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ilovehotactresses · 12 days ago

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WAAAA

Agatha Harkness VS Salem: the kittening

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and putting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I may have already almost finished a part 2 to this already… this may be my favourite thing I’ve ever wrote

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows along the walls as Agatha sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming against the polished surface. Your fellow witches exchanged glances, some amused, others bracing for the inevitable storm.

“She’s taking too long,” Agatha muttered, narrowing her eyes at the door as if sheer will alone would bring you home.

Billy smirked but wisely kept his mouth shut. Lilia, however, leaned forward, arching a brow. “She just went to get food, Agatha. You do remember she’s an adult, yes?”

Agatha’s sharp glare snapped to her, but Lilia didn’t flinch. She was used to Agatha’s theatrics by now.

“I do remember,” Agatha said, tone clipped, “but she should be back by now. Anything could’ve happened.”

Jen chuckled under her breath. “Oh yes, because the biggest, scariest threat to her is probably tripping over a squirrel.”

Alice grinned. “Or getting distracted by a particularly interesting tree.”

Agatha’s scowl deepened, but her fingers stilled. It was true- you were soft, gentle, prone to stopping to feed birds or magically fixing a bumblebees wing. It was why she loved you. It was why she worried.

Lilia sighed, resting her chin on her palm. “If you panic every time she goes out alone, she’ll think you don’t trust her to be independent.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “I trust her. I just don’t trust other people.”

Billy snorted. “Sure Agatha.”

Before Agatha could snap at him, the front door creaked open. The tension in her shoulders snapped like a thread, and in an instant, she was on her feet, sweeping toward you.

There you were, glowing with warmth, eyes bright as you kicked off your shoes. But she saw it- the hesitation, the way you bit your lip. Her stomach dropped.

“You worried mommy,” she purred, brushing a hand along your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You took too long. What’s wrong, darling?”

You swallowed, shifting your weight, cradling something in your arms.

“Aggie… please don’t be mad.”

Agatha’s eyes darkened. “Why would I be mad?”

You hesitated, then slowly, gently, lifted a tiny, black-furred bundle into view. A kitten. Small, fragile, with wide, gleaming eyes. It mewed softly.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. “Oh, absolutely not.”

The room went silent. The coven, who had seen Agatha deal with all manner of supernatural threats, were now witnessing something far more dangerous: a battle of wills between the all-powerful Agatha Harkness and her painfully sweet, unfairly adorable wife.

Agatha crossed her arms, leveling you with a firm stare. “No.”

You blinked up at her, cradling the tiny kitten against your chest. “No?”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

Billy, sitting on the couch, leaned toward Jen and whispered, *“She’s already lost.”*

Agatha shot him a look, but her attention snapped back to you when you let out a soft, sad sigh. You rubbed a gentle finger over the kitten’s tiny ear, your lower lip jutting out just slightly. Not enough to be dramatic, just enough to devastate her.

“Aggie, please,” you murmured, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I love him. He needs us.”

Agatha steeled herself. “Baby, come on, we have a rabbit already.”

You perked up. “But they can be best friends!”

“They will not be best friends-”

“We can raise him,” you continued, stepping closer, voice soft, persuasive, sweet as honey. “Please, Aggie. I love you. And I love him. Please?”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw twitched. Her fingers flexed like she was physically holding herself back.

Alice, watching from across the room, snorted. “Oh my god, just let her keep the damn cat.”

“She’s gonna say yes,” Jen stage-whispered.

Billy propped his chin on his hand. “She’s just stretching it out for dramatic effect now.”

“I am not,” Agatha snapped, then turned back to you, who was still looking at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky. Damn you and your sweetness.

She let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down her face. Then, after a moment, she dropped her hand, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, “fine.”

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you clutched the kitten closer. “Really?”

Agatha groaned. “Yes, really. But I swear to the gods, if he scratches up my books, or if he pisses on the rug, he’s your problem.”

You grinned, bouncing up and down in glee. “Okay! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise you’ll love him!”

Agatha grumbled something under her breath but didn’t resist when you threw your arms around her. Her hands settled on your waist, grip firm but familiar, and she sighed against your hair.

Billy snickered. “Well, that was pathetic.”

Agatha shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I will turn you into a toad.”

But even as she threatened Billy, her arms curled tighter around you, and she let you tuck the kitten between you both. He let out a tiny, content purr.

“I told you mommy would let you stay didn’t I S…” you cooed, stopping and blushing as you almost revealed your new sons name.

Agatha groaned. “Oh, for the love of- you’ve already named him, haven’t you?”

You smiled guiltily and nodded “his name is Salem”

Lilia cackled. “Oh, now that’s just poetic.”

Agatha woke with a slow, satisfied stretch, a lazy smirk curling on her lips as she reached across the bed, expecting to find you- warm, soft, pliant against her.

But the sheets were cold.

Her smirk faded. She frowned, eyes cracking open, hand still patting the empty space beside her. “Baby?”

Silence.

Her frown deepened.

She sat up, fingers raking through her hair, listening carefully. Then…

A giggle.

Agatha’s head snapped toward the bedroom door. You were giggling? Without her? Another soft peal of laughter, followed by a quiet meow. Agatha’s nostrils flared.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she grabbed her robe, slipping it on as she stalked toward the door. Her morning had already been ruined by the lack of you curled against her, but now she was hearing giggles- the kind that were usually reserved for her alone- and she wasn’t involved?

Completely unacceptable.

Barefoot and silent, she padded down the hall, pushing open the living room doors to find…

You. Laying on your stomach on the rug, elbow propped under your chin, face alight with pure, radiant joy as you dragged a ribbon back and forth. Salem, the tiny black-furred usurper, pounced and tumbled after it, little tail flicking in excitement.

Agatha scowled.

She was being ignored.

By you.

For a cat.

Her presence went unnoticed as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring down at the scene with unmasked displeasure.

“Oh, you’re such a clever boy,” you cooed, wiggling the ribbon. Salem pounced again, missing completely and landing in an adorable, flailing heap. You laughed, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “Such a little hunter, aren’t you? Yes, you are! So fierce!”

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension.

Fierce? That tiny thing was not fierce. She was fierce.

And yet, here you were, lavishing all your attention- attention that should have been spent in bed, between her thighs or seated on her face- on this ridiculous furball.

Enough.

She cleared her throat. Loudly.

You gasped, looking up with wide, startled eyes. “Oh! Aggie, good morning!”

Agatha arched a brow, gaze flicking between you and the kitten still sprawled on the rug. “Is it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You tell me, darling. I woke up alone. And when I came looking for you, I find you here, on the floor, giggling and fawning over-” she gestured vaguely at Salem, “that.”

Salem, utterly unbothered by her disdain, flopped onto his back and stretched out his tiny paws.

Your expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry! He woke up early and was being all cute, so I thought I’d play with him for a little bit.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “You left our bed for a cat.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “Are you jealous?”

Her jaw clenched. “Of a kitten? No.”

You giggled again, pushing up onto your knees and crawling toward her. “Mmm, I think you are.”

Agatha huffed, tilting her chin up. “Absolutely not.”

But then you reached for her, standing up with hands slipping under her robe, fingers grazing over the bare skin of her waist as you pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Poor mommy,” you murmured, lips trailing up her neck. “You just want my attention, don’t you?”

Agatha shivered, but held her ground. “I deserve your attention.”

You hummed, pressing a final kiss just under her jaw. “Well, then maybe you should play nice with Salem, so you don’t have to share it.”

Agatha’s glare snapped back to the kitten, who was currently grooming his tiny paw, wholly unbothered. Smug little thing.

She exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if he touches my spellbooks, he’s gone.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Deal.”

Salem meowed.

Agatha scowled.

This was war.

Agatha took a slow breath, rolling back her shoulders as she watched Billy attempt the spell she had just demonstrated.

“Focus,” she instructed, arms crossed. “Channel your energy through the rune, don’t just throw power at it.”

Billy muttered something under his breath but obeyed, adjusting his stance and trying again. The rune shimmered in the air before them, pulsing faintly with his magic. It was… adequate.

Agatha nodded once. “Better.”

She turned slightly, expecting to see you sitting up, watching like you always did when she mentored Billy. You were always so attentive- so soft and doting, looking at her like she had hung the stars just by showing a simple spell. But when she glanced toward the sofa her blood ran cold.

There you were, but not watching her. Not waiting to drape yourself over her the second she was done. No, you were napping, curled up on the couch, and draped across your chest, smug as anything, was Salem.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. Unbelievable.

She clenched her fists, fighting the petty urge to hex the little thing right off you. It was enough that you fawned over him every waking moment, but now? Now, even in sleep, Salem had claimed his place as the ruler of this household.

Billy, following her gaze, immediately perked up. “Oh my god, look at him.”

Agatha’s stomach dropped as Billy abandoned the lesson entirely and rushed to your side.

“Look at this little guy,” he cooed, crouching beside the couch, reaching out to scratch under Salem’s tiny chin.

You stirred at the movement, blinking sleepily, eyes soft and warm as you woke to Billy petting the cat.

“Oh,” you yawned, smiling as you stretched. “Morning, Billy.”

“Morning, Salem,” Billy smiled down at the kitten on your chest, still cooing over the kitten.

You giggled, rubbing your cheek against Salem’s tiny head. “He’s the sleepiest boy today, huh?”

“Right?” Billy agreed, reaching to stroke along Salem’s tiny back. “Look at him. He’s just a baby.”

Agatha, still standing stiffly across the room, gawking at the scene in front of her. You never looked at her with that same soft, sleepy adoration after a nap.

And now the two of you were sitting there, utterly obsessed with that ridiculous creature, treating him like he was the most precious thing in the world, while Agatha stood there, forgotten.

The realisation was horrifying. She had been dethroned. Salem, tiny and innocent-looking, had become the true ruler of this household. He had you. He had the coven. And now he had Billy.

She was losing.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. No. She refused to be bested by a kitten.

Billy glanced up at her and grinned. “Agatha, come look at him! Isn’t he just-”

“No.”

Billy blinked. “What?”

Agatha lifted her chin, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I don’t fawn over creatures that contribute nothing to the household.”

You pouted, looking up at her through sleepy eyes. “But, Aggie, look at his little toes—”

Agatha looked away. She wouldn’t be tricked.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad because Salem has completely stolen your wife.”

Agatha scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Billy smirked. “Then come pet him.”

Agatha froze.

Billy’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

You looked up at her, hopeful, and patted the space next to you. “Come on, baby.”

Agatha hesitated.

Her instincts told her it was a trap.

But then you pouted, soft and irresistible, looking at her with those big, pleading eyes… And just like that, she was moving. Slowly. Cautiously.Like Salem was some ancient being waiting to strike.

She perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, glancing down at the tiny ball of fluff stretched across your chest. He blinked up at her, slow and lazy, like he was daring her to do something.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose. Then, after a long moment she reached out, one single finger extended…The second her fingertip brushed against Salem’s fur, the kitten let out a mighty stretch and promptly rolled deeper into your embrace, turning his back on her.

Agatha gasped.

Billy lost it.

“Oh my god, you’ve been rejected.” He wheezed.

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I have not.”

Billy cackled, clutching his stomach. “No, no, this is humiliating. He knows. He knows you don’t like him, and he’s snubbing you.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to Salem’s tiny head. “Oh, baby, don’t be mad. He just doesn’t trust you yet.”

Agatha bristled. “I don’t need a cat’s trust.”

Billy wheezed. “Oh, you so do.”

Agatha glared at Salem, and to her horror, the kitten simply let out a tiny yawn and promptly fell back asleep. Utterly unbothered. Agatha had never hated anything more in her life.

This was war.

And Agatha Harkness never lost.

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with warmth and want. Agatha had you exactly where she wanted- beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, breath coming in soft little pants as she trailed possessive hands down your body.

She smirked, brushing her lips against your ear. “Mine.”

You whimpered, arching into her touch. “Yours.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her throat. “Say it again, baby.”

You shivered, fingers tangling in hair as she kissed down your neck. “All yours, Mommy.”

Agatha’s grip tightened. Finally, after an entire day of being ignored in favor of that creature, she had you back- where you belonged- focused entirely on her.

She dragged her lips back up to yours, capturing them in a deep, claiming kiss.

And then—

A thump.

A chirping meow.

And before Agatha could even process what was happening… A tiny black ball of menace leapt onto the bed.

Your eyes flew open. “Oh my gods!”

Agatha froze.

You gasped, delighted, and immediately sat up, reaching for the little intruder. “My smart boy!”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

You pushed her away.

For the cat.

Salem, looking entirely too smug, hopped into your lap and headbutted your chin, purring loudly.

You melted. “Oh, you clever little thing,” you cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You figured out the door! Mommy shut you out, didn’t she? But you got in anyway, huh?”

Agatha, still reeling, barely managed to rasp out, “I shut the door.”

You beamed at her. “He’s a genius!”

Agatha scowled. “He’s a problem.”

You weren’t even listening. You were too busy giggling as Salem flopped dramatically onto his back, rolling in your lap, fully aware that he owned you.

Agatha clenched her jaw.

No.

No, she would not allow this to happen.

She reached for you again, slipping a hand under your chin, tilting your face back toward hers. “Come on, baby,” she murmured, voice low and sultry, lips barely brushing yours. “Focus on mommy”.

But just as your lids fluttered, just as you exhaled that soft little sigh that always made her crazy-

Salem chirped and nudged your hand.

And, horrifyingly, your attention snapped back to him, “Ohhh, I know, I know,” you cooed, cradling his tiny face. “You need some loving too, huh?”

Agatha flung herself onto her back, staring at the ceiling like she was being personally victimized by the universe.

“What about my loving?” she demanded, throwing a hand over her forehead like some tragic heroine.

You giggled. “Aggie-”

Salem, with perfect timing, rolled onto his side, stretching just enough to rest a tiny paw against your cheek.

Your heart melted. “Aw, Agatha, look-”

“No.” Agatha sat up, glaring at the kitten. “I refuse to be a secondary character in my own bed.”

You laughed, utterly charmed. “He just loves me, baby.”

Agatha crossed her arms. “I love you.”

You gave her an affectionate smile. “I know you do.”

“Then act like it.”

You giggled again, pressing a kiss to Salem’s little head.

Agatha bristled. “I swear,” she muttered, throwing herself back against the pillows again. “This is witchcraft. He’s bewitched you all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Agatha, he’s just a cat.”

Agatha sat up so fast you startled.

“No,” she said darkly, eyes narrowing at the tiny ball of fluff curled in your lap. “He’s a threat.”

The setting sun shone through your windows, casting golden light over the coven as they sat in a circle, discussing plans for the upcoming Summer Solstice ritual.

Agatha, seated in her usual high-backed chair, had you curled in her lap, arms wrapped possessively around your waist. For the first time in days, she finally had you all to herself, without a certain feline dictator demanding your attention.

Because this time, she had planned ahead. The door to the room was magically sealed with the strongest wards she could weave into it. No amount of scratching, meowing, or pathetic manipulation would let that tiny tyrant inside.

She smirked to herself, pleased. Finally.

“So,” Lilia said, gesturing at the books in front of them, “I was thinking we could incorporate more moonstone this year. It should help amplify the energy-”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Agatha ignored it. You, however, perked up instantly, shifting in her lap. “Aw, Salem-”

Agatha’s grip tightened. “No.”

Lilia continued, unfazed. “- and I read somewhere that incorporating fresh lavender in the-”

A tiny, pitiful whimper sounded from the other side of the door. Alice gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh no, the baby!”

You pouted, starting to push yourself up. “Agatha, let me-”

“No,” Agatha repeated, wrapping her arms more securely around you. “Let him cry.”

Billy’s eyes widened in horror. “Agatha, what the hell?!”

You turned, brows furrowing. “Baby, he’s sad.”

“He needs to learn,” Agatha insisted. “We are not interrupting an official coven meeting just because he doesn’t like being excluded.”

Scratch. Scratch.

A heart-wrenching mewl followed.

Billy was already half-standing. “That’s it, I’m getting the little prince-”

Agatha glared, flicking her fingers in Billy’s direction. Billy was immediately shoved back into his seat with an annoyed huff.

“Sit down,” Agatha ordered. “He is not royalty.”

Billy crossed her arms. “He is to me.”

“Yeah,” Jen agreed, flipping a page in her book. “Kinda sounds like you’re being a bad mom.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I am not his mother.”

The scratching continued.

You squirmed again. “Aggie, please-”

Agatha huffed in exasperation. “No! You are wrapped around his tiny little paw, and if we keep giving in, he’ll just keep winning.”

Jen raised a brow. “Winning what? He’s a kitten.”

Agatha gestured at you dramatically. “He stole her from me!”

The room went silent.

Then Lilia sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh my gods”.

Billy cackled. “You *are* losing to a kitten.”

Agatha shot him a look. “I am not losing-”

At that exact moment, Salem let out the most pitiful, heartbroken little cry any of them had ever heard.

Your eyes widened in distress. “Aggie-”

“Oh, for the love of- fine.” With a dramatic wave of her hand, Agatha finally released the spell.

The door flew open.

And in strutted Salem, tail high, eyes smug, like he knew he had just won.

Agatha gawked. “You manipulative little-”

Before she could even finish, you had already scooped Salem up into your arms, cradling him against your chest like a precious treasure.

“Ohhh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his tiny head. “Mommy was so mean to you, huh?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

Alice glared at her. “I can’t believe you locked him out.”

Jen snorted. “I can.”

Billy shook his head in disappointment. “Shameful behavior from our fearless leader.”

Agatha scowled as Salem gave her a very deliberate slow blink, curling up in your arms like he owned the place.

Which, apparently, he did.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “This is witchcraft.”

Jen snorted. “He’s just a cat, Agatha.”

Agatha shot her a dark look. “He’s a threat.”

Billy immediately fell off his chair laughing.

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ilovehotactresses · 18 days ago

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Neighbourly Care part 6 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You're home for the holidays and despite the hustle and bustle of family gatherings, your mind is stuck on your two hot neighbours just next door. And when an opportunity for some time alone with them presents itself, how could you refuse?

-OR-

Agatha and Rio tease you relentlessly at a New Years party and you can't wait until its finished to fuck them so you sneak away

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, switch Agatha, switch Rio, Switch reader, threesome (duh), Mommy/Daddy titles, strap-ons, vibrators, fingering, oral, marking, reader has a vibrator used on them in front of other people, alcohol consumption, scissoring, light choking, maybe more? who knows, it's so long I've definitely missed something

Words: 6.4k

A/N: We're BACK baby. This was supposed to be released at the start of Jan to be seasonal but alas it is being released now. This is just shameless smut tbh

AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Masterlist

The holidays at home always blur together: long afternoons curled up on the couch, listening to old family stories, plates of food that never seem to end, and the comforting hum of familiar voices filling every corner and yet this year feels different.

The quiet warmth of home should be grounding, but instead, it leaves an ache in the pit of your stomach. Agatha and Rio are just next door. So close that if you stepped outside, you could probably hear their laughter through an open window. But proximity doesn’t mean access, and knowing they’re near without being able to touch them—to taste them—has your nerves fraying with every passing hour.

You try to focus on the holiday routine, but your mind keeps drifting, fingers itching to grab your phone. It starts with subtle messages: a teasing remark, a playful emoji, a simple ‘wish you I could be with you’. But restraint crumbles fast, and soon, the texts turn flirty.

And then—

MILFs Anonymous

Rio: You should really learn to close your curtains, cariño. You never know who’s watching ;)

Rio: *click to open image*

The moment you open it, your breath catches.

Agatha is naked in front of the window, bent over just enough to make your pulse quicken, her back arched, ass pressing into Rio’s hips. Rio’s hand grips her firmly, fingers digging into soft skin, and there’s a faint red tint blooming across Agatha’s ass—a clear sign of exactly what they’d been doing before taking this picture.

Your brain shortcircuits.

Because even though you can’t see it, you know the look on Rio’s face, the way she holds Agatha steady, the slight tilt of her hips. You’ve felt it before—been pinned beneath that same unrelenting grip, left breathless by the sharp sting of Agatha’s nails in your skin, Rio’s voice low and taunting as she urges you to take what you're given.

You swallow hard, your mind replaying flashes of memories—Agatha's gasping moans, the way Rio growled in satisfaction as she pushed deeper, the sting of Agatha’s teeth on your shoulder as she struggled to keep quiet. The way they ruined you. The way you begged them to.

But it wasn’t just the two of them in the picture. Through the window, reflected in the glass, you can see yourself wrapped in only a towel, fresh from the shower, completely unaware of what was unfolding right next door.

Oh shit. They had been fucking each other while watching you.

A fresh wave of heat rushes through you. They knew you’d see this and they knew exactly how your thoughts would spiral.

—

For the rest of the day, no matter how many people surround you, no matter how desperately you try to push the image from your mind, you can’t stop feeling the heat coiling low in your stomach, a slow, aching pulse between your thighs that refuses to fade. Every time you slip away for even a moment, closing yourself in the bathroom or lingering too long in the pantry, you try to find any sort of relief—pressing your thighs together, letting your fingers ghost over the damp heat through your underwear—but it’s never enough. The house is too busy, the walls too thin, and the risk too high.

And then it gets worse.

When you step outside that afternoon, something entirely unexpected greets you.

At first, it doesn’t make sense—a massive tent pole structure stretching across your backyard, spilling into Agatha and Rio’s. Men move around, securing ropes and hammering stakes into the ground. You frown, stepping closer to where your father stands, watching the setup unfold.

“What’s going on?” you ask, confusion evident in your voice.

Your dad turns to you with a wide, easy smile, as if the sight of an entire-ass event tent appearing in your backyard is completely normal. “Oh, the fencing between the yards was getting replaced, right? So we thought, why not take advantage of the space? We’re throwing a New Year’s Eve party with Agatha and Rio. A big one—lots of people—should be a good way for them to meet the neighbours a bit better.”

Your stomach flips. “A joint party?”

“Yep!” He seems blissfully unaware of the way you bit your lip; you’re a flirty drunk and there is no way you’ll be able to help yourself even with a house full of guests. “Just made sense, really. They only moved in a couple weeks before you went back to college so they’re still kind of new here, and it’s a great excuse for everyone to get together.”

As if summoned by your rising anxiety, your mother enters the conversation, casually slipping her phone from her pocket. “Oh, that reminds me—we have a group chat for the planning. You should be in it, too.”

Before you can protest, your phone buzzes with a new notification:

Mom added you to New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Looking at who was in the chat, you see it’s just your parents, Agatha, Rio, and now you.

You stare at your screen, the weight of the situation settling into your bones. There’s no escaping them at this party. They’ll be there, looking devastating, flirting in ways no one else will recognise, taunting you. And worse—you’ll have to pretend it doesn’t matter.

The moment you’re alone, you do the only thing that makes sense.

MILFs Anonymous.

~15:48

You: You two didn’t think to tell me about this party???

~15:51

Agatha: We thought you already knew, darling.

~16:02

Rio: Can’t wait to see your outfit ;)

You let out a groan, flopping onto your bed, heart hammering against your ribs.

—

The next couple of days blur into a frenzy of preparation. The towering pole tent in the backyard transforms into something breathtaking—a canopy of warm string lights crisscrossing above, casting a golden glow over the dance floor, lounge areas, and bar stations. Tables are filled with food and drinks; fire pits crackle steadily, promising warmth against the winter chill.

Your parents, ever the enthusiastic hosts, are in full planning mode. Your mom bombards the group chat with a steady stream of last-minute tasks, while your dad orchestrates the outdoor setup like a seasoned general.

"Can someone make sure the drinks are properly chilled?""Surfaces still need to be wiped down!""We need more ice—any volunteers?"

Between messages, you’re swept into the chaos, lugging bottles of wine to the bar, adjusting decorations, untangling fairy lights. But no matter how hectic things get, Agatha and Rio always seem to find a moment to steal you away.

It starts small.

As you carry a tray of glasses into their kitchen, Rio appears behind you, pressing in close, her breath warm against your ear.

"Mmm, darling, seeing you follow orders is doing things to me." Her fingers trail down your arm, barely touching, but enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. Before you can react, she’s gone; back to chatting with your mom like nothing happened.

Then there’s Agatha. You’re kneeling down, adjusting a set of flickering LED candles on a coffee table, when she approaches. She tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze to hers.

"Careful, sweetheart." She smirks as her thumb brushes over your lower lip. "If you stay on your knees too long, I’m going to start getting ideas."

Heat floods your body, your pulse hammering wildly. They’re relentless, playing a game you have no hope of winning. And then—because the universe isn’t done with you yet—your mom unknowingly delivers the final blow.

New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Mom: Hey! Would it be okay if Y/N stayed with you guys tonight? Aunt Carol and family are taking up all our rooms.

You don’t even think about how your mom’s making you give up your room without asking; you’re too busy staring at your phone, heart pounding.

You’re going to be staying with them again.

Excitement flutters in your chest, hot and electric. After days of teasing glances, fleeting touches, and whispered words meant to unravel you, you’re finally going to have them to yourself. No stolen moments. No interruptions. Just you, Agatha, and Rio.

But that thrill is laced with something deeper. Because if they’ve been so relentless with their flirting, not knowing when they’d next properly be with you, what the hell is going to happen now they know they get to have you all to themselves?

You swallow hard, fingers gripping your phone tighter as their responses roll in.

New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Rio: No worries :)

Agatha: Don’t worry, we will take good care of them, just like we always do.

You choke on nothing.

Your mom, blissfully oblivious, just reacts with a thumbs-up emoji and moves on with planning. Meanwhile, you sit there, phone still in your hands, trying to process the fact that you’ve just been thrown straight into the lion’s den—and you’re not coming out unfucked unscathed.

—

You stand before your mirror, hands smoothing down the fabric of your costume.

It’s bolder than anything you’d normally wear. The cut, the way it frames your body, the teasing flashes of skin—you look hot.

After one last steadying breath, you step out of your room.

The party is already in full swing by the time you make your way downstairs. Your house, the backyards, and Agatha and Rio’s house are all packed, laughter and music spilling from every direction. Guests roam freely between the connected spaces, glasses in hand, conversations buzzing with holiday cheer. Familiar faces from high school mix with family, friends, and neighbours, the crowd a blur of movement and warmth.

But you only have eyes for them.

Rio and Agatha stand near the bar, unmistakable even from across the yard. They’re dressed as pirates and they look absolutely devastating.

Agatha’s coat fits her like a dream—dark, regal, and cinched at the waist in a way that accentuates every curve. Gold buttons gleam under the dim lights, the ruffled blouse beneath teasing glimpses of skin. Her long hair tumbles in wild waves over her shoulders, and the sharp smirk she wears makes her look utterly untouchable.

Then there’s Rio. Her deep red tunic borders on scandalous, left open just enough to reveal her cleavage. Her pants hug her hips perfectly and it makes your mouth run dry. The hat, the sharp gaze, the effortless dominance in every movement—it’s almost unfair.

—

The night blurs into a haze of warmth and music, but you barely see them. They’re the perfect hosts, moving through the party with easy charm, laughing, drinking, and acting like they aren’t slowly breaking you.

Every time they pass, they’re touching you in some way.

A lingering hand at the small of your back. Fingers skimming your wrist. A squeeze at your hip. Soft whispers against your ear, too low for anyone else to hear.

It’s torture. Slow, deliberate, intoxicating torture.

And then—

“Long time no see.”

You turn, blinking as a tall guy in a sharp tux grins at you, tilting his martini glass in greeting. You recognise him vaguely—someone from high school, back for the holidays like everyone else.

“You’re looking good,” he says, eyes dragging down your outfit before reaching out, fingers grazing the fabric. “I really like the costume.”

You arch a brow, looking him up and down. “And you’re dressed as...”

He smirks, lifting his glass again. “Bond. James Bond.”

Seriously? Could he not be bothered to put in any effort?

The conversation shifts into polite small talk—he’s studying business now, home for the break, blah blah blah. It’s easy, meaningless chatter. Until he leans in closer, voice dropping.

“You know,” he muses, “007 always gets the hottie in the end.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure whether to laugh or shut him down.

Suddenly you’re not alone. Rio and Agatha flank you, cutting off all space and oxygen.

Agatha moves first, wrapping an arm around your waist, her palm settling firmly over your ass, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

At the same time, Rio’s fingers find the back of your neck, her thumb dragging over the sensitive skin there.

The shift is instant.

Mr. Uninventive hesitates, eyes darting between the two of them. “Uh—”

“We need to steal them for a moment,” Rio interrupts smoothly, leaving no room for argument.

“Party business,” Agatha adds, amusement curling at the edges of her words.

Before you can even process what’s happening, they’re guiding you away. Through the house, up the stairs, and into their bedroom.

The door slams shut behind you.

Agatha and Rio move in tandem, running their palms over your body, mapping every inch with a reverence that makes your head spin. Lips follow—featherlight kisses pressed to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch, every whispered breath, is a deliberate act of worship.

“Look at you,” Rio breathes against your skin, voice thick with hunger. Her fingers trace the curve of your waist, slipping just under the fabric of your costume. “You have no idea what you’re doing to us, do you, baby?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her mouth warm against the shell of your ear. “You look so fucking good like this,” she murmurs.

Their words make your skin prickle, heat pooling low in your stomach. You can barely breathe with how they’re touching you, how they’re speaking to you. But just as quickly as they praise, their hands slow and then stop entirely.

“Then again,” Agatha continues, her tone turning sharper, her fingers digging into your hips, “maybe we shouldn’t be too generous with our compliments.”

You blink up at her, dizzy with need, but Rio’s grip on your chin forces your gaze toward her instead. The playful glint in her eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

“You really thought we wouldn’t notice?” She asks, tilting your head back, forcing you to hold her gaze. “Letting everyone at this party get an eyeful of you? Letting that prick downstairs get close enough to touch you?”

Your stomach twists. “I wasn’t—”

Agatha tuts, cutting you off. “Don’t even try, sweetheart.” Her grip tightens, her breath hot against your cheek. “You were practically giggling at him.”

“I was being friendly,” you argue weakly. “Just being a good host—”

“You should know who you belong to by now,” Rio interrupts, voice a low growl, her lips brushing yours. “The only people you need to be good for are us.”

Before you can stammer out a response, Agatha takes your hand in hers, guiding it lower and lower until your palm is pressed between her legs. Your breath catches, eyes going wide when you feel it.

Hard, thick, and waiting.

The heavy coat she’s wearing must have concealed it from view

Your lips part, a soft, startled noise escaping before Rio kisses it away. Then Agatha presses forward just enough to make sure you feel her, making sure you understand.

“Still want to pretend?” She teases dangerously. “Or are you ready to be good now?”

Rio doesn’t give you a chance to answer. Her fingers are suddenly slipping past the waistband of your underwear, gliding through your slick heat with ease. The first stroke has you jolting, the second has you gasping, and by the third, you’re already shaking in their hold.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Rio murmurs against your lips, dragging her fingers through your wetness before circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re so worked up. Is this all for us or do you want us to go fetch your friend from downstairs?”

You whine at her words. “No. Please, no, I want you. I only ever want you.”

Agatha hums her approval, her hands busy with your chest, kneading, pinching, and rolling your nipples between her fingers in a way that has you keening. Her mouth isn’t far behind, her lips and tongue lavishing attention along your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“You look so pretty like this,” she muses, flicking her tongue over a sensitive spot, smiling when she feels your breath hitch. “So desperate and needy. And you have the nerve to pretend you weren’t begging for us to do this?”

Rio chuckles, dragging her fingers lower before plunging two inside you without warning. The sudden stretch knocks the air from your lungs, your knees buckling as she fucks into you with deep, practiced strokes. Her free hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as your body melts between them, thighs shaking, pleasure mounting too quickly to contain.

“That’s it, baby,” she purrs, curling her fingers just right, rubbing against your g-spot in a way that has you seeing stars.

You don’t stand a chance. Between Agatha’s lips on your skin, her hands teasing and playing with your chest, and the relentless motion of Rio’s fingers, you unravel in their arms, your orgasm hitting you in waves that leave you breathless. You barely register Agatha’s arm wrapping around your waist, holding you upright as your body trembles, Rio murmuring soft praises as she strokes you through the aftershocks.

By the time you finally come down, you’re a mess—practically boneless from the pleasure they’ve wrung from you. You hadn’t even noticed how thoroughly they’d been marking you until you glance at the mirror across the room and spot angry red hickies blooming all over your neck—too dark to be ignored, too obvious to be passed off as anything else.

Rio just smirks. “You’ll figure something out,” she says, unbothered.

Then something smooth and cool is slid down the front of your underwear and then pushed inside you. It slips in without resistance; you’re not surprised by this with how hard you just came, but you still jolt at the sensation, looking down in alarm, but Agatha hushes you with a soothing stroke down your spine.

“Be a good pet,” she whispers. “And don’t take it out.”

Your stomach twists in anticipation at what they’re going to do.

Agatha opens the door, but before you can protest, Rio pats your ass and sends you on your way.

You try to focus, try to mingle, but it’s impossible. Your legs are unsteady as you make your way back down the stairs, each step a struggle as the first soft buzz hums to life between your thighs.

You bite your lip hard, fingers gripping your drink tighter than necessary, heat spreading across your face.

It’s going to be a long night.

—

Desperation eventually wins out.

The drinks, the teasing, the relentless vibrations—it’s all too much.

You don’t even think before your fingers fly over your phone screen, firing off a text to MILFs Anonymous in sheer drunken need.

You: I need you, Mommy.

The moment it sends, regret lances through you. Too much? Too needy? Too obvious?

But before you can spiral, your phone buzzes.

Agatha: We’re in our living room, baby.

You practically start sprinting to them.

—

When you arrive, a group of guests has already settled in for a game of charades.

Rio and Agatha are perched on the couch, the picture of effortless elegance, drinks in hand, looking entirely untouched by the chaos they’ve unleashed inside you.

“Come join us, Y/N!” someone calls.

You hesitate. There are no seats left, not even an armrest to perch on.

Then Agatha smirks, tilting her head in invitation. “Oh, come here,” she says, patting her thigh. “We don’t mind squeezing in a bit.”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your body starts moving before your mind can protest, drawn like a moth to flame. The moment you lower yourself into Agatha’s lap, you feel the firm press of her strap beneath you.

Your thighs clench. A small, involuntary whimper slipping past your lips, barely audible over the chatter—except to them. The vibrations in your underwear kick up just slightly.

It’s a warning.

You shift instinctively, trying to relieve the ache, trying to grind just enough, but Agatha’s hands settle on your hips, holding you still.

“Behave,” she whispers.

The game goes on, but you are utterly useless—lost in your arousal, eyes darting desperately between them, silently begging for mercy.

And then, just as your body reaches a breaking point, they stand. Agatha lifts you from her lap, setting you onto the couch as if you weigh nothing. Rio leans in close—close enough for only you to hear.

“You should be more careful when texting,” she whispers, smirking against your ear. “Check which group chat you click on next time.”

Your blood freezes.

They walk away, leaving you scrambling to open your phone. Your stomach drops. Your message—the Mommy message—wasn’t sent to MILFs Anonymous.

It was sent to the party planning chat.

With your parents in it.

Crap.

The vibrations surge suddenly to a dizzying intensity, tearing you violently back into the moment. You slap a hand over your mouth, barely suppressing a gasp, legs clamping shut as pleasure floods through you.

Agatha and Rio glance at you from across the room, watching as you struggle.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, mind racing, body burning.

That text is going to be impossible to explain to your parents.

But right now? Right now, all you can do is bite your lip and try and survive until you’re alone with Agatha and Rio again.

—

As the party inches closer to midnight, the energy shifts—laughter growing louder, bodies pressing together as people eagerly anticipate the countdown. The air is thick with warmth, alcohol, and the unspoken anticipation of the night’s inevitable climax.

Unfortunately for you, the guy from earlier sidles up beside you, martini glass still in hand.

“Ah, there you are.”

You sigh, schooling your expression as you glance up at him. He’s grinning, slightly flushed from alcohol, his tux still crisp despite the hours of partying.

“Where’d you run off to?” he asks, taking another slow sip of his drink. “I was hoping we’d get a little more time together.”

“Been busy,” you reply, voice flat.

He chuckles like you’ve made a joke, leaning in a little too close, eyes dipping to your lips. "Y’know, it’s bad luck to not have someone to kiss at midnight. Wouldn’t want to start the new year off on the wrong foot, would you?" His tone is smooth and practiced, and though his words drip with charm, they don’t land the way he intends.

You open your mouth to shut him down, but shut it again when you hear a deep gasp from behind you.

“Oh no,” Rio drawls dramatically. “Oops.”

You barely have time to process before Rio’s drink drenches the front of his pristine tuxedo. There’s a second of pure silence. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a drunken party guest howls with laughter.

“Dude!” they wheeze, pointing at the massive stain spreading down his pants. “You look like you pissed yourself!”

Why on Earth they find it so funny, you’ll never know, but it does seem to make wannabe James Bond forget about flirting with you.

He goes stiff, face burning as he looks down at the damage. His jaw works, like he’s about to lash out for being humiliated. Instead, he mutters something under his breath, pushes past the crowd, and disappears from sight.

Rio, standing beside you, smiles sweetly, swirling the remnants of her drink round the glass. “Oops,” she says again, voice filled with mock innocence.

At that moment, the countdown begins.

“Ten!”

Agatha shifts closer.

“Nine!”

Rio sets her empty glass down, her gaze flickering to you.

“Eight!”

You feel the first brush of Agatha’s fingers along your cheek.

“Seven… six…”

Rio’s hand slides down your back, resting just above your waist.

“Five… four…”

Agatha tilts your chin up.

“Three…”

Your breath catches.

“Two…”

Your pulse pounds.

“One!”

Then, at the stroke of midnight, their lips are on you.

Agatha kisses you first, slow and languid, her tongue teasing at your lower lip before slipping into your mouth. It’s deep and possessive, and if anyone notices your neighbour kissing someone who is not her wife, they’re too caught up in their own celebrations to care.

Before you can fully process it, she pulls away, only for Rio to take her place.

Where Agatha was slow, Rio is devastating—teeth nipping at your lip, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist like she’s starving for you.

By the time she pulls back, you’re breathless, dazed, and aching.

—

The party blurs after that. There’s more drinking, more dancing, more laughter, but the tension lingers.

They don’t let you stray too far, always keeping you within reach, eyes dark with promise.

Eventually, the party begins to die down, and guests filter out toward your parents’ house to continue the fun on a smaller scale. You move to follow, but before you can take a step, a firm hand closes around your wrist.

It’s Agatha. Her grip is light, but her eyes are anything but. “Stay.”

She turns, calling out to the last stragglers near the door. “We’re gonna lock up—probably head to bed. Unfortunately, that means Y/N here is calling it a night too.”

You know she’s lying and from the way Rio is standing behind you, so close you can feel her breath against your neck, you know exactly why.

The door clicks shut.

The lock turns.

And then?

They pounce.

Rio is on you first, shoving you back against the nearest wall, her mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your knees buckle. It’s all tongue and teeth, no patience, no teasing—just raw need.

Agatha isn’t far behind. She presses up against your side, hands already tugging at your costume, lips brushing against your ear as she snarls, “I thought they’d never leave.”

You don’t get a chance to answer.

Rio’s hands are already at your waist, yanking at the fabric, desperate to get it off. “Fuck,” she mutters, cursing the layers, fingers fumbling.

Agatha’s laugh is low and wicked as she slides a hand between your legs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos. “You’re soaked.”

Heat floods your face, but you don’t get a second to feel embarrassed—because in the next breath, Rio growls in frustration and just rips your costume open.

“Rio!” you gasp, but she doesn’t care.

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes dark with want. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

She starts stripping you, hands rough and insistent. She doesn’t waste time, doesn’t go slow, just takes—pulling away fabric, tossing aside layers—until you’re left in nothing but your thoroughly wrecked underwear.

While Rio starts to undress herself, Agatha’s hands trail down your arms before gripping your wrists and pinning them against the wall.

“Look at you,” she muses, eyes dragging over your body like she’s memorising every inch. “You really let yourself get this messy at a party?”

Before you can snap back, your gaze flicks to Rio and the very, very obvious damp patch on her lacey black underwear.

Heat surges through you, and despite your situation, a smirk tugs at your lips. “I’m the messy one?” You tease, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like someone else has a problem too.”

Rio follows your gaze—then scoffs, shaking her head with a laugh. “Keep talking,” she warns, shoving her thumbs beneath the waistband of her underwear. “See what happens.”

Now Agatha starts stripping, too.

And fuck.

Your mouth goes dry as the last of their clothes hit the floor, leaving you gaping at her—completely bare, except for the harness strapped tightly around her hips, the deep purple toy attached firmly at the centre.

It makes your breath catch.

The sight of her so commanding and unapologetic aroused has your knees weak.

Rio spots your reaction immediately. Smirking, she slowly drops to her knees in front of you, dragging her palms down your trembling thighs.

"You're shaking, cariño," she murmurs, pressing a teasing kiss against your hipbone. "Been wound up all night, have you?"

Her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your soaked underwear. With a slow, deliberate drag, she peels the ruined fabric down your legs, letting it drop to the floor. And then she spots the vibrator still tucked between your slick thighs.

Her smirk widens.

"Look at this," she purrs, brushing her fingers against the damp, buzzing device. "You've been so good, keeping this in for us."

“Not like I had a chance to take it out. You guys have had me on a tight leash since midnight,” you scoff.

“A leash, you say? Now that’s a good idea,” Agatha hums from behind you, warm hands sliding up your arms before settling at your waist. She pulls you flush against her chest, letting you feel every inch of the hard length pressing against your lower back.

Rio hooks a finger around the toy and pulls it free with a wet, obscene little sound that makes your entire body jolt. Then, without breaking eye contact, she brings it to her lips.

Her tongue flicks over it first, tasting the evidence of your arousal. She hums, lashes fluttering as she takes the toy fully into her mouth, sucking it clean with slow, deliberate moans that send heat rushing straight to your core.

Your fingers dig into Agatha’s arms, a whimper slipping past your lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Rio purrs, setting it aside before leaning in, kissing and biting her way up your inner thigh.

Agatha moves at the same time, her hands skimming up your ribs before one closes firmly around your throat. She tilts your head to the side, exposing your neck, and sinks her teeth in.

The sharp pleasure-pain rips a gasp from you.

"Such a needy thing," Agatha husks against your skin, sucking another bruise into place. “We only fucked you a few hours ago and yet you’re still dripping for us.”

Rio groans in agreement, her breath hot against your thigh. Without warning, she grabs the back of your knee, hooks your leg over her shoulder, and finally presses her mouth to your pussy.

Rio’s tongue works you open with devastating precision; she is utterly relentless. Every flick and swirl sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body, making your thighs tremble around her head. The grip Agatha has around your waist tightens, holding you up as you lose yourself to the sensation, your hands grasping at anything they can touch.

You’re so close and Rio feels it. She moans against you, the vibration sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. The tension snaps all at once, a ragged cry escaping your lips as an orgasm crashes through you, stealing the air from your lungs. Your body shudders, shaking in Agatha’s steady arms as Rio eases you through it, licking up every last drop, prolonging the high until you can barely stand.

Only when your body sags completely against Agatha does Rio finally pull away, her lips slick and eyes hooded with satisfaction. But you barely get a moment to recollect yourself before Agatha is moving you both again.

She manhandles you effortlessly, flipping you over the arm of the couch with zero warning. She grips your hips and thrusts inside you in a single, smooth motion.

“Fuck—!” You arch against the cushions; the stretch is almost overwhelming, but you push back against her, wordlessly begging for more. And she gives it to you, setting a brutal pace that has your nails clawing at the couch.

There’s no hesitation and no patience left. Agatha grip is firm, fingers digging into your flesh like she owns you. The heavy press of her body against your back, the way the harness hits deep with every roll of her hips—it’s overwhelming, all-consuming, and exactly what you need.

It’s only then that you register the low, shuddering groans Agatha is making, the kind that makes it feel like your body is alive with electricity. You realise she must have a grinding pad in the harness. Every thrust she gives you is giving her something in return, dragging that firm pressure right over her clit.

"Oh, fuck—so tight around me, baby. You like being used like this?" Agatha’s voice is rough and strained, and it only makes you clench tighter around her.

But you still want more.

Your fingers scramble against the cushions before reaching back, finding a handful of soft, wild hair to yank.

Rio gasps, pleasure laced into the sharp pull, and follows, letting you drag her in front of you. Her pupils are blown, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You waste no time, your hands cupping the damp lace of her underwear, feeling the evidence of how much this night has affected her.

"You act all in control, but you’re just as desperate, aren’t you? Been getting off to this the whole time?" You moan, voice thick with pleasure, as Agatha pounds into you.

Rio lets out a breathless laugh, but it dissolves into a shaky whimper as you press a little firmer. "You’re such a little brat," she whispers, but the way she rocks her hips into your touch betrays her. "Gonna make it up to me? Use that pretty little mouth of yours?"

At that, you capture her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her smirk and groaning against her lips as Agatha slams into you even harder. Your hands roam, greedy and impatient, trailing over Rio’s stomach, slipping past the waistband of her delicate lace underwear. You moan into her mouth as you feel just how wet she is, a shuddering breath leaving her as your fingers slide through the mess you’ve made of her.

Agatha grips your hips tighter. “That’s it, sweetheart,” she growls, voice vibrating with pleasure. "Fuck her like you mean it, baby—make her fall apart for us."

You thrust two fingers inside Rio with ease, curling them just right, coaxing a gorgeous whimper from her lips. She braces herself against the couch, hips bucking into your hand, her breath hitching every time your thumb brushes over her clit. Her head tips back, exposing the perfect column of her throat, and you can’t resist—you latch onto her skin, kissing and biting your way down as she unravels in your hands.

Agatha doesn’t relent for a second; her pace is relentless, her moans growing heavier, and her body pressed so tightly against yours you feel everything.

The three of you move together, bodies lost in each other, the pleasure mounting higher and higher until finally, you all break at once.

Rio’s cry is the first to ring out, her body tensing, fingers tangling in your hair as she falls apart beneath your touch. Agatha is next, hips stuttering, a rough groan tumbling from her lips as she pushes deep one final time.

You shatter between them, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning in the heat of their bodies, the grip of their hands, the sound of their pleasure mixing with yours in the dark, breathless space of the living room.

—

The three of you barely make it up the stairs, hands and lips desperate, laughter mixing with breathless moans as you stumble into the bedroom. Agatha ditches the harness the second you reach the edge of the bed, tossing it aside before Rio pushes her down onto the mattress with an eager gleam in her eye. Straddling her wife, Rio hooks one of Agatha’s legs over her own, pressing their bodies together, the heat between them instantly electrifying

Agatha smirks up at her, hands tracing over Rio’s thighs before gripping her hips, guiding her down. The first slow grind of Rio’s core against her own pulls a shuddering gasp from them both, the wetness between their bodies making the movement slick and unbearably good.

You don’t hesitate to join, slotting yourself in behind Rio, one hand slipping between your own legs while the other moves to cup her breast. You drag your lips along the curve of her shoulder, sucking marks into her skin, letting your tongue flick behind her ear just to feel the way she shudders from it.

“Fuck, look at you two,” Agatha groans, voice thick with arousal as she meets Rio’s slow, intoxicating rhythm. “You’re both so fucking gorgeous.”

Rio whimpers, grinding down harder, her pleasure clear in the way her body trembles against you. You can feel the slickness coating your fingers as you fuck yourself, matching their pace, your own moans spilling against Rio’s flushed skin.

“C’mon, Daddy,” you emphasise her title, fingers twisting her nipple just enough to make her gasp. “Let me hear you.”

Rio’s head falls back against your shoulder, her breath ragged as Agatha grips her ass, pulling her down with each roll of her hips, making sure she feels every bit of her. The pace quickens, and the heat between you all mounts unbearably fast. You can feel it building; Rio’s legs begin to tremble, Agatha’s nails dig into her skin, and your own fingers speed up, chasing that blinding pleasure.

“Oh, fuck—” Rio gasps, her body going rigid as her climax crashes over her. She grips your thigh, nails digging in as she rides it out, the sound of Agatha’s deep groan telling you she’s right there with her, lost in the overwhelming bliss. The sight of them both cumming together pushes you over the edge as well, pleasure searing through your veins as your own orgasm takes hold, your body tensing and then shuddering against Rio’s.

For a long moment, all that fills the room is the sound of panting as your bodies tremble in the aftermath. Then, as the bliss slowly fades into warmth, Agatha lets out a breathless chuckle, running a lazy hand up Rio’s side.

“Well,” she muses, voice still hoarse from pleasure, “that’s one hell of a way to start the new year.”

“Yeah, if this is any indication of how the rest of the year’s gonna go, I’d say we’re in for a good one.” Rio laughs, head still resting against your shoulder, and you can’t help but grin, pressing a soft kiss to her damp skin.

You hum an agreement as the three of you collapse onto the mattress in a tangled, sated heap, bodies exhausted but hearts so full. Whatever the year held, one thing was certain—you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

-----

Soooooooooo how do we all feel about the return of Neighbourly Care?

Agatha and Rio are rich MILF neighbours now ig... sugar mommies for reader yay or nay?

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taglist: @aceday @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @sevikasleftarm25 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19 @masorciereviolette

#ilovehotactresses #reblog

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ilovehotactresses · 20 days ago

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Twerking contest in my room tonight only contestant is you

*bones rattling* ok babygyal

#ilovehotactresses #bully rae #ilovehotactresses answers asks

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ilovehotactresses · 23 days ago

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jessica is so babygirl coded i need her i need to hug her

Hi lovely! Can I request a Lady Jessica x reader fic? Where reader is her Fremen bodyguard and due to a hard past is cold and distant with everyone, but eventually the reader and Jessica become close and help each other soften? That’s my initial thought but anything along those lines is fine, I’m living off of Jessica crumbs over here 💀

Ya Qamar

Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Fremen Caretaker Reader

Summary: A soft interlude of broken barriers, a gentle snippet of hope.

Warnings: Threat of heatstroke (bbg is ok)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Hello Anon, I regret to say I went one direction with this fic and ended up at another? Safe to say it's less body guard, more attendant/ lady in waiting vibes. Chakobsa words are either from the Dune thesauras or translations of Arabic spelled with English characters. (I'm sorry if I screwed it up, I can't read Arabic characters).

Sand worked its way into everything, even inside the palaquin Jessica rode in across the wide expanse of spice-dust desert. The cool air was nice, and it managed to dry the sweat inside Jessica’s priestess robes. The swell of her baby was becoming prominent, becoming noticeable. She didn’t know if she approved of it. There was nothing to do on this long journey. Nothing to do but watch, to rest her palm over the pulsing, stubborn life that clung to Jessica’s strength for her own development. Alia, the mind within Jessica’s womb, the mind both disconcerting and… Hers. Jessica looked outside her palaquin, making out the shape of her companion, the assigned attendant Jessica had been more or less assigned to in the absence of a husband.

Pregnancy was not a private matter in the Fremen culture, it was a group effort. And the woman they’d chosen for Jessica was as invested in that ideology as the rest. Jessica turned, shutting her eyes, trying to make peace with this time alone, encased in a small structure on the back of a worm. But she wasn’t alone.

“Reverend Mother, we are almost there.” the woman spoke. “You should take water when we get there. And rest.”

Jessica nodded. Somehow, by some terrible twist of fate, this individual assigned for Jessica’s pregnancy had more say over Jessica’s personal time than she did. Anger, a bit of frustration threatened to boil through, but she took a deep breath.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings about total obliteration…” Jessica recited, both of her hands pressed over her belly, searching for support.

←→

The foreign woman was strong. Stronger than you’d have ever considered an out-worlder to be. She was trained, a priestess capable of many strange feats, but she was human. As you guided her into the chambers she would make her home, you knew that she was human. Her breathing was labored, and she limped slightly. There was no husband for her, no family to tend to the needs of a woman so filled with life, with burden. Paul Atreides fought for the Fremen, and this Reverend Mother Jessica fought the spiritual battle.

“You are limping, take my arm.” you said, tone sterner than you meant it to be.

Jessica turned, staring at you with her blue-within-blue eyes, expression dismissive.

“I can walk on my own.” she retorted, continuing with more determination, but less convincing gait.

The stillsuit you were clung grotesquely to you in this new sietch. You wished to be rid of it, but first you must rid your ammun-zowjatu of her clothes. She continued to stubbornly limp, and so you stepped forwards, wrapping an arm around her midsection. Jessica flinched, glaring down at you with insistent outrage.

“I did not give you permission to touch me.” she snapped, making a move to pull away.

“Ya!” you scoffed, glaring her down. “You speak nonsense because you have felt the khadir. You will come with me, and I will tend to you as I have been assigned to do.”

Jessica refused to budge, her feet staying rooted to the spot as she remained still, a large stone with its belly in the ground.

“I am your Reverend Mother, you obey me, hal tufhamunee?” Jessica spat, gripping your wrist in turn.

She was violently flushed in the face, upset with both you, and fatigued by the journey. She continued to breathe heavily, though she had been stationary for some time. There was a battle between her, between her mumarriza-zowjatu that stared at her with those stern eyes of Ibad. She was young, trained to be a Sayyadina, born to be a fighter. She had taken an oath to Jessica, that they would live together and be one as Jessica was in need of assistance during her pregnancy. Jessica had done it for the culture, for the understanding that having a partner, whether officially pledged in marriage or pledged in duty was necessary to maintain her status as a pregnant woman.

“You are panting from the heat. I will not be scolded for not assisting my imra’tu when she is in need of another’s assistance.” you stubbornly insisted once again holding out your arm.

Jessica didn’t want to give in, this was a battle she needed to win. And then her vision began to spot.

“Ai!’ you groaned, wrapping your arms around Jessica and supporting her.

It was only a few more steps to the yali Jessica had been promised, and yet you feared you wouldn’t get that far. The curtains were thick, difficult to press through, but once you made it inside, you were safe. Jessica was panting, gasping for air, face dry, though she appeared to be sweating from her flush. Upon an unmade bedroll you placed her, pulling off her head dress, her outer robes, and then her inner ones too. Her nakedness did not concern you, to be naked was common enough in Fremen sietches, especially one’s own yali.

“Let me go… No… I don’t need help.” Jessica croaked weakly.

“Al-lubb ay ma yawi ma yadi.” you spoke softly, quoting a Fremen proverb to soothe her.

Once she was naked, you produced a small flask of water, bringing it to her lips. There was no such thing as wasting water on Jessica, she was vital. And she was yours to fret over. The rate at which Jessica sucked the water down was astonishing, and worrisome. You brought out another water ring, letting her drain it as well.

“More.” she gasped.

“No. We must wait.” you replied softly, grabbing a small fan and turning it on.

The circulating air soothed her, cooling her overheating body. Lying on the back wasn’t good for a pregnant woman like Jessica, so once she seemed improved, you sat her up, resting her against your front.

“I do not want to undermine your authority, ya qamar.” you spoke softly, letting her lean against you.

Jessica breathed in and out softly, letting the wind from the fan cool her skin. She was breathing regularly now, both hands resting on her belly. She felt exposed in her nakedness, unnerved by the presence of another so intimate with her. But this was the Fremen way. And it was the Fremen way to be concerned for your partner.

“Moonflower? An odd pet name.” Jessica mused. “There are few flowers here.”

You chuckled, letting Jessica dodge away from your gentle words, your slip of intimacy.

“You are cruel. I am waiting for your baby, she will appreciate it when I call her ‘ya Helwa’. You, not so much.”

Jessica smiled softly, a hand falling onto her belly. She felt the soft tumbles of a happy baby, the soft patter of feet. Alia loved being with her nurse-mother. Jessica knew that the child slept better when you were near, either out of instinct or stubborn favoritism. Alia didn’t express her ideas with words, not as often as Jessica had thought. She had secrets, quiet thoughts Jessica did not hear.

“She is better. I was worried she was distressed when I got too warm, her heart was so fast…” Jessica admitted, voice cracking a little.

You nodded, remaining still as Jessica held her belly. There was a grief in Jessica, one she continued to carry around, even as the joy of her child’s birth approached.

“Why are you so quiet, your breaths are unnatural.” you spoke against her bare shoulder, staring at the freckles that dotted her skin.

Jessica took in a shuddering breath, struggling through the silence for a moment longer.

“... I’m a bad mother.” she admitted, voice trembling. “I… She hurts because of me, the spice agony… I’ve hurt her. And I keep hurting her.”

Ilsa’s hands fisted into balls at her sides. You feared her nails might cut her hands, that she would hurt, and so you took them into yours.

“No, no. Bad mothers do not care. Bad mothers do not have children because their children are dead. Your baby is healthy, and strong, and you are strong too.”

Guiding Jessica’s hands back down to her belly, you placed her palms flat against the stretched skin of her belly. She breathed steadier now, though she was still fighting tears.

“Ya qamar… Moonflower.”

“Yes, the wise flower that spreads its petals only when the time is right, when it's good. Beautiful, used for weddings.” you spoke softly, thumbs stroking over the bones of her fingers.

“You are ya sanadi.” she murmured, leaning further against you.

The room was cooler now, Jessica was cooler. Her eyes shut, and she leaned. My backbone, she’d said.

“Hayati.” you whispered back, soft enough that she barely stirred.

But a soft kick responded.

Glossary (Arabic):

Ammun- Mother

Zowjatu- Wife

Khadir- Hot wind

Imra'tu- Woman

Hal tufhamunee- Do you understand me?

Mumarriza- Nurse

Ya (q)amar- Moon/moonflower

Ya Helwa- Sweet one

Ya sanadi- Backbone

Hayati- My life

Fremen:

Ya!- You listen here!

Ai!- Interjection of frustration

Al-lubb ay ma yawi ma yadi- Wolves do not cause harm in their own dens.

Tag List: @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407

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#lady jessica x reader #ilovehotactresses #reblog

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ilovehotactresses · 25 days ago

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FUCK YEA

some domestic agathario for the soul

#i love ppl with talent #i’m utterly obsessed #ilovehotactresses #reblog

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ilovehotactresses · 27 days ago

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Sweet Dreams

Selkie Jenny Lind x Fem! Acrobat Reader

Summary: A chance encounter on a blurry English morning leads to the stolen moment with a siren with the soul of the sea. Years and many miseries later, the jaded acrobat finds companionship in an all too familiar song.

Warnings: Melancholic circumstances, Barnum is a historically accurate cunt, reader almost prostitutes herself, allusions to domestic violence against Jenny, the circus is a miserable place

A/N: This is for you, P. Sweet dreams!

Act 0- The Fool

The sand on the Welsh coast wasn’t soft and coarse like the beaches you’d been to before. It was rocky, the stones smooth and flat, the kind you could skip over the dark grey-green waves. Wind gushed against your cheek, cutting sharply with the winter cold. The waves were high, upset with the storm that raged throughout the endless sea. Right now the tide was inching out, revealing some sandier patches of beach as the water surrendered its dominion. It wasn’t the safest to be out here tonight, but the sky was clear and you reasoned the tide far back enough that you wouldn’t get caught. In the moonlight that shone so bright overhead, you could make out all of the shadows of the large boulders. Some shadows seemed ominous, making grotesque faces. Others were more subtle.

Are there whales in Wales? You’d dumbly asked the circus coordinator, P.T. Barnum. He’d shaken his head. There wouldn’t be time to see the whales, no time for boat rides or long walks. Except a storm had grounded you here, stuck in a tiny village on the way through to England. Even steamboats couldn’t ride out the harsh storms that made winter here so miserable. You kicked at the rocks around your feet, watching the skid up and over each other, crawling and shuddering out of the place they’d been in when the tide had moved them last. None of it would be permanent, and that soothed your temperamental soul. It was like a dream; shifting and indeterminable.

The wind whipped around you and through you, clawing your blouse open. Pulling over your coat, you found the chill greatly diminished, but still the cold air bit at your nose and ears, reminding you of the true power of an ocean so stirred. White foam clung to the exposed beach, proof of the life that the ocean greedily gulped away with the rest of the water. As you walked further along the shore your eye caught long stretches of green, clumps of seaweed coughed up by the calming ocean. It was all very dim here, hours before dawn. You could see the faintest blue peeking out above the water, the promise of a later sun bright in the sky.

But the seaweed and foam wasn’t the only thing the ocean had released from her bosom. A song, faint and sweet sailed over the wind, kissing the hairs that trembled by your ear in the wind. It lingered. First in your mind, and then slowly worked its way into your bones. A melody so unforgettable it would surely play in the dull moments of thoughtlessness. Again you got the sinking, strange feeling that this could be a dream. That this was mystical, hallowed ground, the kind that swallowed a person up and spat them back out changed. You saw her then, dark hair whipping in the wind. The faintest copper tinge that betrayed more color than the grey atmosphere around. Pale skin, exposed so carelessly to the winter wind glimmered under the slow dawn. Your footsteps didn’t seem to startle this spirit of the sea, rather she seemed to sing softer as you drew closer, the song more intimate.

Warnings of faeries and spirits clamoured dimly in your mind, none of them ringing louder than the gentle tones of her song. Why would one fear a spirit if it was just a dream?

Even as you stood an arms-reach away, she didn’t stop singing. The waves blended seamlessly with her voice, lulling you deeper into her song-induced trance. She turned, staring up at you with the softest blue-grey-green eyes you swore you’d seen before in a long forgotten dream. The grey pelt that protected her skin from the wind was spotted, the same pattern you’d seen on the seals that lounged on the beach in mid-afternoon times. Even as you drew closer she was unafraid, the two of you settled together on that big rock. Your speech was quick, blending together quickly, like all dream speech.

“You’re a siren.” you whispered, taking in the curve of her nose, her jaw as she stared out into the awakening light of early morn.

“No. A selkie.” she murmured. “They call me Jenny Lind.” she said, an accent so unfamiliar you couldn’t place it.

“Are you an Irish selkie?” you whispered, reaching out to play with the soft red tendrils of her hair.

She shook her head, damp curls shaking in the breeze.

“I’m from a northern coast far, far away from here.” she whispered, a secret for your ears only. “I don’t know its name, not for your foreign ears. Sverige, the land of the Svea. That’s where I’m from.”

Your cold hands found hers, tangled in the pelt of her discarded mammal form. And her hands were warm. She radiated warmth, an immunity to the biting chill that crept in, even through your thick coat. Jenny, as she was called, leaned against you, a curiosity and interest flickering in her eyes. The two of you stayed silent for a while, both fighting the initial awkwardness of a meeting so tender and… Foggy.

“You sing beautifully.” you whispered, leaning in enough to trace the freckles that dotted her hands and forearms.

“It is a love song. Meant to lure only the good. Your soul heard it before your ears did, I’ve been singing for you since the tide began to recede.”

Her eyes sparkled, a shy smile overcoming her as she leaned in closer. Her nose crested against yours, a greeting. You repeated it, clumsily knocking the bridge of your nose against hers. She laughed, a pleased glee slipping over her face. She stood at once, playful and energetic as she pulled you towards a crevice in the jagged hills. You followed her, tripping over rocks in your boots even as her bare feet danced over the stones with a pixie grace. In the ridged opening of the cave you stumbled, pulled deeper into the unassuming cave. It smelled damp, but clean. As your eyes adjusted the dimmer light, you could make out the faintest glow. She pulled you further inside, into a bed of sea grass. It all happened so fast you weren’t sure if happened, or if this was happening now.

In the darkness of that secluded chamber you heard her song again, soft and tender, pulling you closer, deeper into the embrace now freely given. She was everywhere and anywhere, hands floating in and away like the wind that whipped outside. Jenny tasted like the sea, the salt of the breeze, and the warmth of the sun-warmed rocks. She was soft, smooth like the stones of the beach, warm everywhere as she enveloped you and released you like the tide. Breaths in and out, regular and sometimes desperate; shared gasps for only your ears. As you slowed your affair, she grew quiet. Snuffling around in the dark, the two of you found a quiet embrace. As dawn crept over the sky she sang once more, a quiet lullaby so gentle and deceptive, lulling you asleep.

Only when the sun burst through the cave at midday did you wake, seabirds screeching and careening through the frigid air as the tide crept over the beach once more. You awoke with a start, reaching across the seabed for your lover, for your Jenny. She was gone, and with her the smell of salt and sunshine. The beach was empty, devoid of any song, any trace of the seals that had barked and rolled about in the waves days prior. She was gone, your Jenny. Gone with the tide, with the storms that had washed her in, the winter fit that had taken your love, your innocent amour. As the group toured, crossing oceans, exploring venues, dancing across various European stages, you remained trapped in that midwinter dream, coughing up phlegm and crying for anyone and everything to hear.

“Where’s my Jenny Lind?”

Act I- The Magician

Trapped in another alcoholic haze you dreamt. The same grey beach, the same siren song that never left your ears. Again and again the melody played, the lullaby that would linger until you were dead. Initially, the alcohol had killed whatever haunted reimaginings of that night, along with whatever dreams dared to tremble through your grief-stricken head. She was there. Always at the ends of your fingertips, never close enough to grasp, to touch. Your hands would find her hair, touching the reddish-brown strands in the dim light. Again your spectre would turn, her face always too blurred by the dim light to identify. Just as her features seemed to take distinct shape, just as you’d get closer, your circumstances would end your dream, prolonging the torment once more.

But life wasn’t like that foggy night, in between reality and vision.

“Wake up, kid.” a gruff shove knocking you off of the box you’d passed out on.

An equally tired, abused face stared down at you, enough to have you shuddering awake. Work never stopped. Not when you were being exploited by the ever tyrannical Barnum. You coughed twice, feeling your stomach lurch alarmingly.

“I’m up.” you eventually managed, pushing yourself off of the ground. “The show never stops, I know.”

Your eyes struggled to take in your surroundings, but your nose immediately picked up the smell of excrement. The animals were restless this morning, clamoring for food, water, attention and always freedom. You felt bad for them, throwing the monkeys an extra handful of apricots. Not that they would be any good, Barnum never bought food to the quality they deserved. Elephants were next, and to your dismay you were met with a cage full of hot, steaming crap. The joys of the circus. The smell was enough to trigger the bile in your stomach, and your upset mixed with the waste you shoveled into a wheelbarrow.

“Hey, my bird of paradise!” a baritone greeting slammed through your throbbing head. It almost knocked you off your feet with the way your bones seemed to ache. Hangovers; god’s gift to alcoholics.

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath, “Good morning Mr. Barnum!”

He was in a good mood, of course.

“I need you on stage tonight. One of the acrobats is ill.” he sighed.

“Sure.” you nodded, not even bothering to beg your personal circumstances.

Alcoholism was a sickness that was rampant in Barnum’s circus. It was debilitating, contagious, and easy to exploit. Give a man his wages, buy cheap spirits in bulk, take back those wages for alcohol without limit. Everyone had ghosts here, things they wanted to forget. Yours was named Jenny, but Grace, Thomas, Penelope, Sam and a dozen more lingered here as the night crept over the sky like a diseased bearer of melancholy. You wondered if the animals had ghosts too. An elephant trumpeted mournfully, answering that thought.

“I’m investigating a new edition to our troop. A Swedish gal, sings like the legends of old. She’d be perfect for high brow events.” Barnum mused.

“Swedish? Hmm. How’d she end up here anyways?” you asked, half-listening.

“Oh, she’s an immigrant. Came with her husband to Maine a few weeks ago. She sings out of her window, her husband is… A piece of work.” Barnum sighed.

Your eyebrows flew up in alarm, and you gave him your full attention. Barnum wasn’t exactly father or husband of the year, so such a comment as that coming from him… Immediate pity was what you felt for this poor woman. Sure, the circus was a hard life, but all kinds of people escaped here from harder circumstances.

“So what’s the plan? We buy him a dozen rounds and steal her away?” you asked.

“See, that’s why I need you performing tonight. He likes pretty things, comes to visit when lady acrobats are on display. I need you in the red costume. I know you hate it, but I need his butt in the seat the entire night. I’m giving him a free ticket, but still.”

You nodded along to that. The red costume was awful to wear. Mostly sheer, showing off an amount of skin that the Virgin Mary never dared to show Joseph. It brought jeering, whistles… It was a nightmare, hence your hatred for it.

“Well. If it’s for the liberation of women I’ll consent to it.” you sighed. “Viva la revolution and all.”

“Wonderful!” Barnum beamed, expression darkening as he leaned in. “But bathe before then. Full body, use the special lotions and soaps. If things go sideways I need you cozying up to our guy after the show.”

Again, you begrudgingly agreed. It was for a good cause, and a bath with the special soap was a treat indeed. Expensive french lavender, the kind with a smell that lingered in the air minutes after you left. Leaving the shovel embedded in a pile of dung, you travelled to Nellie’s trailer. You had a performance to prepare for, two performances. A person had to earn their wages, after all.

{-----------}

Corny circus music blared long into the night, and your arms ached as you prepared for the fifteenth trick of the night. A big breath of air in, a jump, and the smack of your chalked palms against the aerial hoop. You spun, careening and flying like a bird of paradise as you posed inside the hoop. The roar of the audience didn’t excite you like it once had. Sure, it still exhilarated you to hear them gasp in awe as you flipped and grasped hands with your fellow acrobats, but the haunting song of the hidden woman blurred and dulled the high you’d chased for so many years. As the final act came to close, your eyes caught Barnum’s. He gestured you forwards, and you curtsied as he bowed, the audience crying out their final praise. Your whole body ached, and you longed for a nightcap and a warm bed, but Barnum had other plans.

“It’s taking longer than we thought. I need you to distract our guy.” Barnum whispered into your ear as he pulled you towards a man with dark hair and a hard-set jaw. “Norman, did you enjoy the show?”

The man’s eyes bugged out as you approached, and he adjusted his coveralls.

“Yes. I’ve never seen a fairy so brilliantly confined in a performance such as this.” he spoke, accent thick, distinctly nordic.

You smiled, offering him your hand.

“Oh, you flatter me.” you smiled, analyzing the brute up close. “I’m pleased that you enjoyed our show tonight, any special guest of Barnum’s is a guest of mine.”

The honey you were pouring on him was all Barnum needed, and with a not-so sly hint that you should explore the backstage set up, you led the poor bastard into a prop tent, mindlessly chattering about costumes, animals, anything you thought would dazzle him.

“This is all very nice. I must be going home, my wife is lonely.” Norman insisted.

Your charms weren’t enough, it seemed. This was the part of dealing with men you hated. Words rarely worked, sweet talk was so difficult to pull off when you felt like hitting him rather than kissing up. But men didn’t truly care how much you liked them if you were showing skin.

“Well, if you must be going.” you shrugged, taking your head piece out and slowly letting your hair down.

If your words couldn’t keep him here, your body certainly could. Norman watched transfixed as you removed the stage makeup then as you pulled off the costume piece, clad only in a red leotard. You met his eyes very briefly as you stepped behind a thin partition, throwing your tights and leotard over the top of it as proof you were indeed naked. A dressing robe was what you returned in, and the promise of your nakedness made his eyes burn. That assumption, the hidden nature of the dressing room gave him all the security he needed to do what he did next. Men were brutes, and you wish you were shocked when he lunged forwards, meaty paws encircling your hips, breath hot on your neck. You didn’t want to have to bargain with your body, but this wasn’t about you. This was about distraction, about keeping him intrigued enough to stay. For better or worse you had his full attention.

“You’re not a fairy, you’re a siren, using your charms to seduce an honest man.” Norman gruffly spoke against your neck.

“An honest man would never come so close to the fantastical. Not if he truly believed it was a con.” you whispered, tone wavering in fear.

The threat of rape wasn’t uncommon in the circus. Generally you steered clear of men after shows, going with friends to ensure your safety. But this was different. This man didn’t have the morality to consider consent a true worry when a pretty woman was this close, and in his eyes, begging for it. A hand slid up, pawing, trying to tug free the double knotted fabric belt of the robe. Your ears rang, you were shaking, you couldn’t get out the words to tell him to stop. But it was timing, the silver-tongued devil Barnum determined to give this abuser nothing but a hard wake up call that brought an end to this assault. The crack of Barnum’s gloved hand slapping down on Norman’s shoulder with enough force for the man to release you without delay, startling you in the process. You didn’t meet the ring leader’s eyes, covering yourself as best as you could. It was Barnum that put himself in between Norman and you, Barnum who used his height to grab the shorter man by the neck in a gesture both threatening and casual.

“Norman, I’d say it’s about time for you to return to your lovely wife.” Barnum grinned, too-white teeth bared in what could be a scowl.

As Norman was led out of the small tent, you returned behind the partition, pulling on familiar trousers and a loose blouse. Still you couldn’t get in enough air, but tears, hysterics would buy you no sympathy. Bigger things were afoot. As you walked back towards Barnum, you gave no hint of how shaken you had been. Prostitution wasn’t uncommon here, especially among the acrobats. Barnum never sold his women, not like a pimp or a brothel mistress. But he didn’t exactly protect them from men too excited to keep their hands, and their dicks out of their way. Perhaps it was his hatred of the man, the moral stipulation he carried against hurting women that had saved you. Up until now you’d managed to escape the rape, the sexual slavery some of the elder veterans had experienced. Tonight you’d come too close, and tonight you’d been saved again by a man both resented and revered among your bunch.

“Well done. We’ve got our girl, and the trunk she was so desperate about.” Barnum sighed. “That’s what took so long, locating a damn trunk. Porter said she refused to leave without it, the fucking diva.”

You flinched at his tone. Barnum was never happy for long, not if he wasn’t close to a whiskey bottle. His tone hurt a little more, being as emotionally vulnerable as you were.

“Well, I’ll pay her my respects.” you sighed.

“You might want to do it sooner than later. Porter said she came in with a bruised face and a fractured arm. Our nordic gentleman appears to be quite the lady’s man.” Barnum commented dryly.

“So she isn’t going to be singing anytime soon?” you inferred, the cause of his foul mood clearer now.

“Not until her face fades enough for the paste to cover it up. I want to debut her in New York. I can’t do that if her arm’s in a sling and a purple stain over her blue eyes.”

You nodded along, running a hand through your loose hair. He was slowly getting out of his temper.

“Well. The community will help her find her voice soon enough. Send my hello to the Mrs.” you nodded your head, ending the conversation before his personal temper could show.

“Send my hello to your dream Jenny.” he cruelly fired back.

You flinched, walking away before he had the personal joy of watching your face fall. How were you to know when he was or wasn’t fighting with his wife? How were you supposed to do more for a man that was never satisfied?

As you walked past the trailers sprawled out on the half-frozen grass, you glanced at Nellie’s trailer, noting the soft glow from within. You approached, intending to introduce yourself to the new troop member, pausing at the door as you heard hushed voices. Softer crying. She wasn’t ready for a new face, you knew that. Not tonight, not when the threat of her husband hung over her head, staining her hope like bruised blood vessels stained her face. A part of you was relieved. All your life you would never, ever tell her what you’d paid for to grant her your freedom. And you’d never tell another.

Act II- The High Priestess

The new ward, Jane Karlsson, was a shut-in. She practiced her songs while the circus goers practiced their acts. None except Nellie saw her regularly which meant that first introduction stretched further into the future. Barnum grew impatient, Nellie’s pleas for more time grew less effective. Alcohol lost its effectiveness. You didn’t bother with Barnum’s stash, none of it was any good. You drafted up new routines as the insomnia soberness produced left you awake until the final hours of night. Over the net you worked, stressing your body into exhaustion, the kind of tiredness that gave you dreamless sleep.

Tonight was no different, pushing your body to the limit until you missed the bar, falling straight down. The falling was always bittersweet. The familiar terror as you realized you were falling, followed by the brief relief as you made peace with a death that never seemed close enough. The net would always catch you, shuddering as it saved your life, prolonging your misery for another night. You lay there, panting and boneless, almost tempted to fall asleep right there. It would be better than another night alone in the old mess trailer you’d made home.

“...That was impressive.” an unfamiliar voice murmured, stirring you from your trance.

You sat up, looking at a face you weren’t sure was familiar. You saw a lot of faces after all, and sometimes they blended together. What was interesting about this one was that half of her face was purple, and it tipped you off to her identity.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, making conversation.

“I walk until I get tired enough to sleep without dreaming.” she admitted. “I’m Jane, by the way.”

She seemed sweet, well meaning. Her arms was still wrapped up, and she covered the bruise with her hair, but Jane was still pretty. Red hair, blue eyes. A nice face, and a good person behind it, you decided.

“It’s nice to finally meet your acquaintance. I’m-”

“I know who you are. I watch you sometimes. You’re always too focused on the bars to see me. It’s mesmerizing to watch.” she answered quickly, as if trying to prevent the awkwardness that could come if you had known she watched.

You caught her accent, the same nordic muddle that Norman had spoken in. You had heard it so rarely as to have an inkling of a concept of its true origin. It made sense that she watched you then, you thought. The people she’d come from were either awful voyeurs or didn’t get out much.

“Barnum said you’re from Sweden.” you smiled, not unkindly.

“Originally, yes.” she nodded. “I came here with my husband four years ago. Before that I travelled the sea.” Jane sighed.

Your eyebrows went up in surprise. You wouldn’t have guessed that upbringing from her reserved demeanor, but it made for the perfect origin story. A sailor, and then a circus performer.

“A sailor?” you chuckled, “That’s where you get your songs?”

A secret, sad smile bent over Jane’s face, and she shrugged in a way that tugged at your memory. An uncomfortable deja vu, one that sometimes appeared with exhaustion. You didn’t think much of it, or her.

“Yes. I was a sailor.”

Sitting up from the safety net, you yawned, cupping your sleepy face.

“Well, Jane, I think I’ll be heading back to my trailer. I’m sufficiently exhausted.”

Jane hummed, following you out of the tent. You could feel her questioning stare on you as you drew further and further away. And as you laid down on your cot, the dreams of Jenny, the ones that never ended well left you alone. But a song, a lullaby that felt woven into the very night remained, the melody long forgotten by the time you woke, as it always was. But the feeling it evoked, that uncomfortable reminiscence in between awareness and preconsciousness echoed.

{-----------}

Breakfast was calm. The usual jokes flew around, and the same low quality sourced, high quality cooked food was served. In your half-asleep state, you didn’t recognize the change in mood, the utter silence until your eyes met several shocked faces. But they weren’t looking at you. Next to you was more accurate. You turned, and for a moment you swore you were about to remember exactly where those blue eyes came from. The sureness of recognition hit you square in the chest, knocking the breath out of your lungs only for that almost answer to slip away again. But it wasn’t those eyes. It was just the newbie.

“Good morning Jane.” you cleared your throat, shaking your head and looking away to hide whatever dumb expression must’ve overtaken your face for a few seconds.

“Morning.” she murmured, quietly eating next to you. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” she said quietly.

One of the longtime circus members, Matthias chuckled, eager for a jest.

“It’s not her fault. She went out to the beach during a storm, came back soaked to the bone. The pneumonia she caught cooked her brain a little, that’s what the doctor said.” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes at his rude comment, hurling an orange rind at him. Leave it to the jokester to use your most painful memories as conversation starters.

“It did not. That was nearly five years ago. I’m fully recovered from whatever it was that did me over.” you replied, staring him hard in his beady little eyes.

Jane grew quiet at this, a peculiar expression coming over her face. The damage was already done, Matthias had said enough to ignite her curiosity, and now you were forced into telling your woe.

“Which beach?” she asked.

“I don’t remember. The pneumonia wiped my mind of that entire troop season.” you shrugged. “I was sick for half of it, half-lucid for the other half.”

“Like I said, it cooked her brain.” Matthias interjected again. “It was when we were in Europe, visited the Queen, saw Paris and Berlin. She didn’t, she was in a cot, but you get the gist.”

Jane nodded, but she wasn’t willing to let the topic die.

“Did you ever stop by the Welsh coast?” she quietly asked again.

This conversation was unpleasant, awkward. It felt like an interrogation, and your lack of sleep was starting to wear on your patience.

“Jane, I’m sorry I don’t remember.” you sighed, rubbing your temple. “No matter how you ask me where I was when I got sick, I can’t tell you. I have one single token from that time period, and it’s just a recurring nightmare-”

The following words died in your throat, and you shook your head, signaling the end of whatever monstrous life misery you were about to deliver on the newest member of Barnum’s troop of the tormented. Matthias saved you, as he usually did, moving on to playfully jest with a sword eater. By the time your plate was clear, a sickening grief had clawed its way into your throat, holding your tongue hostage, your lips captive.

Five years ago you’d gone to a beach in the middle of the night. Nobody remembered where and you’d never bothered trying to stay on Barnum’s good side long enough to ask to see the records. The story was simple. You left in the middle of the night and came back at noon soaked to the bone and babbling a name none of them could make sense of.

Jenny. My Jenny Lind, where is she? My Jenny of the sea, where’d she go?

It was assumed you’d just gone mad from the cold, the pneumonia that came overnight manifesting in a distress of the mind that remained up until now. And the nightmares of course. Those you knew all too well.

It was your rest day, the day where you spent tending to the animals and generally trying not to think about the missing memories Jane had so effortlessly drawn a finger to. You didn’t feel any real resentment, she was only curious. It might’ve been a conversation starter, perhaps she’d been wondering if she had seen the troop somewhere on a dock. Jane was a sailor once upon a time after all, but you doubted it was of any importance.

With the freedom of the day came the opportunity to walk along the empty caravans as the troop set up for a show. At the peak of the show, as the audience cheered, you drew closer to Nellie’s trailer. It wasn’t curiosity, it was a song burrowing out of the wooden planks and into the night air. The softest melody, notes perfectly polished, drifting in an aria that was… Masterful. You drew closer, staring through the open window at Jane’s silhouette. Her red hair was loose down her back and she was dressed in a soft blue dress, worn and patched in a few places. You listened, eyes shutting as the tone soothed the unkempt question mark of your wounded psyche.

The song lingered long after it ended. Long enough for you to be surprised when the door swung open. Jane peered down at you, expression amused. Not a word worked it’s way past your lips, not when she stared down at you with that tiny smirk.

“Spying on me? Shouldn’t you be in the ring right now?”

Smiling nervously, you cleared your throat, feeling silly in your slacks and men’s button down. It was comfortable, but so out of place when you stared at Jane’s pretty blue dress.

“Just repaying your late night voyeurism.”

Jane smiled widely, gesturing you in. Returning that same grin, you entered Nellie’s trailer, sitting on the familiar floral couch as she adjusted her music sheets.

“I almost have my set list nailed down, but I can’t decide between the aria you just heard or a personal piece.”

“A personal piece? Original song?” you asked, surprised by her musical diversity.

“Well. It’s a song I learned as a child. It isn’t new, but I’m sure it is new to American ears. The only issue is there is no orchestral arrangement. I’d have to arrange it, or sing it acapella.”

“Well, let’s hear it.” you smiled.

Jane took a deep breath in. A song erupted from her lips, haunting and soft, lingering in your bones and in your soul in an eerily familiar way. It was beautiful, and for a moment you swore you were sitting on a warm, dry bed, the breath of another on your ear as light faded in…

The room was so still, and you swore it still echoed with her voice, the timbre falling and working its way into the fabric of the couch cushions, the glued paper of the wall.

“You have a beautiful voice.” you managed, still struggling to shake yourself from the dream spell she’d brought you into.

“... That’s all?” Jane asked, expression unreadable.

“No, no. La petite mort. I get it sometimes, randomly. And you have the voice that stirs my dead memory. It’s beautiful.” you nodded, hoping it was more of an adequate compliment. “Definitely include it in your performance.

The room went quiet, and the stillness was a bit uncomfortable. Jane seemed lost in frustrated thought, and you figured she wanted her time alone to practice once more. Standing on legs just a little too wobbly, you made in the direction of the door.

“Wait, stay for tea?” Jane asked, attention snapping back to you. “I feel like we’ve never had a proper introduction.”

Her expression was hopeful, the sullen silence that had followed your commentary gone. You supposed it was a performer’s perfection, anxious that there wasn’t something more constructive to be said about her performance. There was no need to take offense, especially when she was so kindly offering tea; from Nelly’s cupboard no less.

“I’d be honored.” you smiled, settling back on Nellie’s couch.

Watching her mill about in Nellie’s kitchen was comforting. She wasn’t in her element per se, but she looked relaxed. The faded china tea pot and cups she set on the weathered coffee stool were a nice touch to the ambiance. Jenny smelled like the good lavender soap, the kind Nellie almost never gave anyone, lest her signature scent be stolen by another. But the soft spot she had for Jane was obvious.

“Are you intending to live with Nellie from now on?” you asked, noting her mild trepidation at beginning a real conversation.

Jane shook her head, taking a breath in.

“No. I want to move in with someone else. She’s overbearing, and…”

You let her sentence die, picking the conversation back up when she’d only just managed to lose it entirely.

“My trailer has a vacancy. If you’re willing to share, that is.”

Jane smiled softly, cocking her head coyly. There was an amused glint in her eyes, like she knew something you didn’t. It unnerved you, almost as much as her nonchalant answer.

“I’ll think about it.”

As you left her trailer, you felt her gaze linger. But this time you were brave enough to turn around. She shut the curtains before you managed to wave goodbye. What did she know that you didn’t?

Act III- The Empress

Sickness swept through the troop like a passing storm. First the children caught it, coughing and hacking everywhere, followed by the older men and women. Barnum grounded the troop to camp somewhere in Massachusetts. The young people, a group that made up about half of the circus, caught it intermittently. There was no danger in a small case of winter cough, not for the adults. But young children and the more alcoholic veterans had it bad. Beds were laid out in the biggest trailer, the sick temporarily quarantined from the well. Someone had to take care of them. It was taking care of a couple of sick kids and an alcoholic or shoveling animal poop.

“Maise hold still.” you quietly begged the squirming toddler, running nose and teary eyes leaking in between hoarse coughs.

She wouldn’t still, crying for her mother who was taking a moment to simply rest. No matter how you pleaded, promising her the best pick of toys, even sweets, the little girl wouldn’t quiet. Maise hollered on, disturbing the two other children and One-Eyed Pete laying in the other beds. The urge to shake her, to make her quiet was insufferably difficult to suppress, frustrated tears pricking at her eyes. If she would just quiet, be still for two seconds. You did the next best thing, muffling her sobs and coughs into the front of your blouse as you breathed in and out, reminding yourself of the need for good rest, rest you hadn’t gotten in days.

“Alright, Birdie, my Mrs is waiting for me.” Paul groaned, leaving his post at his appointed time.

You stared at him in shock and frustration as he left two whining boys, a hacking old man begging for water and a disquieted toddler to you. Abandoning you just when you needed the most help. You shut your eyes, succumbing to a few exhausted sobs as he left you to fend for yourself without assistance. The second time the trailer door swung open you didn’t bother to keep your tongue still.

“If you’re just going to stand there like an oaf you can just get the fuck out! You’re no damn help anyway.” you cussed, assuming Paul had turned back as the hysterics in the trailer grew to a fever pitch.

Through your teary, exhausted eyes, you could make out the startled face of Jane, an apron around her waist and a bonnet holding her red hair back.

“No… I came to help.” she said quietly, moving forwards regardless of your outburst.

She took the wailing Maise out of your arms, giving you the chance to tend to One-Eyed Pete.

You took a moment, catching your breath, turning away from her. You wiped your eyes and went about tending the hollering old man. Propping him up, you wiped your tears on your sleeve, too ashamed to meet Jane’s eyes as you gave the old man water. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as she rounded up the children into their cot, quietly shushing and soothing them in her soft contralto.

“Now stay very still for me. You can’t listen to the song if you’re wiggling around.” you heard her coax.

All three children obeyed. Perplexed and amazed by her technique you watched as she leaned in, and the softest lullaby you’d ever heard spun out like a web from her lips. It soothed the children, and their eyelids closed, all three slowly settling into the bed, blinking slower, and slower… A nostalgia slipped through your bones, an image of waves, of soft murmurs and the feel of silk fur beneath your fingers came back. For a moment you could taste the salt, hear the waves, like a long forgotten memory. All three children were quiet, sleeping soundly. And you were left grasping for memory, trailing after the threads that still lingered and desperately attempting to put it all back together.

The room was silent. Your periods of spacing out, periods of listlessness kept getting worse. And now Jane was noticing.

“... You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Jane said softly, turning to look at you as she tucked a stray strand of red hair back into her bonnet.

You shook your head hard, standing up. There was a pit of something in your stomach that felt an awful lot like grief.

“It’s… Listen. What Matthias said about the pneumonia cooking my brain, he wasn’t wrong. I struggle with concentration, I space out, and I can go days without sleeping only to pass out mid routine.” you spoke softly, cheeks flushing shamelessly. “Everyone has issues sleeping here, unless you’re sixty or below the age of say 12. But I can’t sleep because I get these dreams that have been with me since the pneumonia.”

You weren’t quite sure why you were saying all this, telling a stranger your issues, but the circumstances… You were tired. And she was listening.

“I have dreams too, ones I don’t like.” Jane smiled thinly. “But most of all I think you need sleep.”

She stood, offering a hand. Accepting help wasn’t a common occurrence for you, but she was probably right.

“My trailer is-”

“I’m not taking you there.” Jane interjected, bringing you towards Nellie’s trailer.

There was no sense arguing. So you followed. Into the small little box, into the second bedroom and into Jane’s world. It was neat, and clean, and smelled… Like lavender. There was not a tense bone in your body as she had you slip off your shoes, and then your dress. She did it all so gently, her hands tracing your stomach and guiding your wrists through the sleeves of a nightgown. The room was whisper quiet, and then she settled.

“Good night, my dear. Sweet dreams.”

A/N: More parts coming soon ;)

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