#calderess

They don’t make room for you.

You’re ushered into the charity gala like an afterthought, handed a glass of champagne and a donor list that’s already been picked over by bigger names. You’re new, still glittering with the shine of your first election win. A victory snatched by surprise and sheer charisma. They all underestimated you. You get the sense that these two women still do.

Agatha Harkness: Majority Leader, snake in diamonds.

Lilia Calderu: Head of Education Reform, soft-voiced and steel-spined.

Together, they’re the power couple of Capitol Hill gossip. Enemies in public. Something else in private.

You can feel them watching you from across the room.

You’re a threat. Not because you’re the most qualified—but because you’re young, ambitious, and unapologetically loud. Because you don’t play nice.

You catch Lilia’s eyes first. She smiles politely, as if she’s unaware of the way she’s sizing you up.

Then there’s Agatha. She doesn’t smile at all.

They don’t invite you to sit. You invite yourself.

Slide into their booth at the afterparty. Lace your fingers around the base of your glass. Let silence hang a moment too long.

"You two always this territorial," you say, "or is it just when someone younger comes into the room?"

Agatha lifts an eyebrow. “Are you calling us old, darling?”

“I’m calling you obvious.”

Lilia presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “You're either brave or foolish.”

“Can’t it be both?”

It becomes a game.

Meetings where Lilia brushes your hand under the table. Press events where Agatha cuts your speeches down—but can’t seem to stop glancing at your mouth.

One late night, all three of you stay after a committee vote. Thunder outside. The empty rotunda echoing with the sound of your heels.

They corner you by the railing. Lilia speaks first.

“People are starting to talk.”

“They always talk,” you murmur. “Let them.”

Agatha’s fingers skim your chin. She tips your face up.

“You play dirty, don’t you?”

Your voice is steady. “Only when I want to win.”

Lilia steps behind you. Agatha doesn’t move. You’re caged between two women who could ruin you—or make you untouchable.

“Then win us,” Lilia says quietly. “If you dare.”

You don’t move—not when Lilia presses closer, not when Agatha hooks a finger into the lapel of your blazer like she owns it.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Electric.

“I thought politicians were supposed to keep their hands to themselves,” you murmur, eyes flicking between them.

Agatha tilts her head. “That only applies when it’s not mutual.”

Lilia’s breath brushes your neck. “And you want this. Don’t you?”

You do. God, you do—but you’ve worked too hard to crumble easily.

“I want to know what happens when I take power back,” you whisper.

That makes Agatha smile. A sharp, dangerous smile. “Then you’re in the wrong company, sweetheart. We don’t give power. We take it.”

Her hand skims down your chest, deliberate but slow—like she’s testing how far you’ll let her go before cracking. Behind you, Lilia trails her nails along your arm, ghost-light. Her touch is gentler, but no less firm. A balance to Agatha’s bite.

“We could eat you alive,” Agatha murmurs.

Lilia hums. “But we’d rather savor you.”

You could leave. You should leave. But you stay rooted in place, heart hammering, your body buzzing with the thrill of being devoured slowly.

“Tell me what you want,” Agatha purrs. “Or we’ll decide for you.”

You lick your lips. “I want both of you. I want to win.”

Lilia steps in front of you again, the warm weight of her body brushing yours. “Then prove it,” she says. “Starting tonight.”

You don’t remember how the three of you made it to Agatha’s penthouse suite.

Only that it happened in a blur—elevator buttons, impatient hands, your spine pressing to glass as Lilia kissed you like it was a dare. Agatha’s voice was the sharp edge whispering filth in your ear. You hadn’t even taken off your coat before she told you to kneel.

Now, you’re on your back. Lilia straddles your hips in that expensive dress she didn’t bother to remove—just hitched it up, letting the silky fabric bunch at her waist. Her thighs squeeze around you, grounding you. She looks radiant, panting, lipstick smudged as she rolls her hips slowly, torturously, against the friction between you.

Above, Agatha leans over the bed, one hand tangled in your hair as she kisses you with tongue and teeth—like she’s trying to steal your breath and keep it for herself.

“Look at you,” Agatha rasps, pulling back just enough to drink you in. “Laying here like a gift. Like you were made to be shared.”

You moan as Lilia grinds down harder, finding a rhythm—deliberate, practiced, coaxing more and more sounds from you. Her voice is softer than Agatha’s, but it strikes just as deep.

“You love being between us,” Lilia murmurs. “Don’t you? One of us in your mouth, the other in your head. So full of us you can’t think.”

You nod. You’d beg if they asked. You’d worship them with hands and tongue and mouth until your throat was raw.

But you don’t have to. Agatha pushes two fingers into your mouth instead, pressing to your tongue as you moan around them.

“Sweet little politician,” she purrs. “Do you want to be our good girl now? Or should we make you work for it?”

“I—” You try to speak, but she presses down harder, commanding silence.

Lilia’s movements quicken. Her eyes flutter closed as she ruts against you. “Agatha,” she gasps, “they’re close—fuck—”

Agatha chuckles darkly and leans in again, nipping your lip before whispering:

“Come for us. Make a mess. And then you’re going to repay the favor.”

And you do—falling apart between them, your body arching, legs trembling, a cry breaking free from your chest that makes Agatha smirk and Lilia shiver.

But they don’t let you rest. Not long.

Because before your pulse has even calmed, Agatha is pulling you to your knees, thumb beneath your chin, voice syrupy-sweet and lethal.

“On your knees, baby,” she murmurs. “Time to show us just how much you meant that power play.”

Lilia’s already on the edge of the bed now, legs parted, one heel still dangling. Her flushed chest rises and falls fast, her eyes heavy-lidded as she pats her thigh.

“Come here,” she purrs. “Be a good little thing and worship.”

And with Agatha behind you, one hand stroking your back, and Lilia before you, slick and gasping, you finally understand:

You didn’t win tonight.