buttercandy16

[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter Four: Enemy of my Enemy

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

Rio's whispered promise to free you played in your mind like a scratched record for the rest of the day, the words insidious in their persistence. You didn’t want to believe her—couldn't trust her—but the possibility of escape, no matter how fragile, made your breath catch in your throat.

Could you really leave? And, more terrifying, would either of them let you?

By the time night fell, the edges of your resolve had begun to crumble. Your small cell felt more like a tomb, the walls pulsing with the weight of what lay ahead. The conflicting forces of Rio and Agatha loomed over you, as though the air between them left no room for you to breathe.

Then came the night Rio made good on her word—or so she claimed.

The clock had just struck midnight when your door creaked open.

“Psst.”

You jolted upright to see Rio’s unmistakable silhouette leaning in the doorway, her wild grin catching what little light filtered into the room. She looked untamed, even more so than usual, her hair messy, her eyes practically glittering with adrenaline.

“Get up, mi amor. Time’s up.”

You hesitated, instinct screaming at you to stay still, to stay quiet. If you left with her, this wouldn’t end well—Agatha would see to that.

Still, the thought of escape pulled at you like a siren song.

“Rio,” you whispered sharply, clutching the blanket around your knees. “This is insane. What are you—”

“Shut up and move,” she hissed, her voice low but fierce as she slipped into the cell. She crouched beside you, her fingers gripping your arm tightly. “We’re doing this. Now.”

Her intensity was suffocating, her presence taking up every inch of the confined space.

“Even if you don’t believe me, what’s keeping you here?” she asked, her lips brushing against your ear in the dark. “Her? You think she’s going to save you?”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing through every tangled interaction you’d had with Agatha over the past weeks. As terrifying as she was, there was safety in the familiarity of her controlled demeanor. But the memory of her possessive whispers and the subtle threats she weaved in her kindness still sent shivers down your spine.

“Let me save you, cariño.” Rio's voice softened now, tinged with what almost sounded like genuine affection.

And maybe that was why you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe that was why, against your better judgment, you allowed Rio to take your hand.

The corridors of the asylum were eerily silent as Rio led you through them, her steps swift and silent on the cold floor.

"How do you know where to go?" you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

She smirked without looking back. "Unlike you, I’m not new to this place. I know its secrets."

Her confidence rattled you as much as it reassured you, the fine line between competence and recklessness blurring with every step she took.

But before long, that line snapped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice sent ice through your veins. Agatha stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the corridor, her dark eyes cutting through the dim light like razors. Her usual composure was cracked just enough to show the rage simmering beneath her surface.

Rio froze, but only for a moment, before letting out a sharp laugh. "Of course you couldn’t just mind your own business, doc. Always watching, always scheming."

You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as Agatha's gaze slid to you. Her lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t warm or reassuring—it was predatory.

"Step away from her, Rio," Agatha commanded, her voice dangerously calm.

"Not a chance," Rio shot back, shifting her body protectively in front of you. "I told you she’s not your toy to keep. She’s coming with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating as the two women locked eyes, the silent war between them more terrifying than any shouting match. You could feel their conflicting wills tugging at you like invisible chains, each pulling you closer to their side.

But you weren’t a pawn—or, at least, you didn’t want to be.

"Enough!" you snapped, your voice trembling but firm as you stepped forward.

Both women froze, their gazes snapping to you in unison.

"I can't—I can’t do this," you stammered, clutching your head as the weight of their obsession crushed you from both sides. "You’re both insane, and you’re dragging me down with you!"

Rio’s face twisted in frustration, while Agatha tilted her head, her dark hair framing her sharp features.

"Darling," Agatha began, her voice syrupy with forced calm, "you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re overwhelmed, but you’ll understand soon enough. You belong here—with me.”

“No,” Rio growled, cutting her off and stepping closer to you. “You don’t belong here at all, cariño. Let me take you away from her, from this place.”

"You think she’ll last a day out there?" Agatha snapped, her mask of calm fracturing entirely. "She’s fragile. The world will eat her alive without someone to protect her—someone like me."

“I’m right here, doc.” Rio’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “And I’m not letting her rot in your twisted little fantasy."

You felt dizzy, their words washing over you in an endless tide of possessiveness and control. Escape was no longer the question—survival was.

The choice was ripped away from you in the next moment. Before you could speak, Rio lunged.

She moved faster than you thought possible, closing the distance between herself and Agatha with predatory precision. For a moment, you thought she might actually win—until you saw the glint of silver in Agatha’s hand.

The syringe plunged into Rio’s neck before she could react, her wild grin faltering as her legs buckled beneath her.

"You fool," Agatha hissed, catching Rio’s falling body with chilling ease. "Did you really think you could win this game?"

You backed away, terror clawing at your throat as Agatha turned her attention back to you.

"Now," she said, smoothing her rumpled coat as though nothing had happened, "let’s get you back where you belong."

Her calm words were the last thing you heard before darkness closed in around you.

When you woke, your body felt heavy, like you'd been pulled from quicksand. The world swam into focus slowly, the familiar dim light of the infirmary's ceiling above you. A sharp sting in your arm drew your attention downward to find an IV taped against your skin.

Panic surged as the fog of sedation lifted, and the fragmented memories of last night crashed down on you. Rio’s body crumpling as Agatha overpowered her, the clinical calm in Agatha’s tone as she promised to “fix” everything.

Your throat tightened. Had she drugged you, too? How long had you been out?

The sound of voices filtered into the room, growing clearer as the door swung open. You didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to.

“She’s mine, Rio,” Agatha’s voice was sharp but level, though it carried an unmistakable tension. “You nearly ruined everything.”

Rio’s laugh was ragged, tinged with defiance despite its weakness. “Oh, yeah? And what’s your excuse, doc? You don’t think chaining her here with your manipulative crap will snap her eventually?”

You turned your head just enough to see them. Agatha’s posture was as stiff and upright as always, though her dark eyes burned with barely-contained rage. Rio, in contrast, looked disheveled and furious, leaning against the wall for support, a hand pressed to her neck where the syringe had struck.

“I wasn’t the one trying to haul her through the asylum like some thief in the night,” Agatha spat. “You’re reckless. No plan, no care for what would’ve happened if you were caught. Do you think security wouldn’t have thrown her in solitary for weeks after your stunt?”

“And your plan is so much better?” Rio shot back, stepping closer despite her visible weakness. “What, smother her until she loves you back? At least I wasn’t drugging her into compliance.”

“She would never survive outside of here,” Agatha snapped, her control slipping for the briefest moment. “You may think you’re the lesser evil, but what you tried would have destroyed her.”

The weight of their conversation fell heavily on you, the realization settling like a stone in your gut: they were arguing over you like you were some prize to be won. Not a person, not a victim of circumstance, but a thing—their thing.

You’d been nothing more than their pawn this entire time.

The truth ignited something deep within you, a flame that burned past the sedation weighing on your limbs. You clenched your hands, determination coalescing with your fear.

If neither of them would let you go, you’d have to take matters into your own hands.

The next few days blurred as you began quietly planting seeds of misdirection. Every word you said to either of them was careful, calculated—designed to sow discord between the two. It didn’t take much effort; their hatred for one another was barely concealed beneath the surface.

Agatha cornered you in the therapy room on the second day, her gaze softer than usual.

“You look tired, darling,” she said, her voice low and soothing as she sat across from you. “But don’t worry. Things are going to be different soon. I’ll keep you safe from her.”

You nodded numbly, knowing better than to argue. “She scares me,” you whispered, a faint quiver added to your tone. “She... she keeps talking about getting me out of here, but... I don’t know if I trust her.”

The faint twitch of satisfaction in Agatha’s expression didn’t escape your notice. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours in a way that made you shiver.

“You don’t need to worry about her,” she murmured. “I’ll handle Rio.”

Later that evening, you sought Rio out, finding her in the common room, idly twirling a fork between her fingers like a weapon. When she saw you, her expression softened, though her grin remained sharp-edged.

“Well, if it isn’t my little escape artist,” she teased, gesturing for you to sit beside her.

You hesitated but obliged, lowering your voice to a whisper as you leaned in. “She’s watching me, Rio. Every move I make. I think... I think she knows I’m still considering leaving.”

Rio’s grin faltered, her jaw tightening. “Of course she is,” she said bitterly. “That witch has her claws in deep, doesn’t she?”

“She told me she’d stop you if you tried anything again,” you added, your voice soft but urgent. “I... I’m scared of what she might do to you, Rio.”

Her eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, her fury seemed to melt away, replaced by something softer—something raw.

“Let her try,” Rio muttered, her voice low but vicious. “But she won’t win.”

What you hadn’t counted on was how far the two of them would go to maintain their hold on you.

It started small—subtle shifts in their behavior. Agatha spent more time with you, her demeanor bordering on saccharine as she reassured you that everything would be alright if you stayed under her care. Rio grew increasingly protective, pulling you into hushed conversations where she ranted about Agatha’s manipulative control.

But then came the night they both broke.

You were woken by the sound of voices raised in anger just outside your cell.

“You idiot!” Agatha’s voice was sharp, her words slicing through the silence like a blade. “Do you have any idea what your little games are doing to her?”

“Oh, spare me the concern,” Rio shot back. “At least I don’t treat her like some fragile doll you can lock in a cabinet.”

“Because dragging her into chaos is so much better?” Agatha sneered. “You’re reckless, unhinged—she doesn’t need that.”

“She doesn’t need you either,” Rio snarled.

The sound of a struggle followed, something crashing against the wall.

“I’m not letting you win,” Agatha hissed.

For a moment, silence reigned, heavy and suffocating.

Then came Agatha’s next words, quieter but venomous: “If either of us pushes too hard, she’ll break. We’ll lose her. Is that what you want?”

The shift in tone sent chills down your spine.

“If you think I’m teaming up with you, you’re crazier than they say I am,” Rio said, though the venom in her voice faltered.

Agatha’s response was disturbingly calm: “We don’t have a choice.”

Your blood ran cold as realization dawned. You weren’t escaping. You were being pulled even deeper into their web.

And now? Now they were working together to keep you there.

_-_-_

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[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter Three: Tangled Webs

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

A/N: Getting impatient so I've written the chapters a little bit longer this time, lol. 💜💚

The asylum corridors stretched endlessly, the hum of fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow against the pale walls. You walked with purpose—or as much as you could muster with the guards escorting you back from another monotonous group therapy session. The others had shuffled out, their faces blank or twitching with nervous energy, but you had lingered, reluctant to return to the silence of your cell.

Still, something about this day felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were closing in.

You let your eyes wander to the narrow windows set high in the walls. They offered no view of the outside world, just streaks of faint sunlight blotted by grime. You hadn’t breathed fresh air since the courtyard incident two days ago—the day both Agatha and Rio had laid their first unmistakable claims on you.

Since then, things had only gotten worse.

Agatha was growing more possessive, though she cloaked it under the guise of "help." Her nightly visits were no longer requests—they were commands.

"How are you feeling today?" she would begin, pulling her chair closer to the foot of your bed, her body radiating professional detachment. But her eyes betrayed her, glinting with something far darker.

The questions always began the same. Innocuous. Gentle. But as her visits stretched longer, her inquiries became probing, almost intimate.

"Tell me about your dreams," she asked one night, her voice a low hum that wrapped around you like a coil.

"Why does it matter?" you countered, trying to erect barriers against her quiet, predatory intensity.

"Dreams are where the mind reveals itself, darling," she replied, the endearment slipping from her lips with a slow, deliberate precision.

She leaned closer, her face framed by the cold fluorescent glow. Her eyes, sharp and bottomless, felt as though they could see everything you wanted to keep hidden.

“Is someone here making you... uncomfortable?” Agatha pressed, her tone soft but edged with deadly purpose. “Rio, perhaps?”

Your stomach twisted. Agatha had developed a habit of bringing up Rio unprompted, usually just before slipping in warnings: She’s dangerous. You mustn’t trust her. Tell me if she bothers you.

And then there were Rio’s games.

Unlike Agatha’s cold calculation, Rio’s attention burned. Her obsession wasn’t hidden behind masks of professionalism—it was raw, wild, and impossible to ignore.

She found you in the common areas, corners of hallways, even the cafeteria line. Wherever you tried to blend into the background, she pulled you out, commanding your attention like it belonged solely to her.

“Eat with me,” she demanded one afternoon, her tray thudding down beside yours without hesitation.

You opened your mouth to argue, but Rio was already pulling your chair closer to hers with one long arm, the metal scraping loudly. The eyes of the other patients turned briefly toward you both before averting just as quickly—no one dared cross Rio Vidal.

“Look at you, sitting all stiff like someone’s about to shank you,” she said, biting into an apple, her teeth slicing through the flesh with a sharp crack. “Relax. I don’t bite.”

The sharpness in her grin told you that was a lie.

You focused on your food, ignoring the prickling heat of her gaze as it roamed over you.

“Bet it drives Agatha crazy,” Rio mused suddenly, her voice dropping low. She shifted closer, her breath brushing the side of your face. “The way I keep talking to you. She watches, you know. She always watches.”

“I—what?” you stammered, glancing toward her.

Rio chuckled, leaning back and tossing her apple core carelessly onto her tray. “Sweetheart, don’t play dumb. She’s obsessed with you.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, but her smile quickly turned predatory. “Not that I blame her. You're special. Different from all the broken toys here.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to process her words. Rio was lying—or was she?

“She wants to own you,” Rio continued, her voice dropping lower, dangerously intimate. “Just like I do.”

Her words were like a slap, and your hand trembled as you set down your fork.

“I don’t belong here,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Rio’s expression shifted for a split second, something unreadable flickering behind her confidence. Then, she reached across the table, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mi amor.” Her grin turned wicked. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

When Agatha appeared in your doorway that night, you weren’t surprised. The light in the hallway framed her figure, tall and commanding as ever, though there was something different in her expression—a tightness in her jaw, an edge to her gaze.

"May I come in?" she asked, though you knew it wasn’t a question.

You nodded reluctantly, retreating to the far corner of the room as she stepped inside.

Agatha closed the door with deliberate care before turning her full attention to you. She didn’t sit this time, instead choosing to hover close, her presence suffocating in the small space.

"Rio speaks to you often," she said abruptly, skipping all pretense.

You froze, panic fluttering in your chest. How much did she know?

"She's dangerous," Agatha continued, her tone as cold as the steel walls surrounding you. "Impulsive. Unstable. You must be careful."

“She’s...” You paused, uncertain whether to defend Rio or stay silent. “She hasn’t hurt me.”

Agatha tilted her head, her dark hair catching the faint glow of the overhead light. For a moment, you saw something flicker in her expression—a mix of disappointment and... jealousy?

“Not yet,” she said finally. Her voice softened as she took a step closer. “But she will, darling. That’s what she does. She destroys everything she touches.”

Her hand reached out, brushing against your arm. You tried not to flinch, but your discomfort must have shown because Agatha’s lips curved into a smile, one that was meant to soothe but only made your skin crawl.

“You’re fragile,” she said softly, almost to herself. “You need someone to protect you.”

She didn’t need to finish the thought for you to know who she meant.

Hours later, when sleep evaded you, the sounds of the asylum echoed eerily in the darkness: the distant murmur of a night guard’s radio, the soft cries of another patient two rooms down, the clanging of a metal tray.

And beneath it all, a faint whisper—one growing louder.

When your door creaked open, panic shot through your veins. Your breath caught in your throat as Rio’s familiar silhouette slid into the room, her movements fluid and silent as a cat’s.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, heart hammering against your ribs.

Rio smirked, leaning back against the wall as she crossed her arms. “Relax, sweetheart. Just thought you might want some company.”

She stepped closer, the dim light from the hallway casting shadows across her face. “She’s got her hooks in you, doesn’t she?” Rio asked, her voice soft yet charged. “Agatha. She’ll convince you that she’s the hero in this little story, but let me tell you something.”

Her hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her burning gaze.

“Heroes don’t exist in here,” Rio whispered. “Only survivors.”

Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes before she turned and slipped back into the shadows.

But her parting words stayed with you, an ominous echo of the tangled web ensnaring you.

The days in the asylum passed in a haze of monotony and growing dread, the line between reality and nightmare fraying at the edges. Every corner of the facility seemed to hum with a tension that you couldn’t shake, leaving your skin perpetually prickling as though you were being watched. And in truth, you always were.

Rio’s smoldering presence and Agatha’s calculated grip formed a prison within the asylum itself—a labyrinth with no way out.

But something new had begun to take root within you. Fear, yes, but also something more potent. A gnawing awareness of how deeply entangled you were in their obsession, like prey ensnared in a web woven by two hunters.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stay sane.

The nightmares began subtly—flashes of Rio’s gaze boring into you, Agatha’s hand brushing yours with possessive care, rooms filled with distorted laughter or walls closing in. But they grew sharper over time.

One night, you startled awake, heart pounding, after dreaming of Agatha standing over you, her hands ghosting down your arms like you were a fragile doll she was piecing back together. Her whisper echoed in your ears even as you sat in the dark, wide awake.

“You’ll always belong to me.”

Even hours after waking, the weight of her imagined touch lingered, sending chills down your spine.

Waking hours weren’t much better. The asylum was never loud, but recently, every sound seemed sharper—every scrape of shoes on the tile, every hushed conversation. Were they talking about you? Watching you?

Rio and Agatha’s presence had grown suffocatingly frequent.

Rio slipped notes beneath your tray at breakfast, always crude but strangely charged: You looked lonely last night, or You don’t want her; you want me.

Then there was Agatha. She circled your mind like a vulture, appearing during therapy sessions, during nighttime "check-ins," and sometimes in your peripheral vision when you least expected her.

"Are you feeling better today?" she asked one morning as she approached your table, her voice dripping with concern but her gaze cool, calculating.

You stammered a reply, but her next words cut through your panic like a scalpel.

"I saw Rio talking to you again," Agatha said, her tone conversational but her meaning clear.

"She’s not dangerous," you found yourself saying before you realized it, almost defensively.

Agatha tilted her head, and something flashed in her expression—a flicker of annoyance, quickly replaced by calm control. She crouched beside you, her long fingers curling lightly around your wrist.

"I understand why you might think that," she murmured, her voice almost hypnotic. "But people like her... they thrive on breaking things. On breaking people."

Your pulse thudded beneath her touch, not from fear this time, but from a growing sense of suffocation.

“I don’t want you speaking with her anymore,” Agatha said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

But that wasn’t something you could promise. Rio wasn’t someone you could simply avoid. She found you wherever you went—pulling you into corners, whispering dangerous secrets in your ear.

One afternoon, she cornered you in the hallway leading to your cell, her smile sharp as she twirled a thread from her sleeve.

“You’re looking... jittery,” she teased, her tone half-amused but tinged with something darker. “Let me guess—Agatha’s been filling your head with her usual crap about me?”

You glared at her but didn’t answer, pushing past her, only for her hand to shoot out and snag your wrist.

“Hey, chica, I’m trying to help you,” she said, her tone dropping as she tugged you back, her eyes boring into yours. “Agatha’s got a nice little fantasy running in her head, and trust me—you don’t want to star in it.”

“What do you want, Rio?” you snapped, the weight of your fear and anger finally pushing words past your lips.

Her expression shifted then, her confidence faltering just slightly. “I don’t want her to own you,” Rio said softly. “I’m not lying when I say you’re special. Too special to let her twist you into something you’re not.”

Her hand loosened, and she stepped back, giving you space to move. But you hesitated, the words she left hanging in the air sinking deeper into your mind.

"Think about it, mi amor. You're not crazy. But staying here? It’ll make you crazy. Trust me—I know."

The cracks in your psyche widened that night, your head spinning as you tried to unpack everything that had been said to you. Agatha’s reassurances, Rio’s cryptic warnings—both felt like chains dragging you deeper into the asylum’s abyss.

But their words weren’t the worst of it.

What terrified you most was the growing sense that they were both right—and both wrong—at the same time.

You pressed yourself against the cold wall of your cell, desperate to reclaim the person you used to be before this nightmare. Your fingers traced the faint scratch marks etched into the walls, left by previous tenants whose desperation had taken different forms.

Would that be you someday?

When a sharp knock broke through the thick silence, you flinched violently.

Agatha entered a second later, her presence commanding as she shut the door behind her.

"You look tired," she said softly, her piercing eyes taking you in as though cataloging every crack in your facade. "Are the nightmares worse?"

You hesitated, and she took your silence as a confession.

“We’ll get through this, darling,” she murmured, sitting beside you on the narrow cot. The bed dipped under her weight, her closeness sending ripples of unease through you.

“You and I?” Agatha continued, her voice quiet but resolute. “We’re going to fix what they broke in you.”

You froze, realizing she didn’t see you as the person you were—but as something she wanted to mold, something broken that she could claim.

When morning came, you expected Agatha’s grip on you to relent, but instead, you found Rio waiting by your cell door, her wild grin sharper than usual.

“Morning, beautiful,” she said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Let’s skip breakfast, yeah?”

You shook your head. “I can’t—”

But before you could protest further, she grabbed your arm and pulled you down the hallway, her pace quick and assured.

“Rio, where are we going?” you hissed, panicking as you glanced around for guards.

She stopped abruptly, spinning to face you and gripping your shoulders with alarming intensity.

“Out.”

The way her eyes burned sent your head spinning.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

Her words, combined with Agatha’s controlling presence, twisted into a knot deep inside your chest. Was escape even possible? Was it what you wanted?

One thing was clear as Rio and Agatha loomed larger in your mind:

You were losing yourself.

_-_-_

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[buttercandy16]

Hollow Flames

PAIRING(s): Rio Vidal x Reader

SUMMARY: Loving Rio Vidal means enduring the fire—but how much can a heart take before it burns away completely?

WARNING(s): Heavy Angst, Manipulation, and other Dark Themes.

A/N: I need to post this so bad before continuing "Asylum".

The sky was gray the day you decided to leave.

Not the kind of ominous storm gray that brings thunder and lightning, just a dull, heavy shade, weighted with the knowledge that nothing good was coming. Nothing could ever be good where Rio Vidal was concerned. You learned that the hard way—bit by agonizing bit.

You stood by the window of your shared apartment, watching distant shapes move outside. The world was bustling, alive—unlike the air inside. It had been suffocating for a while now, a thick fog of tension and sharp-edged words that lingered in every corner of your small home. And yet, she was still your sun. Blinding, scorching, and too painful to look at directly.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade. Low, almost a growl, just like always—Rio didn’t speak softly even when she wanted to. Her words carried weight and warning. They always had.

You didn’t turn. You couldn’t look at her, not yet. “And what is it you think I’m thinking, Rio?”

She snorted, a bitter, humorless sound. “You’re running again. That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?”

“Run?” The word lodged in your throat like glass, and before you knew it, you’d spun around, your glare meeting hers. She was there on the edge of the couch, leaning back like she owned not only the room but the world itself. Her dark curls fell carelessly around her face, a cruel contrast to the sharpness in her gaze. The look that used to set your heart on fire now left nothing but ash.

“I stayed,” you spat, voice trembling. “I stayed, Rio, while you tore everything apart. I stayed through your moods, your lies, your games. And now I’m running?”

Something flickered in her eyes—a flash of guilt maybe—but it burned out as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by the inferno of her pride. She stood slowly, with that predator-like grace that once made you feel so safe.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she crossed the distance between you until she was so close you could smell her—smoke, whiskey, and faint perfume that clung to her like a memory. Her hands found your arms, gripping just enough for you to feel the strength she so carefully controlled.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it.” Her voice was quiet now, almost tender, but it carried poison underneath. “You loved the chaos. You loved me. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I did love you.” The confession slipped out so quietly it made you wince. “I loved you so much it destroyed me.”

That hit her harder than anything else ever could. Rio’s grip slackened, her eyes softening with something undefinable—regret, maybe, or pain. You never knew with her. Emotions crossed her face like shadows; they came and went too quickly to catch.

“You don’t walk out on someone you love,” she said finally, voice raw. “Not ever. Love isn’t supposed to be—”

“This isn’t love, Rio!”

Your voice shattered the silence, loud enough to make her flinch. Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden and unwanted. You hated crying in front of her; you hated giving her the satisfaction of seeing you this broken. But it was too late to stop now.

“It’s not love if you have to destroy me just to keep me,” you whispered. “I was good for you—I tried to be everything you needed. I gave you everything I had, and you—you left nothing of me behind.”

The silence after your words stretched between you like a chasm, deep and endless. Rio just stared at you, her expression unreadable for the first time in a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“So, what? You’re done?”

A painful, empty laugh broke free from your chest. “I’ve been done for a long time, Rio. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

She took a step back then, dropping her hands away like your skin burned her. You saw something unfamiliar flicker across her face this time—something closer to panic—but you didn’t stay to watch it unfold.

You turned before she could stop you and moved toward the door, every step feeling heavier than the last. For a moment, you thought she’d let you go, thought you’d walk out of that apartment with nothing more than your memories weighing you down.

But you should have known better.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

Her voice came low and cold, freezing you in place. When you turned around, she was closer than before, breathing hard like she’d been the one running all this time.

“Don’t do this,” Rio muttered, and this time, there was no mistaking the desperation in her tone. “You leave now, you don’t come back. You hear me? You don’t come back.”

And yet, even as she said the words, it was clear she was begging you to stay.

You looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, all you saw was a woman trapped in her own brokenness, clawing at everything she loved until it turned to dust in her hands. You wanted to save her; maybe you always would. But saving her meant losing yourself, and you couldn’t afford to make that sacrifice again.

So, you turned away.

Without another word, you opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, and didn’t look back.

But even as you walked away, the ghost of Rio’s voice followed you, echoing like a curse—soft and dangerous all at once.

“You don’t come back. But you’ll wish you had.”

And God, a part of you already did.

The apartment door slammed behind you, the sound reverberating like a gunshot in your chest. You didn’t turn back—you couldn’t. But as you stepped onto the street, the weight of Rio’s voice lingered like smoke, curling into every shadow of your mind.

You don’t come back. But you’ll wish you had.

Days passed in a blur. You went back to somewhere—anywhere—that felt like safety, somewhere Rio’s shadows couldn’t reach. Friends welcomed you, but their pity was obvious. They didn’t say it, but they didn’t have to: You let it go too far. You let her ruin you.

But how could they understand? Rio wasn’t just a chapter you could close. She wasn’t a cut that would scar over and heal. She was the kind of wound that bled you dry. A part of you wanted to hate her, and yet the longing ached far worse than anything else.

At night, when sleep refused to come, you’d lie still, remembering every look, every word, every touch. Love shouldn’t feel like drowning, but she made you want to stay under the water.

And then she found you.

It was two weeks after you’d left. Two short weeks of rebuilding yourself piece by fragile piece before the foundation cracked again.

You were walking back to your friend’s apartment late one evening when you felt it—eyes watching you from the shadows. You didn’t need to see her to know it was her. Your body recognized her presence like it was burned into you.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

Her voice was calm, too calm, but there was an edge beneath it, sharp and dangerous. When you turned, Rio was leaning against the streetlight just behind you, half her face shadowed. She looked the same, as untouchably beautiful as ever—except her eyes burned with something darker.

Your heart leapt into your throat. “Rio—what are you doing here?”

“I told you, didn’t I?” she said, her voice low as she pushed off the streetlight and stepped toward you. “You don’t come back. But you still belong to me.”

“You don’t own me,” you shot back, fists trembling at your sides. But your voice wavered, and you knew she could hear it.

Rio smiled at that. A cruel, knowing smile. “Then why are you shaking?”

She wasn’t here to hurt you. Not really. But Rio had her ways of making you question everything you knew. Every time you thought you’d pulled yourself free of her grip, she was there, whispering promises that sounded like threats and threats that sounded like love.

“I let you leave,” Rio murmured as she brushed a strand of hair from your face. “But don’t think for one second that I don’t still own a part of you. You gave that to me, remember?”

Your breath hitched, a tremor running through you at her touch. “You need to let me go.”

Her hand stilled, fingers lingering at your jaw. For the first time, there was something unreadable in her eyes—a glimmer of vulnerability.

“You want me to let you go?” she whispered. “Fine. Tell me you don’t love me anymore. Look me in the eyes and say it.”

The words were there, on the tip of your tongue, but they refused to come. Because as much as you wanted to let Rio go—as much as you needed to—you still loved her. And you hated yourself for it.

She saw your hesitation and smiled softly, a victorious and heartbroken look all at once.

“That’s what I thought,” she whispered.

The days after that became a slow, suffocating push-and-pull. Rio didn’t take you back to the life you once shared—not yet—but she lingered at the edges of your world, close enough to remind you she could pull you back in anytime she wanted.

You should have blocked her, disappeared completely. But a part of you missed her—the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way her chaos made you forget everything else.

“You keep running,” she said the last time you saw her, eyes burning into yours. “But you’ll come back. You always do.”

You didn’t answer her.

But as you watched her disappear into the night again, you knew deep down she was right. No matter how far you ran, you’d never be free of her.

The days turned into weeks, weeks into months, but Rio’s presence never truly left you. She was a shadow lingering in the corners of your mind, a scent caught unexpectedly in passing—a phantom that refused to let go. You tried to rebuild your life, stitching yourself back together in a way that felt somewhat whole. You smiled again. You laughed. But under it all, her ghost haunted you.

It was a late winter evening when she came back—this time, not waiting for you to stumble into her world.

You returned home, to your quiet apartment, only to find her already inside. She was sitting on the windowsill, silhouetted against the cold glow of city lights. Like always, Rio looked like she belonged there—dangerous, beautiful, untouchable.

Your heart stopped. “How did you—?”

She turned, a sly smile curling at the edge of her lips, like she’d never been gone. “It’s me, baby. Locks never stopped me before, did they?”

The anger you thought had burned out reignited, a desperate flame. “You can’t keep doing this, Rio! You can’t—”

“Can’t what?” she interrupted sharply, standing now, closing the space between you in only a few strides. “Keep wanting you? Keep loving you? Because if you think I’m capable of stopping... you’re lying to yourself.”

Her words made your chest ache. “This isn’t love, Rio. It’s obsession.”

She paused at that, jaw tight, eyes flickering with something deeper—an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“Maybe,” she said softly, her voice dropping low. “Maybe it is. But don’t you get it yet? You did this to me. You made me want you in a way I can’t turn off.”

Her hands found your face, cradling it with a gentleness you didn’t expect—but her grip was firm, inescapable. You tried to push her away, but your body betrayed you, still remembering how her touch could soothe even while it burned.

“Let me go,” you whispered, though the words lacked strength.

She shook her head slowly, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs.

“I can’t,” she whispered back. “You belong to me. And maybe that’s selfish, maybe it’s twisted... but tell me you don’t still feel it too.”

Her words carved through you like a knife because part of you did still feel it—that magnetic pull that had drawn you to her in the first place. It was intoxicating, ruinous, and completely impossible to ignore.

And Rio could see it—the truth you couldn’t speak.

Her lips brushed against your forehead as she murmured, “You’re mine. You always will be.”

And for the first time, you didn’t fight her. The tragedy wasn’t that you were trapped—it was that you never really wanted to escape.

Rio’s confession—you’re mine, you always will be—lodged itself in your chest like a splinter. For a moment, the air was too thick to breathe, your own heart betraying you as it hammered loudly in your ears. You hated her for saying it, and you hated yourself more for how much you wanted to believe her.

Her hands trailed down to your shoulders, holding you steady in that calm but possessive way she always did. “There’s no one else who understands you like I do,” she murmured. “No one else will ever want you the way I want you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as if that might block out the truth. “This isn’t right,” you breathed, more to yourself than her.

Rio let out a soft, knowing hum. “No?” Her voice was low, teasing, like she was unraveling you thread by thread. “You can keep saying that, but it doesn’t make it true. You’re just scared.”

And you were scared—terrified, even. Of her, of yourself, of the way her presence was starting to feel like home again. She saw through you too easily. Rio always knew which wounds to touch, which words to say, like your soul was just another lock for her to pick.

“I came back tonight because I’m done playing these games,” Rio said suddenly, stepping back. Her gaze was locked onto yours, still burning with that quiet intensity. “No more running, no more pretending. You and I both know you don’t want me to leave.”

“Rio…” Your voice broke around her name.

“No.” She cut you off sharply, shaking her head. “You don’t get to push me away and keep hoping I’ll come back. I’m here now. You’re here. So tell me the truth, baby. What’s it gonna be?”

You didn’t answer, because you didn’t know how. Because every time you thought you’d freed yourself, she pulled you back in—and you let her. Whether it was because of love, obsession, or simply the emptiness she filled, you couldn’t tell anymore.

Rio sighed then, though there was something softer to it this time. Like she could see just how torn you were. “It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing her knuckles gently across your cheek. “I already know your answer. You don’t have to say anything.”

Her touch lingered longer than it should’ve, but you didn’t move to stop her. Instead, you stood frozen, your body betraying you all over again. Because she was right—there was a part of you that wanted her to stay, to piece you back together even if she’d been the one to tear you apart.

And Rio, the master of reading you, smiled softly at your silence.

“Good,” she said, as if this had already been settled. “Now stop pretending, baby. You and I—we’re not done yet. We’ll never be done.”

Her words wrapped around you like a noose, suffocating and warm all at once. You knew it was a warning just as much as a promise. And as she pulled you into her arms—kissing you softly, possessively, like she was sealing your fate—you felt the last threads of resistance slip through your fingers.

Because when it came to Rio Vidal, escape had never really been an option.

Aftermath: Fractured Chains

The days following Rio’s return were as volatile as they were intoxicating. You tried convincing yourself it was different this time—that she was different. That her words, her touch, her promises weren’t laced with the same obsession that had swallowed you before.

For a while, it worked.

Rio was gentler—softer, even. She smiled more, her rough edges smoothing just enough to keep you under her spell. The chaos in her voice became less biting, her anger less frequent, as if she was trying to convince both of you that she could change. That the fire within her could ever be anything but destructive.

“I told you I’d take care of you,” she whispered one night, her head resting against your lap, eyes half-lidded as you played absentmindedly with her hair. “And I meant it. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

You wanted to believe her so desperately that it hurt. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you thought you could.

But shadows like Rio’s don’t disappear—they just learn to hide.

One evening, you overheard the call.

The unmistakable sound of Rio’s voice, low and furious, echoed through the walls of your apartment. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but something in her tone set your teeth on edge. You stepped closer, pausing just outside the door.

“I don’t give a damn what they think!” she snapped, her voice sharp as glass. A silence followed before she spoke again—softer, yet far colder. “She’s mine. That’s all you need to know. No one’s taking her away from me.”

Your blood ran cold. The words shouldn’t have surprised you, and yet they still knocked the air from your chest. After all this time—after all the whispered assurances that she was changing—Rio was still the same. The obsession still simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.

You backed away from the door as quietly as you could, trying to collect your thoughts, your pulse thrumming wildly in your ears. Was this your life now? Had you truly let yourself fall so far back into her arms that you couldn’t escape again?

You’d wanted to fix her once. You’d told yourself that maybe your love—your devotion—could soften her edges and heal her wounds. But the truth settled in your chest like lead. Rio Vidal didn’t change. She adapted, she manipulated, she controlled.

And you? You were still caught in her web.

That night, Rio curled up beside you in bed, her arm draped protectively over your waist. She buried her face into your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses into your skin as if to stake her claim.

“Where were you tonight?” she murmured, her voice low and affectionate in a way that made your stomach churn. “You seemed distant.”

You forced yourself to sound calm. “I was just… tired.”

She pulled back slightly, her dark eyes studying you for a moment—too sharp, too calculating. It was as though she could see straight through the lie. But instead of pressing further, she smiled softly.

“Don’t overthink things, baby.” Her lips brushed against your temple. “I’ve got you. You don’t need to worry about anything anymore. Just trust me.”

But trust was the last thing you felt.

The days became heavier after that. You couldn’t look at her the same way. Everything—the touches, the kisses, her promises—felt like chains tightening around you.

And Rio noticed. She always noticed.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked one evening, slamming a glass onto the kitchen counter when your silence stretched on too long. “You’ve been pulling away.”

You flinched at the sharpness in her tone, carefully keeping your expression neutral. “I just… I need space, Rio.”

Her laughter came bitter and harsh, a sharp contrast to her earlier softness. “Space? Don’t give me that.” She stalked toward you, her presence overwhelming as she leaned in close. “You’re mine, remember? There’s no space between us. There never was.”

Her words made something in you snap.

“No, Rio!” you shouted back, stepping out of her reach. “I’m not yours. I can’t keep pretending this is love when it’s tearing me apart.”

For the first time, Rio froze. Her dark eyes widened, and in the silence that followed, the tension between you cracked like thunder.

Her lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came. For a second, she looked lost, like a flame starved of air.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered finally, her voice fragile—like it hadn’t been her hands that broke you in the first place. “Tell me you don’t mean that.”

But you held your ground, even as tears blurred your vision. “I can’t do this anymore, Rio.”

She stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of surrender. Finding none, the softness in her expression hardened once more, like armor slipping back into place.

“Fine,” she said coldly, though her voice shook. “Leave, then. Run, like you always do. But don’t you forget—I gave you everything. I loved you more than anyone ever could.”

She turned sharply, storming into the other room without another word, leaving you standing there, shaking and broken.

And in that moment, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

Rio’s love burned everything it touched—but this time, you wouldn’t let her flames consume you.

Not again.

The silence that followed Rio’s storm was unbearable. You stood in that empty kitchen, the weight of her final words hanging in the air like smoke. I loved you more than anyone ever could. But love, you realized, shouldn’t feel like suffocation.

That night, you didn’t sleep. Every creak of the apartment made you wonder if Rio would burst back into the room, filled with apologies or anger—or something darker. But she didn’t. The apartment felt cold without her presence, and yet the absence felt like the first breath of clean air you’d had in months.

By sunrise, you knew you couldn’t stay. You gathered what little you had and slipped out quietly, without a note, without a goodbye.

Days passed. You found sanctuary miles away, in a small, forgettable town where Rio’s shadow couldn’t reach you—at least not immediately. But her voice echoed in your mind, reminders of all the promises, the threats, the way she knew how to make you feel like you needed her as much as she needed you.

You began to rebuild yourself slowly, piece by fragile piece. Life returned in small, painful doses—a sunrise that made you feel hopeful, the laughter of strangers in a café that reminded you of what freedom once tasted like. It hurt, at first. Healing always does.

But you were getting better. Stronger. For once, you felt like yourself.

And then Rio found you.

It wasn’t a knock at your door or her waiting in the shadows. No, it started with a letter—a single envelope slipped under the door to your rented room.

You stared at it for an eternity before picking it up. There was no address. Only your name, scrawled in familiar, looping handwriting.

Rio’s handwriting.

Your hands trembled as you opened it, finding only a small note inside:

“You really thought I’d let you go? I’m always watching. You’re still mine.”

Your heart froze.

From that moment on, the paranoia crept back in, like poison flooding your veins. Every time a stranger glanced your way, you wondered if Rio had sent them. Every shadow felt heavier, every closed door no longer safe. She wasn’t here, not yet, but her presence had wormed its way into your world once again.

You thought about leaving—running again, maybe somewhere farther, somewhere Rio could never trace. But deep down, you knew the truth. You could run to the ends of the earth, and Rio Vidal would always find you.

The final time came two months later, on a night not unlike the others. You were walking back to your place after a long shift, the streets empty and drenched in quiet. It wasn’t until you reached the building’s entrance that you saw her.

Rio leaned against the railing by the stairs, shrouded in her usual dark coat. Her hair fell over her face slightly, but even in the dim glow of the streetlight, you could see it—the look. The look that pinned you in place like prey, like she already knew you wouldn’t fight.

You froze. “Rio...”

She pushed off the railing, slowly stepping closer, and as she did, her calm facade melted into something haunted—something almost tender.

“I tried to give you time,” she murmured softly, voice barely audible. “Tried to let you go. But you knew it wouldn’t last, didn’t you?”

“You don’t own me,” you whispered back, though your voice cracked.

She stopped just in front of you, her dark eyes studying your face with something unreadable—a mixture of obsession and sadness. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t. You’re not mine because I own you. You’re mine because you’re the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

For the briefest of moments, you saw something raw—something broken—beneath her bravado.

“I can’t fix you, Rio,” you replied, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t be what you need.”

She gave you a small, heartbreaking smile. “You don’t have to fix me.”

Rio stepped forward, pressing her forehead to yours with a gentleness that broke you apart inside.

“But if I can’t have you,” she murmured, her breath warm against your face, “then no one can.”

Your heart stopped. “Rio—”

It happened fast—faster than you could react. You felt her hands slip around you, holding you too tightly, her voice murmuring softly as you fought to break free.

“No more running. I’m keeping you, one way or another.”

In the distance, you thought you heard the faint echoes of sirens—the ones that you’d called for, just in case. But it didn’t matter anymore. Rio’s world had consumed you completely.

And as you sank into the dark, the last thing you felt was Rio’s lips pressing softly against your temple, her voice like a whisper of a prayer.

“You’ll always be mine.”

_-_-_

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[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter Two: The Fire Inside

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

A/N: Sorry for writing them short 😅

Chapter 1

The clang of the cafeteria doors echoed loudly in the cavernous hall as the crowd of patients filed in, their shuffling steps blending with the murmur of guards barking half-hearted orders. Every part of the room felt wrong. From the chipped white tiles to the flickering fluorescent lights that made everyone’s skin look pale and sickly, it was designed to strip you of any sense of dignity.

Your tray clattered as you slid it onto the table, lowering yourself into the corner seat you’d claimed the past few days. The stares from other patients were impossible to avoid. Some were blank and distant, their minds a thousand miles away, but others were laser-focused, studying you like a predator waiting for its moment to pounce.

Rio Vidal was one of those predators.

You had noticed her the first day you’d been herded into the cafeteria. How could you not? She moved like a force of nature, every step deliberate, every sway of her hips radiating confidence. Her olive skin and piercing eyes—blazing with some barely-contained energy—set her apart from the broken shells of the other patients.

She was dangerous. You didn’t need her record to know that. The way she smiled, sharp and slow like a blade sliding into its sheath, told you everything you needed to know.

“Nice seat,” her voice drawled, rich and melodic, as she sank into the chair across from you without waiting for an invitation.

Your gaze snapped to hers, the food on your tray forgotten. Her smile widened, like she could feel the nerves prickling under your skin.

“I don’t—” you began, but the words faltered under her intense scrutiny.

“You don’t what?” she pressed, resting her chin in her hand as if she were utterly captivated by you. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something taut and alert about her, like a tiger lounging just before the kill.

“I—nothing,” you muttered, forcing yourself to focus on your food. You stabbed at a piece of gray meat, hoping she’d grow bored and move on.

Instead, she leaned closer, the metallic scent of the room replaced momentarily by the faint, earthy spice of her perfume. “I’ve seen you,” she said softly, almost like a confession. “All quiet. Trying not to be noticed.” Her grin widened. “Doesn’t work on me, though. I notice everything.”

Your breath hitched, the chill in the air replaced with the suffocating weight of her presence.

“I’m Rio,” she offered, her hand sliding across the table toward yours.

You didn’t move to shake it, but she didn’t seem offended. If anything, she seemed amused, her eyes glittering with challenge.

“I didn’t ask,” you managed, though the words felt weak, your defiance like a candle trying to burn against a storm.

Rio laughed then—a throaty, melodic sound that should have been beautiful but sent shivers racing down your spine. “Oh, I like you already,” she purred, pulling her hand back but not her attention.

For the rest of the meal, she sat across from you, her gaze heavy and unrelenting, even as you pretended not to notice.

Later That Day

The courtyard offered little relief. Enclosed by tall concrete walls topped with razor wire, it felt less like an open space and more like a cage. Still, it was a break from the sterile walls of the asylum, and the pale sunlight brushing your face almost made the frostbite of Rio’s attention worth enduring.

The few patients brave enough to venture into the yard that afternoon kept to themselves, pacing the perimeter or sitting in isolated clusters. You found a quiet corner near one of the dead trees and sat with your knees drawn to your chest.

For a moment, you let yourself believe you were alone. But then you heard her voice.

“Found you.”

Rio’s shadow fell over you as she leaned against the wall beside you, casually twirling a cigarette between her fingers.

“There’s nothing to smoke here,” you said before you could stop yourself, glancing up at her.

She smirked. “Doesn’t mean I can’t pretend.”

Her gaze lingered on you, her weight shifting as she crouched down to your level. Her knees brushed against yours, the casual touch igniting a spark of unease in your chest.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said softly. “Makes me wonder if you’re scared of me.”

Your lips parted, but you had no answer. Were you scared of her? The logical part of your brain screamed yes, but there was something more than fear bubbling in your chest—a strange, reluctant curiosity.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you finally said, though your voice wavered.

Rio’s lips curved into a grin. “Liar.”

Before you could reply, the sharp click of heels interrupted the moment, each step crisp and commanding. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—Dr. Harkness’s presence was unmistakable.

“Ms. Vidal,” Agatha said, her tone smooth yet laced with warning. “Shouldn’t you be in session?”

Rio didn’t flinch, standing and slipping her cigarette into her pocket. “You mean the one you canceled, Doc? That’s on you.”

Agatha’s expression didn’t shift, though her eyes narrowed faintly. “Take a walk. Now.”

Rio held your gaze for another second before shrugging and flashing you a wink. “See you later, querida.”

As she strode away, her footsteps blending with the whispers of the other patients, Agatha stepped closer, her shadow falling over you now.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice softer than before.

You nodded hesitantly, but the way her gaze lingered on your face made it clear she wasn’t convinced.

“Ms. Vidal has...a tendency to latch on to people,” Agatha murmured, her fingers lightly brushing your shoulder. “If she’s troubling you, I need you to tell me. Immediately.”

You looked away, her touch sending a chill down your arm despite its gentleness. “I’m fine,” you said, though you weren’t sure if it was true.

Agatha knelt, lowering herself to your level. Her eyes searched yours, their steel-blue intensity burning with something indecipherable. “You’re not alone here, [Your Name],” she said quietly. “No matter what you may think.”

Her words sounded kind, but the undertone—calm yet undeniably possessive—made your stomach twist.

_-_-_

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[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter One: The Arrival

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

A/N: This is a multi chapter fanfiction. Enjoy!

The rain was unrelenting as the van crawled through the craggy terrain. Fat droplets splattered against the steel roof in an angry drumbeat, their rhythm drowning out the hum of the engine. You sat stiffly in the back, the cold bite of leather cuffs rubbing raw circles around your wrists. Every bump in the road seemed to vibrate through your spine, each jolt bringing the reality of your situation closer, sharper.

Ahead, through the rain-streaked window, the asylum loomed like something torn from the pages of a nightmare. The sprawling structure was old, almost medieval, its high towers reaching toward the slate-gray sky as if to mock the heavens. Shadows flickered in the glass-paned windows, though whether they belonged to people or the storm clouds overhead, you couldn’t tell.

You shivered, pulling your thin cardigan tighter around you despite knowing it wouldn’t help. No amount of warmth would banish the chill coiled deep in your chest.

“This is all a mistake,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from repeating the plea over and over during the hours-long journey.

The guard next to you didn’t look up from his phone, swiping casually through videos as if your entire life hadn’t just been stolen away from you.

“I didn’t do it,” you tried again, louder this time. “I didn’t kill him!”

This time, the driver, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard, snorted. “They all say that.”

You flinched, sinking back into your seat as hopelessness tangled around you. The image of your stepmother’s smug smile was burned into the backs of your eyelids—how she’d wept and lied on the stand, her performance faultless. How every shred of evidence had been twisted against you until even you started to doubt your own innocence.

“No,” you whispered again, shaking your head sharply. “I didn’t do it.”

No one answered.

When the van came to a jerking halt, you almost toppled forward into the guard. He grabbed your arm roughly as if you’d intentionally made a move against him.

“We’re here,” he barked, pulling you from your seat.

As your feet hit the wet concrete, the asylum’s heavy iron gates groaned open in the distance, and the roar of the storm seemed to amplify. A surge of wind lashed at your face, and you staggered, the cuffs restricting your balance. Before you could react, the guards pushed you forward, herding you like cattle toward the yawning mouth of the asylum.

Every detail of the building screamed hopelessness. Water cascaded down the blackened stone, its edges weathered and sharp like the fangs of a hungry beast. Vines crawled up the sides, their lifeless branches clawing at the window frames.

You wanted to dig your heels into the ground, to scream and fight until they believed you, but your body felt leaden. What was the point? No one believed you before—why would they believe you now?

Inside, the walls were as lifeless as the exterior. Pale gray concrete floors stretched endlessly under flickering fluorescent lights, the sound of dripping water echoing somewhere deep within the bowels of the facility. The hallway leading to the intake desk was narrow, oppressive. Every step made your skin crawl with the sense that you were being watched.

“Keep moving,” the guard ordered, his large hand pressing into your back, forcing you forward.

At the far end of the corridor, a woman stood waiting. The nurse at her side seemed diminutive in comparison to her imposing presence, but it was her eyes that truly made you freeze.

Her gaze was sharp, intelligent, and utterly cold.

Dr. Agatha Harkness.

She exuded confidence, her heels clicking against the concrete as she approached. Everything about her, from the sleek black of her suit to the crimson polish on her nails, was immaculate. She wore her authority like a shroud, commanding respect before she even spoke.

“This is her,” the nurse said, stepping aside as Agatha stopped in front of you. “Patient 407.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. Agatha’s gaze felt like a scalpel, dissecting you, unraveling you from the inside out without ever touching you.

“You must be [Your Name],” she said, her voice honey-smooth yet laced with steel.

You nodded shakily, your voice lost.

Her lips curved into a faint smile—not warm or reassuring, but calculated. She moved closer, her presence suffocating as her eyes traced over your face, lingering on the trembling of your hands.

“Good,” she said softly, more to herself than to you. “You’ll do nicely.”

Her words chilled you to the bone.

As Agatha motioned for your restraints to be removed, she placed a hand lightly on your arm, her grip deceptively gentle. “Relax,” she said, though her command carried a weight that made your knees feel weak. “You’re safe here.”

The guards grumbled as they unlocked your cuffs, one muttering about the doctor’s “special cases,” but Agatha ignored them. Her attention was entirely on you, her thumb brushing idly against your forearm.

“We’ll talk soon,” she said, her tone quiet but firm.

You stared after her as she strode down the hallway, your unease deepening with every step she took.

“Let’s go,” the guard barked, yanking you forward once again.

In that moment, you couldn’t decide which fate was worse: staying in the asylum or being at the mercy of Dr. Agatha Harkness.

_-_-_

I'll update one chapter a day or maybe two, lol.

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment. Send in requests 😘💜💚

[buttercandy16]

Corrupted Vows

PAIRING(s): Nun!Agatha Harkness x Novice!Reader

SUMMARY: Sister Agatha, a revered nun with hidden desires, becomes obsessed with corrupting the pure-hearted novice under her care.

WARNING(s): Religious themes, manipulation, power imbalance, corruption, morally ambiguous behavior, and dark themes.

A/N: Sinful...

The abbey was cloaked in silence, its heavy stones steeped in centuries of prayer. The air was cool and faintly scented with wax and incense, a comforting cradle for your thoughts as you knelt in the chapel, whispering soft, fervent prayers to the Divine. It was your sanctuary—your refuge—until Sister Agatha arrived.

Her presence was undeniable, a velvet shadow slipping between the stained-glass windows and casting its allure over the sanctity of the room. There was something magnetic about her, something in the way her eyes lingered too long or her voice curled sweetly, like forbidden fruit on the tongue.

"You work tirelessly for your faith," she said, her voice low and tender. It startled you. You hadn’t heard her enter, but here she was, her face serene under her veil.

You looked up at her, blinking like a doe caught in lantern light. "I... It is my duty," you murmured, averting your eyes. Her gaze always felt too heavy, too piercing, as if she could read every stray thought that strayed from the righteous path.

Agatha smiled, stepping closer. Her robe whispered against the floor, brushing the silence aside. She reached out to tilt your chin upward with a gloved finger, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Duty," she repeated softly, as if tasting the word. "Such a heavy burden for someone so young, so delicate."

You flinched slightly under her touch but didn’t pull away. You told yourself it was respect, but deep down, the fluttering in your stomach betrayed an unease you didn’t understand.

"I was praying," you said quickly, retreating to the safety of your well-rehearsed habits. "For strength and for wisdom."

"Strength," Agatha mused. "Wisdom." Her fingers slid from your chin, lingering against your cheek, too intimate to be innocent. "Those are noble requests, my dear. But are you sure that’s what you truly need?"

Your eyes darted downward. "I... don’t understand."

She knelt beside you on the pew, her presence warm and overwhelming. "Do you think the Divine asks us to deny the very desires They instilled within us?" Her voice was velvet, an insidious comfort.

You froze, your mind reeling. "Sister... we are taught to resist temptation. To walk in the light."

Agatha chuckled, a low, melodious sound that felt sinful in itself. "Temptation is not the enemy, child. It's a lesson. To feel it, to embrace it, is to truly understand your faith. How can you resist what you do not know?"

Her hand brushed against yours, her fingers curling softly around it. Your breath hitched at the contact, a pang of guilt piercing through your chest even as you remained motionless.

"Sister Agatha..." you whispered, unsure of whether you were protesting or pleading.

"Shh," she soothed, stroking the back of your hand. "You work so hard, always giving, always sacrificing. But what have you been given? What warmth, what love, have you received for your devotion? Tell me."

You felt tears sting your eyes. It wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to dwell on, but her words cut too close to a hidden wound. "The love of God is all I need."

"Is it?" she murmured, her lips close to your ear. "Then why do you look so lost, so lonely? Faith is powerful, yes. But it is not enough to fill a heart meant for more."

You shuddered, her breath warm against your skin, her grip firm now, anchoring you. "I’m not lonely," you insisted, but your voice cracked under the weight of the lie.

Her lips brushed the shell of your ear, not quite a kiss, but enough to leave you trembling. "Let me show you what it means to be truly loved, to be truly seen. The Divine isn’t just in the light, my dear. The shadow holds Its secrets, too."

For a moment, you were caught in her thrall, her words weaving a web of doubts and dangerous possibilities. But when she pulled back, her smile was soft, her eyes tender. "Think on my offer, little one. I’ll wait for your answer."

As she stood and left the chapel, her departure was like a storm receding, leaving you adrift in its wake. The air was colder without her, and the familiar silence of the abbey felt suffocating.

You clasped your hands tightly, bowing your head once more, but the words of your prayer faltered, her voice and touch lingering too deeply.

Somewhere in the depths of your soul, a seed of doubt had been planted. And Agatha, with all her charm and shadowed intentions, would be patient.

You lingered in the chapel longer than you should have that night, trying to exorcise the memory of her voice, the whisper of her touch. But even as you murmured prayers to drown her out, her presence clung to you like incense smoke—heavy, invasive, intoxicating.

When you finally left, the halls of the abbey were silent, save for the soft patter of your footsteps. You paused outside your cell, hesitating before entering. It felt too small, too quiet. The walls pressed in, as if they were accusing you. But of what? You had done nothing.

You thought sleep would bring respite, but it didn’t. Dreams came instead, vivid and strange: Agatha’s voice echoing, her hands on yours, guiding, possessing. The darkness around her swallowed everything, and you couldn’t stop walking toward her.

When you woke, sweat clung to your skin, your heart racing like you’d been running. The morning bells tolled, and you hurried to begin your duties, your shame a constant specter at your side.

But she found you again—of course, she did. She always found you.

This time, it was in the garden. The sun had dipped below the horizon, the twilight air cool against your skin. You were trimming roses in silence when her shadow fell over you.

"Good evening, little lamb."

You stiffened at the sound of her voice but didn’t turn to face her. "Sister Agatha," you said, trying to keep your tone even, though your hands trembled on the shears.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

It wasn’t a question. She stepped closer, her hands clasped in front of her, the picture of serene authority. "Do I frighten you?"

"No," you lied, swallowing hard.

Her fingers trailed over a rosebush as she watched you with that predatory gaze. "Good. Because I see something in you, something… untapped."

"Sister, please," you said, voice shaky as you turned to face her. "I don’t understand why you keep… saying these things."

"Don’t you?" Her voice was silk, sliding under your skin. She moved closer, invading your space, the scent of her—warm and faintly spiced—intoxicating. "You’re a bright little spark trapped in stone, and I cannot stand to see you dim yourself. Your God does not demand you be less than you are. Why should they?"

Her words struck a chord, unearthing a bitterness you didn’t even know you’d buried. You flinched, and she saw it—she always saw too much.

"I’m fine as I am," you said weakly, trying to step back, but she caught your wrist, her grip firm.

"No," she said, her voice darker now, carrying an undercurrent of steel. "You’re not."

The gentle tenderness in her face twisted into something sharper, a mask cracking to reveal the dangerous power beneath. "You’re wasting your light here, giving yourself to something that cannot love you the way you deserve. Why do you punish yourself for wanting more? Why do you fear me when I am offering you freedom?"

"Because it’s wrong," you whispered, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

She tilted her head, her grip on your wrist tightening just enough to send a shiver of unease through you. "Is it wrong to want what you’ve been denied? To step out of the shadows of guilt and into the arms of someone who sees you—truly sees you?"

Your breath hitched as she stepped closer still, her other hand rising to cup your cheek. The look in her eyes pinned you in place, a storm threatening to engulf you. "You know it already," she whispered. "Deep down, you’ve always known. All you need is someone to take your hand and lead you to the truth."

Her lips brushed against your forehead, light and reverent like a prayer. You shuddered, frozen under her touch. "I can give you everything you’ve ever denied yourself," she murmured, her voice heavy with promise—and threat.

Her hands fell away suddenly, leaving you cold and bereft. She stepped back, her expression softening, though her eyes remained predatory. "The choice is yours," she said, turning to leave. "But I’ll make it simple. Tonight, after Compline, come to the east tower." She paused, her smile slow and wicked. "Or don’t. We’ll see if your devotion is as pure as you think."

You stood there trembling as she disappeared into the shadows, the roses around you whispering in the wind. For the first time since you’d taken your vows, you didn’t feel safe within the abbey walls. Worse still, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

You couldn’t focus during Compline. Your lips formed the words of the prayers, but your heart wasn’t in them. Every moment dragged, the solemnity of the abbey’s rituals weighing on you like chains.

And through it all, the thought of her lingered. The east tower.

Your mind swirled with doubt, fear, and something darker—something you refused to name. Every warning from your teachings echoed in your ears, but they felt distant, drowned out by the sound of her voice, the memory of her touch.

When the prayers ended, and the sisters began retiring to their cells, you hesitated. Your legs felt like they belonged to someone else as they carried you through the dim corridors, each step a betrayal of everything you’d vowed to uphold.

The east tower loomed ahead, its staircase spiraling up into darkness. You paused at the base, your breath coming in shallow gasps. This was your moment to turn back, to prove you were stronger than whatever spell she’d cast over you.

But something deeper pushed you onward.

The climb was silent save for the soft shuffle of your shoes on the stone steps. The air grew colder the higher you went, the shadows darker. When you reached the top, you hesitated again, your hand hovering over the heavy wooden door.

Before you could knock, the door creaked open on its own. She was waiting for you.

The room was dimly lit, a single candle casting flickering shadows across the walls. Sister Agatha stood by the window, her back to you, the moonlight outlining her figure. She didn’t turn as she spoke.

"I wondered if you’d come." Her voice was calm, almost pleased.

You stepped inside, your throat dry. "Why did you ask me to come here?"

She turned then, her expression unreadable, her sharp eyes cutting through the low light. "Because I couldn’t bear to see you suffocating any longer," she said simply, stepping closer. "You’re meant for more than this, little lamb. And I mean to show you."

Your back hit the door as you instinctively stepped away from her. "This isn’t right. It—it’s not what God wants."

She laughed softly, a sound that felt cruel in its mockery. "And who told you that? The priests? The abbess? Have you ever asked God what they want, or do you simply recite the rules you’ve been given like a good, obedient servant?"

Her words cut deep, stirring something rebellious and bitter in your heart. Still, you shook your head, clinging to the shreds of your convictions. "No. I—I have faith."

"Do you?" she challenged, now only inches away from you. Her hand lifted, brushing against your cheek again, her touch electric. "If you had true faith, why are you here? Why are you trembling?"

You didn’t have an answer.

Her other hand slid to your waist, holding you firmly but not cruelly. "The truth, my sweet little lamb, is that you’re afraid. Not of me, not even of sin, but of the freedom I can give you. Because freedom is terrifying, isn’t it?"

Her grip tightened slightly, her lips so close to your ear you could feel the heat of her breath. "You could leave right now," she whispered. "I wouldn’t stop you. But we both know you won’t, don’t we?"

Your breath hitched, tears springing to your eyes as you fought against the war raging in your chest. She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her face softening as she saw the conflict within you.

"I don’t want to break you, my lamb," she murmured, her voice strangely tender now. "I want to save you. From this place. From this life. From yourself."

Her lips hovered over yours, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you. She didn’t move, didn’t take the choice from you.

It was yours to make.

You closed your eyes, your head swimming, every nerve in your body screaming for you to decide—to turn away or to fall.

You stood at the edge of a precipice, the storm of emotions inside you threatening to consume you. Every teaching, every prayer you’d clung to in your short life wavered, fragile as the flame of the candle flickering behind Agatha.

You opened your eyes, and her face was still there, so close, her gaze unyielding. She was waiting—patient, confident—but her eyes betrayed something else: hunger. She wanted you to choose her, to step willingly into the darkness she offered.

Your lips parted, trembling as your breath mingled with hers. And in that moment, you let go.

You leaned forward, barely aware of the decision, and your lips brushed hers, soft and tentative. Agatha let out a soft hum of satisfaction, her hands tightening on your waist as she deepened the kiss. It was overwhelming—her warmth, her touch, her control—and for a moment, the world around you dissolved.

When she pulled back, her eyes burned with triumph, her smile wicked. "There, now," she murmured, her voice dripping with honeyed sin. "That wasn’t so difficult, was it?"

You staggered slightly as she released you, the weight of what you’d done crashing over you. Your fingers went to your lips, trembling, as the shame seeped in.

"I—I shouldn’t have—" you stammered, taking a step back, but Agatha caught your wrist and pulled you to her with a strength that belied her graceful demeanor.

"Hush," she whispered, her fingers threading through your hair as she tilted your head back to force you to meet her gaze. "No more lies, little one. Not to me, and not to yourself. You came here because you wanted this. You needed it."

"I… I don’t…" The words faltered, your resolve crumbling under the weight of her conviction.

Agatha’s hand moved to your throat, her touch firm but gentle, her thumb brushing along your pulse point. "Don’t fight it," she murmured, her tone soothing. "You’ve been caged your whole life, chained by rules and guilt that were never yours to carry. I’m not asking you to abandon your faith. I’m offering you something truer—something deeper."

Her lips found yours again, this time demanding, devouring. You tried to resist the pull of her darkness, but every part of you betrayed you, leaning into her, clinging to her. You hated the way her touch made you feel alive in a way that prayer never had, hated the fire it ignited deep in your chest.

When she finally broke the kiss, her hands still cradling your face, her expression was softer, though no less commanding. "You belong to me now," she said simply, her voice like the closing of a door. "Body, soul, everything. Say it."

You shook your head weakly, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I can’t…"

Her thumb brushed away your tears, her gaze unfaltering. "You already have, my lamb. You just haven’t admitted it yet." She leaned close, her voice lowering to a whisper. "Say it, and I’ll show you a world beyond the walls of this prison. Refuse, and you’ll stay trapped, forever haunted by the taste of freedom you denied yourself."

Her words wrapped around your mind like chains, pulling you deeper into her orbit. You were drowning, and she was the only hand reaching to pull you out—but into what?

The words left your lips before you fully realized you’d spoken them, trembling and quiet: "I… I belong to you."

Agatha smiled, her eyes gleaming with victory. She pressed a kiss to your forehead, reverent in its tenderness. "Good girl," she purred. "Now, the real work begins."

Her hand slid to yours, her fingers entwining with your own, and she led you toward the window, the cool night air washing over you as she opened it. The moon hung low in the sky, full and luminous, casting everything in shades of silver and shadow.

"This world," she said, her voice soft yet commanding, "is far darker than they’ve prepared you for. But don’t fear it. It is only in the darkness that we find the truest light."

You stared out into the night, your heart pounding as her words sank in. You couldn’t go back now. Even if you wanted to, the part of you that craved her, that had always longed for something more, was awake.

Agatha stepped behind you, her arms wrapping around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. "It will hurt," she said quietly, her voice almost tender. "Transformation always does. But I’ll be there for every moment, shaping you, remaking you. Until the only chains left are the ones you choose."

And as the wind swept through the open window, carrying the scent of freedom and danger, you closed your eyes and let yourself fall.

The following nights became a blur of shadows and secrecy, a rhythm you couldn’t break, even if you had wanted to. Agatha’s hold on you tightened with every encounter, her presence an intoxicating blend of tenderness and cruelty that left you more disoriented with each passing day.

She began isolating you in subtle ways—requesting your assistance during communal prayers, leading you to walk with her when the others gathered, always ensuring your focus remained solely on her. At first, you told yourself it was coincidence, but deep down, you knew better.

One night, she summoned you again to the east tower, her presence colder now, sharper. You hesitated at the threshold, the memories of her touch pulling you forward even as your instincts screamed to turn back.

The candlelight illuminated her silhouette, and for the first time, the shadows in the room seemed alive, flickering and dancing unnaturally. Her voice was soft when she spoke, but there was no warmth in it. "You came," she said. It wasn’t a question.

"You… asked for me," you murmured, your voice weak and brittle as you stepped inside.

"I did," she said, turning to face you. Her gaze pierced through you, her expression unreadable but heavy with something sinister. "And you came because you belong to me, don’t you?"

Your mouth opened to reply, but the words caught in your throat.

Agatha stepped closer, the air around her charged with something oppressive. "Say it," she commanded, her voice low and firm.

"I belong to you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, and yet it echoed in the silence of the tower.

Her smile was slow, almost predatory. She reached for you, her fingers brushing over your cheek. The touch felt colder tonight, no longer tender but claiming. "Good girl. You’re learning."

She turned abruptly, moving toward a small table in the corner of the room. You hadn’t noticed it before—though how could you have missed it? On it lay a single black book, its cover worn and marked with strange symbols, and a slender dagger glinting faintly in the candlelight.

"You’ve prayed to the Divine all your life," she said, her back to you as she traced a finger over the book’s spine. "And yet, here you are—willingly giving yourself to something far darker. Do you know why?"

You swallowed hard, unable to answer.

She turned, her eyes burning with something unholy. "Because your prayers were never enough. Because no matter how pure you tried to be, there was always that voice in your head, wasn’t there? The one that whispered of things you could never name. Desires you buried. Pleasures you denied."

You shook your head, your breath shallow. "I—no, I’ve always been faithful."

"Faithful," she said mockingly, her voice cutting like glass. "And yet, you’re here. Kneeling before me as if I’m your god. Isn't that what you’ve always wanted? Not salvation, but surrender."

Her words wrapped around you like chains, binding you tighter as she stepped closer, the book now in her hands. "I told you before, my lamb, that transformation would hurt." She set the book down, her eyes never leaving yours. "Tonight, we begin."

You took a step back, dread pooling in your stomach. "What do you mean?"

Agatha smiled, a dark, cruel thing. "This innocence you cling to—it’s a lie. And I will burn it away until there’s nothing left of the girl you were. Only then will you be truly mine."

Her fingers wrapped around your wrist, her grip ironclad as she dragged you to the table. The dagger glinted ominously as she pressed it into your trembling hands.

"Cut away the veil," she whispered, her voice a velvet command. "Offer a piece of yourself, not to the Divine, but to me. Show me your devotion, your true faith."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to pull away, but her grip was unrelenting. "I—I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," she hissed, her gaze unyielding. "Because I own you. And you will prove it."

The blade trembled in your hand, the weight of her gaze suffocating you. Your mind screamed to resist, but your body obeyed her command, as if your will no longer belonged to you.

You pressed the edge against your palm, the sharp pain bringing a gasp to your lips as a thin line of blood welled up. Agatha’s smile widened, triumphant.

"Good girl," she purred, taking your hand in hers and holding it over the book. The blood dripped onto the ancient text, the crimson stark against the dark leather.

You collapsed to your knees.

You knelt there, trembling, clutching the blade in your hands as the tension in the room suffocated you. The glint of metal against your bloodied palms seemed more symbolic than dangerous—a mark of your crumbling will, etched into flesh by your own choices.

Agatha’s presence loomed above you, her hand resting on your shoulder in a gesture that was almost comforting, though it carried no warmth. Her grip tightened slightly, possessive, reminding you that there was no escape, even if you wanted to flee.

"There’s no power in that blade," she said softly, her voice carrying the same chill as the cold stone beneath your knees. "The only power here is mine. And the only reason it matters is because I have chosen to give it to you."

You looked up at her, your tear-streaked face illuminated by the pale candlelight. There was no trace of kindness left in her expression. Her features were serene but unnervingly controlled, as though her emotions were held behind a wall, deliberate and impenetrable.

"What… what do you want from me?" you whispered.

Her hand slid from your shoulder to your chin, tilting your face so your gaze met hers. Her smile was faint, and the silence stretched uncomfortably before she finally spoke.

"I want everything."

The words settled heavily between you, an undeniable truth wrapped in her commanding tone.

"You cling to these walls, these prayers, as if they’ll save you from what you truly desire. But deep down, you know they won’t. No one here will." She leaned closer, her eyes fixed on yours, her voice low and intimate. "I am the only one who sees you for what you really are, and you can’t bear to look away. Admit it."

"I don’t understand," you stammered, though you did. You understood perfectly, but admitting it would mean giving her the power she claimed—and more terrifyingly, that she already wielded.

Agatha chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humor. "Oh, but you do. You came here tonight, not out of fear or obligation, but because you wanted to." Her fingers trailed lightly down your cheek, a touch that sent shivers of confusion and guilt through you.

"I came because—"

"—because you couldn’t stop thinking about me," she interrupted smoothly. Her confidence was unnerving, like a hunter closing in on its prey. "Every word, every touch, every breath I take has haunted you, hasn’t it? And now, here you are, begging me for something you don’t even have the courage to name."

Your throat tightened, the air in the room too thick to breathe. "This isn’t right," you said, the words barely audible, more for yourself than for her.

She smirked. "Isn’t it? Who defines what’s right? The same voices that told you to suppress your desires, to live in quiet servitude while they hold the power over your life? Or is it me—the only one who truly knows you?"

Her grip on your chin firmed, and her voice dropped, colder, sharper. "Don’t play the innocent with me. I see you, really see you, and you disgust yourself because I am everything you can’t admit to wanting."

The truth of her words struck like a slap, and you flinched.

Agatha released your face and straightened, towering above you as she studied your trembling form. "Stand," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

You hesitated, but the force of her gaze compelled you. Your legs wavered as you stood, and she stepped closer, her body almost brushing yours.

"You are not leaving this room until you admit the truth," she said, her tone deceptively calm. "And it isn’t the blade that will cut away the lies—it’s me."

She circled you slowly, her eyes never leaving you as you stood frozen in place. Every step she took amplified the weight in your chest, the humiliation of her scrutiny unraveling you piece by piece.

"I could break you," she said, her voice a cruel whisper in your ear. "I could shatter every illusion you have of yourself and leave you as nothing but a hollow vessel for me to fill. But that’s not what I want."

Her hands rested on your shoulders now, firm but strangely gentle. "What I want," she continued, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, "is for you to choose me, willingly. Because deep down, we both know you already have."

The words hit you like a knife to the chest. She was right. Every action, every choice you’d made up to this moment had been in her favor. You hadn’t fought; you hadn’t resisted.

And she knew it.

"I… I don’t know who I am anymore," you choked out, tears spilling freely now, and you hated the way her touch steadied you, grounding you in the chaos she’d created.

Her lips curved into a smile against your skin, predatory and satisfied. "That’s the first true thing you’ve said all night," she murmured.

Her hands slid from your shoulders to your arms, holding you firmly as she stepped in front of you again. "But you will, little lamb," she promised, her tone softening into something almost tender. "Because I will tell you who you are."

And for the first time, you felt the chains wrap around you—not of her making, but of your own submission.

Her hands never left your arms as she held you firmly in place, her piercing gaze locking you in place as surely as iron shackles. The dim candlelight flickered in the space between you, shadows licking at the edges of the room as if they too were captivated by her presence.

"You've fought so hard to hold onto this idea of innocence," she murmured, her voice as soft as a prayer, yet laced with wickedness. "But innocence is nothing more than ignorance dressed in virtue. And you, my sweet lamb… you crave knowledge. Don’t you?"

"I don’t—" you began, but her fingers moved, brushing down your arms, and the words faltered in your throat. The touch was slow, deliberate—a map being drawn along your skin, one line at a time.

"Shh," she interrupted, her voice almost soothing. "No lies, little one. Not now, not after you've already given me so much."

Her hands found your waist, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your habit. She tugged you closer with such ease, you wondered if you had moved yourself. Her breath was warm against your cheek as she leaned in, her lips hovering near your ear.

"Tell me," she whispered, her voice low and intoxicating, "what does it feel like to surrender?"

You shook your head, though it was more a reflex than defiance. "I haven’t—"

"Oh, but you have," she said, her tone firm now, almost chiding. "Every time you step into this room, every moment you stand here shaking under my gaze… every time you look at me like that."

"Like what?" you asked, though you hated the desperate note that crept into your voice.

"Like you’re mine," she answered easily. Her hands slid upward, brushing over your ribs, her fingertips grazing the edges of your vulnerability with surgical precision. "And you are, aren't you?"

"I don’t know," you managed, the tears welling up again as your mind swam with confusion and guilt—and something else, something that simmered low in your stomach and climbed higher every time she touched you.

"Let me make it simple for you," she said, her tone gentler now, like a teacher coaxing a student toward understanding. One hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up so you couldn’t avoid her eyes. "Obedience. Faith. Devotion. That’s what they’ve told you your life is meant for, isn’t it?"

You nodded shakily, unsure why you were even answering.

"Good." Her thumb brushed over your lips, a fleeting touch that left you breathless. "Then let this be your new faith. Me. Let this be your devotion: giving yourself entirely to what you feel, without shame. Let me show you the freedom they would deny you."

Her other hand traced the line of your back, her nails grazing your skin through the thin layers of cloth. The sensation was subtle but electric, sending a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t suppress.

"I don’t want to hurt you," she continued, though her voice carried a weight that made you wonder if that was entirely true. "But if that’s what it takes to strip you bare—of your innocence, your guilt, your denial—then I will."

Her lips brushed yours, featherlight but deliberate, and you froze. The kiss lingered there, her proximity overwhelming, her breath mingling with yours until it felt like there was no air left for either of you.

"You don’t have to fight anymore," she whispered against your lips. "Just say the word, and I’ll give you what you’ve been too afraid to ask for."

And yet, she didn’t move closer. She didn’t take that final step, leaving you in the suffocating limbo she’d created. The decision, cruelly and mercifully, was yours.

Her eyes bore into yours, expectant, unyielding. "Say it, lamb," she commanded softly, her hands now resting just above your hips, firm yet still offering the illusion of gentleness.

"I…" You hesitated, the war raging inside you as tears blurred your vision. Everything about this moment felt like a plunge into something you could never return from—a fall orchestrated solely by her hands.

"Say it," she urged again, her voice growing darker, less patient. Her grip tightened slightly, her fingers digging into your flesh just enough to remind you that she held all the control here.

You closed your eyes, trembling as your lips formed the words you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting to say. "I’m yours."

And as the room fell silent, save for the sound of your uneven breathing, Agatha smiled.

"My sweet lamb," she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now… we begin."

Her lips claimed yours then, not tender or patient, but consuming, pulling you deeper into her grasp as her hands explored every vulnerability she could find. Her touch was both a reward and a punishment, each movement calculated to dismantle what little resistance you had left.

Agatha Harkness was nothing if not thorough.

Agatha’s lips moved with calculated precision, coaxing you deeper into the moment as her hands roamed your body—not rushed, not hurried, but deliberate, every touch a claim that made your skin burn under the weight of her possession.

Her kiss was all-consuming, and in it, you felt the dissolution of everything you thought you knew about yourself. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t affection. It was domination veiled in intimacy, her way of branding you in a way no eyes could see but that you would feel forever.

Her hands slid up your sides, her touch searing through the thin fabric of your habit. She gripped your shoulders with gentle force, breaking the kiss to study your face, her eyes dark and unrelenting.

"Look at me," she commanded, her voice like velvet laced with steel.

You tried to avert your gaze, overwhelmed by the intensity of her stare, but she tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet hers.

"No hiding now, little lamb," she said, her tone soft but laced with warning. "I want you to feel every part of this. Every piece of the girl you were falling away until there’s nothing left but my creation."

Her words sliced through the silence, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. She wasn’t asking for your consent; she’d already claimed it in every moment leading to this. The tension in the room was unbearable, the candlelight throwing long shadows that seemed to stretch toward you like witnesses to your undoing.

Her fingers traced along the neckline of your habit, her touch maddeningly slow as if savoring your trembling beneath her hands. "This," she murmured, brushing the fabric lightly, "is a shroud. A shield you think protects you from the world—and yourself. But all it does is hide who you really are."

She began to undo it, each motion deliberate, giving you ample time to stop her—not that she believed for a second that you would. And you didn’t. You stood frozen, paralyzed by equal parts shame and desire as the heavy fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet like an offering.

Agatha stepped back, her eyes dragging over you with an expression that made your stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t hunger in her gaze; it was victory, as if stripping you of your barriers was the real prize she sought.

"Look at you," she whispered, her voice low and almost reverent. "Do you feel it yet? The freedom? The weightlessness of leaving behind the person you were forced to be?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself instinctively, your shame warring with the part of you that longed to be seen by her—truly seen.

"None of that," she said sharply, stepping forward and prying your arms away. "You are mine now, body and soul. You will not hide from me."

Her hands found your waist again, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Her lips brushed against your ear as she whispered, "This is where you belong. With me. No prayer, no god, no doctrine will ever make you feel this alive."

Your heart hammered in your chest, your breathing uneven as her words sank deep into your mind like hooks. You wanted to argue, to plead for some semblance of salvation, but there was none left—not in this room, not in her grasp.

"I’ll ask you one last time," Agatha said, her voice softening slightly as she pulled back to look into your eyes. "Will you give yourself to me completely? Without hesitation, without shame?"

You swallowed hard, the enormity of her question pressing down on you. She wasn’t asking for a fleeting moment of vulnerability. She wanted everything—every part of you, stripped bare and given over willingly.

Your lips parted, the words hanging on the edge of your breath.

"I will," you whispered, the final crack in the dam holding you together.

Agatha’s smile was dark and all-encompassing, her hands tightening their hold on you. She leaned in, her lips hovering over yours as she murmured, "Good girl."

And then, she took you fully—not gently, not kindly, but with the same measured cruelty that defined her every action. She unraveled you piece by piece, her touch leaving marks on your skin and mind that no prayer could ever erase.

This was her victory, and you knew it. You were hers, entirely and irrevocably.

The room was cloaked in an oppressive stillness. The air felt heavier now, the flickering candlelight casting warped shadows on the stone walls. You sat on the cold floor, your limbs heavy and your mind a hollow, swirling abyss. Agatha remained poised beside you, her presence as dominating as ever, though her silence held a suffocating weight.

"You’re trembling," she murmured, her tone deceptively soft as she reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked brow. Her fingertips lingered just a moment too long, a constant reminder that nothing about this closeness was accidental.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Words had abandoned you, slipping from your grasp as thoroughly as your innocence had.

Agatha exhaled slowly, her fingers tipping your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet hers once more. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze piercing. She searched your face as if savoring the wreckage she’d left behind.

"I expected more fight," she said casually, though the faint curl of a smirk betrayed her satisfaction. "But no… you gave me everything. So easily, so completely."

You swallowed hard, but your voice refused to rise. The fire you once thought would guide you had been extinguished, replaced by something raw and consuming. Shame twisted in your stomach, mingling with the dark thrill that you hated to admit still simmered beneath your skin.

"How does it feel, little lamb?" Agatha asked, her voice a mockery of concern. "Knowing there’s no part of you I don’t own now? No thought, no desire, no boundary that belongs to anyone but me?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to give her that final triumph. And yet, the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

"I feel… nothing," you whispered hoarsely.

Her smile deepened, a mix of condescension and triumph as she cupped your face in both hands, forcing you to hold her gaze. "Oh, but you will," she purred, her tone laced with an unsettling intimacy. "What you feel now is fear. Emptiness. But that’s what I want. I’ve stripped you down to the core, burned away all those useless pieces of you until there’s nothing left but… potential."

Her hands dropped, and she stood, her towering form casting a long shadow over you as you remained kneeling at her feet. "And now," she continued, her voice taking on a sharper edge, "we begin the process of rebuilding. Of shaping you into exactly what I need. What I want."

She turned, walking leisurely toward the small table in the corner. Your habit lay crumpled nearby, and she picked it up with a slight sneer, letting it dangle from her fingers as though it was a discarded shell.

"This no longer suits you," she remarked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. She dropped the fabric back to the floor and gestured toward the remnants of your previous self. "These trappings of piety, of humility—they’re meaningless now, don’t you think?"

You stared at the crumpled garment, your mind struggling to reconcile the life it represented with the one Agatha had forced you into.

When you didn’t answer, she stepped closer, her shoes clicking softly against the stone. Her fingers trailed over your shoulder, down your arm, sending shivers through your exhausted frame. "Speak," she demanded, her voice suddenly sharp enough to make you flinch. "Do not make me ask again."

"They are meaningless," you said quietly, the words like lead on your tongue.

Her smirk returned, and she crouched before you, her face inches from yours. "Good girl," she murmured, brushing her thumb over your cheek. "I knew you’d come to understand. But remember this—what you are now is not a failure. It’s freedom. Every choice from now on is mine to make for you, but it will feel like it’s yours. Do you understand?"

You nodded hesitantly, and her smirk turned into a full, wolfish grin. "Wonderful."

She stood again, but her hand lingered, tangling in your hair for a moment too long. Her grip tightened slightly, enough to send a spike of fear through your chest before she released you.

"You’ve pleased me tonight," Agatha said, turning to face the door, her silhouette regal and unyielding. "But know this—pleasure is earned. And obedience is only the beginning."

She turned back toward you, her gaze pinning you where you knelt. "Clean yourself up," she said, her tone now cold and commanding. "And tomorrow, you will come to me for your next lesson."

With that, she swept from the room, the sound of the heavy wooden door closing behind her echoing in the suffocating silence.

You remained on the floor, trembling in the dim light, the imprint of her words—and her touch—burned into your skin and soul. For the first time in your life, you felt unmoored, untethered to anything but her.

And as you reached for your discarded garments, you realized with a sickening clarity that you no longer wanted to resist.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💜

[buttercandy16]

Bound by Death

PAIRING(s): Dark!Rio Vidal x Innocent!Reader

SUMMARY: An innocent witch falls prey to Lady Death's obsession, trapped in a dark web of desire and control.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Control, Noncon, DarkThemes, Degradation, StockholmSyndrome.

A/N: Requested 💚

You didn’t mean to call her. Summoning Lady Death herself was the last thing on your mind. You weren’t powerful enough—at least, that’s what your sister, Lilia, always told you. “Stick to the basics,” she’d said, her voice both patient and stern. “You’re not ready for the deeper arts.”

But your curiosity was insatiable. What harm could a little experimenting do?

It was supposed to be a simple spell—an offering of gratitude to the spirits of the wood. You gathered the ingredients meticulously, whispered the incantations carefully, and poured your heart into the ritual. The forest had been quiet and still, save for the flickering of your candle and the rustle of leaves.

Until she appeared.

At first, you thought she was a shadow—a trick of the waning light. Then she stepped closer, her dark cloak billowing in an unseen wind, her face illuminated by an unearthly glow. The air grew frigid, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, and her voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

“You called me.”

You stumbled back, your knees weak. “I-I didn’t mean to...”

Her eyes locked onto yours—silver and endless, holding the weight of eternity. Rio Vidal, the Reaper, the Lady of Death. Her beauty was terrifying, her presence suffocating. She stepped closer, a crooked smile curving her lips.

“Didn’t mean to?” she repeated, her voice low and mocking. “Oh, little witch, you can’t undo what you’ve done. You sought something, didn’t you?”

You shook your head desperately. “It was a mistake! Please, I didn’t—”

Her fingers brushed your cheek, the coldness of her touch stealing the air from your lungs. “Don’t lie to me, mi pequeña hechicera.” Her tone was almost gentle, but her grip tightened, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wanted power, didn’t you?”

“No! I just... I wanted to give thanks!”

She laughed—a sound that chilled you more than her touch. “So innocent,” she mused, her eyes scanning you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But you’ve caught my attention now. That’s a rare thing, little witch. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

The days that followed were a blur. You told Lilia what had happened, but she brushed it off as a fluke. “The veil is thin this time of year,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Spirits drift in and out. As long as you haven’t made a pact, you’ll be fine.”

But you weren’t fine.

Rio appeared everywhere: in your dreams, in the shadows of your home, even in the mirror when you glanced too long. Her voice whispered through the night, taunting and commanding.

“You can’t run from me,” she’d say.

She visited often, her presence growing more physical, more consuming. She’d appear in the garden while you tended the herbs, her cold fingers trailing down your arm as she made idle conversation about mortality and devotion. She took pleasure in your discomfort, in the way you squirmed under her gaze.

Lilia began to notice your growing paranoia. “You’re restless,” she said one morning, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “You’re always looking over your shoulder.”

You didn’t tell her about the mark Rio had left on your wrist—a faint sigil that burned cold to the touch. “It’s nothing,” you lied, though the truth sat heavy in your chest.

That night, Rio came to you again, this time at your bedside. She sat at the edge, her cloak cascading like ink across the floor. Her hand rested against your leg, deceptively gentle, but her grip left no room for escape.

“You’re wasting your time pretending you can avoid me,” she said, her tone soft but laced with menace.

“What do you want from me?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.

Her smile was slow, predatory. “I want you. All of you. Your loyalty, your magic, your very soul if I decide I want it.” Her fingers traced up your arm, cold and deliberate. “But don’t worry, little witch. I’ll take good care of you. You’ll see.”

“I don’t want this,” you said, though your voice shook with the weight of her presence.

Her eyes darkened, and the room seemed to pulse with her energy. She leaned closer, her face inches from yours. “What you want doesn’t matter, mi amor. You’re mine now.”

She pressed a cold kiss to your forehead, and the darkness claimed you.

Waking up the next morning felt like surfacing from a deep, suffocating sea. The sunlight streaming through your window seemed sharper, almost invasive. But no matter how bright the day, you couldn't shake the chill in your bones.

Rio's words echoed in your mind: "You're mine now."

Your hand strayed to your wrist where her mark lay, a sigil faint yet undeniable. You’d hoped it would fade like some lingering nightmare, but it burned ice-cold beneath your touch, a tether you couldn’t sever.

Lilia's voice startled you as she called from the kitchen. "You’re up early," she said as you shuffled in, your unease masked by the calm of routine. She didn’t know what lurked in the shadows. She couldn’t see how the air felt heavier, how it seemed charged with an oppressive, otherworldly energy.

You didn’t tell her. How could you? Lilia had always been the stronger one—both in magic and temperament. But this? Even her power seemed insignificant compared to Rio’s suffocating presence.

"Couldn’t sleep," you muttered, avoiding her gaze as you poured a cup of tea.

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been dabbling again?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

You shook your head quickly. "No! I..." The lie almost choked you. You turned away before she could question further.

But that night, Rio returned.

This time, she didn’t wait for your compliance or conversation. You felt her before you saw her: the air in your room grew frigid, your breath misting as shadows coalesced at the foot of your bed. When she appeared, her form was draped in dark elegance, her silver eyes alight with a predatory gleam.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” she said, her voice low and intimate.

“I wasn’t trying to summon you,” you protested, your hands clenching the blanket tightly.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it,” she replied, tilting her head. “You don’t have to. You and I are connected now, little witch. Did you really think you could make a call to the beyond and walk away unscathed?”

You stared at her, your voice caught in your throat.

She stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring every step that brought her nearer to you. Her cold fingers brushed your chin, forcing you to meet her piercing gaze.

“You don’t understand yet,” she murmured, her voice a dark lullaby. “But you will.”

"Understand what?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

"That you were meant to be mine," she said, her lips curving into a smile that was equal parts alluring and terrifying. "I’ve taken kings, queens, and warriors. But you?” Her hand moved to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly across your skin. “You’ll be my greatest treasure."

Tears welled in your eyes as her words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. “Please, let me go,” you whispered.

Her laugh was soft and cruel. “Oh, little one, I am letting you go. For now. But you’ll come to me willingly. You’ll see that no one else can give you what I can.”

Before you could protest, she leaned closer, her cold lips grazing your ear. “Don’t fight it,” she whispered. “It’s so much sweeter when you surrender.”

And just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished, leaving you alone in the chilling silence of your room.

But the mark on your wrist pulsed faintly, a reminder that her claim on you was far from over.

The following days blurred together in a haze of paranoia and unease. Rio’s presence was no longer a subtle weight lingering at the edges of your consciousness; it was suffocating. She came and went as she pleased, making herself a constant in your life whether you wanted it or not.

It was on one of those nights, when you were too tired to fight sleep, that she made her move.

Your room was pitch dark, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of the wind outside. A frigid touch on your ankle jolted you awake, and there she was—seated on the edge of your bed, her silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight spilling through the curtains.

"Did I startle you, mi pequeña bruja?" she murmured, a sly smile pulling at her lips.

"Get out," you said, voice trembling but firm. "You're not welcome here."

Rio tilted her head, her silver eyes glinting as though your defiance amused her. "Oh, but I don’t need permission anymore. You already belong to me."

She leaned forward, her fingers ghosting over your arm, cold and unnervingly gentle. "Why do you keep fighting when it only makes things harder for you?" Her voice was deceptively soothing, like the calm before a storm.

"I don't want any of this," you snapped, pulling your arm away.

Her smirk darkened. "You don't know what you want."

With a flick of her wrist, the mark on your skin flared icy blue, a sharp, stinging reminder of the bond she’d tethered to you. Your gasp of pain made her smile widen.

"You’re so delicate," she purred, her hand moving to cradle your face. "So easily broken. But don’t worry, mi amor, I’ll take care of you."

Her touch traveled lower, fingers brushing over your collarbone. It wasn’t tender, not really. It felt more like a claim—a slow, deliberate reminder of who held the power. You wanted to recoil, to push her away, but your body betrayed you. Whether it was fear, magic, or something darker, you stayed frozen under her gaze.

"Such a sweet little thing," she murmured, leaning down until her face was only inches from yours. Her breath was cold against your skin, sending chills racing down your spine. "Fighting me won’t work, little one. You’ll see soon enough... submission will feel so much better."

“Rio...” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

"Shh," she cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No need to speak. Just listen. Feel."

Her lips hovered over yours, teasingly close, but she didn’t press forward. Instead, she shifted to your neck, her cold lips grazing your skin. It wasn’t gentle; it felt calculated, like she wanted to leave an impression that would haunt you long after she was gone.

"You can run from others," she said against your skin, her voice low and dangerous, "but you can’t run from me. I am death. I am the end and the beginning. You’ll find no escape, only inevitability."

Tears welled in your eyes, frustration and fear mingling into a knot in your chest. "Please..."

"Please, what?" she asked, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes held a wicked gleam, and her lips curled into a smirk. "You don’t even know what you’re asking for, little witch. But I’ll give you what you need—even if you’re too afraid to see it now."

Her thumb brushed across your lower lip, and the intimate gesture sent a shiver down your spine. She smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased by your discomfort.

"I’ll come for you again soon," she whispered, pressing a final, icy kiss to your forehead before vanishing into the shadows.

You were left trembling and alone, the cold feeling of her touch lingering long after she’d gone.

Things started to turn for the worse.

It started small—your spells backfiring, draining your energy faster than they should. Then there were the whispers that filled the silences, impossible to ignore. They weaved promises and threats into your mind:

"You’ll never be safe without me."

"You’re too fragile for this world."

"Submit, and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever desired."

Your independence chipped away with every moment you spent second-guessing yourself.

It was Lilia who first noticed. “Your magic is unraveling,” she said one evening, her brow furrowed in concern as she studied you. “You need to center yourself. What’s happening?”

You bit your lip, unwilling to tell her. If she knew Rio had staked a claim on you, she’d try to intervene—and that terrified you. What could even Lilia, with all her skill and confidence, do against someone like Rio? You’d seen what she was capable of. The mere thought of angering her again sent chills racing through you.

“I’ll figure it out,” you lied. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

One quiet evening, you sat on the floor of the cottage, sifting through spellbooks in a desperate attempt to find a way to break Rio’s mark. The text in front of you blurred as exhaustion overtook your focus, but as you pushed yourself harder, the candles in the room flickered.

And there she was.

“Still trying to fight me?” Rio’s voice sent a sharp stab of panic through your chest.

Your head shot up, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. She stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She looked almost amused as her silver eyes tracked your every move.

"You shouldn’t overwork yourself, mi bruja," she chided, stepping into the room with a predatory grace. "It’s adorable that you’re trying, though."

“Why?” The question burst out of you, raw and desperate. “Why me? I’m nobody—nothing compared to what you are. Just leave me alone!”

Rio’s expression softened, but not in the comforting way you’d hoped. It was mocking, tinged with something cruelly possessive. She crouched down in front of you, one hand tilting your face toward her.

“Nothing? You’re far from nothing,” she said, her voice quiet, dangerous. “You’re mine. And I take very good care of what’s mine.”

She held your gaze, her thumb brushing over your cheek as her hand cradled your face. The touch felt deceptively soft, but you knew better by now. You flinched, trying to pull away, but she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Do you understand what I’ve done for you?” Her tone was still soft, almost coaxing. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let you run around, pretending you have a choice. But you’re so fragile, little one. Look at you—drained, lost, stumbling around like a child in the dark.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t need you.”

Rio smiled, and it chilled you to the core. “You already do,” she said simply.

She waved her hand, and the mark on your wrist burned cold. You gasped in pain, the chill spreading through your arm and radiating into your chest. Your mind swam with an overwhelming sense of loss, fear, and longing—emotions you couldn’t separate from each other anymore.

“Every time you resist me, this world will hurt you more,” Rio said, her tone matter-of-fact. “But I can give you strength, protection, peace. All you have to do is let me in.”

When she released you, the weight of her absence felt like a part of you had been torn away. It was the cruelest trick—making you long for her presence just to feel whole.

“I’ll come back when you’re ready,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of a promise. “And trust me, you will be ready soon.”

You curled into yourself as she disappeared, your tears falling freely. Deep down, you realized she was twisting something inside you, warping your resolve piece by piece.

And you hated that it was working.

The days that followed were a blur of fear, anger, and desperation. You threw yourself into research, scouring every book, every scrap of magical knowledge you could find. Somewhere, there had to be a way to undo Rio's mark—a way to sever the connection that bound her to you.

You thought you could handle it alone. But the strain wore at you, gnawing away at your confidence. The more you tried to use magic, the more you felt the weight of her influence. Every spell fizzled out, every incantation felt heavier, harder to manage. The mark on your wrist would burn whenever you pushed too hard, as if Rio were reminding you of her presence, taunting you from afar.

Lilia was beginning to notice the cracks in your facade. Her watchful eyes lingered on you longer than they used to, her questions more pointed.

"You’re restless," she said one evening as the two of you shared dinner. "Something’s wrong, and it’s not just the magic. Tell me what’s going on."

"I told you, I’m fine," you muttered, stabbing at your plate without appetite.

"You’re not fine," she shot back, her voice firm but not unkind. "I’ve seen the way your spells falter, how distracted you’ve been. This isn’t just fatigue, is it?"

You clenched your fists, your mind racing for an excuse, but nothing felt believable enough. The truth clawed at your throat, but you swallowed it down. If you told her about Rio, she’d try to intervene. She’d confront her, and that... that terrified you more than anything.

"I just need time," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

But time wasn’t on your side.

That night, you tried again—a simple purification spell, something Lilia had taught you years ago. You whispered the words with as much conviction as you could muster, pouring all of your focus into the magic. But no sooner had the energy begun to flow than the mark on your wrist ignited in sharp, icy pain.

Your concentration shattered, the spell sputtering out like a candle in the wind.

You spun around to find Rio standing in the corner of the room, her presence dominating the space. Her silver eyes gleamed in the dim light, a predatory smile playing on her lips.

"I won’t let you control me," you said, your voice shaking but resolute.

Rio’s smile faltered, and for a moment, her eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, disappointment, or perhaps something deeper.

"Oh, little witch," she said, her voice lowering as she stepped even closer. “This isn’t control. It’s inevitability. The sooner you accept that, the less this will hurt.”

She reached for your wrist, her fingers brushing over the mark. You tried to pull away, but her grip tightened like a vice, cold and unyielding.

“This bond between us? It’s permanent. You can run, you can scream, you can even try to break it. But in the end, you’ll realize there’s no escaping me.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, not just because of their weight, but because part of you believed her.

“I don’t want this,” you said, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Her expression softened in a way that felt almost genuine. “You think you don’t,” she said softly. “But I see what you need—what you crave. Protection. Purpose. Someone who will never leave you, no matter what. And that someone is me.”

Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her cold touch sending a jolt of conflicting emotions through you. You hated how your body froze under her gaze, how her words seeped into the cracks in your resolve.

"You’re lying," you managed to say, though your voice wavered.

"Am I?" she asked, tilting her head. "Then why haven’t you told your sister about me? Why haven’t you begged her to save you?"

Your breath hitched.

Rio’s smile returned, slow and knowing. "Because deep down, you already know the truth. You can’t live without me now, little one. And the longer you fight it, the more painful it will be."

Her lips ghosted over your forehead in a mockery of tenderness. “Don’t worry, my darling. I’m patient. I’ll wait until you finally understand.”

And then, just like that, she was gone, leaving you trembling and alone, the echoes of her voice ringing in your mind.

As much as you wanted to deny it, there was a part of you—buried deep and growing louder—that couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.

The days blurred into weeks, each one more suffocating than the last. Rio’s words haunted you, weaving their way through your thoughts, tangling with your fears, and distorting your sense of reality. You tried to keep your distance from her, to focus on breaking free, but every step you took seemed to bring her closer, as though she were guiding you down a path only she could see.

Lilia began to notice. She asked more pointed questions, spent more time watching you. "You’re withdrawing," she said one evening, her gaze steady. "It’s like something is... draining you."

You tried to smile, to lie like you always did, but the exhaustion was etched into every corner of your being. Your spells continued to fail. Your magic, once vibrant and alive, was now a hollow, unpredictable force. And in your weakest moments, you thought about her—Rio, her promises, her cold, comforting touch. It disgusted you, terrified you. But it was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes tight, shaking your head against her words. But when you opened them, she was there, seated in the chair by the window as though she had always been part of the room. Her silver eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, her presence commanding every inch of space.

"I see the cracks forming," she said softly, rising from her seat. She moved to the bed, her steps deliberate, graceful, like a predator approaching wounded prey.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Her touch was cold but grounding, anchoring you in a way you couldn’t explain. She leaned closer, her presence overwhelming, her scent intoxicating despite the chill that radiated from her.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple. “Say it.”

“I’m not...” you tried to say, but the words faltered. Your resolve was crumbling, the weight of her presence too much to bear.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, frustration boiling over. “You’ve taken everything from me! My magic, my freedom, my mind—you’ve ruined me!”

For a moment, something shifted in Rio’s expression. Regret? No, it was something darker—possessive satisfaction. "I didn’t ruin you," she said softly. "I saved you. You just haven’t accepted it yet."

Her grip tightened, her nails digging into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who was in control. "You’ve been trying so hard to hold on to who you were, but that girl is gone, my love. There’s no place for her in my world. Only the new you—the one I’m creating."

“I don’t want to be yours!” you screamed, your voice cracking.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she smiled, the calm, knowing smile of someone who already knew how this story ended. "Oh, but you are. Deep down, you’ve already given yourself to me. That’s why you’re so afraid, isn’t it? You’ve realized there’s no way back."

Her lips brushed your temple, cold and cruel. You tried to turn away, but she held you firm, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Soon, you won’t even want to fight me.”

That was it. Something inside you snapped.

“No!” you screamed, shoving her away with every ounce of strength you had left. She stumbled back a step, her eyes widening—not in anger, but surprise.

You turned and ran.

You tore through the cottage, your feet pounding against the floorboards. Your mind was a whirlwind of fear and fury. You didn’t care where you were going, only that you had to get away from her.

But no matter how fast you ran, the air grew colder. The shadows seemed to chase you, reaching out with invisible fingers. And then you heard her voice, calm and unbothered, echoing through the halls.

"Where are you going, mi bruja? There’s nowhere you can run."

You reached the back door, flinging it open into the storm outside. Rain lashed at your face, but you didn’t stop. You stumbled into the forest, your lungs burning, your clothes soaked to the skin.

For a brief, desperate moment, you thought you might escape. But then she appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if she had always been there, waiting for you to fall.

Her hair was untouched by the storm, her dress pristine despite the mud and rain. She was perfect, unyielding, and terrifying.

"Running from me," she said softly, tilting her head. "Such a waste of energy, my little witch."

You dropped to your knees, sobs wracking your body. “What do you want from me?” you choked out, your voice barely audible over the storm.

Rio knelt before you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Her touch was cold as ever, but this time, it felt like surrender.

“I want you,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Completely. Your mind, your body, your soul. No resistance. No hesitation. Only me.”

Her silver eyes bore into yours, unrelenting. “And you’ll give it to me. Maybe not today, but soon. You can fight, you can scream, but in the end, you’ll see. You’ll belong to me.”

You wanted to deny her, to scream that she was wrong. But as her cold embrace closed around you, your resolve wavered. Deep down, a terrifying truth was beginning to take root.

What if she was right?

What if she already had you?

The storm outside had long subsided, but inside, the air hung heavy with an ominous stillness. Rio stood before you in the dimly lit room, her patience worn thin, the faint amusement she often carried replaced with a chilling determination.

"I’ve given you every chance to accept the inevitable," she said, her voice devoid of the feigned gentleness she had once used to coax you. "But your stubbornness has tested my patience for the last time."

Her words chilled you to the bone, but you refused to respond, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor as if defiance alone could shield you from her power.

"You want to run, don’t you?" Rio continued, stepping closer. Her footsteps echoed like a countdown, each step pulling you further into the abyss. "But even now, you’re beginning to realize how futile that is. Still, you force my hand."

Before you could move, her cold, ghostly grip was on your wrist, the mark she had burned into your skin igniting with searing pain. You gasped, the agony buckling your knees, but she didn’t relent.

“You will break, mi bruja, and I will be the one to mold the pieces.” Her silver eyes bore into yours, devoid of mercy, her grip like steel.

You struggled weakly, your magic sputtering like dying embers, but Rio’s hold was suffocating, her aura pressing against you like an iron vice.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” she murmured, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “But you’ve left me no choice.”

A swirling darkness spread from her fingertips, creeping up your arm like tendrils of night. It burned and froze at the same time, sinking into your very soul, wrapping around your mind with suffocating intensity. You gasped, clawing at her arm, but there was no escaping it.

The mark on your wrist seemed to come alive, glowing a sinister black-red as Rio leaned closer, her voice wrapping around you like the enchantment it was.

"Let go," she whispered. “Let me in, or I will take what I want, no matter how much it hurts you.”

Her free hand trailed up to your face, her cold touch sending waves of chilling energy through your body. It wasn’t gentle—her fingers dug into your skin, possessive and unyielding. She forced you to meet her gaze, her silver eyes alight with dark promise.

“You’ve fought so hard, little witch,” she said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with her thumb. “But that fight ends now. You will give me everything.”

The tendrils of dark magic tightened their grip, pushing into your thoughts, your memories, your very essence. Your protests died in your throat as she overwhelmed you, her presence filling every corner of your being.

"You will beg me for release," she hissed, her lips brushing against your ear. "You will cry for me, call for me, and when you’re too broken to fight, you will thank me for taking what was always mine."

Something deep within you cracked under the weight of her will, her magic, her voice. The resistance you had clung to so fiercely now seemed pointless, your very self slipping through your grasp like sand in a tide.

As your vision blurred, Rio’s lips curled into a victorious smile. “That’s it,” she said softly. “Finally, you understand.”

Your body trembled, weak and defenseless, as the last vestiges of defiance crumbled. The dark tendrils enveloped you fully, binding you to her completely, until there was nothing left but her cold embrace.

You didn’t know when the tears stopped, or when the weight in your chest gave way to hollow acceptance. But as Rio cradled you against her, her grip like a chain and her smile like a noose, you realized the fight was over.

You were hers. Completely.

_-_-_

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[buttercandy16]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Extra

PAIRING(s): SugarMommy!Agatha, Rio, Lilia, Jennifer, and Alice x SugarBaby!Reader

SUMMARY: Str*pper Reader meets 5 interesting older women who wants to own her.

WARNING(s): I'm not sure, lol.

A/N: I saw some beautiful soul who requested for someone to write this fic idea. I thought to give it a try even though I suck at writing, lol.

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress 💜

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.

_-_-_

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[buttercandy16]

Beneath the Surface

PAIRING: Nurse!AgathaHarkness x Patient!Reader

SUMMARY: When Reader falls ill, Nurse Agatha seems like her only ally. But behind the gentle care lies a dark obsession. As Agatha's control over Reader tightens, trust turns into fear, and escape becomes impossible.

WARNING(s): Dark Themes, Yandere, Obsession, Manipulation, and Power Imbalance.

A/N: Had this in my mind for a while now, lol.

I watch her from the doorway, her delicate fingers swiping at the glowing screen of her phone. She’s so engrossed, so unaware of the danger the world holds outside these walls. They don’t deserve her—the so-called friends she texts late at night. Where were they when she was lying broken in that ambulance? Where were they when she cried out in pain?

It was me. I was the one holding her hand, whispering that she’d be okay.

I push the door open quietly, a tray of tea balanced in my hands. The scent of chamomile fills the room, warm and soothing, just like I know she needs.

“Y/N, darling,” I say softly. “You’ve been on that phone for hours. You should be resting.”

Her head snaps up, startled, her doe-like eyes meeting mine. She’s so beautiful, even with the dark circles under her eyes.

“Oh, Nurse Agatha! I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, her voice soft but a little wary. “I’m just texting some friends—they’re worried about me.”

Friends. Right. The word makes my skin prickle. I force a smile, setting the tray down on her bedside table.

“Friends?” I ask, brushing her hair away from her face. It’s softer than I imagined. “You mean those people who weren’t here when you needed them most? You don’t need to worry about them, sweetheart. I’m here for you.”

She shifts uncomfortably, and I can feel her pulling away.

“Well, they didn’t know right away,” she says, her voice faltering. “And I’ve told you, you don’t have to call me sweetheart. Y/N’s fine.”

I let out a soft laugh, ignoring her protest. “But you are a sweetheart. So kind, so delicate. It’s only natural I’d care about you so deeply. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe… isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” she stammers. “I mean, you’ve been great, really. But I’m doing better now. Soon I’ll be out of here—”

The words cut through me like a knife. Out of here? No. She’s not ready. She doesn’t understand what’s waiting for her outside.

“Out of here?” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intended. Her eyes widen slightly, and I quickly soften my tone. “Oh no, no, Y/N. You’re far too fragile to leave yet. The world outside is cruel, unforgiving. You need someone who truly understands you, who would do anything to protect you.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I see her fingers twitching slightly, gripping the edge of her blanket. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I think my doctors will decide when I can go.”

Doctors. What do they know about her? About us? They poke and prod and scribble on their charts, but they don’t see her. Not like I do.

I step closer, resting my hand lightly on her wrist. “Doctors don’t know you like I do,” I whisper. “They don’t see the pain in your eyes, the way you flinch at loud noises. You need more time, more care.” My grip tightens just slightly. “Don’t you trust me, Y/N?”

Her breath hitches, and she pulls her hand away.

“I do, but… you’re making me a little uncomfortable.”

The words sting, but I keep my face calm. She doesn’t mean it. She’s just scared—confused.

“Uncomfortable?” I echo, my voice trembling. “Oh, no, no, that’s not what I want. I just want you to feel… loved. Cherished. You deserve that, don’t you?”

“I think I should get some rest now,” she says quickly, her voice strained.

I smile, stepping back. “Of course, darling. Rest is important. I’ll be right here if you need anything. Always.”

Her whisper barely reaches my ears. “Thank you…”

I turn and walk to the door, pausing to glance back at her. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams. Don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of everything for you.”

I close the door behind me but don’t leave. Instead, I lean against it, pressing my ear to the wood. Her breathing is shallow, her movements restless. My Y/N. My perfect, fragile girl.

She’ll understand someday. She’ll see that everything I do is for her.

For us.

I glance toward the nurse’s station, where the on-duty staff member is oblivious to everything, her eyes glued to her screen. It won’t be hard to access Y/N’s charts, her medication records. Just a small adjustment here, a delay there.

She’s not going anywhere.

Not until she realizes that her place is with me. Forever.

Later That Night

The hospital has gone quiet again, just the way I like it. The night shift nurse is in the breakroom, half-asleep, and the halls are empty. I’ve timed everything perfectly.

Y/N’s chart is tucked under my arm as I enter the supply closet. I’ve reviewed her medications a dozen times, and I know exactly what to do. Just a small adjustment—a subtle addition to her routine. It won’t hurt her. Not permanently. Just enough to keep her here where she belongs.

I take a vial of medication from the shelf, a low dose of something that will cause nausea, dizziness, and fatigue. Nothing too extreme, nothing suspicious. A few drops in her IV, and the doctors will think it’s just a setback in her recovery.

I pause for a moment, the vial in my hand, and imagine her lying in bed, looking up at me with those soft, trusting eyes. She’ll be scared, confused, but I’ll be there to comfort her. I’ll hold her hand, stroke her hair, tell her that everything will be alright because I’m here.

I smile to myself as I tuck the vial into my pocket and head toward her room.

Inside Y/N’s Room

The door creaks softly as I step inside. Y/N is asleep, her breathing shallow and even. She looks so peaceful, so vulnerable, her dark hair spread across the pillow. My heart swells at the sight of her.

“Sweet girl,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.

I move to her IV stand, my hands steady as I work. It’s quick, seamless—just a few drops into the bag. I know exactly how much to use. Enough to make her weak, keep her here a little longer, but not enough to raise suspicion.

When I’m finished, I sit by her bedside, watching her sleep.

“You’ll thank me one day,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “When you realize how much I love you, how far I’d go to protect you.”

I stay there for a while, just watching her, until I hear footsteps in the hallway. Reluctantly, I stand and leave, careful not to make a sound.

The Next Morning

When I check on her, Y/N is pale and sweating, her face pinched with discomfort.

“Nurse Agatha,” she says weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t feel so good.”

I rush to her side, my face a mask of concern. “Oh no, sweetheart. What’s wrong? Tell me everything.”

“I feel dizzy,” she says, closing her eyes. “And my stomach… I think I’m going to be sick.”

I place a cool hand on her forehead, feigning surprise. “You’re burning up. This must be some kind of reaction. I’ll let the doctor know right away.”

Her breathing quickens, panic flickering in her eyes. “Am I okay? This wasn’t happening yesterday…”

I stroke her hair, shushing her gently. “You’re in the best hands, Y/N. I’ll take care of everything.”

She nods weakly, her eyelids fluttering shut.

I stay with her, holding her hand as she drifts in and out of sleep. The doctor comes by later, perplexed by her sudden symptoms but chalking it up to post-traumatic stress and her body’s slow recovery. He orders more tests, which will, of course, delay her discharge.

Exactly as I planned.

That Night

The hospital is quiet again, the low hum of machines filling the silence. I entered Y/N’s room without knocking this time. She stirs, her breathing uneven as she struggles against the nausea I caused. Her pale face glows in the dim light, and I feel a pang of satisfaction knowing she needs me more than ever now.

“Nurse Agatha?” she murmurs weakly, her voice barely audible.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” I say softly, moving to her bedside. “I told you—I’ll always be here.”

She blinks up at me, her eyes glassy with exhaustion and discomfort.

I sit on the edge of her bed, closer than usual. She’s too tired to notice—or too polite to mention—the way my hand lingers on hers, my thumb tracing slow circles over her skin.

“You’re so brave,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “I know this is hard, but you’re handling it so well. Better than anyone else could.”

She doesn’t respond, her lips parting slightly as she exhales a shaky breath.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” I continue, leaning in. “Do you know that? I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Her cheeks flush faintly, though it’s hard to tell if it’s from embarrassment or the fever. Either way, I can’t look away.

“You’re special,” I whisper, my hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers brush her jawline, and I feel her shiver under my touch.

“Agatha…” she starts, her voice trembling.

“It’s okay,” I say, cutting her off gently. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

I lean closer, until our faces are just inches apart. Her breath hitches, her wide eyes locked on mine.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, my voice so soft it’s almost a secret. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

She shifts under the blanket, her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away. Her lips part as if she wants to speak, but no words come.

“Shh,” I whisper, my fingers brushing against her cheek. “Just rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

Her breathing quickens, and for a moment, the air between us feels electric. I let my hand linger on her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. Her skin is warm, her pulse faintly fluttering under my fingertips.

“Agatha…” she says again, her tone unsure, almost pleading.

“I know,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion. “I know, sweetheart.”

Her body tenses slightly under the sheets, the way it always does when I get too close. I could stop. I should stop. But I can’t. Not tonight.

Her eyes dart toward the door, and for a split second, she looks like she wants to get up, to leave.

I place a hand gently on her arm, my fingers brushing over her skin, slow and deliberate, not giving her the space she’s trying to create. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetie,” I murmur. “You need to rest. I’m here to make sure you do.”

She tenses under my touch, her eyes widening as I lean closer. There’s a slight hesitation in her breath, the way she shifts uncomfortably in the bed. I notice the way her fingers twitch, almost as if she’s unsure whether to push me away or to let me stay. But she doesn’t move, not fully. She’s still too weak. And that makes her more mine.

“I don’t… I don’t feel right,” she says softly, her voice laced with hesitation. “I don’t… I don’t want—”

“Hush,” I interrupt, my voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything. Just trust me. Let me help you.”

Her lips part, a soft breath escaping, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. She’s uncomfortable—I can feel it—but she doesn’t pull away. She’s not saying stop. She’s just... unsure.

I slide my hand up her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin as I move closer, my face hovering just inches from hers. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty, but she doesn’t look away. She won’t.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my lips brushing lightly against her forehead, lingering longer than necessary. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll make everything better.”

I see the way her body stiffens, the subtle way her hands ball into fists under the sheets. She’s uncomfortable, but she’s still here, still letting me get closer, letting me touch her. The resistance only makes me want her more.

Her breath hitches again when I move a little closer, my fingers grazing her collarbone, just enough to make her shiver. She doesn’t pull away, though her eyes flutter, filled with confusion and a hint of fear. But I know she’s not scared of me. Not really. She just doesn’t understand yet. She doesn’t know what it means to truly be cared for by someone who wants nothing more than to take care of her every need.

“I know you’re scared, Y/N,” I whisper, my voice dropping even lower. “But I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re mine to look after. Mine.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. Her chest rises and falls more quickly now, but she’s not telling me to stop. She’s not telling me to go. She’s letting me. That’s all I need.

I move my hand down her side, feeling the warmth of her skin under my fingertips, the tremor in her body. She’s uncomfortable, I can tell—she’s not fully sure of what’s happening, but she’s still lying there, her eyes never leaving mine. She’s waiting. She’s letting me.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” I murmur softly. “I’m the only one who can help you. I’m the only one who will take care of you.”

Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I think she might speak, might try to protest. But instead, she turns her face into the pillow, her body slightly tensing beneath my touch, still too weak to resist fully. It makes my heart race with anticipation. She’s uncomfortable, yes, but she’s not telling me to stop. She doesn’t want me to stop. Not really.

“I’ll be here, always,” I continue, moving my hand to her shoulder, pressing just a little more firmly, keeping her in place. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else. You don’t need anyone but me. I’m the only one who will ever care for you like this.”

Her breath catches, and I can feel the subtle tremble in her body as my fingers slide down her arm, gently but firmly. She’s trying to pull away, but she’s so tired, so lost in the haze of her own discomfort and confusion, that she stays still.

And that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

Soon, my love… I will do so much more to you… soon.

_-_-_-_

Please don’t forget to send in requests, vote, and reblog 💜

[buttercandy16]

Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader

summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?

warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex

*afab gender neutral read

@covenofagatha @d-z20

i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo

The Director’s Cut

With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.

“Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.

“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.

“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”

“I-”

“CUT.”

A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.

“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.

“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”

You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.

“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.

You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.

You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.

As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-

The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.

“What was that back there, hmm?”

You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.

Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”

Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”

Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.

Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.

Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.

“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.

Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”

Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.

“I’m sorry?”

Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?

“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.

“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”

You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Agatha, I-”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”

“No, no, I-”

“Then I’m wrong?”

She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.

“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”

Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.

She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.

“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.

“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”

You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.

She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.

“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.

Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.

“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”

Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.

“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”

Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.

Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine in your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.

“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”

The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”

Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.

“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.

“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.

“But don’t I…”

“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.

The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…

You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”

“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”

You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.

You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”

You swallow. “S-Sorry?”

She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”

A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”

Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”

Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a tooth smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.

She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy. Rio catches your other wrists and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.

“Understood?”

At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.

“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear tracing from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”

The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s pathetically clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.

“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.

“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.

Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.

Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing through you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.

“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.

When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.

“Did I-” you’ve started talking while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.

“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.

“Cut!”

Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.

“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”

[buttercandy16]

All I can say is... Damn

I adore your writing so much omg.

Agatha/Reader with a size kink and maybe include riding somewhere in there :))

I'm so tired lmao

writing size kink is lowkey really hard but hopefully i somewhat got it right

decided to combine this one with the priest!agatha fic cause i thought it was hot

literally going straight to hell for this 🫠🫣

Forgive me, Father (part 2)

You go back to confession after you can't stop thinking about Father Agatha

Word count: 2600

Warnings: religion kink, religious sex, strap-on, fingering, corrupt priest Agatha, naive and innocent and virgin reader, dubcon, slight size kink, probably some other filth

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession,” you say, just those words causing the memory of what happened last time to heat through you. 

The priest was already inside the booth when you came in and didn’t say a word even after your door was shut so you were forced to start. 

You still didn’t know who was in there next to you, but a part deep inside you is hoping for Father Agatha. 

The priest shifts in the booth and you bite your lip. “What do you have to confess, child?” 

It’s a man’s voice. 

Your face falls and now you have to come up with something to confess for because you don’t think he’ll be as understanding as she was. 

“I, um, the other day…” you start, completely fishing for something, when there’s a light through the partition. The door to the other half has been opened and you hear faint mutterings. 

The door closes and the priest clears his throat. “Excuse me, my child, but I must attend to an urgent matter.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little shocked. You’ve never known that they could just walk out of a confession like that. 

“Don’t fret. Father Agatha will be in shortly to hear the rest of it. She is a new wonderful addition to our parish and you’re in good hands,” he praises and you blush furiously. 

Good hands indeed. 

You cough. “We’ve met.” You can still feel her leg against your private parts – your pussy – and her fingers digging into your hips. The way pleasure rolled over your body because of her. The way her dark eyes tempted you to take a bite of the sweet, forbidden fruit of desire. 

The priest says something else that you don’t hear before getting out. You’re alone with your thoughts until the door opens again in a few minutes. 

Just from knowing that it’s her makes your heart get faster and your body starts to feel affected in the way only she makes it. 

“Hi, angel,” she says in her delightfully low voice. 

“Father Agatha,” you breathe. Her chuckle is sinful.

You can hear her moving around and her robes shuffle. You remember her pulling them up to her hips to show herself to you. “What do you have to confess, child?” 

“I can’t stop thinking about the other day,” you admit. “I even gave in and tried to touch myself like how you showed me, but I couldn’t get to that thing at the end. Like last time.”

You think you can hear her smirking. “You couldn’t orgasm? Poor thing, you must be so hot and bothered.” 

You squirm, not even trying to hide it. You’ve been so needy the past few days and you don’t know what to do. “I need help to get rid of these thoughts. I’ve tried praying and I did all the Hail Mary’s you said to but I feel like I’m still being corrupted. You said that you could help.” Your voice comes out whinier than intended but you don’t care. 

“I can help, my child. Why don’t you come back over here?”

This time, you need no extra convincing. You slide into her booth, sinking down to your knees already. You hear a sharp intake of air from her and she reaches out to brush your hair out of her face. 

“What do you want?” She asks and your eyes are pleading as they look up at her from the floor. 

“I want you to cleanse me of these thoughts,” you beg. This is a sin, you know that, and you don’t want to go to Hell. You’ll do anything to stop this heat inside you. 

Father Agatha tilts her head to the side to think about what she can do. “I don’t know if I can cleanse them entirely,” she says finally and you want to cry. “But I can quench them for now.” 

“How?” You ask, barely above a whisper. 

You hold your breath when she begins to pull up her robes again and reaches down to pull something out from the fabric between her legs. Your mouth falls open. You’re not sure what it is, but it’s long, thick, and purple. She grabs ahold of the base close to her skin and shakes it a little. 

“What is that?” It both terrifies you and makes the throbbing inside you a little worse. 

“Have you ever seen a penis?” She asks bluntly and your ears burn. 

“Of course not! I’m not married! But that’s not–” You know that she doesn’t have one, you saw her pussy last time. And you at least know that they’re not purple. 

She chuckles and spits down onto the thing, using her hand to spread the saliva over it. Your body betrays you and your breathing quickens. What is happening to you?

“No, this isn’t a penis,” she agrees. “It’s a special toy that has been blessed by God. If you orgasm around this, it will stop those thoughts.” 

You bite your lip, staring at the toy. “How is it supposed to fit inside me? It’s so big.” Her grin grows wider if possible. 

“We’ll make it fit,” she promises but it does little to quell the fear. 

“Will it hurt?” You ask timidly. 

Father Agatha tilts her from side to side. “Maybe a little. You’ll just have to get yourself ready.” Before you can ask how, she answers. “It will help if you stretch yourself out on your fingers first.”

Your mouth drops open. Last time was the first time you’d ever touched down there and you had just rubbed your clit over your underwear. The past three days, you had only also done that and tried to move against your pillow, no skin-on-skin contact. And now she wants you to put a finger inside?

“Is that even allowed?” You ask hushedly. “Isn’t that a sin?” 

She finally stops stroking the toy and reaches the hand out to cup your cheek. You can feel the stickiness on her palm and the sudden urge to lick it flits through your mind. 

You seriously need help. 

“Why don’t you let me do it, then? My hands are tools of the Lord. Nothing more holier. Let me help you.” 

You nod slowly and she smirks, patting her thighs. You get up from your knees, wincing at the soreness, and sit on her lap again, the ache inside you only growing worse from being this close. 

The toy is laying against your stomach and it’s a soft, spongy texture. It feels weird but you can’t help but imagine what it’ll be like inside you. 

Father Agatha’s hand slides under the skirt you’re wearing to touch you over your underwear and your hips jump. It’s a very different feeling than your own. 

She groans as she moves her fingers up and down, pressing the fabric against you, and you can feel how soaked it is. 

“Father,” you gasp out when she rubs at your clit. The sensation is so very new and feels so very good. You want her to keep doing it. 

“You’re such a special girl,” Father Agatha coos. “So pure, so innocent. Such a devout follower.”

You wonder if this is how the Virgin Mary felt when the angel came down to tell her that God had hand picked her. 

Or how Jesus felt when he was tempted by the Devil in the desert during those forty days. 

She slides your underwear to the side and you think you’ve died and gone to heaven when her bare hand cups you. 

Your head falls back and you let out a long moan. She traces up and down, collecting your wetness, and swirling it against your clit. You clutch onto her shoulders like she's a lifeline. 

You can’t believe you’ve never done this before. 

“Feels good, angel?” She asks, her voice husky. You nod desperately, but tense when she probes a fingertip at your hole. “Just relax.” 

You try to and you take a deep breath, but when she begins to push in, you clench so tightly you’re worried it’s going to hurt her finger. 

“It’s okay,” she coaxes, thumb rubbing your clit again. That helps you loosen up, but she doesn’t move, letting you adjust. “Your tiny little pussy has never had anything in it. But we’ll get there.” 

You bite your lip and give her the go ahead. She moves an inch and you gasp. You can’t seem to let go and unwind and she frowns. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, face turning red with humiliation. 

She tuts sotfly. “It’s okay, angel. I know what it must feel like. Why don’t you say one of your prayers? It will help take your mind off this.”

You nod, meeting her eyes that look like darkness has swallowed them whole. “Our Father, who art in heaven-” 

She pushes the rest of her finger inside you and you momentarily lose the ability to speak. 

The intrusion is not unwelcome and she experimentally curls her finger, tapping onto something inside of you that makes you whimper. She smirks wickedly and does it again. 

Your hips roll. 

“Father,” you moan, and when she keeps doing it and rubs at your clit, your entire body spasms. 

“Keep going, angel,” she urges. 

It takes a lot of effort to regain your thoughts. “Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done-” She waits for you to get a few lines out before moving all the way back out and pushing back in. 

You squeal and grab onto her tighter. She gives you a look and you know what it means. She waits until you start talking again to begin moving faster. 

“On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” 

Father Agatha pulls out of you and you groan at the emptiness but you’re quickly even more full when she pushes two fingers in. 

Your head drops forward onto her shoulder and you mewl loudly. 

“Too much, Father,” you cry. She rubs your clit frantically and doesn’t move until you slowly begin to loosen around her. Once you adjust, it feels even better and when she curls them to touch that special spot and –

– God. 

You don’t even feel bad about using the Lord’s name in vain. 

“So perfect, your tiny pussy feels so good around my fingers,” Father Agatha pants. “Never felt anything so tight. Can’t wait to fill you up with my big cock, watch you stretch around it.” 

Her filthy words make you flush but the heat inside you gets worse. Why do you find that so hot?

“Lead us not into temptation,” you start again, the irony not lost on you. It seems the priest also gets it because she twists her fingers with an evil smirk and it makes you whimper. You can feel yourself on that ledge you were on last time, the one that is an all-consuming wave of pleasure, and you’re just about to tip over. “And deliver us from evil.” 

“Amen,” Father Agatha finishes the prayer for you, swiping roughly at your clit and thrusting deeply. 

You orgasm all over her fingers and it feels even more intense than the last time. She gently keeps moving her fingers while you come down from your high and you rest your forehead against hers. Instead of feeling satisfied when she pulls them out, you only feel more empty and needy.

“Do you think you’re ready to take my special toy, angel?” She asks, moving her hand that’s wet with you up and down. You gulp and look at it. “It will feel so good, I promise.” 

“Okay,” you whisper and her smirk makes you feel things. She helps you hold yourself up while she positions the tip at your entrance after rubbing it through your folds a few times. You slide down the tiniest bit and you keen. 

If you thought her fingers were a tight fit, this is something entirely new. Father Agatha whispers sweet nothings, circling your clit again to make you less tense, and she slowly helps guide you down. 

“Oh, my God,” you moan. She is so big inside you and it’s stretching you out more than you thought possible. 

“Just Father Agatha is fine,” she remarks coyly, eyes never moving away from watching you take her in. “Angel, you’re so perfect, you’re taking my big cock so well in your tiny pussy. You look so delicious wrapped around me like that.” 

Hearing her talk about the toy like it’s actually part of her makes you grow even hotter and you finally make it to the bottom, the entire thing inside you. 

You feel so full; you think you can feel her in your ribcage. 

“Can I move?” She asks and you nod shakily. Her hands help you bounce up and down, just little movements at first, but gradually turning into sliding you to the top and then back to bottoming out. 

The burn inside you gives way to a wonderful feeling and you can feel her dragging the toy, her cock, against every ridge and groove inside you. 

Father Agatha groans when you start to take the initiative and ride without so much of her help. You’re chasing the pleasure that’s building up inside you and it’s so much better than anything you’d had before. 

“Look at you, angel, taking my big cock so well in your tiny pussy. If you weren’t such a good girl, I would’ve assumed you’ve done this before. But you’re so perfect and pure and innocent and God’s gift to the world,” she says, voice rough. “Do you like my cock?” 

You nod harder than you ever have in your life. “Feels so good, Father. This can’t be a sin.” 

Father Agatha shakes her head. “It’s not, angel. Anytime you feel that heat inside you and you think those dirty thoughts, come to me and I’ll help you. It’s not a sin if you’re with a priest.” 

She begins slamming her hips up into you as you drive down to meet her thrusts. She rubs your clit even harder now and you completely convulse all over the toy, the pleasure crashing through you so much more greatly than even before, clenched around her fingers. 

You feel like King Solomon, chasing after true gratification, but unlike him whose search is futile, you’ve found it in the arms of a priest. 

You slump against her, who softly strokes your back while you regain your strength. 

“How do you feel now?” She asks. “Are those dirty thoughts you were having gone?” 

You shift and wince at the toy still inside you. She lifts you up so it can slip out. You feel thoroughly ruined and you just want to take a nap. No more heat in you at all. “Yes, they are, Father. Thank you.” 

She pats your thighs and you stand up, blood rushing back to your stiff legs. 

“Glad I could help, child. It’s my duty as a priest to help you strengthen your relationship with God, and if this is what it takes with you, I’m more than willing to do it whenever you need.”

You run a hand through your hair and think about it. “We might need to do this a few more times,” you admit. You still don’t know how to take care of the problem yourself, and like she said, it’s okay if it’s with a priest. 

She smirks like the Devil incarnate. “I look forward to it.” 

[buttercandy16]

Pretty When You Sleep — W.M

——

Pairing: Dark!WandaMaximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nights are lot more dangerous than you think.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, drugging, blood, murder, stalking, mentions of a knives, strap-on.

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: This is a very dark and heavy fic, if you find any of the warnings triggering, please do not read. Happy Halloween! 18+ only. Men dni.

Beta read by @poulengp <3

——

It started off small.

All the shoes you left in a mess by the door now neatly stacked up, laces undone, just so they were easier to slip on. The lamp you'd accidently leave on before falling asleep, being off when you woke up in the morning. Clothes that were dumped on the floor, suddenly folded up in your drawer.

Then it got weirder.

Your purse being filled with fifty dollar bills on the mornings you worried you wouldn't have enough to afford your groceries. Some of your clothes, specifically underwear, going missing. Your phone being in the other room when you woke up. Waking up with different pyjama bottoms on.

As it got worse, you found yourself confiding in your friend. Well, a little more than a friend, but the two of you had never labelled it. The two of you sat in the corner of a local cafe, coffee warming up your hands. It was a cool autumn day, causing you to wrap up in a scarf and fluffy coat. This crimson coloured scarf had suddenly appeared in your closet, right when you needed it. It should have been wrong to wear something that had inexplicably appeared in your home, but it was cold, and what else were you to do?

"It's just getting weird. Even the leftovers in my fridge that were about to be mouldy are being thrown away. I see it in my garbage bag. And you know me, I don't even throw it out until it's literally gone blue."

Erin laughed, "You're quite careless. And disgusting." Yes, you were, but that wasn't the point!

"Shush. I'm actually worried here. I'm starting to think.. no.. no one can be breaking into my apartment every night, I'd wake up and hear them. God, I think I'm going mad." You mumbled, hand gripping tightly around the coffee mug. It reminded you of the time you'd left a cold cup of tea on the side, and had fallen asleep. When you woke up an hour later, the cup was hot, as if it had just been warmed up again.

"You've added another lock to your door, you don't even have a spare key for it. It's impossible for someone to break in. And you live on the top floor. Honey, you've been exhausted recently, it's not uncommon for people to get forgetful. You probably did those things while sleepy." Erin reassured you, placing a hand over yours.

You sighed deeply, downing the last drops of drink you had left, Erin doing the same. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just.. strange."

—

As you entered your apartment late at night, instead of throwing your keys carelessly on a table, you decided to tuck them in the nightstand by your bed. Just to be safe, even if it was just for your own peace of mind. You jumped into the shower, cracking open the window so the steam could be let out. You lived on the top floor of your block, no one could look in, which was always a good thing because your bathroom got very steamy, recently the ceiling paper even curling at the side from the condensation. Making a mental note to look up the prices for someone to redecorate.

You really needed a shower today, you and Erin had gotten a little.. excited earlier, and it always made you cringe not showering before bed after an evening of sex. Under the warm water, you hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all day. It was a song you didn't even recognise, in fact you weren't even sure you'd heard it before. All you knew was that it was in a different language, and it was comforting.

Once clean, you felt overwhelmingly tired, it had been a long day, so you decided to go straight to bed after having your usual cup of camomile tea, with two spoons of sugar. Then you got into bed. Before you could doze off though, you decided to read for a bit, opening up your latest novel of your favourite author. It can't have been too exciting though, because you fell asleep before the first chapter was over.

When dawn broke, the early sun breaking through cracks in your window, you stirred, blinking a few times. Something felt strange, like every morning for the past few months. You felt a stickiness between your thighs, and your pyjama bottoms were definitely not the ones you fell asleep in. You stared down at the light blue shorts, eyebrows furrowed. Were you a sleepwalker? No, your past roommates would have told you. Maybe you'd had a really good dream and just forgotten it? Fuck, this was weird.

Deciding there was nothing you could really do about the situation, you got up, opting to take another shower to get rid of the icky feeling.

It was when you were munching on your chocolate flavoured cereal that you heard your phone ping. Automatically, you put your spoon down, picking up the device you so heavily relied upon. It was a text from an unknown number, causing you to frown. Opening it, you saw there was a picture attached to the text. And when you examined it, your blood ran cold.

It was a picture of you, naked in bed. Your body spread out, intimate area completely exposed.

"What the fuck?" You whispered, reading what had come with it.

Unknown number: Three orgasms in one night, that's your record so far.

You didn't know what to think— someone had.. touched you while you were asleep? They broke in and did this to you? You shivered in fear, your shaky hands typing out a response before you could even think about what the police would say if you went to them; to not engage with a dangerous person.

You: Who the fuck is this?

There was no reply. Not when you left for work, not when you arrived home in the evening.

You were rigid with fear. A sensible person would have called the police, or at least called someone like Erin, asked to stay over, but you just couldn't. Every time you were about to dial a number, something inside you made you stop. You couldn't explain it.

So here you were, sat bolt upright on your couch. It was around eleven, and your eyes were growing heavy. Your camomile tea mug now empty, you blinked a few times, just aching to lay down and rest. No, you had to stay up! You had to see who had been breaking into your home. But.. you were so tired, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over you. Your eyes closed slowly, slumping down and falling into a deep sleep.

—

The next morning the first thing you did was check your phone, seeing if the stranger had replied, and they had. Two images attached to a message. And what you saw horrified you. The first picture, one of you in bed, with a.. strap-on, buried inside you. It made you feel sick, that someone had done this to you unwillingly. Though the expression on your face, clearly asleep but pleasure in your features. You could even see your own arousal dripping down the toy.

The second image quite literally made you throw up, You ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl as the picture burned in your mind. It had been someone laying on a floor, covered in blood, a knife wedged in their chest.

You had to go to the police. There was no choice now. For some reason, you looked back at the picture, and your mouth dropped open. That someone was a familiar.

It was Erin.

You just knew, it was her jacket, her brown eyes wide open in fear, her blue dyed hair drenched in her own blood. It caused you to throw up again.

—

"I—I think my best friend has been murdered."

You whispered in a shaky voice to a police officer who had sat you down in a cold grey room. After seeing what you'd been sent, not even reading the message that had come with it, you rushed down to the local police station, practically screaming for someone to talk to.

"Why do you suspect this?" He asked in a gruff voice. He didn't seem to be all that serious about the situation, upsetting you even further.

"I've got pictures! And texts!" Your fingers fumbled around your pocket to retrieve your phone, opening your messages app.

It wasn't there.

"So?" The officer prompted, clearly unimpressed.

"It was.. it was right here.." You mumbled, opening every contact you had in case it had magically gotten messed up.

But no, the messages had vanished.

"Look, lady, I think you should go home and get some rest. You look tired. Our minds make things up when we're lacking sleep."

"But—"

"Listen, if something happens, come back in. But for now, you're making empty claims."

Hanging your head down dejectedly, you fought back tears. You knew Erin was dead. You just knew it.

—

Tonight you weren't going to fall asleep. Just to make sure, you downed two mugs of strong coffee instead of your tea. You hated it, but you couldn't risk falling asleep. The intruder— the murderer, was going to break in, you were sure.

The time ticked on. Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock..

Until your phone buzzed. Dread washed over you. There was no one else who would be making your phone light up at this time of night.

Unknown number: How am I meant to enjoy you when you don't have your tea? You look so pretty when you sleep.

This confused you. Why would they be concerned about what beverage you were drinking? You typed out a response quickly.

You: I'm not scared of you.

It was a stupid thing to say, you knew that really. But the only thing you could think of was to pretend you weren't scared. Maybe that would make them bored and leave you alone. All you could think about what Erin's lifeless body. The blood, god.. all that blood..

Unknown number: See you soon, sweetheart.

Your eyes widened in horror; what the fuck did that mean? This person was on their way? Sickness rose up in your throat, and you ran to your kitchen, grabbing the first sharp object you could find— a medium sized kitchen knife. You clutched it to your chest, running to your bedroom, locking the door and panting heavily. You considered pushing some furniture against the door, but you knew you needed to call the police. Then you realised you'd left your phone in the kitchen.

Fuck! Fuck!

You had put yourself in the worst position possible. But before you could panic over that, you felt a gust of cold air. You frowned, turning around to see the window wide open. You definitely hadn't left it like that before, but it was also impossible for anyone else to have opened it. You lived on the top floor for Christ's sake!

Not knowing what to do first; close the window, get your phone, block the door, or just curl up in a ball and hope it would all just go away. You opted for grabbing your phone. If you could call the police, they'd be on their way, hopefully before your stalker could arrive.

Cautiously unlocking the bedroom door, you stepped out into the hallway. The lights that had previously been on, were off, leaving the whole apartment pitch black apart from the moon shining through the windows and the bedroom light.

Your steps were slow, ears straining to hear anything, but there was silence. The only sound heard was the hammering of your heart in your chest.

Until the silence was broken.

"Seeing you awake is strange. But exciting nonetheless."

The voice came from right behind you. Spinning around in horror, you finally came face to face with the person who had been tormenting you.

"Tormenting? That's a bit harsh, sweetheart."

The woman was dressed in all black, a hood covering most of her face. Light from the bedroom accentuated her figure, but more importantly, the silhouette of a knife and a cloth in her hands.

"W—who are you?" It was an attempt at a shout, maybe to attract the attention of the apartment below you, but your voice could barely manage a squeak.

"I've told you before, baby. You're a forgetful thing when you're asleep, mhm?" She stepped forward, causing you to take a step back.

"You've been taking advantage of me! You've been breaking into my home! You killed.. Erin!" You whispered, backing up against the wall. You had no where to go. You were most likely to die, just like Erin.

"Sweet girl, I'm not going to kill you. I could never hurt you." The woman's voice was almost softer as she approached you, only two feet away now. Was she reading your mind?

"But you killed my friend." The images of Erin's body filled your mind, and how you were going to end up just like her.

"Your 'friend'? Please, she was begging for her own life, not for you to be safe." She let out a cold laugh. "It was so satisfying, the sound of my blade tearing through her flesh and tissue." It almost sounded like she'd gotten pleasure from it

Finally, you got some sense and energy into you as she expressed her fucked up feelings. You let out a shattering scream, "HELP! HELP!"

The woman sighed in disappointment. It took her less than a second to raise the cloth up to your face, covering your nose and mouth. The smell of chemicals was overwhelming. You fought against it, until you couldn't anymore. Body falling limp to the ground.

—

The noise that woke you up was the sound of a squeaking. Your eyes wouldn't open, wondering what was going on. You then felt something inside you, a pressure building up in your lower stomach. What—

Finally, your vision became clearer. You blinked a few times, looking around you. The scene became pretty clear.

The woman was in between your legs, a strap-on buried inside you, just like that photo. The squeaking was the bed as she thrusted into you.

You should have screamed, but the pressure in your abdomen was too intense. You let out a whine, trying to move your tired body, but it was useless. You didn't even want to stop it, it felt too.. good.

"You're awake." She stated, a slight pant in her voice. Her hood was down now, revealing her auburn wavy hair, pale skin and deep green eyes.

"Let me.." You trailed off, because you didn't know whether to say 'go' or 'come'.

She let out a chuckle, holding your hips firmly as she thrusted into you. The feeling was delicious. Something about the fact your body was sleepy, heavy, while being fucked by a woman so dangerous..

No! Why are you thinking like this? It almost felt like your thoughts weren't yours anymore. Were you going insane?

The woman grunted, wet noises filling the room, making it very apparent that your body did not hate this at all. "You can come for me, it'll be your third."

Your third? You couldn't even bring yourself to ask about it, your body just trembled, a pending orgasm taking over, making you whimper in delight.

"Fuck!"

Tears filled your eyes from the sheer pleasure, and the fact that you should have hated this. You were filled with so much shame and guilt. This was the person who had killed your best friend, who'd stripped you of your dignity.

"Shh, darling, you don't have to feel guilty. You're allowed to feel pleasure. And your friend, well, she was just in the way."

Her twisted words made you feel sick again, but you didn't have time to dwell on that because the woman's hand suddenly reached down and started to circle your clit while simultaneously thrusting into you. A loud groan escaped your throat, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head.

"You're going to beat your record, four times will be an achievement." Her accented voice was hot and heavy, turning you on even more.

"I— mhm!" You tried to speak, but you didn't know what to say.

"Let go, detka, show me how good I make you feel." She gripped your waist with her spare hand, red manicured nails digging into your skin.

Without warning, you came hard, spilling all over the strap. The woman moaned, slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling out, leaving you unbearably empty. She slipped the strap off and went to straddle you, leaning her head down to kiss your neck. You felt utter bliss, forgetting how incredibly fucked up and sick this was.

"Seeing as this is the first time we've met while you've been conscious, I'll introduce myself. I'm Wanda." She giggled, as if nothing had just happened, and had been happening for months. Your head spun, recognising that name somehow, as if it had been spoken in your dreams.

"Relax now, sweet thing. I'll be here when you wake up." Wanda said softly, lying beside you, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. Her arm laid loosely across your stomach, hearing her breathing slow down to something calmer than before.

You didn't say anything, too busy feeling a wave of satisfaction, as awful as that sounded. It was like your mind was used to this, and that it was something you'd always wanted.

The last thing you remembered was a soft lullaby, in a language you didn't recognise. You'd heard it before, in your dreams. And it brought you great comfort.

——

Tags: @rezwrites @hatdog96 @ion-news @esposadejoyhuerta @moimmmm @grimlygoblin @lizziesflower @yandereloverb312 @beggingonmykneesforher

——

[buttercandy16]

If your requests are still open could you do jealous fem! Reader x Agatha?? With there still being an age gap where reader is in her mid 20s maybe reader is her grad student or assistant? Honestly you could do whatever and I’d be thrilled. But Agatha is hit on by a colleague in front of reader at some kind of work/ school event and Agatha indulges the colleague because she sees the jealousy and Agatha is so surprised that reader takes control to show her that she’s just as much reader’s as reader is hers that Agatha lets her. Only for Agatha to return the favor so sweetly and tenderly because she’s never been so thoroughly loved and claimed before? So super hot sex with fluffy feelings at the end? If your requests are closed I totally get it! ❤️

Hope you enjoy!

A lesson in jealousy (Part 2)

Agatha notices that you get jealous when she's talking with a coworker at a Christmas party and uses it to her advantage

Word count: 2600

Warnings: oral, fingering, smut, fluff, jealousy, reader tops Agatha finally, semi-public sex

It hasn’t even been ten minutes at the History department’s Christmas party and you’re already bored out of your mind. 

You had agreed to “accompany” Agatha (even though you had to pretend to be nothing more than her student) because you were trying to make a point about how you do things for her but she doesn’t do anything that you want to do. 

And now you are sorely paying for it. 

Since your whole relationship has to be kept under wraps, you can’t really talk to her that much so you’re forced to walk around the room, pretending like you’re interested in mingling. 

You can still feel her eyes on you though. You make polite chatter with some old classmates and professors, stuff some appetizers into your mouth, and try to think of a good enough reason to go stand next to Agatha the rest of the night. 

But it seems like every time you look over at her, she’s occupied in a conversation with someone else and you know she would be furious if you interrupted her because your brain is slowly turning to mush. You’re seriously considering pretending that you threw up so you can go home, but to your surprise, Agatha beckons you with her finger the next time you glance her way. 

You walk as fast as you can to the corner where she’s moved to and her light touch to your arm makes you want more. 

“How’s it going, baby?” She asks, amusement dripping from her tone like she knows how much you want to leave. 

You shrug nonchalantly. “Pretty good, you know. Catching up with some friends, eating some food, drinking some wine. But you look like you’re having an awful time, do you want to leave yet?” You try not to sound too eager with your quip and she smirks. 

“Aw, my poor pet wants to go home?” 

You hate how much that turns you on but you reluctantly nod. “Can we please leave soon?” Your voice creeps an octave higher toward the end of your plea. 

“Shh,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “If you can behave for ten more minutes, we can leave and I’ll give you a reward.” 

Your eyebrow raises. “A reward?” 

She nods slyly and your mind takes off with that, imagining all of the things she could do. 

“Okay,” you breathe and she smiles triumphantly. Just as you’re about to ask for some details to tide you over, a younger (younger than Agatha, at least) woman walks over holding two drinks, hips swaying. She’s tall and slender, with dark hair and hazel eyes, and she’s an attractive lady. 

“Agatha,” she says pleasantly, holding out one of the glasses. She doesn’t even look at you. 

“Rio,” your girlfriend replies. She accepts the drink a few seconds later. Agatha’s eyes flick to yours and then back to the other woman. 

“Don’t you look lovely tonight? Is this a new dress?” You have to bite your tongue when Rio stretches out her fingers and strokes the fabric on Agatha’s waist. 

“Couldn’t wear something old to the best party of the year,” Agatha answers dryly. Rio rakes her eyes up and down her body so obviously and you scoff involuntarily. 

Both women look at you, Rio like she’s seeing you for the first time. Agatha has a glint in her eyes but you can’t tell what it is. 

“Rio, this is y/n. I taught her two years ago. One of my best students. Rio teaches Ecological History.” 

You nod, not even pretending to be interested in the introduction. Rio also looks like she doesn’t care and she turns back to Agatha.��

“Anyways, what are you doing all the way over here? Why don’t you come over to where the real party is?” Rio asks and leans in close so she can whisper something in Agatha’s ear, who laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. 

You dig your nails into your palms so hard that your knuckles turn white. You wait for Agatha to say something along the lines of getting ready to leave, but much to your chagrin, she doesn't. 

“Oh, well I couldn’t miss that,” Agatha says, excitement in her voice. Your jaw drops as she breezes right past you with Rio, not even sparing you a second glance. You follow like you’re in a trance and watch the esteemed professors of Westview University playing cup pong. With water, of course, and they’re not drinking it. 

Once the men playing currently finish, Rio pulls Agatha up to the table and they start playing against the winners from the previous game. You can almost feel your blood boiling at how touchy Rio is being, and how Agatha doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

You end up staying at the party until the end, because Agatha has clearly forgotten about you and you’re sure as hell not leaving her alone with Rio, who trails after her like a lost puppy. 

A lost puppy you’d like to kick. 

Finally, everyone starts to leave and you awkwardly linger by the door while you wait for Agatha. The house of the party is one of the tenured professors on campus, so you could walk to your dorm, but you want to have a word with your girlfriend. 

Your girlfriend, who is still talking to Rio. They’re laughing and walking over to the door, arms brushing against each other and you see red. 

“Professor Harkness,” you cut in, having had enough. Agatha looks at you for the first time in almost an hour, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

She raises an eyebrow knowingly and turns back to her new best friend. “I’ll see you after the break. Happy holidays,” she says to Rio, who returns the sentiment and leaves. 

You finally feel like you can breathe again. 

“What’s up?” Agatha asks, moving to hold the door open for you so you can step outside. And that sets you off. 

“‘What’s up?’ Maybe if you had bothered to even talk to me at the party you would know. Oh, wait! That’s right. You were too busy flirting with your co-worker.” 

Agatha chuckles and it only makes you more mad. You stomp off in the direction of her car in the parking lot and you get great satisfaction from hearing her increased footsteps as she tries to catch up to you. 

It’s late enough that no other cars are in the lot and she parked next to some trees and there’s enough shadows to hide you from everyone. 

Agatha calls your name but you ignore her, instead opting to keep walking until you’re on the other side of the car by the trees. 

“What are you doing?” She huffs, winded, and she lets out a gasp when you push her against her car. Her hands come up to touch you but you slap them away. 

“No touching,” you say, voice low. She looks taken-aback, but also kind of turned on. 

Good. 

“You know,” you ponder. “You spend a lot of time making sure I know who I belong to, but clearly not enough time remembering who you belong to.”

She raises an eyebrow and leans in close enough to where your lips are almost touching. “Well then, baby girl, why don’t you remind me?” 

Your mouth is on hers the instant she finishes her sentence. Usually, she dominates the kiss but this time you don’t give her a chance to take control. Her hot tongue moves against yours and your teeth click but you lean into her even more, hands coming up to clasp her cheeks. 

You feel the vibrations from her moan reverberate inside your mouth and it only stokes the fire inside of you. You trail one of your hands down so you can move inside the blazer Agatha is wearing and squeeze her breast through her skirt. You thumb at her nipple and she makes a sound that is swallowed up by you. 

“Please, baby,” she whispers when you finally break apart for air. You don’t break eye contact as your hand drops lower to play with the waistband of her perfectly-tailored pants. 

“You want me to fuck you right here against your car in the school parking lot?” 

“Do you really think you have it in you?” She taunts and your eyes flash, fingers dipping below and into her underwear. Her knees buckle ever the slightest and you grin smugly. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” you say, experimentally moving your fingers up and down her slit. She groans. “Is this for me, or for Rio?” When you say the other woman’s name, you give her clit a hard swipe and Agatha’s head falls back. “Cause it really seems like the two of you were hitting it off, so I can go give her a call and she can come and finish the job if you’d like.” 

Agatha furiously shakes her head. “It’s all for you, baby.” Her hips start to grind, wanting more from you. “Please, fuck me.” 

It’s not often that you can make Agatha Harkness herself beg. And it makes you really fucking turned on. 

You position two fingers right at her opening and stand on your tiptoes so you can purr right in her ear: “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, sweetheart, only you,” she pants and her mouth drops open as you roughly thrust into her. You scrape your teeth against her collarbone and curl your fingers just the way she likes, palm bumping her clit with every push. Small moans are falling out of her every time and the feeling of her warm, wet walls around you is absolutely euphoric. 

“That’s right, Agatha,” you grunt, fucking into her even harder. You maneuver your thumb to rub at her clit so it gets more attention. She clenches on your fingers but you keep moving them quickly. “You’re mine. You’re all mine and Rio or anyone else can’t have you. You. Belong. To. Me.” You punctuate those words with particularly hard thrusts and you can feel Agatha getting closer, whether it’s from your fingers, your words, or the environment where you’re having sex. 

You assume it’s a mix of all three. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” You say, feeling the rhythm of her hips getting sloppier and her throbbing around you. 

“Yes, baby, going to cum all for you,” she moans and wraps her arm around your neck to kiss you. You instantly kiss back, even though you told her not to touch, and she cums all over your hand, her teeth sinking into your lip at the pleasure she feels. 

You slow down your pace as she comes down from her high and when she slumps against the car, you pull your fingers out entirely and hold them up to her. She gives you a wicked smirk and takes them into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down and flicking her tongue around you. 

It feels like there’s a wire running straight from your fingers to your cunt. Your jaw drops and you just stare at her like she hung the moon in the sky. 

She finally lets your fingers go with a wet pop and gives you a messy kiss so you can taste her too. 

Agatha pulls away quickly and rests her head on yours with a laugh. “Sweetheart, if I had known that this is what happens when you get jealous, I would’ve been messing with you from the very beginning.” 

“Wait, what? You were just–” You trail off, your brain scrambling to connect the dots. 

She laughs. “Of course, baby. You think I was actually flirting with Rio? I saw how mad you were getting when she first came over and I wanted to see what would happen. I had no clue you’d be so hot when you’re in control.” 

You’re flustered beyond words at the moment and she draws you in for a big hug. 

“I’m all yours, baby. Let me show you?” 

Her question confuses you a little – you’re not really sure what she’s asking – but you nod anyway. You trust her with your life. She steps away and opens the door to the backseat and motions for you to get in. 

You obey and climb all the way to the other side and you’re only more bewildered when she gets in and shuts the door behind you. Before you can ask, though, she grabs your hips and angles you so that you’re leaning against the car door, one leg off the seats and the other heel resting over the top of them. You’re spread open with Agatha between you and her hands stroke your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up further each time. You feel a tug in your gut and your hips jump at her featherlight touch. 

“You did so well for me, baby,” she says softly, rubbing her fingers up and down your clothed slit, pushing into your hole ever so slightly. Your underwear is so wet and you can smell it. “I completely and wholeheartedly belong to you. I’m all yours and I love you so much, sweetheart.” 

She moves your underwear to the side and softly drags her tongue through your folds and your back arches off the car door. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with Agatha’s head between your legs, you couldn’t care less.

“Agatha,” you groan, grinding on her face. You’re already so close from making her cum and you know it won’t take long for you. Her tongue swirls around your clit and she gently sucks it between her lips. You keen and your hand finds its way down to her hair to hold her in place. “You feel so good.” 

“You make me feel so good, baby, I’m just returning the favor,” she murmurs against your cunt and the vibrations have your head falling back against the window. “You’re so fucking perfect, make me feel so loved, you’re so hot when you’re claiming me.” It’s like she’s talking to herself and you can barely discern what she’s saying, but you get the point. 

“Agatha, baby, please, gonna cum,” you chant, hips rolling faster against her mouth. You can feel the tension building up in your body in every crack and crevice. Seeing the older woman so soft like this is affecting you more than you thought it would. 

“Cum for me, baby,” she says, sucking hard on your clit one last time and the dam inside you breaks and pleasure floods through you. You say her name like it’s a prayer as you cum all over her mouth. She licks you softly until you’re pulling her off her and then she kisses you deeply. “I’m yours, but you’re all mine, too,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“All yours, baby. As if I could ever belong to anyone else,” you reply happily, squirming a bit at the tenderness. 

She smiles genuinely and you think, not for the first time, how lucky you are that someone as perfect as her noticed you. “I love you, baby. So much.” 

“I love you, too, Aggie. So much.” 

She helps you get out of the car and into the passenger seat and then takes you back to her house, never letting go of your hand the whole way there. 

[buttercandy16]

Sub! Claire's headcanons

Warnings: smut, pet names, degrading, oral, strap-ons, voyeurism, Mommy kink, throat fucking.Smut so 18+

A/N: went to see glass onion and the thots just came rolling in so bazinga I give you this

Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!!! Happy Reading!

She's a stressed-out mom (divorced) with a demanding job, of course, she'd want to give up control somewhere.

You met her at the end of your last year at college

she had come to your school as a means to get the word out and you had some time to kill in between classes

Claire was running for governor at the time and you had known her from seeing her at the local bar with her friends.

Her inviting you to her place when she has the house to herself for drinks

ends with you topping her

Claire being a good little dove for her and letting you take control sexually

Loves being called dove, kitten, or some degrading names if she's in the mood for that.

Sending her pictures of you working out to tease her

Claire being a massive tease when the both of you are not together but is good

" Liking what you seeing Daddy?"

Daddy or Ma'am is what she'll call you, depending on the mood

Loves when you fuck her throat with your fingers, strap, and a dildo, she loves it.

She loves giving head in your office <3

Going to visit her at her office only to fuck her over the desk if she's stressed.

" Look at you being such a good slut for me, I should fuck you like this more often"

One time getting caught by her campaign manager but you don't stop because she always had a thing for Claire

Fucking her from behind, so she can see Jen who's close to going feral at the sight.

When at home, she'll make sure to wear simple clothes for easy access

Claire cockwarming you on the couch.

It makes her feel so close to you

A soft moment with her during sex would be praising her while your fingering her from behind

" Such a pretty dove taking all my fingers, I could stay like this all day if I could

Aftercare with Claire is very soft

Calling her your Claire bear when she blissed is out

[buttercandy16]

if your still doing the prompt thing how about 17, 23, 25, 29 with power!bottom claire being stressed and intern!reader offering to help but don't have any sexual experience so claire teaches them

Thank you so much for sending this in! I'm so sorry it took so long to complete, life got very hectic, but I have it for you now! I hope I've done this request justice <3

Afterhours

Ship: Claire Debella x Reader

Summary: When you, an intern working at the governor's office, offer to stay with the governor while she works late into the night, you find yourself in a situation you have only ever fantasized of.

Word Count: 5.8k

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings: smut, hints at dark!Claire, pet-names, praise kink, degradation kink, fingering, oral, first time, virgin reader, legal age gap, power imbalance, mommy kink, begging, implied subspace

It's an open secret at the office that Governor Debella is paranoid.

If the extreme vetting process to just simply become an intern is anything to go by, the woman could use some relaxation time.

After all, a single intern hardly would have the ability to take down the political powerhouse that Governor Debella is.

Or, that's what you think anyhow.

You knew you had been lucky to land the job, the experience and credentials that will pad up your resume and qualifications that will come from working here, but some days, all you can think about is how stressed the top boss constantly is.

Being a people pleaser, being a people fixer, you started to stay late, wanting to get as much work done as possible.

Sure, you're only a low level entry personnel, but what you do helps free up time for those above you to focus on more important things.

After a few weeks of being the last one in the office, Governor Debella notices.

“Don't you have someone to get home to? A boyfriend, or a pet, or something?”

You nearly topple back in your seat, startled by your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss (seriously there's a chain of command here, and you're merely a bottom feeder) not having heard her approach from behind.

“Governor!” You gasp, trying to recover. “Uh- I don't- I live with a few roommates, but they never care if I'm there or not. We're all very busy.”

Governor Debella frowns, and crosses her arms.

“There's no reason for you to be staying so late. You're an intern. You don't get paid overtime.”

You shrug.

“I don't have much else to do. Call it volunteer hours.”

(And god, doesn't that sound pathetic, especially because it's true.)

Her frown deepens.

“It's illegal for you to stay and work without pay.”

“Are you telling me I need to start going home at quitting time?”

The words spill from your mouth before you can think them through.

There's a moment of silence, and for a second you could swear it's hesitation on Governor Debella’s face.

“No.” She says, after a beat too long.

There's another, much longer silence.

You hate the quiet, and you find yourself breaking it.

“Then, er, what do you want me to do?”

Governor Debella blinks, and it draws your attention to the dark bags underneath her tired silvery-blue eyes, her makeup must having had rubbed off enough for it to begin to show.

You suddenly realize that perhaps it's just as exhausting for her as it is for everyone else to deal with her stress and paranoia.

“Would you like some company while you work?” You offer, a gentleness in your tone that you hadn't made the decision to speak with. “I could clock out and then just… Sit in your office with you if you'd like. I know how empty the building feels when everyone has left.”

This time, you know you haven't imagined her hesitation.

“I'm under contract, anyhow, Governor. If there's an additional paper you need me to sign, for security reasons, well.” You shrug. “What's one more?”

Again, there's silence, and then…

“Call me Claire, if you're really willing to sit and do nothing for hours besides for staring at my office walls.”

You're a bit shocked she's accepted your offer, and you stumble over your response.

“I- oh. Uh… Okay, um. Claire.”

The governor’s lips twitch, as if she's hiding a smile.

“But not tonight. I was just about to head out, which means you definitely should too. Security won't stick around once I leave, and the night shift…” Claire scowls. “I need to remember to get them replaced.”

It's the most you've ever heard her talk without snapping at someone to do something, let alone to you.

“Isn't that what your assistant is for? To remind you or to arrange that on your behalf?”

“That's only if I remember to tell him.” Claire mutters, before shaking her head. “Shut your computer down, you're not staying if I'm not in the building.”

She waits, hovering over your shoulder as you listen, and she walks with you out to the front of the building.

“You didn't park in the lot?” She asks, when you start to head towards home.

You can feel your face flush.

“I uh… I don't exactly get paid enough to own a car.” You refuse to look at the older woman. “Usually I just walk back.”

“It's two in the morning.” Claire sounds incredulous.

“I have pepper spray.”

“No. You're not walking home anymore.”

Claire has her arms crossed again, and an all too familiar glare is being leveled at you.

Before now, you always thought it was an angry expression.

You're beginning to wonder if maybe it's a stubborn one instead.

You sigh.

“Well short of driving me home yoursel-”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do.”

You barely manage to keep your jaw from dropping as Claire turns, clearly expecting you to follow her.

You suppose if you don't, you won't get too far before she can find you walking.

Or if not, possibly fire you over it tomorrow.

You push down your anxiety.

Don't worse case scenario. You scold yourself.

Claire drives a nondescript silver minivan.

“I have custody every other month.” She explains your unanswered question.

Ah, right.

Sometimes you forget that Claire just recently went through divorce, that she has two little ones to care for.

You remember how the media had dug it all up, how they aired her very private life for the public.

For a minivan, it's pretty nice.

When Claire turns on the car, a few loud notes play, before she quickly slams her palm against the knob that turns the car music on and off.

You raise an eyebrow, but don't say anything about it.

Instead you ask, “how are they?”

“My kids?”

She sounds mildly surprised as she reaches for her seatbelt.

“Yeah.”

You click yours in as she replies.

“They're… They're okay, all things considered.”

She puts the car in reverse, and you rattle off your address so she knows where she's headed.

Her nose wrinkles, and you're willing to bet it's because you don't live in a particularly nice area.

“You had to hire shadows- uh, bodyguards for them, right?”

Claire's hands clench the wheel, turning her knuckles white.

“I don't know of any other governor who's had their children's lives threatened.” She practically growls. “It scares them, but they won't say anything.”

“I'm sorry.” You murmur.

Claire glances at your pale face, and she takes a breath, forcing her body to relax.

“It's not your fault.” She shakes her head. “They're my kids. I'm their mother. I'm bound to be a bit overprotective.”

You choke back an unamused laugh.

“You would hope.”

Claire gives you a quick look, before returning her full attention to the road.

“What makes you say that?”

Oh crap, you didn't mean to invite Claire to dig into your life.

“Er… My parents… They weren't the best.” You mumble.

Claire frowns, eyes still looking forward.

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty-three.”

Claire hums.

“And how much are we paying you again?”

You rattle off the salary.

Claire hums again, and then there's silence for the rest of the short drive.

When she pulls up in front of your apartment, you say, “this is it.”

You undo your seatbelt and open the door, moving to leave.

“I'll have the paperwork ready for you on your desk by lunch.” Claire says.

At your confused look she huffs.

“For your extended night hours.”

Oh!

“Right, thank you. And thank you for the lift.”

Claire nods.

“If you don't have those papers past lunch break, hound my assistant. Don't take no for an answer, I might not remember to let Brian know to expect you to be a bother.”

The word bother echoes around your head, and you swallow down sudden anxiety.

“Sure thing. Good night, Governor-er- Claire.”

“Good night.” The other woman says, and you shut the passenger door firmly behind you as you sprint into your building.

—»•«—

You do have to bother her assistant the next day, and the stack of papers Claire presents you with is frankly ridiculous, but you pull out a notepad, read them through, and write bullet points of what you're agreeing to.

You sign, and initial, and date.

And then you binder clip it all together and drop it with a fairly solid thud onto Brian’s desk.

“Governor Debella will want these to be scanned and filed.” You say, even as an intern knowing the procedure for important documentation.

The man frowns at you.

“You're not done.” Brain says, and then seemingly out of nowhere, produces another stack of papers.

You groan, but your impatience quickly disappears as you stare at the sheet of paper, towards the end of the stack, that says how much of a raise you're receiving for signing on to be Claire’s personal intern.

Claire's personal intern.

$47,000

That was $15k more than what you had been making.

What the fuck.

You sign the papers, and don't say a word.

Slowly, as the day progresses, people trickle out, until you're the last one in the main office.

Brain looks at you as he leaves, and nearly walks into a wall trying to maintain his stare.

You head towards Claire's office and knock on her door.

“Come in.”

She sounds frazzled, and you realize you haven't seen her flying around the office today as you normally do.

“Everything alright?” You ask, taking note of Claire's disheveled state.

“No.” Is the simple answer you get, and you don't push as Claire continues to frantically scribble something out.

You glance around, familiarizing yourself with the private office you so rarely see the inside of, and take notice of a little seating area, with two arm chairs and a very comfortable looking couch.

In addition, there's what appears to be a bar cart, but it's filled with bottled water and sports drinks instead of alcohol, as well as a giant TV screen and what looks like a game console hooked up to it.

Somehow, you can't quite picture Claire playing video games while at work, and you have to wonder if perhaps she has ever been forced to watch one or both of her kids while working.

You don't want to become an annoyance, so instead of pacing the space, you choose to settle into one of the armchairs, curling up with one knee to your chest, the other dangling off the side of the chair.

You stare at the ceiling and let your mind wander as you examine the embedded ceiling lights.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Claire suddenly growls, and the sound of a pen clattering against the plastic wood of her desk sounds through the room.

“What is?” You ask.

Claire’s head jerks up, and for a moment, she looks surprised.

“You're so quiet.” She says. “I forgot you were here.”

You shrug, and don't say I’m good at that, I've had a lot of practice growing up.

You do say, “I didn't want to be a distraction.”

Claire hums.

She does that a lot, you realize.

“Well, maybe instead I can bounce this off of you.”

She gestures for you to come around to her side of the desk, and you quickly skim over what appears to be a proposal for a bill.

“Is it even legal for me to be doing this?” You ask.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Claire shrugging.

“You work for the government office this will be coming out from. It's not illegal, just out of the norm.”

You make a noise of understanding, going over the contents of it, frowning.

“What’s the problem with this?” You ask once you're finished giving the proposal a once-over.

Claire viciously stabs a single digit at some handwritten notes laying next to her keyboard.

“This section, this sentence, this paragraph, this fucking word is wrong, but the thesaurus is being useless-”

“Whoa, whoa.” You slow down what was sure to be Claire spiraling into more stress. “What's the most important thing to fix here?”

Claire blinks, pauses, frowns, then flips through her notes.

“Here.” She finally decides. “This entire section needs to be completely rewritten.”

You scroll to the right place on the computer screen and read it over more carefully.

“I'm pretty sure we can bullshit what you want to say here.” You murmur half to yourself. “It shouldn't be too difficult, most of the framework is here, it's just about closing the loopholes and rewording things to be less polarizing.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Claire grumps, leaning back in her chair and frowning as she crosses her arms.

You shrug.

“I bullshitted my fair share of essays, the difficult part to it is having a decent outline, which you already have.”

The other woman grumbles something under her breath before sitting up, shooing you away with a flick of her hand.

“Alright, well if it's that easy.” Her tone is disgruntled, but her fingers are already clacking against the keyboard, and you take that as your signal to return to the armchair you had been lazing about in.

At the end of the night, she drives you home again.

It becomes a routine.

For the next few months, Claire uses you as a sound board during the late hours, and you've taken to bringing either a book to read or an adult coloring book to do while you sit with her.

And then something big must have happened in her private life, because Claire is an absolute menace even to you one Monday, tearing through the office morale like a hot knife to butter.

You don't dare say a thing, even when she snaps at you later that night for being incompetent, and you just sit and take it.

She doesn't mean it personally.

You know that.

But by the time Thursday rolls around, her attitude hasn't changed, and you've found yourself retreating, becoming as small and invisible as possible in an attempt to spare yourself from Claire’s wrath.

You hear shuffling from where you're curled up on the couch, and you look up, and find Claire downing a shot, a bottle of amber liquid sitting on her desk.

“I know I've been an ass.” She says when she catches your eye.

“You've been stressed.” You excuse.

Claire shakes her head.

“There are better ways of releasing steam.”

“Well what do you usually do?”

You think this must be the first conversation all week that Claire is having civilly.

“Get high. Or have sex.”

Your mouth drops open at her blasé answer.

“And I haven't been able to do either.” She complains.

“Well, er. I could- I could help. If you wanted. To- um. To destress, I- I mean.”

You don't know why those words left your mouth, and the moment they do, you can feel your face heat up.

Sure, you've begun to have the occasional fantasy or wet dream about your boss, but that wasn't the same thing as implying you'd have sex with her.

HR is going to have a field day with you.

You're going to be fired.

You bury your face into your hands, and when Claire gently brushes her fingers against your back, you jump.

You hadn't heard her move.

“Look at me.” She softly says, and you shiver at how low her voice is pitched.

“There's a good girl.” She smiles as you listen, and the pulse of heat that shoots down your spine makes you feel dizzy.

Her hand comes up to cup your face, angling it upwards and forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Do you mean it, baby?” She asks, and you shiver at the pet-name, biting your lip as you grow more aroused. “You'll help mommy destress?”

Your eyes widen at the title Claire has bestowed upon herself, and you flush with embarrassment as the whine you've been fighting to keep down slips out through your mouth and escapes.

Your boss chuckles.

“Such a sweet thing. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, offering to stay so late with me, did you?”

You frown, confused, despite your ever growing arousal.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Claire smiles, but it's a sharp thing that causes gooseflesh to erupt along your arms.

“Please, doll. I've seen the way you look at me. And we both know how aware you are of how… Lonely, I have been.”

Her hand reaches out, and she brushes her knuckles gently against your cheek.

“Say yes.”

Her voice is pitched low, and it makes you shiver.

“Say yes to mommy, and I promise, you'll never have to worry about a thing again.”

Perhaps it should be your sign to leave right now, the possessiveness that practically drips from the governor's tone, but all it does is empty your head of thought.

“Yes.” You breathlessly say. “Yes, I'll help mommy destress.”

“Good girl.” She purrs, and when your lips part to allow a moan to tumble out, Claire gently presses against your tongue with two fingers.

When you stay still, frozen and unsure of what the older woman wants you to do, she furrows her brow and withdraws her fingers.

“Have you ever had sex before, honey?”

Immediately you can feel heat rise to your cheeks as you shake your head, shame rising in your throat.

“I- I'm a virgin.” You whisper, tripping over your words. “This is my first time…”

You trail off, embarrassed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Claire coos, her eyes sparking with something that makes you feel a bit like her prey. “Budge over.” She says.

Mindlessly, you obey, scooting all the way down, and Claire settles back against the arm of the couch, and she lazily smiles at you as she slowly, tantalizingly spreads her legs.

You had no idea a suit skirt could stretch so much.

You had no idea how well it could hide the fact that Claire wasn't wearing any underwear either.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.” You're flooded by a sudden need to please this woman spread out before you, a sudden desire to watch her come undone because of you. “Show me how to touch you.” You beg. “Please.”

Claire chuckles deeply.

“You're going to be so perfect for me, baby.” She husks out, and you can feel how your pussy pulses, leaking wetness against the material of your underwear.

Unlike Claire, you're wearing a pair.

A niggling feeling of regret bothers you.

You wish you were easily accessible for your boss.

You want her to ruin you.

“Come here, honey.” Claire beckons you with a single finger, and you're obedient, crawling until you hover over her.

She reaches her hands up, and oh so gently cups your face with her hands, guiding your head downwards until your lips are just millimeters apart.

One of her thumbs softly brushes over your cheek, moving back and forth in a soothing sweeping motion, and her silvery-blue eyes gaze deep into your own.

The moment stretches, and you grow impatient of waiting, and despite your heart hammering against your ribcage, you close the miniscule gap between your lips and hers.

They're so fucking soft.

Claire isn't your first kiss by any means, but you deeply wish it were.

You're moaning into her mouth like you're a slut, and when Claire enters your own with her tongue, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling atop of her as your limbs go weak.

Languidly, you make out with your boss, and as you do so, one of her knees makes its way between the apex of your thighs.

When you instinctively buck into the touch, Claire pulls away, and breathlessly laughs at you.

“Remember, doll. This is about mommy, not about you.”

Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen.

You whimper, and bite your lip.

Her expression softens, and she reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

“Didn't mommy say that as long as you're with me, I'll see to all your needs? Make me feel good, and I promise, you'll get a reward, sweet thing.”

You drop your head against her shoulder, and the whine that escapes you causes Claire to reach up and stroke at your hair.

“Let me show you how to touch mommy, baby. Let me show you how she likes to be pleasured.”

It's not fair, you think. No one woman should have the right to say things like that in such a husky sounding voice.

Your pussy throbs.

You lift your head up, and shift your weight, settling back so that you're straddling Claire.

“Please mommy, teach me.” You beg, and the older woman groans at the plain desperation that drips from your tone. “Teach me how to make you scream for your baby.”

At the word ‘scream’, Claire's eyes light up, something that simultaneously sends a shiver of fear through your body, but also a shiver of anticipation.

“You want to make mommy scream, doll? Get off, and I'll show you how.”

Gracelessly you tumble off of Claire and onto the floor, and she shakes her head as she laughs.

“You’re adorable, sweetheart.”

She stands, and as she walks back to her desk, she strips, carelessly leaving her clothes crumbled on the floor.

As she settles back into her leather seat, she spreads her legs wide in a clear order.

Her gaze feels intense as she watches you wobble over to her, before you collapse, dropping to your knees, your legs unable to continue to support your weight.

Your head spins as the scent of Claire’s arousal overwhelms you, and you look up at your boss with wide, pleading eyes.

She chuckles, and her hand comes down to pet your hair, before they tangle and tug at you.

“M-mommy!” You protest. “I still don't know what to do!”

Claire groans, but she doesn't stop guiding you forward.

“You're smart, doll. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

You whimper, but don't protest further, and then the older woman's cunt is directly in your face, and you're powerless as you stick your tongue out hesitantly.

You give her a taste test.

The wetness that is slowly dripping from Claire is a bit salty, but mostly, it just tastes musky.

It isn't bad.

It's just… New.

You give Claire’s pussy a few more tiny little licks, trying to acclimate to her taste, and she tightens her hold on your hair.

“I thought you wanted to make mommy scream.” She bites out, yanking you flush against her pulsing center. “So do it. Mommy needs to relax, and you're going to help.”

Helplessly, you do as Claire commands, and you start lapping at her earnestly.

When she lets out an unrestrained moan above you, you can't help but moan in return, and Claire gasps.

She yanks your head back, her chest heaving slightly, pupils blown wide.

“I never thought you could make such sweet noises, baby.” She breathlessly says.

You feel heat rushing to your face, and Claire's free hand grips your chin when you try to look away.

“Neither did I.” You whisper, ashamed.

Claire tsks.

“None of that now, honey, mommy wants to hear you again. Moan for me.”

Your mouth drops open, and your mind goes blank as you try to process your boss’s demand.

Her grip tightens.

“I said moan for me, bitch.”

It tumbles involuntarily from your mouth, loud and uncontrolled, and Claire's grip on your chin turns painfully.

“Does that turn you on? For mommy to degrade you like the little fucking slut you are?”

The noise you make in response causes Claire’s eyes to glint as she smirks.

“Who knew beneath all that innocence was a whore.” She coos, before jerking your head forward in a clear demand.

You eat her out for what feels like ages, the taste of Claire filling your senses, and you grow progressively lightheaded.

You find your thoughts slipping away as you become utterly focused on not letting one drop of your boss’s wetness to escape your tongue, and you find your hands keeping her legs spread apart as you become more eager in your ministrations.

You feel drunk as Claire begins to make higher and higher pitched noises until finally, she goes so high, it's a shrill thing that your ears can barely withstand, and there's a wetness soaking your face that isn't from how vigorously you had been pleasuring her.

She hasn't told you to stop, though, and you find yourself not wanting to regardless, so you continue to lap at her until she harshly jerks your head away.

“Enough.” She pants, eyes closed, chest heaving. “Enough.”

Your head spins, and you feel dizzy as you stare, memorized by the woman above you.

You open your mouth, aware there's something you want to ask, but you can't seem to conjure enough words in your mind to even speak them aloud.

Silvery-blue eyes open, and the most self satisfied smirk you have ever seen curls at the edges of Claire’s lips.

“How precious.” She murmurs, before sticking her heeled foot out.

You hadn't noticed that despite shedding her clothes, the older woman had kept her shoewear on.

“Why don't you make yourself feel good, and put on a pretty show for mommy, hm?”

You slowly close your mouth, becoming aware it's been hanging open, and give your boss a confused look.

Claire sighs.

“That's right, you really don't have any experience. Could have fooled me, with how well you've made me cum, doll.”

You flush, uncertain if it's from the praise or from the degradation.

You watch as Claire carefully stands, and you're startled when she hisses, her left leg buckling from how loose and relaxed her muscles have become.

“Strip.” Claire orders, her knuckles white from how hard she's clutching at her desk. “And then lay back on the couch.”

You scramble, tugging your shirt off as you simultaneously attempt to undo the button of your pants, and you wind up tripping, falling to the floor.

Claire's laughter causes your face to heat up.

“Looks like my baby needs my help, hm?” She giggles, toeing off her heels so that she can walk properly.

You whine, and can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with embarrassment.

“Aw, sweetheart.” Claire pouts. “Mommy thinks you're cute for being so eager. No need to be so sad over it.”

You whine again, but slowly force yourself to sit up.

“Mommy.” You whimper. “Jus’ wanted to feel good.”

The older woman’s amused expression visibly softens, and warm hands reach for you.

You stand with Claire's help, and she almost reverently helps you undress, gently kissing each newly revealed piece of skin.

“Look at this beautiful body, honey. Just so perfect for me.”

Unable to bear the compliment, you choose instead to bury your head against the upper part of Claire's chest.

She coos, and runs her fingers through your hair.

“Oh, sweet thing. Is my baby feeling shy?”

You nod against her, noticing the soft smell of vanilla.

You've never noticed it before.

You had thought it was maybe the air refresher in Claire's office, but no.

It's her.

Your head spins.

And you're so wet.

Claire's laugh rumbles against you, and she easily guides you towards the couch.

You only grow steadily redder as she pulls your legs apart, kissing her way up from one ankle, and then kisses her way back down the other, over and over until you're squirming with your need.

“Mommy, please!” You cry.

Claire groans, eyes fluttering shut for a few moments, before she pulls you close, hooking your legs over her shoulders.

When she noses at your clit, your hands find her hair, and she tsks.

“No, doll. I won't reward you if you pull at my hair.”

Reluctantly, you release your grip, and bury your fingers against the cushion of the couch instead.

“Good girl.” Claire praises, and you moan softly in response.

When her tongue presses against you, you shudder at the new sensation.

It's wet and warm and slightly rough, and–

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out. “Fuck, mommy!”

Claire's hands harshly grip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper, but she continues to lavish her tongue over your clit, and you begin to squirm in earnest.

You've masterbated plenty of times, and have a few toys in your bedside drawer, but that is nothing compared to the older woman’s touch.

Within a few minutes, you're already near orgasm, and you chase the release, fighting the urge to bring your hands back up to tangle into Claire's hair.

And then right when you're about to reach that high, the moment before the waves of pleasure can overwhelm you, she pulls away, and you loudly sob.

“No, please.” You gasp.

Claire smirks, and you whimper at how lustful her gaze is, at how your wetness glistens on the bottom half of her face.

“You want to cum, baby?” She mocks you, pouting. “You want mommy to let you feel good? Then beg for it. I need to hear my cute little doll ask for permission first.”

You whimper.

“Please, mommy.” You can feel tears start to gather with how badly you want this. “Please let your baby cum, I wanna cum for you, I wanna feel good, please, please, please!”

“Hm…” Claire hums.

“Please.” The tears start to roll down your cheeks. “I wanna to cum, mommy. I want you to make me cum, please.”

You let out a sob of desperation when a single digit finds your swollen clit, and lightly begins to circle it.

“Please.” You whisper, your voice getting caught in your throat.

For a moment, you think your boss is going to deny you, and you open your mouth to continue to beg, when instead you gasp, two of Claire’s fingers suddenly stretching you open.

You let out a high pitch noise when she curls the digits, pleasure burning through you, and you buck your hips.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” You chant, unable to form any other thought, let alone words.

“Cum for me, princess.” Claire softly orders, and as if your body was designed to obey her every desire, you convulse, a scream tearing it's way from your throat as she continues to finger fuck you, the gushing wetness weeping from your pussy causing a squelching noise, and you writhe as you ride the high.

“Fuck, baby.” Claire groans. “I want you to come for me again.”

You squirm desperately, the aftershocks still pulsing through you, but Claire is stronger than your now limp body, and she thumbs at your clit, sending electric waves up your spine, causing your back to arch painfully.

“FUCK!” You cry out, unable to control your volume, and you can barely hear Claire's responding moan over the static in your ears as a new wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

You're gasping for air with how it steals your breath away, and when Claire collapses on top of you, you gladly welcome it, despite how it further suffocates your lungs of oxygen.

She smells so good. You think as you start to come back to your senses.

The scent of vanilla is still prominent, but it's now mixed with the smell of Claire’s sweat.

Somehow, it's more appealing.

The smell of sex still hangs heavy in the air, and you throb as your body unfairly grows more aroused again.

“Mommy.” You whisper.

Claire groans, burying her head further against your neck.

“You smell so good, princess.” She says. “And you look so beautiful when I fuck your brains out.”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat.

Claire finally moves, shifting until she's sitting upright, and you don't think she's ever looked as enthralling as does now.

Her cheeks are flushed, and you can clearly see faint freckles that are usually hidden under a layer of makeup that Claire must have sweated off, and her hair has gone from stick straight to gentle waves, a halo of frizz framing her face.

You lose yourself in her eyes, at how she smiles so tenderly as she helps you up and to the private attached bathroom in her office.

“Let's get cleaned up, doll.” She says, and you grin goofily at her.

Your head is still spinning.

She giggles, a light sound that makes you join in once a light snort causes her to double over.

“You're so cute.” She smiles, and you obediently spread your legs when she taps your thigh.

She gently runs the wash cloth in her hand over the sticky residue of your arousal, and you flinch every time she passes over your clit.

“You’re still so sensitive.” She breathes out. “Did mommy not satisfy you, doll? Do you want mommy to keep going until it hurts for me to?”

“I- ah!” You cry out when Claire firmly swipes the cloth over your swollen bud. “I just want to be good.”

Claire peers up at you, and you hold your breath as she weighs your words.

“Next time then, maybe.” She decides, and you aren't sure if your shoulders slump with relief or disappointment.

She finishes cleaning you up, before moving on to herself, telling you to wait as she does so.

You watch as her back muscles move with her motions, and you can't resist the urge to kiss them, to nip at them.

Who knew the governor would have such fairly well defined muscles?

“Baby.” Claire warns.

“Mmm… Mommy.” You reply, before darting the tip of your tongue out against her warm skin.

“Baby, if you want to go home, you'll stop.”

“But you're so pretty. I can't help it.”

Claire turns around, shaking her head.

“You're adorable, honey. Come on, let's get dressed so we can head home.”

Claire has to help you into your shirt and pants, and you don't notice when she pockets your underwear instead of giving it back to you when she spots it under the couch.

Before you leave, your boss insists on watching you drink a glass of water, predicting you'll be too tired to do so once she drops you off at home, expressing how important it is to her that you take care of yourself.

By the time you get to her car, you're stumbling with exhaustion, beginning to crash as the endorphin high wears off.

You can't keep your eyes open once she starts driving, and when you let out a huge yawn, Claire glances at you.

“Go to sleep, baby.” She soothingly says. “I'll wake you up when we get home.”

You're used to listening when she asks you of something, and so you don't think twice as you finally allow your eyes to stay close, and you drift off, Claire's warm hand on your thigh.

[buttercandy16]

I need more dark Claire! 😭💜 or any of Kathryn Hahn's character being a yandere.

Idk if you write yandere but if it is okay. Maybe yandere Claire and reader

Thank u

Rating: M for mature themes.

IDK if this is what you wanted, Nonnie, but I tried.

You first ran into Claire Debella during your junior year of college. Every now and again, a guest speaker would be called on for one of the upper level classes, and you'd come into college with a bunch of early credits, putting you well in range to take that class, even though you shouldn't have been able to take it until senior year. You'd thought, well, it would be nice to hear from people in the actual field more often than not and had set yourself up to take it once your junior year and once your senior year - perhaps more, if you could get your credits to align.

Claire was the first speaker, a Democrat from Connecticut on the campaign trail, stopping to encourage the next generation. To vote, primarily. Especially to vote for her.

Halfway through her speech, she asked a question, something tricky, and while she didn't call on you first, you were the one who had the correct answer. You'd seen it in her eyes then, the glimmer of approval followed by the gentle lift of her lips in the barest hint of a smile that she'd all too quickly suppressed as she continued speaking.

Afterwards, Claire stopped you. "No other student has ever answered that correctly."

"It wasn't hard," you said without thinking. "It follows logic and the patterns of the masses. Any intelligent person should have been able to come up with the answer." You smirked. "Eventually."

Claire gave you a look that you didn't notice and then one that you did, her arms crossing under her chest. "I have an opening on my team."

You glanced up at her. "An internship?"

"Paid."

Your brows raised.

"Experience on the campaign trail will do wonders for you," Claire continued, looking away from you. Or, as you realize later, pretending to do so, not wanting you to catch her at it.

You considered it. You wanted it. But--

"I can't," you said and hating yourself for saying it. "I can't miss that much school--"

"A mentorship, then." Claire's eyes flicked over to you, and as soon as you noticed her gaze, they trailed up to meet your eyes. "Zoom meetings on the trail, in person afterwards. How does that sound?"

You could arrange for that. You could make time. It would help you tremendously in the future, when you started looking for jobs after college, to say you'd been mentored by someone like Claire. Perhaps she would have that opening again next summer and you could be an intern then--

Then you gave her a slight nod. "Sounds good to me."

Claire smiled then, but you didn't notice the darkness in it until much later. "Any intelligent person would have come to that answer eventually." She met your eyes again hungrily. "We'll talk soon."

~

Claire had seemed like a normal mentor. Even more than that, she'd seemed normal over that summer when you did intern for her - and she paid you well above minimum wage, well above maybe what you should have been paid - but that hadn't seemed bad. Or wrong.

Sure, she'd never approved of any of your dates, and usually they broke up with you very, very shortly after being alone with her, but you never put two and two together until later.

Not until after you graduated.

Not until after she gave you a real job.

~

It's an event that maybe you shouldn't have been at.

No, you definitely shouldn't have been there, but Claire invited you. Said you were the best assistant she'd ever had and you deserved to go, so you had. Dressed your best, but still not quite enough to fit in with the other elites around you.

Claire rubbed shoulders with a lot of people given her influence, got invited to a lot of parties. This is just one of them - a birthday party for the not entirely well-esteemed Birdie Jay. Claire assured you she was just an old friend, but you're still not sure.

Still. Standing here among models and fashion elites, you feel...out of place. Like you shouldn't be here.

And it doesn't make you feel any better that Claire is conspicuously not paying you any attention. It's like...like she invited you, but she....

Maybe she hadn't really expected you to come.

So you end up at the open bar, drinking a little too much, feeling like Cinderella might have felt at the ball if she'd stayed past midnight, until one of Claire's other old friends - Jen Barkley, who you'd spent plenty of time with during your internship and who had frequently interrupted your Zoom meetings. Not always with very good reasons.

....

Actually, never with good reason.

If you're honest with yourself, you don't like Jen. But you're drunk, and she's...not quite drunk, actually, but close enough, and if you look at her in just the right light, she almost looks like Claire.

(You will never tell anyone that you find Claire attractive. At least not again. Your old roommate did not approve of your crush. You don't know what happened to her either. She just stopped talking to you after graduation. Which is odd because you'd thought you were really good friends.)

Which is how you end up in one of the hallways off of the main room with Jen's tongue down your throat, and to be honest, she's not that great of a kisser, but she's warm and she's there and you're definitely more than a little bit drunk and--

All of a sudden, Jen stops. You think about asking her why, but then you see the hand on her shoulder and Claire standing behind her with daggers for eyes. It doesn't matter that you're drunk; you swallow hard and find yourself saying, "Sorry, sorry, we shouldn't have," in a slur, avoiding Claire's eyes.

Claire's hand tenses on Jen's shoulder. "Jen, can I talk to you for a minute?" She guides Jen away from you, offers you something that looks halfway between a smile and halfway between bared teeth, and then says, "You should go on home. Drunk isn't a good look on you."

You bite your lower lip and nod.

Except.

You want to apologize to Claire again. You want to know that she isn't going to fire you for being so unprofessional. This might not be a professional event, but Claire invited you, and if you made her look bad, then....

This is why you don't drink at these sorts of things.

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

And then people start leaving but Claire hasn't shown up again, and you're pretty certain that people can't leave down the hallway where you'd been with Jen, so Claire should be coming back this way. Or should have. And hasn't. Isn't.

Claire's your boss. You should probably go check and make sure she's okay. Not that Jen would do anything to her. Ew, gross, wait, maybe they're together and that's why Jen kept barging in on your Zoom streams while Claire was campaigning. Maybe Claire was mad at Jen because she shouldn't have been making out with you, she should have been with Claire--

All of this you think while you walk down the hallway, checking out every door you find, and then you think you see Claire, so you push open the door and--

Oh.

Oh.

"Claire?"

The room is dark, but you can tell that she's covered in something red and wet and shining, and you're drunk and really hope that isn't blood.

You also hope that isn't a body on the floor in front of her. Really hope that isn't Jen.

Claire turns to you. "You...weren't supposed to see this."

Suddenly, your heart starts beating faster. Claire just killed someone. Claire just killed someone and you walked in on it. Claire is going to kill you.

But before you can make it to the door, Claire is there, a hand on your wrist, and when you open your mouth to scream, she kisses you instead. You still scream, at first, but she muffles you, and then you kind of forget that you're supposed to be screaming because for all that Jen was a bad kisser, Claire is. well. wow. Before you know it, you're kissing her back, and then your hand is in her hair, and then her hair is sticky because blood, and then you're screaming again, but it doesn't last as long this time.

Claire parts just enough to say, "I'm not going to hurt you," and you hate it, but you're drunk, and you believe her. But that doesn't stop your heart from beating fast in your chest. She glares over her shoulder at the body. "Jen knew better than to touch you."

You should ask.

You swallow hard.

You don't ask.

[buttercandy16]

Healer Knows Best

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Healer AU - Chapter 1/2

Summary: you have a problem you can’t ignore anymore. The local healer, Agatha Harkness, is more than happy to help.

Tags: naive reader, virgin reader, first time, fingering, medical play, good girl, R is horny and doesn't have the words for it, no pronouns used for R

Warning: reader is told it doesn’t counts as sex but does says yes to Agatha’s fingers

masterlist | ao3

Authors note: dark grey Agatha my beloved

You knock on the healer’s door and wring your hands nervously as you wait for her to answer. Half of you hopes she isn’t home and the other hopes she is. Your problem is embarrassing but you know if she isn’t here now you won’t find the courage to return. Which means the feeling will only get worse.

She opens the door and you struggle to bury the relief and anxiety. Her beauty is startling and you curse your affliction for noticing. Her hair is braided back out of her face, a few strands escaping. The sunlight brings out the detail in her blue eyes.

“Healing or ingredients?” she asks.

You force yourself to look at the ground instead of staring.

“Healing please,” you say, forcing some strength into your voice.

“Very well,” she opens the door wider. “What seems to be the problem?” she asks as she leads you inside the small cottage. 

It’s every surface is crowded with materials and ingredients and tools. You look around nervously. This is the first time you’ve been to see the healer by yourself. You haven’t even been inside before. She doesn’t offer you a seat. She stops in front of the bench that has the most space on it, a mortar and pestle front and centre.

“It’s…um a bit embarrassing,” you say.

“Now, now, dear, I’ve been doing this for decades. There’s nothing I haven’t heard. Or seen,” she adds with a wink.

Something flutters in your stomach and it only makes the feeling worse. 

“It’s about,” you hesitate and then gesture vaguely to your lower stomach.

“Is something wrong with your monthly? Pain worse than usual?” She begins to move items around on the table.  

You cross your arms around yourself. You knew you’d have to explain it for her to be able to help but that doesn’t mean you were able to make yourself prepare for it. 

“It’s not that,” you say. “But it’s-it’s the same thing.”

The word is too vulgar. She turns back around.

“Thing? If it’s not your monthly then how can it be the same thing?”

“I mean,” you fluster, “It’s the same area.”

“You mean your cunt?” she asks bluntly. You gape at her. “This is a medical environment. Use the proper terms.”  You continue to gape at her but she doesn’t seem phased.  “What’s happening to your cunt?”

You gather yourself as best as you can.

“It-“

“My cunt,” she cuts you off. You look at her, lost. “Say it. I told you to use the proper terms. Say my cunt,” she makes a continue gesture.

“M-my cunt,” you force out and the smile she gives you in return warms you and makes that feeling grow, “feels…,” you hadn’t thought this far ahead, “weird.” You settle on.

“Weird how?” Her eyes trail down your form. “Itchy. Hot. Tingling. Wet?” 

She steps closer with every word. You swallow harshly and look anywhere but at her.

“Um, tingling. And the last one,” you say quickly. 

“Is there a colour to this wetness?” She asks, close enough to accidentally brush against. 

You shake your head.

“I see,” she says and her eyebrows furrow a little.

“You see?” your ask worriedly at her expression. “You see what?”

“It’s probably nothing,” she tries to wave you off.

It doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like you’re going to go crazy. 

“But if it isn’t nothing, then what would it be?” your hands twist anxiously in the skirt of your dress.

“I can’t be sure yet. Hop up,” she taps the empty batch. You hesitate before lifting yourself to sit on the edge. “Now, this can be a little awkward but I need to be sure.”

“What can be awkward?” you ask as she steps closer.

She taps the inside of your knees and you open them without really thinking. She steps between them and you stare up at her with wide eyes. She’s close. Close enough that she’s the only thing you can see. 

Her hand grasps the bottom of your dress and you stare up at her with wide eyes. She doesn’t look away as she lifts the skirt of your dress to your hips.

“What are you doing?” you ask, sounding breathless.

“I need to check for myself. There’s no point upsetting you if it’s nothing.”

“You’re going to…?” you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“I’m going to touch your cunt. Yes.”

You swallow harshly, your mouth suddenly dry. You don’t stop her when she pushes your legs further apart or when she begins to pull down your underwear. You try not to squirm. She’s a healer. Like she said, she’s seen everything. There’s nothing to be embarrassed or nervous about. It’s still hard not to be when she finally looks at you there. 

“There’s no visual indications, which is a good sign, but I won’t be able to know until I touch,” two fingers stop inches from where you’re dripping and she looks up at you, “May I?”

There’s a look on her face you don’t have the name for you. You nod and her fingers gently run through your soaking folds. You gasp at the unfamiliar feeling. You look up at the ceiling when you realise it feels good. You don’t want the healer to see it on your face. 

Her fingers run lower and your hips twitch as they run over that special spot you’re not meant to touch. She does it again with a bit more pressure and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle the embarrassing noise trying to escape it.

“Good,” she murmurs quietly to herself.

You think it’s over until she runs her finger higher and touches that thing. That sensitive something that you’ve only ever brushed. You can’t help gasping at the tingle it sparks. Agatha’s eyes lock onto you.

“Did that hurt?” she asks.

“No,” your voice cracks. “But it felt weird.”

“What about this?” Her finger circles and you cling to the table. “How does this feel?”

“I don’t-I don’t know. I-“ 

She presses down on that spot and the jolt it sends through you makes you close your legs. Her hips stop you. She sighs and pulls her hand away. You aren’t sure if you’re meant to be so upset about it.

“Did that make the feeling stronger?”

“Yes,” you manage to say.

“It’s not as bad as I thought.”

“It’s not?” you ask hopefully. 

“No pain crosses out a couple options. The treatment will be easier that way.”

You relax for the first time. An easy treatment means the thing happening to you will be over soon.

“Do I take something or is it a paste?” you ask, hoping you brought enough money. 

 “Have you ever been with someone, dear?” she asks, ignoring your question.

“Yes.” Of course you have, you aren’t a hermit. You have friends and there’s always those yearly family gatherings. You aren’t sure how a person can go through life without being with someone else. Wouldn’t you die as a baby?

Agatha raises an eyebrow and studies your expression. You shift uncomfortably.

“Let me put it a different way,” she says and her hands land on your thighs.  “Have you ever been fucked?”

“I-excuse me?” you stutter.

“It’s a simple question, dear. One I need answered as your healer.” 

“I’m not married,” you say.

“So? That doesn’t mean you’ve never snuck off with another girl and let her fool around under your skirts.”

You’re so embarrassed that you feel like you’re going to die.

“Only your spouse is allowed to touch you under there,” you murmur.  “And healers,” you quickly add on.  

The look she gives you is almost amused.

“So that’s a no?” she asks and you nod your head. “I didn’t think so,” she says.

You watch, confused, as she moves to the other side of the room and picks up a small purple jar. She returns to her spot between your thighs, you didn’t even think to close them. She takes off the lid and tilts the jar towards you.

You peer in curiously at the jar. The gel inside of it is clear and you can’t smell anything.

“You’ll need to apply this twice a day,” she says. When she doesn’t say where or how much you ask. “In your cunt, dear.”

“In?”

“It can be a little uncomfortable for someone who hasn’t been touched there before,” she says sympathetically.

She hands you the jar and you stare down at it with wide eyes.

“How far in?” Is the first thing you can think of. 

She snorts a little and you look up at her.

“All the way, dear.”

“How-how deep-“

She grasps your shaking hands. 

“How about I administer the first dose?”

Your stomach twists. The feeling that’s been haunting you grows.

“Yes, please,” you don’t want to do it wrong.

You watch, almost entranced, as she takes the jar and dips two fingers into the liquid. She swirls them around for a few moments before scooping some out. She runs her fingers over you the spot you aren’t allowed to touch and you gasp at the cool feeling. One finger gently circles your entrance.

“I’ll go easy on you,” she murmurs.

She begins to slowly push one finger inside of you and you cling desperately to the table. The feeling is new and strange and you feel a slight stretching sensation. You look up from the strange, exciting image of a finger entering you to find Agatha focused solely on your face, analysing your every reaction. Embarrassment runs through you but can’t bring yourself to look away. Your breathing is heavy and it’s hard to think about anything other than her.

She pulls out before she’s all the way inside of you and you whimper at the sudden empty feeling. You’re surprised at how heavily you’re breathing and how desperately you want her back inside of you. 

“You’re tighter than I thought,” Agatha says, her voice now has a rougher edge to it. “I’m going to need to use more fingers to properly coat your insides.” 

“More?” your voice cracks and you try to hide how eager you are.

“It’ll feel the same as before,” she reassures as her fingers return to your entrance. “Just a bit tighter.”

She doesn’t give you time to question, she pushes two wet fingers inside of you. She’s just as slow as the first time and you fight yourself to keep still as every inch makes that feeling inside of you grow.

“It’s making it worse,” you gasp. 

You thought the mixture was meant to stop this feeling inside of your cunt.

“Take it,” she says warningly and you whimper. “This won’t work if we can’t get it deep enough and you need to be wide open for me to do that.”

You don’t fight as she pushes deeper.  You cling to her shoulders and try to open your legs wider, hoping that will help with the stretch. You whimper when she gets to her second knuckle and you can feel the shiver that runs through her at the sound.

“Good girl, almost there,” she says. 

The name makes the tingling spread and you desperately hope she calls you it again.

Her fingers stop and you look down. They’re fully inside of you. It makes the feeling grow more and you have to focus on staying still to not embarrass yourself further.

“Is that it?” you ask, a slight whimper to your words.

“Not quite,” Agatha says, she’s got a smile on her face you haven’t seen before but it quickly transforms back into her professional mask. “We have to make sure it’s spread evenly.”

“How-”

She pulls her fingers half-way out before pushing back into you. A noise you’ve never made before escapes you. There’s a look on her face that you don’t have time to question as she does it again. And again and again. You try to count how many times she moves in and out of you to distract yourself from the wave of pleasure growing and growing inside of you. It doesn’t work. All you can concentrate on is the feeling of her fingers. How good it feels every time she thrusts back into you. How much you don’t want her to stop.

“I’m not deep enough,” she says and your confusion comes out in a whimper. It feels like she is. It feels like she’s reached the deepest part of you. “I’ll have to use another finger.”

“I-I can’t take that much,” you say with a slight whine.

Two fingers feel good, they feel so good but the idea of her adding another scares you. Two barely fit. Yet the memory of how the stretch turned into spine-tingling pleasure has you willing to take anything she gives you.

“You will,” she says and slips in her third finger without anymore warning. 

Your cry quickly turns to a moan as the feeling inside of you intensifies. Agatha makes a small sound when she looks down at her hand. She slows down and your hips buck in protest. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t feeling overwhelmingly good.

She curls her fingers and that feeling triples.

“Something’s happening,” you say in a high pitched voice.

“Let it,” Agatha says, the reassurance from before gone as she concentrates solely on her fingers. She curls them again and hits something deep inside of you. You throw your head back and moan as that feeling snaps and your body floods with pleasure. It pulses inside of you in a never ending loop.

 Agatha slows down but doesn’t stop until your exhausted body tilts forward and leans against her.

She gently pulls out and you make a protesting noise. The feeling of being so empty upsetting after being full for the first time. She chuckles quietly and wipes off her wet fingers on your thigh. 

She quietly lets you get your strength back. Hands firmly holding you but not caressing. Your breathing is steadier when you pull back but it hitches at the look on her face. Her pupils are blown and she almost seems to be drinking you in with her eyes.

“Good,” she says and steps back. You feel a little lost. Agatha wipes her hand on a clean rag before picking up the jar again. “Repeat every two days. Let’s say, six times.”

You nod mutely and take the jar. You don’t get up. You don’t think your legs can hold you just yet.

“What happened at the end…” you trail off hoping Agatha will fill in the rest. She doesn’t. “Was I-was it supposed to?”

Agatha huffs a laugh.

“Yes, dear,” she says, “You needed to for the mixture to take effect properly.”

“Oh,” the tight hold embarrassment has loosens. Then anxiety takes hold. “Does that mean I need to do that?”

“Yes,” Agatha says with a secret smile. 

You swallow nervously.

“Like how you did it?”

“There are a few other ways but I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

You nod and fiddle nervously with the jar as you try to imagine pushing your own fingers inside of you. The idea isn’t unpleasant. You’re more worried about someone discovering you. Will they believe that a healer has told you to? How are you meant to prove otherwise if they don’t? Drag them down to Agatha? If they really believe you’re breaking such a rule they won’t give you time to do so.

Agatha must see the look on your face.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Lock the door, pull up your dress. It shouldn’t take too long with how sensitive you are,” she says and you fluster at her crassness. “Don’t be afraid to come back if you need some help with applying the mixture.”

You nod meekly and take the jar.

“I will.”