?”

You sigh, collapsing onto the chair. “I don’t know. It’s... overwhelming. They’re all so... intense.”

“Intense hot?” Wanda asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it. They are hot, each in their own way. Agatha’s commanding presence, Rio’s rebellious charm, Alice’s quiet intellect, Jennifer’s movie-star allure, and Lilia’s nurturing warmth—they’re all dangerously appealing.

“They’re hot, okay? But that’s not the point,” you admit, rubbing your temples.

“The point,” Wanda says, leaning forward, “is that they’re rich, gorgeous, and want to spoil you. What’s the downside here?”

You don’t answer, because you’re not sure there is one—at least, not yet. But something about the way they looked at you tonight, like they were already claiming you as their own, makes your stomach twist in a mix of anticipation and unease.

The next morning, you find a package waiting outside your door. It’s wrapped in elegant black paper, tied with a silk ribbon. Wanda, curious as ever, peeks over your shoulder as you open it.

Inside, you find a designer handbag that probably costs more than your rent, a card tucked neatly inside. The handwriting is elegant and precise.

“You deserve the best. Let us show you. - A, R, Al, J, L”

Wanda whistles low. “Girl, they’re not playing.”

You run your fingers over the smooth leather, your heart pounding. The gift is beautiful, thoughtful even—but it’s also a reminder of the power they hold. They could change your life, make everything easier. But at what cost?

That evening, you find yourself back at The Velvet Petal, though you’re distracted the entire night. When your shift ends, one of the staff hands you a note.

“Meet us upstairs. Same room. We won’t ask again.”

You hesitate, the weight of their words heavy in your hands. You don’t know why you go, why you climb the stairs and open the door to find them all waiting, just as they were before.

This time, they don’t give you a chance to second-guess.

“We’re done waiting,” Agatha says, standing as you enter. Her presence fills the room, her sharp suit impeccable as ever.

“We know you’re hesitant,” Lilia adds gently, rising to meet you. She takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. “But we also know what you need, even if you don’t yet.”

Jennifer steps behind you, her hands settling on your shoulders again. “You’re too special to let go, sweetheart.”

Rio smirks, lounging on the sofa. “And let’s be honest—you want this as much as we do.”

Alice steps forward, her eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. “Say yes, and we’ll give you the world.”

The air is thick, their words wrapping around you like a velvet cage. Your heart races as their gazes lock onto yours, each one waiting for your answer.

You take a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “What happens if I say yes?”

Agatha’s smile is slow, deliberate. “Then you’re ours.”

Agatha’s words linger in the air, heavy and inescapable. The way she looks at you feels like she’s already decided your answer. The others exchange glances, their expressions a mix of hunger and satisfaction, as though your hesitation has only added fuel to their fire.

“I...” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

Jennifer’s hands slide down your arms, her touch gentle but firm. “Shh, don’t overthink it,” she murmurs. Her lips are close to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “Just let us take care of you.”

Your heart races as Lilia steps closer, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve worked so hard, darling,” she says, her voice low and soothing. “You deserve to rest. To feel wanted.”

The way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand moves to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that leaves you breathless.

Before you can respond, Rio rises from the sofa, her movements slow and deliberate. “You’re overthinking,” she says, her smirk sharp as she closes the distance between you. “You want this. I can see it.”

Her fingers trail down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Let yourself enjoy it for once.”

Alice is the last to move, her presence quieter but no less intense. She steps closer, her eyes locked on yours as she speaks. “We’re not asking for anything you don’t want to give,” she says softly, her tone disarming. “But if you say yes, we’ll make sure you never have to worry again.”

Agatha’s voice cuts through the haze, commanding and steady. “Say it,” she urges. Her hand reaches out, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her touch is firm but not harsh, her thumb brushing over your jaw. “Say yes.”

The weight of their attention is almost too much to bear, your body reacting in ways you can’t control. Your mind is screaming at you to think, to process, but your heart is louder, pounding in your chest as their words sink in.

“I...” you begin, your voice trembling.

Jennifer’s lips brush your ear, her voice a sultry whisper. “Yes, baby. That’s all you have to say.”

And before you know it, the word falls from your lips. “Yes.”

The shift in the room is immediate. Agatha’s smile is predatory, Rio’s grin smug. Lilia’s eyes light up with warmth, and Jennifer presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, her touch lingering. Alice nods, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmurs, her hand still cradling your face. “You’ve made the right choice.”

Rio steps behind you, her hands brushing your waist as she leans in close. “Now, let us show you how much we appreciate you.”

Jennifer’s fingers trace slow patterns against your arms as Lilia pulls you into a gentle embrace. Her perfume surrounds you, a soft, floral scent that makes your head spin.

“You’re ours now,” Lilia whispers, her voice dripping with affection. “And we take care of what’s ours.”

The way she says it sends heat rushing through you, their touches and words weaving a web around you that you can’t escape—and, deep down, you realize you don’t want to.

The air in the room feels heavy, thick with anticipation. You’re caught in the pull of their presence—five women who’ve effortlessly taken control of the space and, now, you. Each of them steps closer, their combined energy overwhelming, intoxicating.

Agatha’s hand lingers at your chin, her sharp nails lightly grazing your skin as she tilts your face toward her. Her piercing eyes search yours, and a faint, satisfied smirk spreads across her lips. “You’re trembling,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth. “Are you nervous? Or just excited?”

Before you can respond, Lilia presses against your side, her arm wrapping around your waist. The warmth of her body seeps into yours, and her fingers begin to trace soft circles along your hip. Her touch is gentle but firm, grounding yet possessive.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Lilia whispers, her lips close to your ear. “We’ll take care of you. Let us show you just how much you mean to us.”

Jennifer’s laugh is soft and teasing as she moves to your other side. Her hands slide over your shoulders, her touch featherlight but deliberate. “You’re ours now, sweetheart. There’s no need to hold back.”

Rio leans against the wall, her dark eyes fixed on you with a smoldering intensity. She doesn’t move, but the heat of her gaze is enough to make your knees weak. “We’ve been waiting for this,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “And now that we have you, we’re not letting you go.”

Alice is quieter, but her presence is no less commanding. She steps forward, her hands sliding into her pockets as she watches the others with a small, knowing smile. “Don’t let them overwhelm you too much,” she says softly, though the glint in her eyes betrays her own intent.

You feel surrounded, enveloped by their presence and their touch. The intensity of it all sends your pulse racing, your breaths coming shallow and uneven.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lilia murmurs, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. Her gaze is warm and affectionate, but there’s a glimmer of something deeper—something darker—just beneath the surface.

Agatha’s thumb grazes over your lower lip, her smirk widening at the way your breath hitches. “We’ll make sure you never feel neglected again,” she says, her tone promising and possessive.

Jennifer leans in closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is let us take the lead, baby. We’ll handle the rest.”

You’re caught in their web, their touches and words binding you tighter with every passing second. You don’t know where this will lead, but you’re certain of one thing: they won’t stop until you’re completely theirs.

_-_-_

Also my reasoning as to why Lilia isn't here:

Agatha pushes Rio down onto the bed and they work together to get her pants off. 

“Now I’m going to show you what Rio likes,” Agatha says, looking over at you for the first time since Rio came into the room. “And if you can be our good little student and pay attention and make her cum, we’ll reward you. Sounds good?” 

You gulp and shift your weight in the chair, nodding eagerly. Your fingers fidget against your legs. Agatha doesn’t miss the movement, because of course she doesn’t, and grins.

“And one more thing. No touching yourself,” she adds and your jaw drops. “Don’t pout, baby, it’s not a good look on you.” 

She angles Rio on the bed so you can see her fully and pushes her legs open. Even from where you are sitting, you can tell that she has soaked through her underwear. 

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath, so desperate to feel her, to taste her. 

Agatha has to peel them off her and then she tosses them over her shoulder without even looking. They land squarely in your lap and you have to take a deep breath to collect yourself before you can reach down and touch them. 

There’s enough wetness that you’re able to collect some on your fingertips and without thinking, you raise your hand to your mouth to taste. You instantly moan and want nothing more than to taste from the source. 

But Agatha has got that covered for now. You watch transfixed as she bends down and licks up Rio’s slit, swirling her tongue when she reaches her clit. Rio gasps and you’re afraid you might be dripping onto the chair. 

“Agatha,” she moans and entangles her fingers into the older woman’s dark hair. 

Agatha slides a finger into Rio while flicking her tongue against her clit and you clench around nothing. You are positively aching at this point and want nothing more than to touch yourself. 

But you want to be their good girl, so you dig your fingertips into the upholstery so hard you think you might be tearing into it a little and fight the urge to grind against the seat. 

Rio’s legs are starting to clamp around Agatha’s head so Agatha practically wrenches them apart so you can see even more. She turns back to look at you for a second, face glistening with Rio’s wetness. 

“She likes when you’re rough with it,” Agatha says, smirking as your jaw slackens. “Scrape your teeth against her clit and fuck her hard with two fingers.” 

She does just that when she focuses back on Rio and Rio’s back arches off the bed, a loud sound escaping from her mouth. Your head lolls back against the chair but your eyes never stray from the two of them. You think a single touch to your clit could make you cum right now. 

“Agatha,” Rio chants, hips bucking against her face, trying to draw her fingers in deeper if possible. You can tell Agatha is hitting her spot just right based on Rio’s gasp with every thrust. You’re squirming now, the ache inside you becoming painful now.”Fuck, I’m going to cum.” 

It’s those words that remind you of listening to them have sex over the phone. The memory of hearing her say it then, and now watching her say it, overpowers your brain and you lightly skim your fingertip against your clit without thinking. The featherlight touch is enough to make you moan involuntarily because of how sensitive you’ve become and the instant you do, you know you’ve fucked up. 

It’s like time slows down. Agatha stops what she’s doing to Rio and they both turn their eyes toward you, nasty smirks on their faces. You yank your hand away from your cunt, heartbeat racing. 

“What did I tell you, baby girl?” Agatha purrs. 

“I’m sorry,” you say lamely. “I couldn’t help it.” 

“Come here,” she orders. You obviously obey. Agatha roughly grips the back of your neck and bends you over the bed so your face is only a few inches away from Rio’s pussy. She takes off your dress and your underwear, throwing them somewhere across the room. “You’re going to show us if you were even paying attention or if you were just thinking about yourself.” 

You’re almost vibrating with need and you nod eagerly. Agatha leans over your body and you get goosebumps by how it feels. 

“I’m going to spank you ten times for breaking the one rule I gave you and you better make her cum before then,” she whispers dangerously into your ear. “Understand?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, already dripping with anticipation. She pulls away and you miss her body heat against yours. She rubs your ass in preparation and you grab Rio’s thighs and haul her to you. You don’t spare any time before licking up her slit hard. Her hand flies down to grip your hair just as the first slap comes. 

You groan, the impact pushing you further into Rio’s pussy and you hear her whimper at the resounding vibration from your sound. You’ve never felt more turned on in your life. 

“One,” you hear Agatha say behind you and you reach your hand up so you can fuck a finger into Rio. Her walls instantly bear down around you and she is so wet and hot. You could die right here, right now. 

You begin to thrust and curl your finger, tongue swirling around her clit, when the second spank hits. This time, your reaction is more controlled and you keep focusing on giving the other woman pleasure. Rio clenches around your finger and her hips are grinding on your face, trying to get more from you. 

Three and four follow soon after. 

“Better hurry up, sweetheart,” Agatha taunts, cupping your pussy to collect your wetness and you almost stop because it feels so good. This time, when she hits you, the sound is a wet smack. You can feel the stickiness when she removes her hand. “Five.” 

You pick up the pace with Rio. Your jaw and wrist are starting to ache and your ass is burning, but you wouldn’t dream of stopping. 

She spanks you again and this time, it’s rougher than the ones before. You gasp into Rio’s pussy and her fingers tighten in your hair. You can tell she’s close. 

“Six.” 

You slide a second finger into Rio, curl them hard, and scrape your teeth roughly against her clit, like Agatha said she likes. 

Rio cums around her fingers with a loud moan, riding them and your tongue through her orgasm. Agatha is chuckling behind you, soothing your ass with her hands. 

“Good girl,” she says, impressed. Rio has gone limp and you can hear her breathing hard. Agatha pulls you back up by your hair and turns you around to kiss you filthily. She sucks on your tongue, moaning at the taste of Rio. Her hand comes up to wipe your cheeks, but instead of cleaning you, she just smears Rio’s juices even more all over your face. “Open.” 

You made an O with your mouth and she shoves two fingers inside, fucking your mouth. She presses hard on your tongue. 

“Such a slut for us,” Rio says and you nod your head around Agatha’s fingers in agreement. 

“Here’s the deal,” Agatha says, pulling her fingers out of your mouth with a pop. “I told you that you had ten spanks and you made her cum in six. So as a reward, those extra four will be orgasms.” 

Your eyes widen. You’ve never cum that many times before consecutively. And you already came once downstairs. You know better than to ask if that counts toward the four, though. 

“Rio, do you want a turn with her?” Agatha asks the woman now perched up on her elbows on the bed. 

“Yeah,” Rio says hoarsely. She climbs over to you and pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss. When she pulls away, Agatha is laying against the headboard, legs open, eyes beckoning. 

You know what she wants you to do. Just like her dream. 

You get on the bed and crawl on your hands and knees until you’re in front of her and then turn around so your back is against her front. Rio situates herself and pries open your thighs. She laughs at how wet you’ve become and bends down to lightly blow on your pussy lips. The air makes your hips jump. You know it won’t take long for you to cum at all. 

And then her tongue is on you and you keen embarrassingly loud. Agatha’s lips find the expanse of your neck and suck, fingers coming up to roll your nipples. Your head falls back and hits the headboard, hands clasping onto Agatha’s thighs and nails digging into the skin. 

“Fuck,” you swear, the stimulation overloading you. “Rio.”  

It doesn’t take much more for you to cum with both of them touching you, especially considering how wet you had been. Rio doesn’t even give you time to come down before she thrusts two fingers in you and your back arches off Agatha’s chest. 

“Fuck, oh my god,” you babble as she mercilessly fucks you, Agatha laughing and biting the juncture of your shoulder and neck. 

You cum again in less than two minutes. 

This time, she slowly pulls out of you and you sag against Agatha, who presses a kiss to the side of your forehead. 

“That’s two,” Rio says, gleefully grinning up at you. “Halfway, doll.” You huff out a breath and close your eyes for a second. Your clit is throbbing with sensitivity. Agatha reaches down to press against it and you jerk in her arms. 

“Can’t,” you whine pathetically. “Too much.” 

“Oh, baby,” Agatha coos in your ear. “You should’ve thought about that before breaking the rules.” 

Rio rolls over on the bed to open the nightstand. She pulls out a vibrator and a dildo attached to a harness. Despite how spent you are, you clench around nothing at the sight. 

“Which one do you want first, doll?” She asks, motioning between the two toys. 

“The strap, please,” you whimper, shakily pointing. Rio’s face lights up in obvious delight and you feel Agatha shift behind you, gently pushing you forward so she can move. You watch, rapt with attention, as she undresses and steps into the harness. Rio helps her and kisses her hotly. 

“Get it ready for me?” Agatha whispers and Rio sinks down to her knees automatically. Your jaw falls open as Rio engulfs the strap-on in her mouth, head moving up and down the length. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life. Agatha moans like she can feel it and guides Rio with a hand on the back of her head. When she deems it sufficiently wet, she pulls Rio off and climbs back on the bed. 

She resumes her position against the headboard and pats her thighs. You wearily sit on her lap and she holds your hips and helps you grind against the strap-on. 

“You’re going to be a good girl and ride me, okay sweetheart?” 

You nod and position the tip at your opening. Her hands rest on your hips as you slowly drop down her length, pausing when you finally bottom out. Your breath comes out in stutters because of how full you are. Rio straddles Agatha’s legs behind you and reaches around to rub at your still-tender clit. It makes you more comfortable and you begin to slowly move up and down, getting comfortable with the fullness. 

The two women do barely little to help, Agatha choosing to recline with her hands behind her head and watch you appreciatively, and Rio thumbing at your clit with one hand and toying with your nipple with the other. 

It doesn’t take long for you to get tired though. The toy is perfectly hitting every spot in your pussy but your bounces become shorter and shallower as you try but fail to pick up the pace. 

“Can’t, Aggie, please,” you beg, slowing down and opting to simply roll your hips against her. 

“Poor baby, you need us to do everything for you, don’t you?” She asks, hands coming back to stroke your thighs. Even that small touch adds stimulation. It feels like your whole body is a tight livewire about to explode. 

“Please,” you whine and she and Rio lift you off the strap-on. It falls out of you with a wet plop and you can see it glisten. You feel empty. 

Agatha moves her hands to your hips and helps you turn over so you’re on your hands and knees. She rubs your sore ass and then slides the strap-on up and down your slit, getting it even wetter. 

“Beg,” Rio says, coming to sit in front of you so your eyes are on her. Agatha dips the tip inside you and then pulls it out almost immediately. You feel tears prick your eyes. 

“Please, Agatha, please fuck me,” you whimper. Rio grabs hold of your hair and pulls it tightly. 

“I know you can do better than that.” She looks behind you and you imagine Agatha smirking at her. 

“Need to be fucked so bad, please, please, I want your cock in me, need you to fuck me so well,” you ramble, more words spewing out of your mouth but you’re so far blissed out you don’t even know what you’re saying. Rio nods and Agatha pushes in. 

You fall forward onto your elbows and let out a loud moan as she stretches you out again. Your head falls down and your walls clamp down on the toy. “Fuck,” you cry. She sets a relentless pace from the beginning, her hips making a sound every time they bump against your ass. Rio grabs your throat and squeezes, taking all the breath out of your lungs. She drags you into a kiss like that, never removing her hand. Agatha’s finger swipes at your clit and combined with her fast strokes and Rio’s tongue in your mouth, you cum all over her cock in no time. You’re practically sobbing with pleasure at this point. 

And you still have one more. 

Agatha stays inside you until you finally come down and then she slowly pulls out. Her soothing touches to your lower back make your stomach warm despite your worn-out state. Rio gives you one last kiss and pulls away. 

“You okay, baby girl?” She asks gently. 

“Yeah, just a lot,” you answer weakly. 

“Do you think you can give us one more?” 

You know that you can say no and they’ll stop. But this has been the best sex of your life and you would happily spend the rest of your days in bed with them. You think this is what you’ve always wanted. 

“I can do it,” you affirm, voice sounding more confident than you’d expected. 

“You know,” Rio starts. “Agatha hasn’t cum yet. And doll, since you did such a nice job eating me out earlier, I think it’s only fair that Agatha sits on your face while I make you cum one last time.” You moan at the thought and nod eagerly. 

Agatha smirks and turns you over so you’re laying down, back on the bed. You know you must look like a fucking mess. She moves over your body and before she puts her pussy into your waiting mouth, she pushes strands of sweaty hair out of your face and says, “Just be a good girl for me and let me use you, okay?” 

She doesn’t have to ask twice. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue and with a genuine smile, she drops down onto your waiting mouth. She is so fucking wet that the entire bottom half of your face is practically coated with her already. 

You hear the buzzing from the vibrator and you tense in anticipation, but nothing could prepare you for when Rio holds it against you. 

You buck up so much Agatha is almost thrown forward and you don’t think you’ve ever moaned so loudly. Rio began with one of the higher settings and it’s so intense. Tears fall from your eyes as Agatha grinds even harder on your face and Rio is unwavering in pressing the vibrator to your clit. Noises and gasps fall out of your mouth without you even realizing and you think it must be making the woman on top of you feel amazing because her rhythm starts to stutter and she’s getting louder. 

You think you might be cursing but it’s hard to tell with the toe-curling vibrations and Agatha’s pussy in your mouth. You don’t think you are capable of forming a single coherent thought right now. Your legs are thrashing, your hips are jumping, and you think you might pass out from this. 

“Please,” you hear, rather than feel, yourself say. Your orgasm is approaching, but this time, something feels different. There’s a tension building up in your stomach and it vaguely feels like you have to pee. 

Rio leans over to suck your nipple into her mouth and presses the vibrator even harder against you and you cum explosively with a cry, which triggers Agatha’s orgasm. Rio keeps the toy against you and you have to physically close your legs and pull away because the stimulation hurts. 

Agatha climbs off your face and you look down at Rio, who is literally covered in wetness, wearing a smug grin. 

“What–?” You ask, not really sure of the words. 

“Have you ever squirted before, doll?” She asks and your mouth falls slightly open. You shake your head. You didn’t even know you could do that. “I bet you’ve also never cum that many times either?” Another head shake. 

“You did so good for us, baby,” Agatha says, hand cupping your face and leaning down to chastely kiss your lips. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired,” you say. “Wanna sleep now.” 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and into some clothes and then we can go to bed, okay?” Agatha being soft warms your heart and you lean into her touch. 

“Okay,” you agree happily. Rio brings over a washcloth and gingerly cleans your pussy off, smirking the tiniest bit at your wince. Agatha helps you into an oversized purple T-shirt and a soft pair of underwear. 

“Do you need anything else?” Agatha asks softly. You shake your head in a state of complete blissfulness. She presses a kiss to your forehead and Rio pulls the sheets over the three of you.