Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader
summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?
warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex
*afab gender neutral reader
@covenofagatha @d-z20
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo
The Director’s Cut
With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.
“Got something to say now, hmm?”
You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.
“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.
“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”
“I-”
“CUT.”
A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.
“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.
“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”
You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.
“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.
You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.
You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.
As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-
The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.
“What was that back there, hmm?”
You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.
Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”
Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”
Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.
Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.
Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.
“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.
Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”
Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.
In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.
“I’m sorry?”
Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?
“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.
“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”
You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”
“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”
“Agatha, I-”
“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”
“No, no, I-”
“Then I’m wrong?”
She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.
“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”
Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.
She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.
“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.
“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”
You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.
“Are you watching?”
“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.
She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.
“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.
Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.
“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”
Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.
“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”
Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”
Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.
Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine is your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.
“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”
The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”
Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.
“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.
“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.
“But don’t I…”
“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.
The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.
“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…
You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”
“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”
You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.
You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”
You swallow. “S-Sorry?”
She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”
A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”
Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”
Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a toothy smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”
You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.
She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy, but Rio catches your other wrist and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.
“Understood?”
At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.
“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear traces from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”
The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s miserably clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.
“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.
“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You feel raw from the orgasm you just had, so violently raw, and even the lightest touch sends a dark pleasure scattering through you. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.
Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.
Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing in you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.
“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.
When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.
“Did I-” you’ve started your line while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.
“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.
“Cut!”
Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.
“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”
The Director’s Cut P2
links later
warnings: smut, age gap, dub!con themes, some bondage, threesome
The trailer makes a soft, almost imperceptible creak as you follow Rio inside. Agatha has her back to you two, only a soft lamplight illuminating the soft dark fabric of her shirt. You curl your fingers into your palms, remembering the feel of them digging into the shirt, into Agatha’s shoulders and hair. Your heart is thumping wildly. You feel Rio bump lightly against your arm, but when you turn, she doesn’t make eye contact with you.
There’s a soft clinking. Agatha turns around, a heavy cigar between her fingers and a delighted smile on her face. It’s this, you realize, this beautiful, genuine smile that makes you realize you never know what she’s thinking, not exactly, not even if it might seem like you do.
“Share with me?” she asks pleasantly, “Either of you smoke?”
You wait for Rio to react, hoping to take her lead, but she remains cool and silent. Still. You cough and shake your head.
Agatha tuts mockingly and walks over to you, putting her free hand on your cheek. It’s cold. “I forgot how young you are!” she says with the intonation of a stranger to a dog, “Just a baby.” She swivels to Rio. You feel the lingering chill of her touch on your skin. “Nothing? Hmm. Shame.”
She walks back to the end of the trailer, to a small corner desk. You hear the sound of a lighter, see its wobbly glow behind Agatha’s outline, and then Agatha takes a few smacking puffs. The scent of tobacco is now heavy in the air. She turns back around, crosses her arms, and the last etches of smoke spill carelessly from her nostrils. Like a dragon, you think, as another scaly grin stretches her lips.
“C’mon, you two! Why so dour? We’re celebrating!”
Agatha turns and puts out the cigar, then grabs glasses you hadn’t noticed before. A dark, golden liquid sits at the bottom. “Celebrating?” you ask weakly.
Agatha hands you and Rio the glasses. You sniff. Alcohol. She grabs one for herself. You hadn’t even noticed them before now. “The best shot we’ve done! Our best take, and the only one I’ve completely enjoyed thus far.”
You blink at the back handed compliment but Agatha takes no mind, downing the contents of her glass. She exhales loudly and dramatically. “To you two.” To your surprise, Rio slides half the bourbon (it might be whisky) back into her throat. A soft sigh from her nose is as fazed as she seems.
Hesitant, you tip the glass slowly to your lips and let a small amount dribble onto your tongue. Tastes like ass. As the glass falls back down, Agatha reaches out a hand and with one pointed finger pushes the rim back to your lips, tipping the bottom up slowly. “Ah ah ah, be good now and finish your juice. It’s good for you.” Panic jolts down your spine but, not knowing what else to do, you gulp the whiskey (it might be bourbon) down your throat, gagging at the very end, coughing some back into the glass, tears shooting to your eyes. Tastes like shit. Like hand sanitizer and dirt.
Agatha, beaming viciously, sets her glass down hard on the table. “Good, good job, kid. That’s the kind of initiative we like to see! I think I’ve held you guys around for too long, hmm? You’ve got a weekend to enjoy. We’re all SAG-AFTRA here. All union!”
She claps her hands and, wasting no time, you set the glass somewhere random and turn to the door. Rio is close to follow, handing the glass back to Agatha, until the sound of her clearing her throat stops you in your place.
“Actually, Rio, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. If you wouldn’t mind.”
You turn to Rio. Whereas Agatha’s emotions are so clear and bright on her face, their uncanny clairvoyance giving you the sense you really never know what she thinks, Rio’s is the opposite with the same effect. So stony, so clouded and stormy that you have no way of telling.
Now is no different. The longer you look, the more unreadable she becomes. “Sure, Agatha,” she says coolly, and steps inside the trailer. You are still staring inside when the door slams shut behind her. You startle and hurry down the rest of the stairs, eager to flee before Agatha changes her mind. And then you pause. Curiosity scratches temptingly at your fingers, then gets the better of you.
You inch carefully back to the trailer, seeing the shapes of Agatha and Rio inside against the faint lamplight. You strain to listen.
“… wouldn’t find out?”
“I didn’t…” Rio’s voice dips in and out of legibility, “… you’d enjoy it.”
Silence, or maybe whispering. You lean closer against the side of the trailer, and suddenly there's a thump against the wall, like something being slammed against it. Startled, you gasp and stumble backwards, landing on your ass in the grass.
Finding yourself suddenly in total view of whomever may be peering through the window, you hurry to your feet, running before you even think to spare a glance through the window.
-
The text comes at 9 am sharp the next morning. You don’t read it until you wake up, which, after a fitful night of tossing and turning in the waves of unrelenting dreams, wasn’t until past noon. You didn’t let yourself check your phone until you’ve stared meditatively (exhaustedly (exasperatedly)) at the wall for 5 minutes to half an hour.
One missed text from one Agatha Harkness and a missed call immediately following from another Rio Vidal.
My lovely actors, I’ll be seeing you both tonight at my home for dinner and drinks. 8:30 PM.
Sent in a grouped chat to both you and Rio.
Now, you scream and throw your phone off of your bed and retrieve it and weakly call Rio on the floor. The call rings out and eventually connects to her voicemail. Splayed dramatically on the cold floor of your bedroom, you fire a text off that reads, ‘Sorry I missed your call!’
She responds almost immediately while you’re sorrowfully pulling yourself to your feet.
No worries.
You bite your thumbnail, not knowing how to press for more.
What’s up?
With a frustrated groan you march into the bathroom. If you have to be seeing Agatha in 7 hours, you’ll be better prepared. A text from Rio.
It was nothing.
You sigh and turn your shower on, stepping out of your clothes. Another text from Rio.
I’ll see you tonight.
“Yeah whatever.” Your shower is long and hot and exactly what you needed, but you cast nervous, sidelong glances at your phone almost compulsively. Halfway through, you pat your hands on your towel and reach for your phone, damply sending a fast response to Agatha’s text and then composing a private message for Rio.
What are you wearing?
No response.
Hours trickle by. You waste time. The daytime sifts into night.
The tires of your car crunch up Agatha’s manicured driveway. You put your car in park, power it down, switch your headlights off. You’re toying with your keys, trying to tame your nerves before stepping out of the driveway, when your phone lights up. A notification from Rio. An image.
Rio leans on a chair, wearing a black jumpsuit that plunges down her navel. Her legs are spread, she wears heels and earrings and her hair is down. Her arms are also clasped behind the chair. Meaning she didn’t take the photo. An odd thumping in your chest as you contemplate the late outfit reveal. She looks beautiful, and you’re grateful for your choice of black slacks and a white dress shirt.
Grabbing the cheap bottle of wine in your passenger seat, you make your way carefully to her door. You ring the doorbell, and the deep sound booms dramatically through the house. The shoot has been taking place in Agatha’s hometown, and as your eyes drift lazily around the entrance the realization that this must be her home crosses your mind. Not like the glorified hotel room you’ve been staying in.
The door opens slowly. Your back straightens. There stands Agatha in a classic black dress. Her hair tumbles down her back. She smiles prettily at you, her head resting lightly on the door as she takes you in.
“Come in,” she takes your hand, “Come in. We’ve been waiting. You’re a little late.”
“Sorry,” you choke, your palm holding the wine bottle sweating a bit.
“Have you ever been to my home?” You shake your head. Agatha smiles. “Let me show you around before we find Rio. She can be patient for us, right?”
“When did Rio get here?”
“Oh, a little while ago.” Agatha leads you to her kitchen and uncorks a bottle of red wine as she speaks. “She likes to come early to these events, poor thing. I think she gets lonely.” You clear your throat awkwardly. Agatha pours two glasses, slightly fuller than they strictly needed to be. “Her father was a big shot in the business back in the day, but she’s always been one of the more talented nepo babies.” Agatha hands you a glass and you begin to sip it quickly, feeling heat rise up your neck. “Her status though, oh the girl is untouchable.” She shakes her head, sipping slowly.
“W-What’s for dinner?” your cheeks burn, but you’re desperate for a subject change.
Agatha laughs and waves you down the hall. She’s smiling broadly as she leads you to another room. “That’s why I like to keep her on something of a tight leash, you know? Her breakout role was in one of my films. She says yes to anything I ask of her now.”
As you begin to climb a staircase, you don’t know what to say. Your face burns, whether from the awkwardness of knowing all this information or from the wine, you can’t particularly tell. Your sips have become slow, long gulps. You’re running out of wine.
“And of course, everything I give her does wonderfully. It’s nice to have that sort of control over the darling girl.” Agatha flashes a smile back at you. “And she loves it too. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.”
“Miss Harkness…”
When she reaches the top of the staircase, Agatha whirls on you, a hand on her hip. “I’ve told you to call me Agatha from day one, kid. You didn’t seem to have much trouble saying it yesterday.”
You go bright red and Agatha downs the rest of her drink. She plucks yours from your hand, observes that it is empty, and sets them both down.
“Listen, kid. I know what you’re thinking. You don’t know why you’re here, or what I want, or why I’m telling you all this crap.” She steps squarely in front of you. “I just know you’ve been taking a lot of shit from me lately.” A gentility falls over her face. She blinks softly up at you behind dark eyelashes. Her fingertips reach up to play at the buttons of your dress shirt. Your breath catches. She’s a few inches shorter than you, which you suppose you never really notice when she’s directing or on top of you. Here though, as she looks downward, fiddling with your buttons, you feel something in you give.
You take her by the shoulders and pull her closer in. Agatha inhales sharply as she stumbles into you, her hands pressed against your chest. You begin to reach in for a kiss, but she grabs the collar of your shirt and spins you so you push her against the wall.
And when she kisses you, your eyes are wide in shock and you take a slow moment to react. Agatha moans quietly—unlike her—and keens into you. She has never felt small like this before, or maybe it’s that you’ve never felt this big. Not bigger than her.
Her fingers in your belt loops, she pulls, and you obey, crowding her against the wall. Agatha’s legs buckle slightly around your knee and you follow suit, pushing it between her legs. She’s leant on your thigh now, her knee-length dress crumpling up the length of her legs. Her hands slide to your front and begin to undo the button of your pants, and suddenly, the realization dawns on you that you are not in control of this situation, that you never were in control no matter how much you felt you were, and that you had played eagerly into another one of Agatha’s tricks. With a sharp inhale, you step back.
Agatha blinks at you, her lips red from your harsh kisses. Lightly tracing her mouth with the tip of her pointer finger, Agatha steadies her breath a bit theatrically.
“Well done, you. Big kid now, hmm? Tough guy on the block.”
You pant and furrow your eyebrows. “What are you-”
“Come on, pet. Let me show you the best part.”
“What are you doing?” you manage to spit out, your hands shaking. There’s a soft click and you realize Agatha has undone your belt. She loops it softly around your neck and pulls you forward, guiding you further down the hallway.
“A gift for you, hmm?”
She opens a door and pushes you inside the room. You have to adjust to the lower lighting, so you hear her first. Soft whimpering, the rustle of sheet, a wet slip.
And then you see her and you gasp, moving to step forward (or maybe backward, you’re not entirely certain) when Agatha comes behind you and grips your shoulders tightly, massaging painfully at the crook of your neck, and whispering in your ear.
“Pretty, right?”
Rio, handcuffed by a wrist to the corner post of a bed, her jumpsuit pulled off of her shoulders, leaving her bare to the waist, chest pressed against the mattress as her free hand disappeared under the jumpsuit, between her legs. A phone is face down next to her head.
“Rio,” you gasp quietly. She hears and looks up, her eyes heavy lidded and face flushed.
She begins to say your name but is cut off with a low moan, her hips rolling down into the mattress.
Agatha has released her hold on you and in one hand holds a small remote. She flashes you that sweet, genuine smile. Her thumb hovers over an “up” button.
“What did I tell you? A tight leash, she and I. I decided to take on the responsibility of punishing the poor darling for the little stunt she pulled on us earlier. I hooked her up there so she couldn’t run before you got here, and then gave her a little call so she could listen in on your big shining moment in the hall there. Not to mention the delightful little toy she’s got in her underwear. I thought it might make a nice gift for you, and the old girl agreed! What do you think, kid?” Your mouth hanging slightly open, your eyes wide, you can only shake your head slowly.
Agatha sighs and leans closer to you. Her breath is warm against your ear and your skin crawls.
“Come here. Let me help you get started, hmm? Do you want to touch her, kid?” You gulp down guilt. Fuck this heat in your stomach. Fuck how turned on you know you are, since making out with Agatha against the wall, and now you know you’re soaked through, watching Rio fuck herself against the mattress, and fuck, fuck, fuck this. You nod. Agatha chuckles. Stepping to face you, she begins to undo the buttons of your shirt, from the collar down. “Do you want to touch me, then, too?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good, that’s good. Why don’t we draw out her punishment a little longer? Put all my hard work to use a bit?” She pops off the last button and lets the shirt gape open. “She looks pretty like this, doesn’t she?”
You swallow. It’s enough for Agatha. She leads you slowly to the bed, facing you and walking backwards, holding both your hands. The backs of her legs hit the bed and you, spurred, push her down by the waist. Agatha leans up on her elbows and crawls back, making eye contact with you while you chase her. You hold her by the thighs, pulling until she’s flush against you. You push her dress up, gathering the fabric against the sweep of your palms against her thighs. There’s a look on her face you could die for. Hungry, mouth partly open, staring at you from behind her eyelashes. Rio whimpers, her toes curling into the mattress, dangling down by Agatha.
“At the foot of the bed, partially under it,” Agatha whispers. You bend down, kicking at a small box. It’s half open, and you see a strap nestled amongst a few other toys. While you search, Agatha lays her back down against the mattress. She reaches for Rio’s hand, making eye contact with her while her other speeds up the intensity of the toy in her underwear.
You pull the strap up over the fabric of your pants, wriggling the vinyl tighter. You begin to sink to your knees, pushing Agatha’s legs apart when her voice stops you.
“No need for any of that, kid. Just fuck me. We’re ready for you.” She drops the remote and stretches out to you. You nod and rise, pushing her damp underwear to the side with your fingers and spitting on her already shining cunt. Her body flinches in reaction, the hand holding Rio’s squeezing.
You can hear the angry buzz of the toy making fast work of Rio, who squirms desperately, grinding her hips down onto the mattress. She tries to let go of Agatha’s hand, looking, it seems, to touch herself as she had been before, but Agatha doesn’t let go and Rio is left to pathetically hump the mattress, thrashing fitfully between the handcuff and Agatha.
Bleary eyed, your head feels light from the alcohol. Your vision is fuzzy at the edges, and you feel almost out of body as you turn your attention back to Agatha, who stares up at Rio with a heavy, unbreaking heed. With an almost delirium about you, you position the strap and slowly push it inside of Agatha. She jolts and moans, still staring up at Rio, and you couldn’t care less that she isn’t watching you, you barely even notice, flushed with heat, focusing intensely on the slow shift of your hips, rocking the toy in and out of Agatha carefully. She’s soaked. You move inside of her easily. Her hips meet your pace with a fluidity, rolling into the toy as if this were a dance you two knew by heart.
“That’s good, go ahead baby girl, that’s it.” You blink in confusion, looking almost sleepily up to realize that Rio is crashing into an orgasm that Agatha’s words gently coax her through. You stare, wide-eyed, thrusting gently into Agatha as the two of you watch Rio become undone, thrashing, moaning, cursing and panting out Agatha’s name, your name, sobbing into the sheets, her wrists white and red.
Agatha releases Rio’s wrist, her attention shifting back to you, a concentrated expression on her face. You groan, sat up on your knees, your hands aiding to lift Agatha’s hips in the air, one of her legs hooked around your shoulder, and thrust deeply into her. She braces herself on her elbows and shoulder blades, head tilting back, eyes closing. She curses rhythmically and your pace becomes heavy, not particularly fast but deep, punctuating.
You’re starstruck, focused with a sort of delirious tunnel vision. You can see Rio crawling weakly up to the bedpost where her wrist is still chained, see her struggling with the cuff. She gives up and kicks off the rest of her jumpsuit, pulling off her toy underwear with it, which still buzzes on a low setting that apparently Agatha hadn’t bothered to turn completely off. You watch, hypnotized, at the thin fabric of Agatha’s panties stretched to the side of the toy, watch every flinch of her skin as you thrust, grip the skin of her leg and hip in your palms. She groans loudly, unbarred, the noises from her throat all but ringing in your ears.
You watch her jerk awkwardly, her body suddenly tensing, voice twisted into a gasping choke. Her fingertips dig into the sheets with one hand, your wrist with the other, crescenting cuts slicing into your skin, but you don’t mind, just watch Agatha spill into orgasm and then collapse.
You pull out of her slowly, kicking the strap off of you and kissing Agatha. She bats you off of her. Panting and with a grin, she says, “You go take care of our darling up there first, kid. She needs you more than I do.” Her remote has disappeared and in her hand, between her fingers, she holds a key.
You nod, obedient, taking the key and shuffling further up on the mattress. “Rio,” you whisper as you crawl over her twitching body. She groans and rolls onto her back.
You remember the look on her face, so in character she had been while she’d practically fucked you on that camera, the cool look in her eyes, the heat of her breath, the sterile way she watched while she fucked you, not kissing you until she had to, to get you to shut up. There is something almost pathetic, Rio’s heaving chest, wet eyes flicking around your face. When she mutters your name, it’s so hushed, you almost hadn’t made out that it was you she called for, and her hands sneak under your shirt, buttoned all the way open and tucked into your pants. She pulls you down into a deep kiss.
“Wait,” you mutter against her mouth while she kisses you desperately, “wait.” You unlock the cuff and she whimpers, folding neatly into you, under you, and there’s again this feeling of being big, bigger than her, protective of her slight form underneath you, while you kiss her, your hand holding the back of her neck.
Her hands run up and down your ribs, your spine, and you sigh into the kiss, but her grip tightens, she makes a small sound of effort, and then you are flipped, her mouth still against yours, and you can’t help the groan that escapes your throat as she straddles your hips and pulls your shirt off.
It’s not that Agatha climbs into view, settling behind Rio, her legs straddling yours, her hands wrapped around Rio and covering her breasts, her mouth sinking into the crook of her neck and shoulder with a long inhale. “Say thank you, Miss Vidal,” she whispers, shooting you a sharp, unknowable look.
Rio straightens, falling back into Agatha’s front, letting Agatha’s hands run across her skin, tweak her nipples, scratch down her ribs. “Thank you,” she says, though it is half a gasp as Agatha’s hand slides down Rio and sinks to her cunt. Rio groans and bucks, wet and sliding on your stomach. You sit partially up to kiss Rio, and she whimpers into your mouth as Agatha fucks her.
Agatha’s chin rests on Rio’s shoulder, peering at you while the two of you kiss. You make eye contact with her. Agatha smiles slowly. “Do you think she deserves this? Was her punishment enough to satisfy you?” Rio whimpers in response and Agatha’s fingers inside of her jerk roughly. “I wasn’t asking you,” she hisses into Rio’s ear, biting down sharply on her lobe.
“What do you say, kid?”
