1991, lesbian, female. She/Her. I am part of the LGBTQ and a true Transgender Ally. All are safe here. I love comics, anime, and writing poetry, short stories, fiction, scripts and making comics, anime characters and painting . Music keeps me sane in a world full of insanity. Have many favorite fandoms and femslash ships. And writing tips. Working on an art blog now. Art Amino Account name: Sarah E. Art tumblr: https://artist-gothicpheonix.tumblr.com
Alright so I am starting my own sort of I guess let’s call it “Marchtober” prompts. Originally it was going to be inspired by Inktober where it was just drawings/painintings/art allowed. However, I am opening it to not only be art/mixed media, but it can be written word (like poetry, short stories and lyrics), as well as photography and music. I was inspired by my friend @electrininjaslab (on Instagram)who made a prompt list last Halloween when we didn’t like the Inktober prompts and it was so fun. And if you don’t want to post here I’m also on Bluesky under same username (same photo). Anyways, please Make sure to hashtag your entries as #gothicpheonixmarchtober
How wpuld yandere polytrix react to their darling 's missing posters? What will they once they find the missing posters?
so i took this 2 different ways so here are 2 different version's below
Mira is calmest on the surface. Her expression doesn’t change as she reads your missing poster. In fact, she folds it neatly and slips it into her coat like it’s a love letter.
“They’re still looking. That’s… sweet. Misguided, but sweet.”
Later that night, she pins the poster up inside your new “bedroom.” You see it when she opens the door, her silhouette haloed by soft purple light.
“Look, sweetheart. You’re famous.”
Rumi laughs. Genuinely, loudly, full of disbelief and glee. She rips the first poster off the wall and spins in a circle with it like it’s a prize she won.
“Aw, they think they can find you. That’s adorable.”
Then she grabs a marker and scrawls "Found. Mine." across a few others, her movements erratic and unhinged. She slaps them back onto public walls—wants the world to know.
Zoey panics. Not because she’s worried for you—but because someone might get close. Someone might interfere. Might make you scared again. Might try to take you away.
“Who put these up? We need to find them. Now.”
She spends the entire night erasing evidence. Pulling posters down. Checking camera footage in public places. Calling in “tips” to redirect the search.
When she returns, she holds your face and whispers:
“It’s okay, angel. They won’t take you. They don’t deserve you.”
They stage a video.
You’re sitting in Zoey’s lap, your eyes heavy-lidded and dazed. Mira adjusts your hair while Rumi waves at the camera.
“Stop looking,” Zoey says sweetly. “They’re not missing. They’re just finally home.”
They send the video to the number on the poster. Just once. Just enough to crush hope.
And then?
They disappear.
With you.
And nobody ever sees another poster again.
__
Zoey finds the first poster.
It’s fluttering on a tree near the coffee shop where you used to wait after your dance classes, the one she always passed when she followed you home. She recognizes the photo instantly—your soft eyes, your crooked smile, the date stamp from last winter.
Missing.
Zoey's heart goes completely still.
Her hands tremble as she smooths the poster against the bark, reading every word over and over again like she’s missed a hidden message.
“Last seen—three days ago…”
She tears it down. Folds it with too much precision. Presses it to her lips.
She doesn’t cry. But the rage behind her eyes begins to boil.
“Where are you, baby?” she whispers. “Who took you from me?”
Rumi sees the poster crumpled on Zoey’s desk.
She’s laughing at something on her phone—until she notices the familiar shape of your face in the paper.
Her smile drops. Her fingers go rigid.
“No,” she breathes. “No, no, no—no.”
She storms out within minutes, hunting your usual paths like a wolf on blood-scent. Her nails dig into her palms. Her grin is gone, replaced by something hollow.
She’s muttering your name under her breath, her voice breaking between fury and fear.
“You were supposed to be here. You were mine.”
Mira finds them both in Zoey’s apartment.
She reads the poster once. Then again. Then she tears it into pieces with a trembling hand.
“Someone took them,” she says flatly. “We were too slow.”
She blames herself first. Then she blames you.
“Why weren’t you more careful? Why didn’t you listen?”
Then she starts blaming everyone else.
She spends the next 48 hours doing what the police won’t—tracking street cams, bribing sources, hacking old friends in city security.
And when she finally finds a lead?
“They’re going to die,” she says, staring into her screen. “Whoever it was. They’re already dead.”
The next time a missing poster goes up, it doesn’t last more than an hour. Rumi burns it. Zoey cuts the rest down with a box cutter. Mira plants a virus in the printer database so none can be reprinted.
They’re quiet now. Not angry—just focused. Razor sharp.
They don’t sleep.
They don’t eat.
And when they do speak?
It’s about you.
About how you’ll look when you’re back. How tightly they’ll hold you. How they’ll never let anyone get near you again. How they’ll never let you out again.
“We were going to take them,” Rumi whispers, her voice cracking. “They were supposed to be ours.”
“They are ours,” Zoey corrects coldly. “They just don’t know it yet.”
And Mira—Mira smiles.
For the first time in days.
Because she’s traced the signal.
Because she’s found where you're being kept.
Because the person who took you made a fatal mistake.
“Get ready,” she says. “We’re bringing them home
requests sent through my buy a coffee will be prioritized but ya girls broke and living off of monster energy so anything in general helps- Buy me a coffee <3
lmk if you wanted to be added to my kpdh taglist! private message me as comments get lost in notifications
okay for more Yandere requests how would polyhuntrix feel if they saw reader getting more dejected over time after all their failed escape attempts and punishments? Sure reader is with them and they don’t seem like their planning on escaping agian but that’s what they thought last time reader ran but reader just seems so hallow now- before when they were planning to escape atleast they smiled and leaned into huntrix touch and atleast seemed to be somewhat happy but now they barely even look at the girls when responding to them instead staring ahead even when being given affection
Dejection
Tags: Polytrix/Reader, Possessive | Obsessive Behavior, HCs, Lowkey they be delusional, Reader is not having a good time
They notice immediately when it starts. Because of course they do. They catch on to your new mood and they don’t like it.
Part of why they like you so much, what drew them to you like moths to flame, is how happy you are. How your smiles light up the room, how your laughter makes them feel so nice and fuzzy inside. But you barely smile now, hardly ever laugh—not in any genuine way that’s full of warmth and life—and that cheerful attitude has been snuffed out.
Well, that just means they got to fix this. Fix you. Somethings clearly wrong, and they—being the loving, caring, girlfriends that they are—will make everything better again.
It’s not like you’re gloomy lately because of them or anything. That’s preposterous! You love them, after all. Your little ‘escape attempts’ are just you playing around, riling them up because you like the thrill of setting them off and making them chase you down. You didn’t ever actually want to escape. Though it’s curious you haven’t tried lately. Maybe you’ve just gotten tired of the game? Yes, that’s it.
You’re so pliant lately, too. You used to fuss and fight whenever one of them grabbed you and dragged you over so they can hug and hold you, whether it be cuddles on the couch or snuggles in bed. Stiff as a board, they’d tease you. Now you just go limp. Let them manhandle you however they want without so much as a peep.
It’s a little weird. A bit not you.
But certainly not something to be concerned about. You’re tired. That’s all. And you’re far more accepting of their affection as of late, too. You don’t play hard to get or complain when they try to kiss you anymore. That’s a good thing—right?
But you’re not happy, you’re obviously not happy, and the girls. don’t. like. that.
But as already said, they are your loving and caring girlfriends, they'd do anything for you. That means it's their responsibility to make sure you're as happy as you could be here with them.
Zoey knows all your favorite movies and shows, all your favorite books and games. She blocks out an entire day, makes a comfy little fort of pillows and blankets, and cuddles with you while you watch movies or play games, ordering your favorite snacks and takeout so she doesn’t have to leave your side, so you can have your favorite foods. Surely this will get some response.
She gets one chuckle while she's got you trapped on her lap, watching a comedy show on the television.
One, singular, chuckle out of you.
It has Zoey elated and devastated in equal measures. Excited that it worked—she got you to laugh! She got you to smile!—and upset that it was so little. Just half a second, a sound so quiet she might have missed it if she wasn’t already focused solely on you.
But it’s progress!
Mira tries a different approach. Maybe you miss your friends and family—eugh! You shouldn’t. They can’t compare to the three adoring girlfriends you have. But she can forgive you for being sentimental, its just another of your preciously adorable traits—and so she’ll let you call them, talk to a few of them for a little bit. Maybe that will bring some pep back into your step.
Of course she’s watching like a hawk through the entire call. Has you seated on her lap so she can react quickly if you do something wrong. She’s being nice and letting you talk to people you shouldn’t even be spending a single thought on, so this isn’t one of those times for you to play your little ‘let’s break the rules to make Mira jealous and angry’ games.
So you need to be careful about what you say. Careful about how you react. Can't be too happy talking to someone or she'll get upset, can't say too much about your situation, or you might never get this opportunity again.
It succeeds a little.
There’s that small bit of life back in your eyes as you’re talking, relieved to hear from your loved ones again, relieved to know they’re okay. Lying through your teeth when you tell them you're okay. But as soon as your fifteen minutes are up and the phone is snatched from your grip, so too is that brief moment of happiness.
Mira doesn’t understand why you immediately went sullen the moment the call was over. You got to talk to them, that should have fixed things. Maybe, if you behave, she'll let you call them again tomorrow. Would that make you smile for her?
Maybe you just need some fresh air. They’ve been a little unfair to you and have kept you stuck in the penthouse all this time, and that's no way to live. So Rumi is willing to take you outside for a bit, so long as you’re holding her hand the whole time. The alternative is a leash and collar, but she doesn’t want to embarrass you in public if she doesn't have to. So as long as you’re holding her hand the whole time, she’ll take you outside.
This ends up being a nice two hours of outdoors time. It entails a pleasant little walk around the park. You get to even pet a dog on the walk. She even takes you to your favorite little food stand to grab a bite to eat.
It’s nice, even. Nice to be outside, to be out of that gilded prison. Nice to feel free.
For a moment, it almost feels normal.
But then it’s over all too soon, you’re being herded back into that elevator, and what little bliss you had felt, that taste of freedom you had, is gone. Replaced by the crushing weight of defeat that makes has your chest constricting and your body heavy.
But Rumi saw you smiling. You can’t pretend that you hadn’t enjoyed your time with her outside. You can’t lie to her and act like you had been wholly apathetic the entire time. Not when she was watching you the whole time.
It doesn't matter that you're still dejected, that you've no fight and no will left after these long months as their plaything. They’re not going to stop trying to fix it. Fix you.
They’re going to throw everything they can think of your way just to hear you laugh again, just to see you smile.
Doesn’t matter how small or brief it is. Every little spark in your eye is proof that they’re doing something right. Motivation to keep working, keep smothering you in their love, in their affection, and in their gifts.
You can have your supervised fifteen minute calls so long as you behave for them. Rumi will take you out for your daily walks, too, but you have to be good for her. You like comedies, Zoey would be thrilled to take you to a comedy show live if you don't cause trouble, just so she can hear you laughing.
Oh. You poor thing. Did you think losing your will to fight, to be, that being visibly hollowed out emotionally by your circumstances, was going to be enough to set you free? To save you?
No. No, no, no. This is just a new challenge for the girls in their quest to have you, heart mind and soul. And they do not back away from a challenge.
They'll loosen the leash they have you on, give you some more freedoms if that's what it takes. But at the end of the day, you're still leashed. They'll figure out how to make you happy just as they'll figure out how to make you happy with them.
Please consider if you are comfortable with the idea.
This idea is based on your "Alphas Polytrix and Omega reader".
Idea:
Polytrix are all Alphas, but reader, who is an omega. The reader does not share this information with the group, so Polytrix thinks the reader is a beta (for years) until something happens that exposes the secret (like heat or polytrix finds surrpressors) Polytrix then go absolutely feral over reader.
So, polytrix is yandere/possessive over reader.
Reader is either the 4th member of Huntrix or really close to the group.
Thank you!
I love this. NSFW WARNING!
“Huntrix! Huntrix! Huntrix!” The crowd was cheering, fans excited about seeing the girls on stage. Stylists were making last minute checks on makeup and hair. Mics were checked and music. It felt like a dazed, the energy and excitement in the air. Adrenaline rushing.
“Where is it? Where is it?!” You panicked, shoving things aside and knocking things over. Water spilt and makeup powder busted, but your where only looking for one thing. The heat was beginning to rise, the outside noise sounding fuzzy to you. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
You panicked, shaking and looking at your reflection in the mirror. Even though the concert hasn’t started, it already looks like you performed for the hours that I’ll be. The sweat plastered your hair against your skin, making it feel like your costume was sticky against your skin.
“Almost ready??” Zoey chirped with a rapid knock of a tune against your door. Nails dug into your arm at the scent of vanilla and books, it made your legs clench. Slick beginning to drip into your panties, panting softly with a whine slipping out accidentally.
“Omega.” Zoey recognized that sound instantly, opening the door and getting hit with the scent of an omega in heat. Her eyes dilated in desire and want at the sight of you. Sin incarnate.
“You’re… an omega.” Zoey whispered, your heart was racing and leaned back against the vanity. Hand grabbing at the edge of the counter, trying to create space from the stalking alpha. “You’re an omega.”
Zoey spoke more firmly, you gulped. Fear started to crawl up your spine, panic at how angry they were going to be. Zoey felt a pang of guilt, her body moving quickly and cupping your cheeks. “Shh shh shhh, don’t cry my pretty omega. You’re okay~ you’re okay.”
Zoey shushed, her lips pressing against yours and you felt yourself freeze at the feeling. The alpha growled in pleasure, pressing herself closer to you and trying to crawl into your lap.
“Zoey! What are you doing? We need to be…” Mira’s voice trailed off as the scent of the omega in heat. The cinnamon orange scent beginning to get stronger at her own desire rising, reacting to your sugary milk and honey omega scent.
Mira walked into her dressing room before coming back shortly after. Zoey had you draped on the couch, legs spread and shorts thrown somewhere in the dressing room. She had her face between your legs.
You panted, sweet moans slipping from your lips as you threw your head back. Zoey’s tongue dipped in your hole, lapping at your slick. She growled against your clit, making you squeal and arch your back at the vibrations.
Mira watched, stalking closer. Her hands trailing over your neck, hand wrapping your throat and angling your head to see her face. She tightened that grip just enough to watch the way your eyes rolled back, panting softly and her other hand trailed over your cheek. “Shhh, just enjoy this pretty girl.”
“A-Alpha…”
“Yea that’s right baby, your alphas got you.” She purred with a grin so predatory, you knew you were in trouble. But in a way that you couldn’t complain. But years… years down the drain, all stuck in the fuzzy euphoria. It felt like you were drowning, but some part of you didn’t want to be saved.
“Zoey.” Mira mentioned for her to move, Zoey crawled up your body and kissing your lips. Keeping you distracted while Mira adjusted you how she wanted you.
Pressure. Full. You sharply gasped against Zoey’s lips, feeling her lips move into a grin. Your head turned, eyes glossy and Mira fell in love all over again at seeing your heat desired eyes.
“Feel that omega?” Mira purred, hands rubbing your sides as you looked down to see the strap filling you up. Her hands tightened on your hips, leaning down and sniffing at your neck. “Fuck, you’re so perfect. You’re taking me so well, just like you should omega.”
She started to move her hips, you gasped at the feeling and eyes rolling back. Zoey thought you were perfection in the flesh, kissing at your neck and biting at the skin. Gasps and moans were slipping from your throat with each thrust from Mira’s strap.
Nails dug into your hips, Mira growling at the feral desire of seeing how perfect you were being. She pulled you closer, huffing and biting at the other side of your neck.
“What are you guys doing? We have…” Rumi’s stern words fell off, her eyes focused on the sight of Mira mounting you and Zoey making out with you. Rumi’s throat felt dry, a hunger beginning to take control. “You’re an omega.”
She spoke, not a question. Your eyes tried to focus on her, trying to defend yourself- but you couldn’t think of anything from how deep the strap was in your guts. Drool slipped from your lips, feeling like you were stuck in the floating subspace.
“Girls! What’s going on? We have an entire stadium full for you guys!” Rumi looked back quickly and grabbing the door. “Cancel! We need to take care of something! Sorry Bobby!!”
Rumi quickly growled, slamming the door before Bobby could see the mating. She didn’t want anyone else to see how beautiful you look. Her eyes were golden, fangs poking her lips as she looked back at you still being mated.
Mira didn’t stop- nor was she planning on to. Rumi stared at the scene and stalked closer to you.
“You’re ours now omega.” And that was a promise that all three vowed to you.
Y'all I just had a dream where Huntrix, more specifically Mira and Zoey, were overbearingly toxic towards Rumi.
They were incredibly controlling over her actions down to what she ate. They had this schedule— like an invincible schedule— where they already planned what they do each week down to the second. So when Jinu and his gang showed up, that schedule was distributed. They weren't happy about it, and Jinu, being someone literally from a realm of distrust and cruelty, noticed this.
He thought it was initially harmless, since they're demon hunters— obviously, they will have some form of hatred towards him. But as he kept observing, he was the one who noticed the possessive touches. The glares. The lies. All glazed over with sugar, which was slowly dusting off. And he was obviously concerned, as he should be, because these were DEMON HUNTERS actively acting on these acts deemed wrong. These were people who were supposed to be the beacon of hope and purity.
And the first time he got to talk to Rumi head-on, no interruptions, no attacks, just a conversation. He came to the realization, she didn't realize what they were doing was wrong.
His mind began to whirl with many possible ways it could've gotten to this point-unless, she grew up with it.
And it worried him. HIM. Someone SELFISH was WORRIED for SOMEONE ELSE. Even after they eventually had to part he was still worried about her, AND GUESS WHAT? HE SPREAD IT TO HIS COMRADES!
The rest of the saja boys were like, what? What are you talking about?
Until they took a good look at them on the game show, but this time, they saw twitches of their actual selves. Their minds marred with obsession. And slowly, that worry swallowed them.
DEMONS WORRIED OVER A DEMON HUNTER?
They wished they were kidding, but they desperately wanted Rumi to get out of that situation, so when Jinu told them she was part demon. There was a chance. Hope that she'll be safe, with them.
NEWS FLASH, turns out THEY WERE ALSO OBSESSED!!
But theirs were platonic, protective. Like a family worried for a member. Look, I know what you might think: do Mira and Zoey know about her patterns? FUCK NO. But do they know Rumi is going out to see Jinu? Hard to break it up to you, they kinda knew.
Okay, so when they were preparing for the diss track, takedown, they noticed how off Rumi was. They knew her by Heart— soul— so when she got like this. They watch her like a hawk. So for Rumi, it was incredibly hard to hide her patterns under such intense supervision. So she actively sought out Celine for a breath of air. AND GUESS WHAT? In that same exact dream, CELINE was in on it!
Cause to Celine, she reminded her of Rumi's mother. The hesitation, the sneaking, lying, covering, averting her eyes when questioned. She was seeing someone. Someone they definitely didn't approve of.
So Jinu, WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG!
So Rumi being under constant watch by the rest of the Huntrix, Celine, and even the Saja boys! Where would she go to take a breather from all of them? Exactly. BOBBY MY MAN!!! And Bobby, being the kind manager he is, noticed how everyone— AND I MEAN EVERYONE— was acting towards Rumi.
But he couldn't do much of anything but provide her comfort. Since what can a normal human do against demon hunters and demons alike? HE'S TOAST.
Although he did try to reschedule some of her idol work away from Mira and Zoey, even if it was just for five minutes, he granted that long-needed privacy for her. But when the fan meet happened, it all came to shit.
EVERYONE WAS AT EACH OTHER'S THROATS!!
Except for Jinu, since he was secretly trying to devise a plan for her to sway their way.
Now, at this point, Rumi's like, What the fuck is up with these people? Mira is fighting tooth and nail not to lash out in public and kill them into a bloody pulp. Zoey is trying not to scream bloody murder when she sees Jinu so unbearably close to Rumi. The saja boys are suffering the same thing, trying not to lash out. While Rumi and Bobby are looking at each other with a 'what the fuck' face.
Now, get this, everything that happened in the movie is now under different motives. Jinu no longer wants to erase his memories; no, he wants Rumi with them, so she doesn't have to suffer through that anymore. The rest of the demon hunters, Mira and Zoey, aren't solely fighting demons. They're fighting against someone who would rip away this perfect garden that they uphold for so long with Rumi, and they won't stop for anything to preserve it.
And, guess what?
Rumi, the bird in a golden cage, is starting to notice the bars that keep her in. Starting to notice the jewels they put on her are preventing her from leaving, acting like a collar.
That Rumi is suffering the same fate her Mother did.
—
CAN ANYONE WRITE THIS, PLEASE BRUH!! MY HAND IS STILL FUCKING INJURED SO I CAN'T DO IT MYSELF!!! 😭🙏
If so, how would the girls' behavior change if Songbird was an omega?
If not, all good.
I am curious of you thought
I look forward to your next update!!
YESSS, I know omegaverse—it's one of my favorite genres in fiction, actually! 😏 Sooo back to your question: I wouldn't say the girls' behavior would change if Songbird!reader was an omega… I'd say it would get a thousand times WORSE. Like, not just clingy girlfriend levels, but 🚩🚩 red flag territory where you basically stop existing as your own person and become their precious little omega to guard, coddle, and keep locked away.
The girls wouldn't even be surprised if they found out you were an omega—it just fits too perfectly with the "songbird" image: soft, sweet, gentle, in need of protection. But here's the kicker—they wouldn't care if you weren't. Even if by some twist you were an alpha, they'd still treat you like a fragile kitten. Do you think that would stop them from babying you? Funny! Honestly? They will force you into the omega role whether you liked it or not, like breaking you down physically and mentally until you were fully dependent on them. As their omega and songbird—Their mate.
And once they had you there? Oh sweetie, privacy is gone. Say goodbye to ever being alone. They'd always be around you, hovering close, scenting you constantly until your nest and clothes reeked of them. Imagine them all working together to build you the "perfect" nest with their hoodies, shirts, and personal belongings, expecting you to curl up in the middle like the little prize you are. And they'd be sooo smug when you finally fell asleep tangled in their scents. You think you're allowed to sleep without Mira's hoodie, Zoey's stuffed toy, or Rumi's blanket? LOL, no.
And let's not even start on how they'd treat others around you. NO man is allowed near you. Period. Other alphas? ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN. On tour, they'd drag you along everywhere, but your "bubble" would be heavily guarded—female omegas and betas only, and even then, they'd set strict limits. Imagine poor Bobby being allowed to hover nearby only because he's a beta and technically "safe," but even then, the girls would shoot him warning looks if he even breathes too close to you. (They don't want you speaking to anyone who isn't them)
Personality-wise, each girl would have her own twisted little way of keeping you weak and dependent. Zoey? She'd sneak behind you to pin you down, tickle you until you cried out, leaving you feeling helpless while Mira swoops in to "rescue" you—only to keep you right where she wants you (in her arms or lap). Rumi would be the softest but the scariest: comforting you, kissing away your tears, whispering how beautiful and fragile you are…until you believe it. Until you need her to feel safe.
And let's talk about scenting. Mira forces you into her clothes so you smell like her, Zoey hogs your nest and refuses to let you sleep unless you're wrapped up with her, and Rumi? She takes it a step further—wearing your clothes, sleeping in them, until your scent mixes with hers so thoroughly there's no way to tell where you end and she begins. You think you can wriggle away? Nope. They'll pin you down, scent you, groom you, stroke your hair and neck until you stop struggling and just melt into their hold. You're theirs, and they'll make you realize that over and over AGAIN.
Going outside? Rare. But when they do let you, they're coming along and it's never just a casual outing. No, they'll dress you up, drape you in expensive clothes, little things that scream "owned." After that, it's straight to the high-end shops—places normal people wouldn't even dare to step into, the kind of boutiques where it's easier for them to parade you around without a crowd pressing in. They'll always pick pastel and light colors for you, never once asking what you actually like or need. Even if your eyes so much as linger on an item for a second, they'll snatch it up and buy it for you immediately, no questions asked. They'd spoil you rotten with gifts and luxuries, but every single item is a reminder of who you belong to. Like a leash disguised as jewelry and a collar dressed up as a choker. They'll smile sweetly as they slip it around your neck, pretending it's just cute—when really, it's a claim.
And then… your heats. Oh, gosh—they would lose their minds. Just seeing you so fragile and sweet, with your pheromones clinging to the air as you whimpered for their touch, stirred a hunger inside of them they could no longer restrain. They know it hurts, they know it leaves you aching, and that's exactly why they go above and beyond to "take care of you." But their caretaking isn't gentle—it's suffocating. They smother you in affection until you cant breathe, until every touch feels like a brand. They don't just soothe; they indulge. They devour.
If one of them goes into heat, they will drag you down with them. If it's you in heat? All three sync up, locking you away in the nest for days (pls do expect for an orgy to happen<3). They'll feed you, soothe you, kiss you, then fuck you relentlessly until your body gives out. Until you're too fucked out, too raw and trembling, too worn down to even think about your pain, your struggle, or the way their hands pin you down possessively. There's no space left for fear, no escape from their obsession. Just their bodies, their heat, and their desperate need to make sure you never forget that you're theirs.
Because that's the truth of it—omega or not, broken or not—you'll always be theirs, and they'll always be yours.
Maybe yandere huntrix girls when like their s/o tries to break up with them?
See, your first mistake was assuming that breaking up with them was even an option (it's not).
You had sat them down one night, apparently thinking that a direct, face-to-face conversation would make things go better. You told them point blank that you ‘couldn’t do this anymore’ and that ‘this thing between us is over’.
What a silly little mouse you were
You really thought that you could just choose if and when this relationship ended? How funny.
Zoey had been the first to react, slowly blinking up at you before a wide, dangerous, smile spread across her face.
“What are you talking about, silly?” she had asked, getting up from the couch and having you wrapped up in her arms before you could recoil. Before you could get away. “You need to work on your jokes. That one was terrible.”
It wasn’t a joke, you had tried to argue, but it fell on deaf ears. Or so it seemed.
They may have acted like you were just playing around, but what you’d said had thrown them into a frenzy. You wanted to leave them. You. Wanted. To. Leave. Them.
That wasn’t allowed.
You had always been their good little mouse, doing as they said without question, always following the rules. That’s what they loved about you, you were always so good for them, without them even having to tell you.
You knew how much they loved you, and of course you loved them too—because you had to love them. They needed you to love them—but now you were saying you wanted to leave them?
They should have been more firm with you. They see that now. They gave you too many freedoms and now you thought you could act out like this.
Should have made it clearer why you should never give them any reason for worry, to not make threats about taking away what was theirs. Because, of course, you were theirs.
So they outright refuse your breakup attempt, and they’re not going to give you the chance to sneak away, either. I’m sorry, you now have at least one girl with you at all times.
Your bank account is frozen not even an hour after your attempt to break up with them—good luck buying a plane or train ticket out of the city when you can’t access your money. The bags you had already packed? Unpacked with everything placed back where it belongs.
Mira caught you trying to text a friend about getting a ride and a couch to crash on. Your phone privileges were immediately revoked, the device itself destroyed as well. “Just in case,” Mira had said.
Zoey had disappeared from the penthouse for a couple of hours after your escape plan was revealed. When she returned, she was wearing different clothes. You didn’t like how happy she was when she came back, or the metallic smell clinging to her.
Desperate, you had attempted to sneak away when they were all busy with practice. Another face in the crowd, none of the interns were paid enough to notice you, and with how long the girls were expected to train for in a day, you had plenty of time to put as much distance between yourself and them as possible.
It was working well, too. You even managed to hitch a ride out to Incheon. Your plan was working smoothly!
Or rather, it had been working for a few of hours before, out of nowhere, a pair of familiar patterned arms were wrapped around your waist and Rumi’s chin was propped on your shoulder.
She was smiling oh-so sweetly, but there was a dangerous, deadly look in her eyes that sent a rush of fear down your spine.
“What do you think you’re doing, little mouse?” she had all but purred, holding you tight so you couldn’t get away again. never again.
In an instant, you were back in Huntr/x Tower,
Your girlfriends were very hurt by what you’d done, they hope you understand that. You tried to leave them, when did you become so cruel?
But it’s okay, everyone makes mistakes and they still love you. Zoey’s even brought you a present as proof that they still love you.
An ankle monitor.
Now they can always know where you go should you get in your silly little head to run off again, and they’ll be able to bring you back home safe and sound immediately.
But you’re not going to run away anymore, right? Because if you do, then they might have to start taking more drastic measures to keep you, and you don’t want that, do you?
Of course you don’t.
So you’re going to be good, and you’re going to do what they say. No more running away. No more silly talk about breakups. No more of this ridiculous disobedience.
You’re just going to sit there and be their pretty little mouse.
i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.1 ]
Authors Note: My first Rio fic! Make sure to check the content warnings before reading further in case the content inside does not suit your taste! Otherwise please enjoy!
Some quick fun facts that literally none of you asked for but I added a lot of plot to a darksmutfic:
• I’m a former history major so some of this is based off of knowledge of what I know about time periods I studied and found special interest in
• Johnnie Ray was a popular artist in the fifties so I slipped him in for story ambience
• Only by 1955 did Americans, in half of their homes, have television sets. Up until then it was considered a bit of luxury with limited channels and times you could watch. You’d get static otherwise. Most homes had radios as their everyday media consumption.
• John Daly and the News was an actual television show broadcasted between 1953 — 1960 and is now what we know today as ABC World News Tonight
• Reader hinting that she and Rio shouldn’t talk so openly against how things are handled after the war is me referencing how the Second Red Scare [ Mcarthyism ] began to take an effect on the United States and how people ran their lives. Some actors, for example, would get blacklisted for the rest of their lives if they were accused of communism / socialism and found guilty even with denied claims from said actor.
Masterlist
PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN
Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!reader
Summary: Rio Vidal broke the rules of her own nature only two times in her long existence — once when she allowed her and Agatha’s son to live long enough to love his mother and the second and last by finding you and taking a life for every year she allowed you to live. Centuries later this still held true . . . Only now Agatha was dead and she was angry. It was time you stop running from her.
Content Warnings: Dark — be warned in advance and take care of yourselves! This has flashbacks that occurs between 1943-1953 but details about World War II itself are very vague. Some mild period-typical gender norms in terms of roles and clothing during flashbacks. Mentions of abuse / abusive marriages, angst, death, manipulation, threats of violence, stalking, choking, misuse of magic ( Rio ), housewife R ( and encouraged by Rio 😭 ), kidnapping, somnophilia, non-con, cunnilngus ( r!receiving ), face grinding ( Rio!receiving )
Word Count: TBA
Rio rarely found it in her to feel anything other than passive nonchalance when she came for them. A hand held out expectantly, a knowing expression that made no room for desperate pleas, and she took another soul away from this plane she stalked for her souls.
Children were the worst to come for and made that choice even more difficult for Rio. Death did not care who it struck or why — she was only able to ensure the balance of the universe stayed intact by orders greater than her.
She loved Agatha and Nicholas though . . . Enough that she stayed away from her lover for the amount of time she had promised their son could adventure the Earth as short as it may be.
She loved Agatha enough to take him while she slept with him curled tight in her arms where he was the absolute safest he could be. Nicholas was all Agatha with his curly hair and serious eyes, but Rio liked to believe there was part of her in him as she took his hand and took him to her home.
Agatha evaded her incredibly well after Nicky’s death, doing her best to leave no traces and not stay in one place for too long.
Rio decided that Agatha wouldn’t be able to forgive her — if not forever then at least for now. So she stopped trying and allowed Agatha to grieve and slowly move on in her own impossible way.
Rio met you in 1945 during a high stress time for the world. It was wonderfully busy in that she was everywhere more than usual. A war just ended and wars made Rio’s life both miserable and fulfilled with the amount of workload she took on.
You were an unfortunate case and barely hanging onto your single thread of life. She could see it glowing from your chest, flickering in and out . . . As if it would be snuffed at any second should the wind blow right.
Her instincts told her it was your time but everything about the surroundings were telling her that nobody else agreed.
But why? She’s seen it millions of times in different cultures and centuries. A life had a time limit and she knew when that time ended even if they didn’t — or didn’t agree with it.
Rio’s entire instinct told her to take this soul and move onto the next so she could keep the balance moving and not disrupt the will of the universe that held them all together.
But she didn’t. She waited unseen in a corner and watched you as nurses came in to check on you, refilling your untouched water pitcher and cleaning you up. You still barely hung on, her eyes keeping locked onto the thrumming flow of life that beckoned her.
She finally stepped forward to get a closer look at you, tilting her chin down through her hood and taking note of every small detail that put you in her ledger for collection.
You were a battered woman more than anything, and she let her fingers drift over you to get a feel of your energy.
Her hand ripped back to her side at what she felt within you. You remained nearly lifeless and unconscious in the bed but your soul was very, very angry. It was a black pool of oily rage and despair that Rio was usually able to cleanse once she took them but . . .
She took your lifeline in her palm, feeling the warmth seep into her cold skin as it stuttered more as she grasped it.
She pressed a thumb into it as though it were something physical and willed a demand — live. I shall not take you today.
For a moment she wasn’t sure how her magic would treat your soul once they interacted. But more stuttering was soon filtered out like a street lamp, giving way to a soft and steady glow.
Rio smiled and released your lifeline, allowing it to lazily float back toward you where it retook its place reaching for her out of your chest.
Rio might be Death and she may hesitate to break rules on most days — but you were the exception she was going to see through and hope she didn’t regret later.
1943-1952
Rio left you soon after. She had to take a soul in your place and had others that needed her attention besides.
But she frequently returned to you with a pull she could not ignore. Your recovery was slow and painful, and she watched invisibly as you cried to your mother and father about your husband — the man you claimed was the one who caused your near death.
It filled her with something raw and visceral when she followed you back home to him. A drunk man who had no boundaries and no respect for the life he was given — nor yours.
She decided to wait a couple of years for the world to cool down from the anguish that it was trying to recover from. But she watched as you suffered with him and tried to keep your distance in order to avoid pain.
In 1952 Rio decides to play dress up. She comes to your beautifully decorated home and sickeningly pretty flowered garden in an outfit that women are scolded for daring to try on.
Slacks and a blouse with her hair styled for the time even if it wasn’t in her taste. She was going to play a partial role — but she had a plan and will see it through.
Rio knocked on your door so that there would be no question of a visitor, hands sliding into her pockets not long after as she waited.
She was not kept long.
The door opened and there you were pretty and smiling — even if Rio knew what the depths of your soul actually contained.
“Oh,” you said by greeting, hand going to your chest. “Hello there. Hi.”
“Hello,” Rio greeted back politely. “I moved in a few houses down and have gone about introducing myself to the neighbors. I want to build a community around me.”
You pursed your lips in surprise. “I didn’t know we had a house for sale,” you mused aloud, but waved your hand, “Oh, but who cares? Welcome to Westview.”
“My name is Rio, Rio Vidal,” Death greeted, sliding a hand out for you to take. If you were caught off guard by the invitation, you did not show it. You grasped her hand and shook it and relayed your name back even though she knew it well.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” you said, still smiling. You gestured and stepped aside in your entry way, showing Rio the bright yellow walls and decorated room behind you, “Would you like to come in? I’ve been trying a hand at making a cake and I’m unfortunately not doing so good.”
Rio took the invitation and entered your home, laughing breathily at your statement. “A woman who can’t bake? Not a sight I see often.”
You shut the door behind you both and grew shy under the observation. “I was never great at it,” you admit as you started through the entry way and leading her through the living room. It was quiet.
“No husband?” she questioned aloud, noting the empty recliner diagonal to the newest television set that money could buy. Expensive taste for even a well earning home.
“One,” you called back when you reappeared from the entrance to the kitchen. “He works all day at the plant in Eastview. He just got promoted.”
“Eastview,” Rio murmured. “Isn’t that a bit of a drive?”
You smiled weakly. “Sure, but it’s good income. He works hard and keeps us fed. Come, I’ll prepare lemonade.”
Rio allowed herself to be guided into the kitchen that smelled like a bakery. Black and white checkered floors, green cabinets and brand new red chairs and a table set. If not good at baking you at least had good style.
You were pulling out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and she wandered close to you. “It smells good.”
You glanced up at her from your pouring, “You came right as I was putting my third attempt in the oven. Hopefully it doesn’t burn this time. I admittedly bought store-made icing.”
Rio grinned, “My lips are sealed.”
You chuckled as you pushed her a glass of lemonade and took your own in two hands, clutching it close. “So . . . You have no husband of your own?”
Rio leaned against the mint-colored counter and twirled her glass. “Afraid not. Lost him to the war in ‘43.”
You frowned as an expression of sympathy started to cross your features, “Two years before that deadly disaster ended, too. I’m truly sorry he didn’t make it home.”
Trap set and bait laying with prey lured, Rio continued with a faux tremble in her hands, “They don’t tell you what to prepare for if they don’t come home. Don’t give you much in return for the price they pay for the country. How fair is that?”
Your lips thinned slightly. “No, I’d rather say the bets we place are never worth it.” A pause, full of hesitance. “But we shouldn’t talk so queerly about such things.”
Rio curled her fingers inward toward herself despite her grip on her glass. She was probing for information mostly — where she could poke holes and find weakness. The end of the war left a fear of things they didn’t understand . . . And politics became a large aspect of society as soon as the world began picking itself back up.
Rio reveled in the chaos and enjoyed — with no shame to be found — watching humans try and control their societies in endless cycles of vitriol and greed masked by different ideologies they claimed were better than the last.
It kept her in a job.
“Of course,” she finally said with a hint of emotion. “My apologies. I’m afraid my heart has been hardened by experience.”
You softened slightly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Of course. I can’t imagine the suffering you’ve endured — I just — I’m sure the country is thankful.”
Rio bit down a response that would get a rise out of you. She wanted to see that anger she felt in your soul when she initially came for you that day.
She couldn’t feel it just from standing here and pretending to be a sad widower of a war. It was difficult to get a feel on you in general right now — unless she pushed her magic and coerced them out of you.
A brief quiet fell over the two that mostly consisted of sipping lemonades and listening to Johnnie Raye’s alluring voice sing through the radio that was situated near the entryway of the kitchen on the counter.
“So,” Rio drew out and set down her glass. Hardly touched — just enough to make you believe she dare partake in such things, “Little ones?”
You smiled again but a sad gleam overtook the look this time. “No, no children.”
You didn’t go into detail and Rio decided that this topic was one she could let go until later either by finding out through her own means or getting to know you in this fashion.
“Well it looks like we could both use a friend at least,” the brunette said as her gaze turned to stare out the window for a brief moment. “The world can be entirely too lonely for women these days and I’m inclined to find ways to fight it.”
You perked up slightly at her veiled offer and bit your lip. “I’d love to be your friend.”
2024
Your neck was aching in a way that it hasn’t for a very long time. A subtle throb just below your hairline that felt deep inside of your muscles.
You told yourself it was just an ache — the magic she had worked on you was disintegrated and nothing more than a reminder of a past long dead.
But the ache did not relent when you woke up the next morning, or the next after that.
You began to wonder if the witch you paid to remove all the magic in your body was a fraud a week after the ache started.
You simply ignored it and went about your daily life even as it throbbed dully beneath your skin like a timer set to go off at any given point.
It started giving you headaches and then the nausea set in after that.
Pointedly, you continued to do absolutely nothing for it. Anxiety was shoved into a small lockbox and the key was dropped into the dark depths of your brain to be forgotten as you sealed the blinds for the night and went about prepping dinner.
Onions splayed out on a cutting board next to other ingredients ready to be prepped. A dinner for one but a pleasant distraction to keep your hands busy. You propped your phone up against the wall to listen to a podcast while you began peeling the onions.
Flowers for your parents graves and a visit to your nieces’ retirement home, you reminded yourself through the busy chatter of the podcast and stripping of the outer layer of the onion.
A shattered vase?
You stopped peeling and stopped breathing. You listened, drowning out the sound of your phone and focusing on background noise that may come next.
You quietly set down the onion and curl your fingers around the hilt of the knife you had set aside. You tucked it close to your side as you stepped silently to the entry way of your kitchen to look out into your living room.
Indeed your vase was shattered off of the display case where it had previously been sitting. An antique but not one you were invested in, really. The carpet was wet from the water that kept the flowers fed and the flowers themselves were scattered in the shards.
As you approached the mess and kneeled down to set about starting to clean it up, you tossed the knife to the side for now and got the shards out of the way first.
You ignored the alarms in your head. The warning signs that were so large and so close that they were nearly impossible to ignore.
You released a shaky breath and threw away the shards in the kitchen. You gathered yourself momentarily and repeated your mantra, “She isn’t coming back, you’ve gotten away,” enough to almost believe it.
You return to the living room to take care of the ruined flowers and clean up any leftover petals and leaves.
Even when you gathered the crumbled flowers and found a perfectly intact green rose aligned in the middle of them.
The thorn cut your thumb open and left a wound that bleed for two days.
Five more days continued on after that slower than the thick molasses that your grandmother used to make when you would visit her home as a child.
You visit your parents in Westview once you’re sure activity of magic has disappeared. You knew the Scarlet Witch had contained the once lovely and beautiful town and used it to create something for herself she was believed she had the right to.
It’s been months — hell a year even. The news claimed that Maximoff had disappeared without a trace and left no one worse for wear after defeating an unknown threat.
The graveyard was not maintained in the hostage situation. Overgrown and some older stones beginning to degrade from age and lack of care, dead and wilted flowers not cleared or replaced with new ones by thoughtful visitors.
You trudged through it all and for once you could not ignore the agony in your neck. It was allowing the pain of the physical or the pain of your heart — and you didn’t think you had it in you to feel anything but the inclosed walls you built for yourself.
You kneel onto your knees once you reach the matching headstones. Moss was starting to grow on the edges and inside the grooves — but you let it stay. You started pulling out the decayed flowers from the in-ground flower holder, tossing them aside and dusting off the area.
“Still so attached to the past,” a husky voice mused in no one direction. Your head jerked up and you began to look around, palm resting on your father’s headstone for support. A cheerless — but darkly amused — laugh. “You tend to it like a garden or a herd of sheep. Maintaining its needs and working on it like it’s keeping you afloat.”
You used your free hand to rub your forehead. You couldn’t see anything — the voice was clear as day and that is what had you spinning.
“Angel with stone wings, angel with no reach,” the sultry lilt continued. Your eyes locked onto the damp statue of an angel feet away, eyes echoing endless depths of nothingness.
You forced your eyes back to the graves. Your hands were shaking as you continued to clear them, hands aggressively tugging the weeds from around the stone.
“Oh sure, ignore me. That’s worked out for you just as much as burning your leash off has.”
“This is a figment,” you responded out loud.
Large, aged oak trees swayed angrily around you in turn and howling winds scraped against your skin. You needed to make sure of it — ground yourself before you lost yourself in the delusion.
Your knuckles slammed into hard stone, pressing until they turned white and stung from the impact. Your breathing was heavy and your ribcage felt like it was being grabbed from the top of your spine and pulled backwards.
“You really thought that your little magic trick could defy the sigil of Death, angel?” You could imagine her face. Mocking, smirking with full teeth and eyes gleaming with predatory intent.
She wasn’t here.
And then it felt like you had a rope thrown around your throat so tight that you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. The force of it sent you sailing onto your back, feet kicking, gasps sounding out into empty air.
Your hands flail upward in animalistic instinct, clawing at your neck.
Nothing was there. Nothing was there. You opened your mouth more, to breath, to scream, to —
The pressure left as quickly as it was there. You turned over and dug your fingernails into the damp ground, getting into your knees and breathing in as much air as your lungs would allow.
A billow of green and black took up your line of sight as your vision began to clear. It decreased its length toward you with lazy speed and only stopped when you were inches from the fabric.
The figure crouched and a cold hand took your jaw to tilt your head up. Your stomach became a pit of liquid when you saw exactly who it was above you — and she was no figment.
“Hello, angel. Thank you for walking into my trap. I didn’t want to have to hunt you down.”
1953
You slam on Rio’s front door despite the crudeness of it. It was cold and your tears were freezing over on your cheeks. You were numb and you needed . . . Comfort. Something. Anything.
The door opened almost immediately to your best friend. She had a lazy smile that quickly fell once she saw you.
“Angel,” she offered a soft crow, “what happened? It’s dark out and you should be at home right now."
Your throat bobbed and you manage to cup your mouth before a loud, ugly sob can escape and wake the entire neighborhood. "Oh, God, Rio."
Now her eyes flickered with alarm. Dark swirls of it as she stepped forward and immedately wrapped two arms around your shoulders and tucked you close. "Let’s get you inside. Come on.”
Her voice soothed you as she guided you into her home and you remained unaware of the malice that crossed her features as she glanced outside at the street for any sign of threat before closing the door.
She sat you on her couch in front of her television. She was watching John Daly discussing the news on the black and white set with his stoic professionalism.
“Do you want a glass of water? Ginger ale?” Rio questioned and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.
You glanced upward at her. Your fingers twisted into your dress and you crossed your ankles, pressing them into the couch as you sat up straight and stiff.
“Yes please, if it’s no trouble,” you murmured.
“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.” You ignored the odd quip, having gotten used to Rio’s strange ways by now. Most of your neighbors wives’ — when you met for the monthly update while husbands drank and played cars — found her to be much to odd for comfort.
You didn’t mind. She wasn’t nosy like the other women were and didn’t have the tendency to berate you about how you iced your cookies or strung your laundry on the line when laundry day came. She took little interest in petty gossip and didn’t prod for details about why no children came to fruition within your marriage.
Perhaps that is what drew you to the long-haired widow while the others felt repelled by her.
Your brain was lost in this forest of thick fog and thoughtless wander so deep that you jumped when a cold glass was brushed against the back of your clenched hands.
Rio said nothing about it; she simply waited until she was satisfied that your water was safely in hand before sitting down in the chair next to the television. She reached over and twisted the dial until it flickered off.
“What happened?” she asked plainly, picking something off of her finely fitted pants. Waisted pants today that ended at her ankles, fitting her loosely. Some days she wore styles that mothers would roll in their graves over — a man’s wear.
Today she decided on a more fashionable approach in women’s attire, it seemed. The pants were dark blue in color with a cream long sleeved shirt tucked in.
You tried to focus on her question, but answering it meant you had to tell her in the first place. In doing that — in doing that you would be left in a situation where you could break down completely.
“Hey.”
She was next to you as if by magic. Her hand rested on your knee lightly. Her hand was cold. Anytime you were together she always seemed to be cold . . .
Your mind started melting into itself again but a finger directed your chin to meet Rio’s intense gaze. It was a gentle gesture, but also a command. One of her eyebrows was raised questioningly.
“Angel,” she says, a low noise in her throat, “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
Your fingers curled as tight as the glass would allow, as tight as your grip could be. “My husband,” you started, a stuttering whisper fading after it. You couldn’t bear to finish.
Her features remained unchanged, but her head tilted. She let her finger brush away from your chin as she moved that hand over yours on the glass.
“What about him?” she asked.
“He’s — the factory owner called, you see. Told me I had to get to the hospital as quickly as I could.”
It was a terrible, bloody mess. They didn’t let you back into the room to see him because of the severity and instead had her wait until the doctor could come and speak with her privately.
You weren’t in tears at all — the nurses had commented. You were being very brave. You must be so scared.
You could only nod at them, smile shakily maybe.
You did cry when they asked you to sit down to tell you that he did not survive their attempt at surgery. It was a machine incident, they said. It broke down during use and your husband was the one on the line during the process.
You sobbed like a stricken wife, now widowed and left by herself. The nurses came to comfort you, offer tissues and take you somewhere quiet.
You weren’t devastated.
You were so relieved.
You felt like you would go home that night and not have to worry about if doing the dishes would be what set him off.
You could make a meal and not sit in a silence that you feared ended in another bruise to cover up for a few weeks.
Your husband was never good at cleaning up his messes. That’s what you were there for. That’s what his lack of complaints at the extra makeup in your grocery bags meant.
“He’s dead,” you choked out loud for the first time. “He had an accident . . . And . . .”
“Hm, I see.” Rio did something else and tucked you close into her side. She started stroking your hair and you took on the comfort even if you weren’t used to it. “It saddens me to see you so upset.”
Over him, she didn’t add. She didn’t need to with her tone.
“It’s just . . . Oh, you may find me very crass if I tell you what’s been heavy on my heart.”
Rio grasped your chin firmly and quickly, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her lips were thinned and she said with a steady, stern tone, “I could never think you crass. We are both outcasts in our own way in this world we’ve been born into. Whatever you tell me will change what I think of you — would you like me to swear it?” She paused. “On your God?”
You pulled back briefly, but her hand went with your tug. She had a tight grasp on your chin and wasn’t letting go, determined to keep your attention.
“My God?” you echoed, visible confusion coating your features.
She didn’t give you a response. Perhaps she felt as though she had been clear enough even if you felt entirely puzzled.
She tapped your cheek with her index finger. “Admit to me your heart’s truths, angel.”
The sick feeling in your stomach — the way you liked how she spoke to you, touched you . . .
Her touch suddenly felt like the hottest flames and you snapped out of the foggy daze. You were too close, she was too near. Everything about this broke the law of nature.
“I’m glad he’s dead.” Your mouth snapped shut and she allowed you to jerk away from her grasp to the other end of the couch. You hadn’t . . .
Why did you say that.
Rio’s lips were painted black today. An unusual color to decide on and very much not within the fashion of today. Your catalogues and magazines always pointed at which colors to lean into and which to avoid. Black lipstick was hard to find and it was often discouraged; it was seen as unappealing and unapproachable.
Rio wore it like she owned it and you hated that you seemed to tingle and grow hot in ways your husband was unable to do.
She tapped her chin with her nails, lips quirking into a small smirk. “Oh, my my. A wife who grieves not for the loss of her dear husband — her protector in life and guardian . . . But perhaps the comfortable lifestyle he provides?”
Your lips trembled. “How dare you,” you whispered, flushing from the neck up from the shame. She was right. She was right and you hated it. “That’s so mean to . . .”
“Stop with the act, angel.” Rio leaned back into the cushions, one leg crossing over the other. “Own how you feel for once. Take that relief and dig deep — see what else you’ll feel.”
The water glass had grown slippery in your palms. Either from how sweaty you got or from the melting ice. You were glad for the cold it provided, to keep you from floating away.
You sipped at it in quiet and refused to talk to her. Childish, perhaps. But what you couldn’t do right now was face what she was shoving in front of you: that you feared for your comforts as creaturely as they may be. You were raised to be a housewife and your parents didn’t know how to encourage much else.
You weren’t an educated woman — and didn’t have the money to become one.
“You’re depressing me,” Rio stated, slapping her hands on her knees. You jumped. Her head tilted low and she regarded you with something that should have sent you running, “I’ll keep you safe and pampered, angel. Sell your home, move into mine. I have three extra rooms. I could use a woman’s touch.”
“You’re a woman.”
A feline grin was your first reply. Then, “A working one.”
You supposed you could have realized that in the time she’s been around. No husband, widowed — how else would she have managed on her own without?
“It would . . . Isn’t it rather odd to have two women together? Especially one as a housewife?”
“We’re widowed, angel,” Rio reminded her as she removed the empty glass from your hand and set it on the coffee table. “Gossip will see a sad woman who need comfort from another woman who knows what it feels like. You will be truly devastated, simply unable to recover normally.”
You licked your lips and glanced around. It was darker in certain corners and the living room lacked color. “. . . Everything has a fine coat of dust,” you mumbled.
Rio laughed, standing and pulling you with her. She leaned forward and for a moment you held your breath, scared . . . Perhaps maybe filled with anticipation, as she did. Soft lips brushed your cheek.
“It’s a very good thing I just found myself a housewife to fix that.”
2024
The ache was gone — you could come to understand that as feeble awareness started to come to you in bloated masses.
Your body felt heavy and as though it had been pressed through your mother’s clothes wringer. Should you open your eyes? Would that even matter right now if all you could do was lay there and try not to vomit?
A sudden wave of pleasure that seemed to hurt coursed through you, and you let out a garbled moan as your body lifted and your hand frantically reached down to find the cause.
A soft, breathy chuckle greeted you against your wet pussy as your hand messily gripped hair and pushed the figure against you instead of pulling away.
“Mph.” Rio. It was Rio — she was — you ground your face down as her tongue delved deeper rather than pulling out of you to speak to you. You kept your eyes screwed shut — not wanting to see her but chasing that high she was making you seek out.
Her sharp nails gripped your bare ass and squeezed, nose rubbing purposefully into your clit as she used your body like an old instrument she pulled out of the closet.
It had been so fucking long and yet she knew you so goddamn well. Like it hasn’t been damn near seventy years and she hasn’t collared you with her magic and trapped you again.
With more force and anger driving you, you rode her face harder, knowing Death needn’t breath and how too entirely much she enjoyed the goddamn desperation she could soak up from you.
It flipped like a switch. One moment you’re angry and chasing something that you don’t want and the next you’re clawing at the brink of your orgasm like it was being veered over the edge of a cliff for years.
You cursed and kicked, but Rio saw the entire thing through. Only when your shivers eased and grip loosened did she come up for uneeded air, smug and eyes twinkling.
“Welcome home, angel.”
“I’m going to kill you,” you breathed, shoving her away with a shaky foot and sitting up on your thighs.
Then she was behind you, leaning over your shoulder with a weighted hand on the back of your neck. “I am going to enjoy seeing you try.”
warnings/tags: dark rio, dark agatha, dark au, roommates au, noncon, non-consensual somnophilia, agathario, mentions dark agatha, mouth covering, strap-ons, crying, praise kink, possessive rio.
kinktober 2025: somnophilia
You unlocked the front door, not wanting to bother Rio or Agatha with letting you in. You had to work late; thankfully, you shot them a text on your break to let them know so they weren’t waiting around for you when you got off at your normal time. You silently made your way into the house and shut the door, making sure to lock it before heading straight to your room. You looked at the clock, and when you saw that it was midnight, you groaned. Grabbing some clothes, you made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower, but you were stopped by Rio.
“Hey, roomie,” Rio smirked, standing outside of the door of the room she shared with Agatha. “How was work?”
You sighed. “Terrible and long, so I’m probably going to take a shower and go to bed.”
Rio nodded. “Agatha ordered food tonight, and we got you your favorite. It’s in the fridge.”
You gave her a soft smile, saying thank you before you made your way to the bathroom. If you weren’t so tired, you wouldn’t have missed the hungry look on Rio’s face. You undressed after you put your clean clothes on the counter, tossing your dirty clothes on the floor for you to take back to your room when you were done.
You took a fast shower, hot water feeling good on your skin. You got dressed—a t-shirt and just underwear—knowing that Agatha and Rio were in bed now; they weren’t going to see you. You poked your head out of the bathroom once you picked your dirty clothes up from the floor before you made your way to your room. You shut the door behind you before tossing the dirty clothes into your hamper.
You crawled into bed, whimpering as the pain in your back started up again. You usually turned on the TV for background noise, but you were already so tired, you closed your eyes and fell asleep rather quickly.
You were always a deep sleeper, especially on nights you were working doubles. On any other night, you would have woken up to Rio opening your door and walking into your room. But not tonight. Tonight, you were out completely, and Rio knew it.
She climbed into your bed, lying on her side as she watched you breathe. Finally growing impatient, Rio pulled her sweatpants down to reveal the strapon she had been packing for the last thirty minutes.
Spitting in her hand, she used it as lube for the strapon. Rio repositioned herself so she was in between your legs. She was thankful you were lying on your back; having to turn you onto your side was something she refused to do again. Rio wasted no time, pulling your underwear to the side and spitting on your pussy. She rubbed the tip of the strapon against your clit, wanting to rub in her spit.
You shifted in your spot, causing Rio to freeze. Normally you wouldn’t do that—occasionally making sounds when she’s making you feel good, but never this. Rio knew that she needed to do something, so she slid the strapon all the way inside of you.
You gasped, eyes snapping open as Rio started to fuck you. You were still tired, unsure as to exactly what was happening, but that was when you heard Rio’s voice.
“You didn’t eat your food we bought you, did you?” Rio sighed, stilling her hips. “Bad girl, you wouldn’t have woken up until the morning if you did.”
You shook your head—eyes wide—as you brought both your hands up to both of her shoulders. You pushed her as hard as you could, but she didn’t budge. She was a lot stronger than you thought, as she grabbed both of your hands; Rio held them down with one hand.
“Agatha, help—” You cried out, but Rio used her free hand to cover your mouth.
Rio shook her head, slowly moving her hips once more. “Do you think Agatha would save you, baby? She’s asleep, so shut the fuck up and take it.”
Rio sped up her movements, keeping her hand on your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than her inside of you. A part of you felt guilty with Agatha upstairs, unaware of what her girlfriend was doing.
“Such a good girl, taking my cock like you were made for it.” Rio moaned.
You whimpered against Rio’s hand, earning a fake pout from her. Rio’s thrusts grew sloppy as she chased her own orgasm. You stayed as still as you could, wanting it to be over as quickly as possible.
“Now that you know what I’ve been doing, I’m going to fuck you every single night.” Rio gasped, stopping her thrusts. Only continuing as she started to grind against you. “And there’s nothing you’re going to do about it, because Agatha won’t believe you.”
You opened your eyes but looked up at the ceiling as tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes. Rio continued to fuck you, but as soon as she let go of your hands, you tried to push her off you, but she was a lot stronger than you.
“Don’t fight me, not when you’ve always been such a good girl for me.” Rio moaned, coming as she continued to grind against you.
Rio rode out her orgasm, finally stilling when she was done. She stayed inside of you, holding you close as she relaxed. You were afraid to move, wanting her out of you as soon as possible. You felt sick to your stomach, wanting her to pull out and leave your room. You knew you were going to have to tell Agatha; you just hoped that she would believe you.
“Such a good girl,” Rio hummed, pulling away from you slightly so she could see your face. “It’s a shame you just had to try and fight me off. I could have made you feel so good, but no.”
“Please just…please just leave.” You whispered, turning your head so you weren’t looking at her.
You flinched as Rio chuckled, hoping she would just leave you alone. Rio stayed quiet for a few moments before she finally pulled out of you. You squeezed your thighs together when she climbed off your bed.
“You know,” Rio began. “I didn’t think it would be a lot more fun while you were awake, but I was wrong.”
You looked at her in the doorway, flinching when you noticed that Agatha was standing there. Your eyes widened, seeing the smirk plastered on Agatha’s face.
How long had she been standing there?
You grabbed your blanket—hiding underneath it as Agatha came closer to you. She sat on the edge of the bed next to you, with her attention fully on you. Rio was in the doorway, watching the two of you
“Did Rio hurt you, baby?” Agatha asked, her voice soft, as if her girlfriend hadn’t just forced herself on you. If you weren’t so upset, you’d notice the fake pout on her face. “She’s so mean, isn’t she?”
“I—“ you began, but Agatha cut you off by grabbing your chin.
When she forced you to look at her, she continued.
“You’ll be a good girl for both of us and not tell anyone, right?” Agatha asked, her voice calm and steady.
When you nodded, Agatha smirked as she let go of you. You watched as she stood up from your bed and made her way to the door. She looked back at you one last time before she led Rio away. You tried your best to stay quiet, only getting up to shut and lock your bedroom door when you were sure they were in their room.
You knew that one thing was certain: you were going to have to move out as soon as you could.
You didn’t mean to call her. Summoning Lady Death herself was the last thing on your mind. You weren’t powerful enough—at least, that’s what your sister, Lilia, always told you. “Stick to the basics,” she’d said, her voice both patient and stern. “You’re not ready for the deeper arts.”
But your curiosity was insatiable. What harm could a little experimenting do?
It was supposed to be a simple spell—an offering of gratitude to the spirits of the wood. You gathered the ingredients meticulously, whispered the incantations carefully, and poured your heart into the ritual. The forest had been quiet and still, save for the flickering of your candle and the rustle of leaves.
Until she appeared.
At first, you thought she was a shadow—a trick of the waning light. Then she stepped closer, her dark cloak billowing in an unseen wind, her face illuminated by an unearthly glow. The air grew frigid, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, and her voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
“You called me.”
You stumbled back, your knees weak. “I-I didn’t mean to...”
Her eyes locked onto yours—silver and endless, holding the weight of eternity. Rio Vidal, the Reaper, the Lady of Death. Her beauty was terrifying, her presence suffocating. She stepped closer, a crooked smile curving her lips.
“Didn’t mean to?” she repeated, her voice low and mocking. “Oh, little witch, you can’t undo what you’ve done. You sought something, didn’t you?”
You shook your head desperately. “It was a mistake! Please, I didn’t—”
Her fingers brushed your cheek, the coldness of her touch stealing the air from your lungs. “Don’t lie to me, mi pequeña hechicera.” Her tone was almost gentle, but her grip tightened, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wanted power, didn’t you?”
“No! I just... I wanted to give thanks!”
She laughed—a sound that chilled you more than her touch. “So innocent,” she mused, her eyes scanning you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But you’ve caught my attention now. That’s a rare thing, little witch. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
The days that followed were a blur. You told Lilia what had happened, but she brushed it off as a fluke. “The veil is thin this time of year,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Spirits drift in and out. As long as you haven’t made a pact, you’ll be fine.”
But you weren’t fine.
Rio appeared everywhere: in your dreams, in the shadows of your home, even in the mirror when you glanced too long. Her voice whispered through the night, taunting and commanding.
“You can’t run from me,” she’d say.
She visited often, her presence growing more physical, more consuming. She’d appear in the garden while you tended the herbs, her cold fingers trailing down your arm as she made idle conversation about mortality and devotion. She took pleasure in your discomfort, in the way you squirmed under her gaze.
Lilia began to notice your growing paranoia. “You’re restless,” she said one morning, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “You’re always looking over your shoulder.”
You didn’t tell her about the mark Rio had left on your wrist—a faint sigil that burned cold to the touch. “It’s nothing,” you lied, though the truth sat heavy in your chest.
That night, Rio came to you again, this time at your bedside. She sat at the edge, her cloak cascading like ink across the floor. Her hand rested against your leg, deceptively gentle, but her grip left no room for escape.
“You’re wasting your time pretending you can avoid me,” she said, her tone soft but laced with menace.
“What do you want from me?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.
Her smile was slow, predatory. “I want you. All of you. Your loyalty, your magic, your very soul if I decide I want it.” Her fingers traced up your arm, cold and deliberate. “But don’t worry, little witch. I’ll take good care of you. You’ll see.”
“I don’t want this,” you said, though your voice shook with the weight of her presence.
Her eyes darkened, and the room seemed to pulse with her energy. She leaned closer, her face inches from yours. “What you want doesn’t matter, mi amor. You’re mine now.”
She pressed a cold kiss to your forehead, and the darkness claimed you.
Waking up the next morning felt like surfacing from a deep, suffocating sea. The sunlight streaming through your window seemed sharper, almost invasive. But no matter how bright the day, you couldn't shake the chill in your bones.
Rio's words echoed in your mind: "You're mine now."
Your hand strayed to your wrist where her mark lay, a sigil faint yet undeniable. You’d hoped it would fade like some lingering nightmare, but it burned ice-cold beneath your touch, a tether you couldn’t sever.
Lilia's voice startled you as she called from the kitchen. "You’re up early," she said as you shuffled in, your unease masked by the calm of routine. She didn’t know what lurked in the shadows. She couldn’t see how the air felt heavier, how it seemed charged with an oppressive, otherworldly energy.
You didn’t tell her. How could you? Lilia had always been the stronger one—both in magic and temperament. But this? Even her power seemed insignificant compared to Rio’s suffocating presence.
"Couldn’t sleep," you muttered, avoiding her gaze as you poured a cup of tea.
Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been dabbling again?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
You shook your head quickly. "No! I..." The lie almost choked you. You turned away before she could question further.
But that night, Rio returned.
This time, she didn’t wait for your compliance or conversation. You felt her before you saw her: the air in your room grew frigid, your breath misting as shadows coalesced at the foot of your bed. When she appeared, her form was draped in dark elegance, her silver eyes alight with a predatory gleam.
“You can’t avoid me forever,” she said, her voice low and intimate.
“I wasn’t trying to summon you,” you protested, your hands clenching the blanket tightly.
“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it,” she replied, tilting her head. “You don’t have to. You and I are connected now, little witch. Did you really think you could make a call to the beyond and walk away unscathed?”
You stared at her, your voice caught in your throat.
She stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring every step that brought her nearer to you. Her cold fingers brushed your chin, forcing you to meet her piercing gaze.
“You don’t understand yet,” she murmured, her voice a dark lullaby. “But you will.”
"Understand what?" you whispered, your voice trembling.
"That you were meant to be mine," she said, her lips curving into a smile that was equal parts alluring and terrifying. "I’ve taken kings, queens, and warriors. But you?” Her hand moved to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly across your skin. “You’ll be my greatest treasure."
Tears welled in your eyes as her words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. “Please, let me go,” you whispered.
Her laugh was soft and cruel. “Oh, little one, I am letting you go. For now. But you’ll come to me willingly. You’ll see that no one else can give you what I can.”
Before you could protest, she leaned closer, her cold lips grazing your ear. “Don’t fight it,” she whispered. “It’s so much sweeter when you surrender.”
And just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished, leaving you alone in the chilling silence of your room.
But the mark on your wrist pulsed faintly, a reminder that her claim on you was far from over.
The following days blurred together in a haze of paranoia and unease. Rio’s presence was no longer a subtle weight lingering at the edges of your consciousness; it was suffocating. She came and went as she pleased, making herself a constant in your life whether you wanted it or not.
It was on one of those nights, when you were too tired to fight sleep, that she made her move.
Your room was pitch dark, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of the wind outside. A frigid touch on your ankle jolted you awake, and there she was—seated on the edge of your bed, her silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight spilling through the curtains.
"Did I startle you, mi pequeña bruja?" she murmured, a sly smile pulling at her lips.
"Get out," you said, voice trembling but firm. "You're not welcome here."
Rio tilted her head, her silver eyes glinting as though your defiance amused her. "Oh, but I don’t need permission anymore. You already belong to me."
She leaned forward, her fingers ghosting over your arm, cold and unnervingly gentle. "Why do you keep fighting when it only makes things harder for you?" Her voice was deceptively soothing, like the calm before a storm.
"I don't want any of this," you snapped, pulling your arm away.
Her smirk darkened. "You don't know what you want."
With a flick of her wrist, the mark on your skin flared icy blue, a sharp, stinging reminder of the bond she’d tethered to you. Your gasp of pain made her smile widen.
"You’re so delicate," she purred, her hand moving to cradle your face. "So easily broken. But don’t worry, mi amor, I’ll take care of you."
Her touch traveled lower, fingers brushing over your collarbone. It wasn’t tender, not really. It felt more like a claim—a slow, deliberate reminder of who held the power. You wanted to recoil, to push her away, but your body betrayed you. Whether it was fear, magic, or something darker, you stayed frozen under her gaze.
"Such a sweet little thing," she murmured, leaning down until her face was only inches from yours. Her breath was cold against your skin, sending chills racing down your spine. "Fighting me won’t work, little one. You’ll see soon enough... submission will feel so much better."
“Rio...” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
"Shh," she cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No need to speak. Just listen. Feel."
Her lips hovered over yours, teasingly close, but she didn’t press forward. Instead, she shifted to your neck, her cold lips grazing your skin. It wasn’t gentle; it felt calculated, like she wanted to leave an impression that would haunt you long after she was gone.
"You can run from others," she said against your skin, her voice low and dangerous, "but you can’t run from me. I am death. I am the end and the beginning. You’ll find no escape, only inevitability."
Tears welled in your eyes, frustration and fear mingling into a knot in your chest. "Please..."
"Please, what?" she asked, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes held a wicked gleam, and her lips curled into a smirk. "You don’t even know what you’re asking for, little witch. But I’ll give you what you need—even if you’re too afraid to see it now."
Her thumb brushed across your lower lip, and the intimate gesture sent a shiver down your spine. She smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased by your discomfort.
"I’ll come for you again soon," she whispered, pressing a final, icy kiss to your forehead before vanishing into the shadows.
You were left trembling and alone, the cold feeling of her touch lingering long after she’d gone.
Things started to turn for the worse.
It started small—your spells backfiring, draining your energy faster than they should. Then there were the whispers that filled the silences, impossible to ignore. They weaved promises and threats into your mind:
"You’ll never be safe without me."
"You’re too fragile for this world."
"Submit, and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever desired."
Your independence chipped away with every moment you spent second-guessing yourself.
It was Lilia who first noticed. “Your magic is unraveling,” she said one evening, her brow furrowed in concern as she studied you. “You need to center yourself. What’s happening?”
You bit your lip, unwilling to tell her. If she knew Rio had staked a claim on you, she’d try to intervene—and that terrified you. What could even Lilia, with all her skill and confidence, do against someone like Rio? You’d seen what she was capable of. The mere thought of angering her again sent chills racing through you.
“I’ll figure it out,” you lied. “It’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
One quiet evening, you sat on the floor of the cottage, sifting through spellbooks in a desperate attempt to find a way to break Rio’s mark. The text in front of you blurred as exhaustion overtook your focus, but as you pushed yourself harder, the candles in the room flickered.
And there she was.
“Still trying to fight me?” Rio’s voice sent a sharp stab of panic through your chest.
Your head shot up, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. She stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She looked almost amused as her silver eyes tracked your every move.
"You shouldn’t overwork yourself, mi bruja," she chided, stepping into the room with a predatory grace. "It’s adorable that you’re trying, though."
“Why?” The question burst out of you, raw and desperate. “Why me? I’m nobody—nothing compared to what you are. Just leave me alone!”
Rio’s expression softened, but not in the comforting way you’d hoped. It was mocking, tinged with something cruelly possessive. She crouched down in front of you, one hand tilting your face toward her.
“Nothing? You’re far from nothing,” she said, her voice quiet, dangerous. “You’re mine. And I take very good care of what’s mine.”
She held your gaze, her thumb brushing over your cheek as her hand cradled your face. The touch felt deceptively soft, but you knew better by now. You flinched, trying to pull away, but she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.
“Do you understand what I’ve done for you?” Her tone was still soft, almost coaxing. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let you run around, pretending you have a choice. But you’re so fragile, little one. Look at you—drained, lost, stumbling around like a child in the dark.”
Tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t need you.”
Rio smiled, and it chilled you to the core. “You already do,” she said simply.
She waved her hand, and the mark on your wrist burned cold. You gasped in pain, the chill spreading through your arm and radiating into your chest. Your mind swam with an overwhelming sense of loss, fear, and longing—emotions you couldn’t separate from each other anymore.
“Every time you resist me, this world will hurt you more,” Rio said, her tone matter-of-fact. “But I can give you strength, protection, peace. All you have to do is let me in.”
When she released you, the weight of her absence felt like a part of you had been torn away. It was the cruelest trick—making you long for her presence just to feel whole.
“I’ll come back when you’re ready,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of a promise. “And trust me, you will be ready soon.”
You curled into yourself as she disappeared, your tears falling freely. Deep down, you realized she was twisting something inside you, warping your resolve piece by piece.
And you hated that it was working.
The days that followed were a blur of fear, anger, and desperation. You threw yourself into research, scouring every book, every scrap of magical knowledge you could find. Somewhere, there had to be a way to undo Rio's mark—a way to sever the connection that bound her to you.
You thought you could handle it alone. But the strain wore at you, gnawing away at your confidence. The more you tried to use magic, the more you felt the weight of her influence. Every spell fizzled out, every incantation felt heavier, harder to manage. The mark on your wrist would burn whenever you pushed too hard, as if Rio were reminding you of her presence, taunting you from afar.
Lilia was beginning to notice the cracks in your facade. Her watchful eyes lingered on you longer than they used to, her questions more pointed.
"You’re restless," she said one evening as the two of you shared dinner. "Something’s wrong, and it’s not just the magic. Tell me what’s going on."
"I told you, I’m fine," you muttered, stabbing at your plate without appetite.
"You’re not fine," she shot back, her voice firm but not unkind. "I’ve seen the way your spells falter, how distracted you’ve been. This isn’t just fatigue, is it?"
You clenched your fists, your mind racing for an excuse, but nothing felt believable enough. The truth clawed at your throat, but you swallowed it down. If you told her about Rio, she’d try to intervene. She’d confront her, and that... that terrified you more than anything.
"I just need time," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
But time wasn’t on your side.
That night, you tried again—a simple purification spell, something Lilia had taught you years ago. You whispered the words with as much conviction as you could muster, pouring all of your focus into the magic. But no sooner had the energy begun to flow than the mark on your wrist ignited in sharp, icy pain.
Your concentration shattered, the spell sputtering out like a candle in the wind.
You spun around to find Rio standing in the corner of the room, her presence dominating the space. Her silver eyes gleamed in the dim light, a predatory smile playing on her lips.
"I won’t let you control me," you said, your voice shaking but resolute.
Rio’s smile faltered, and for a moment, her eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, disappointment, or perhaps something deeper.
"Oh, little witch," she said, her voice lowering as she stepped even closer. “This isn’t control. It’s inevitability. The sooner you accept that, the less this will hurt.”
She reached for your wrist, her fingers brushing over the mark. You tried to pull away, but her grip tightened like a vice, cold and unyielding.
“This bond between us? It’s permanent. You can run, you can scream, you can even try to break it. But in the end, you’ll realize there’s no escaping me.”
Her words sent a shiver down your spine, not just because of their weight, but because part of you believed her.
“I don’t want this,” you said, tears slipping down your cheeks.
Her expression softened in a way that felt almost genuine. “You think you don’t,” she said softly. “But I see what you need—what you crave. Protection. Purpose. Someone who will never leave you, no matter what. And that someone is me.”
Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her cold touch sending a jolt of conflicting emotions through you. You hated how your body froze under her gaze, how her words seeped into the cracks in your resolve.
"You’re lying," you managed to say, though your voice wavered.
"Am I?" she asked, tilting her head. "Then why haven’t you told your sister about me? Why haven’t you begged her to save you?"
Your breath hitched.
Rio’s smile returned, slow and knowing. "Because deep down, you already know the truth. You can’t live without me now, little one. And the longer you fight it, the more painful it will be."
Her lips ghosted over your forehead in a mockery of tenderness. “Don’t worry, my darling. I’m patient. I’ll wait until you finally understand.”
And then, just like that, she was gone, leaving you trembling and alone, the echoes of her voice ringing in your mind.
As much as you wanted to deny it, there was a part of you—buried deep and growing louder—that couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.
The days blurred into weeks, each one more suffocating than the last. Rio’s words haunted you, weaving their way through your thoughts, tangling with your fears, and distorting your sense of reality. You tried to keep your distance from her, to focus on breaking free, but every step you took seemed to bring her closer, as though she were guiding you down a path only she could see.
Lilia began to notice. She asked more pointed questions, spent more time watching you. "You’re withdrawing," she said one evening, her gaze steady. "It’s like something is... draining you."
You tried to smile, to lie like you always did, but the exhaustion was etched into every corner of your being. Your spells continued to fail. Your magic, once vibrant and alive, was now a hollow, unpredictable force. And in your weakest moments, you thought about her—Rio, her promises, her cold, comforting touch. It disgusted you, terrified you. But it was impossible to ignore.
You closed your eyes tight, shaking your head against her words. But when you opened them, she was there, seated in the chair by the window as though she had always been part of the room. Her silver eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, her presence commanding every inch of space.
"I see the cracks forming," she said softly, rising from her seat. She moved to the bed, her steps deliberate, graceful, like a predator approaching wounded prey.
Tears pricked at your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Her touch was cold but grounding, anchoring you in a way you couldn’t explain. She leaned closer, her presence overwhelming, her scent intoxicating despite the chill that radiated from her.
“You’re mine,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple. “Say it.”
“I’m not...” you tried to say, but the words faltered. Your resolve was crumbling, the weight of her presence too much to bear.
Tears brimmed in your eyes, frustration boiling over. “You’ve taken everything from me! My magic, my freedom, my mind—you’ve ruined me!”
For a moment, something shifted in Rio’s expression. Regret? No, it was something darker—possessive satisfaction. "I didn’t ruin you," she said softly. "I saved you. You just haven’t accepted it yet."
Her grip tightened, her nails digging into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who was in control. "You’ve been trying so hard to hold on to who you were, but that girl is gone, my love. There’s no place for her in my world. Only the new you—the one I’m creating."
“I don’t want to be yours!” you screamed, your voice cracking.
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she smiled, the calm, knowing smile of someone who already knew how this story ended. "Oh, but you are. Deep down, you’ve already given yourself to me. That’s why you’re so afraid, isn’t it? You’ve realized there’s no way back."
Her lips brushed your temple, cold and cruel. You tried to turn away, but she held you firm, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Soon, you won’t even want to fight me.”
That was it. Something inside you snapped.
“No!” you screamed, shoving her away with every ounce of strength you had left. She stumbled back a step, her eyes widening—not in anger, but surprise.
You turned and ran.
You tore through the cottage, your feet pounding against the floorboards. Your mind was a whirlwind of fear and fury. You didn’t care where you were going, only that you had to get away from her.
But no matter how fast you ran, the air grew colder. The shadows seemed to chase you, reaching out with invisible fingers. And then you heard her voice, calm and unbothered, echoing through the halls.
"Where are you going, mi bruja? There’s nowhere you can run."
You reached the back door, flinging it open into the storm outside. Rain lashed at your face, but you didn’t stop. You stumbled into the forest, your lungs burning, your clothes soaked to the skin.
For a brief, desperate moment, you thought you might escape. But then she appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if she had always been there, waiting for you to fall.
Her hair was untouched by the storm, her dress pristine despite the mud and rain. She was perfect, unyielding, and terrifying.
"Running from me," she said softly, tilting her head. "Such a waste of energy, my little witch."
You dropped to your knees, sobs wracking your body. “What do you want from me?” you choked out, your voice barely audible over the storm.
Rio knelt before you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Her touch was cold as ever, but this time, it felt like surrender.
“I want you,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Completely. Your mind, your body, your soul. No resistance. No hesitation. Only me.”
Her silver eyes bore into yours, unrelenting. “And you’ll give it to me. Maybe not today, but soon. You can fight, you can scream, but in the end, you’ll see. You’ll belong to me.”
You wanted to deny her, to scream that she was wrong. But as her cold embrace closed around you, your resolve wavered. Deep down, a terrifying truth was beginning to take root.
What if she was right?
What if she already had you?
The storm outside had long subsided, but inside, the air hung heavy with an ominous stillness. Rio stood before you in the dimly lit room, her patience worn thin, the faint amusement she often carried replaced with a chilling determination.
"I’ve given you every chance to accept the inevitable," she said, her voice devoid of the feigned gentleness she had once used to coax you. "But your stubbornness has tested my patience for the last time."
Her words chilled you to the bone, but you refused to respond, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor as if defiance alone could shield you from her power.
"You want to run, don’t you?" Rio continued, stepping closer. Her footsteps echoed like a countdown, each step pulling you further into the abyss. "But even now, you’re beginning to realize how futile that is. Still, you force my hand."
Before you could move, her cold, ghostly grip was on your wrist, the mark she had burned into your skin igniting with searing pain. You gasped, the agony buckling your knees, but she didn’t relent.
“You will break, mi bruja, and I will be the one to mold the pieces.” Her silver eyes bore into yours, devoid of mercy, her grip like steel.
You struggled weakly, your magic sputtering like dying embers, but Rio’s hold was suffocating, her aura pressing against you like an iron vice.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” she murmured, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “But you’ve left me no choice.”
A swirling darkness spread from her fingertips, creeping up your arm like tendrils of night. It burned and froze at the same time, sinking into your very soul, wrapping around your mind with suffocating intensity. You gasped, clawing at her arm, but there was no escaping it.
The mark on your wrist seemed to come alive, glowing a sinister black-red as Rio leaned closer, her voice wrapping around you like the enchantment it was.
"Let go," she whispered. “Let me in, or I will take what I want, no matter how much it hurts you.”
Her free hand trailed up to your face, her cold touch sending waves of chilling energy through your body. It wasn’t gentle—her fingers dug into your skin, possessive and unyielding. She forced you to meet her gaze, her silver eyes alight with dark promise.
“You’ve fought so hard, little witch,” she said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with her thumb. “But that fight ends now. You will give me everything.”
The tendrils of dark magic tightened their grip, pushing into your thoughts, your memories, your very essence. Your protests died in your throat as she overwhelmed you, her presence filling every corner of your being.
"You will beg me for release," she hissed, her lips brushing against your ear. "You will cry for me, call for me, and when you’re too broken to fight, you will thank me for taking what was always mine."
Something deep within you cracked under the weight of her will, her magic, her voice. The resistance you had clung to so fiercely now seemed pointless, your very self slipping through your grasp like sand in a tide.
As your vision blurred, Rio’s lips curled into a victorious smile. “That’s it,” she said softly. “Finally, you understand.”
Your body trembled, weak and defenseless, as the last vestiges of defiance crumbled. The dark tendrils enveloped you fully, binding you to her completely, until there was nothing left but her cold embrace.
You didn’t know when the tears stopped, or when the weight in your chest gave way to hollow acceptance. But as Rio cradled you against her, her grip like a chain and her smile like a noose, you realized the fight was over.
You were hers. Completely.
_-_-_
Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💚
Warnings: sorta forced, daddy Rio, eating out (reader receiving), penetration, Rio has a dick, edging, knife play, slight blood play. Apologies for any missed warnings or misspelling.
Summery: Rio found you again.
The vine’s were secured around my wrists and ankles before I could react, body slamming into a nearby wall, pinned.
“Peek-a-boo!” I heard a sinister giggle. “Found you!” Rio popped into the door way, moving towards me with a predatory grin.
I groaned trying to pull out of the vines or use my magic but nothing budged.
“Don’t act so sour dove! I’ve missed you!”
“Rio I told you I’m not playing games. I’m done! Done!” I snapped.
She was in front of my dagger to my throat in a flash.
“That’s where you’re wrong, my sweet sweet girl. You are never done. I own you, your body, soul, mind, I own it all.” She hissed smiling never leaving her face. “I will find you no matter where you run, and when you die I’ll keep your pretty soul right next to me.”
“You’re fucking sick!” I cried, tears falling down my cheeks.
“And you love it.” Her hot tongue ran up my cheek, licking my tears away.
I tried to push her off my body but she had me completely immobilized.
“Let’s make a reminder on you, so every time you look at yourself, you’ll see me.” She laughed, her knife slicing my shirt down the middle.
“Rio please!” I begged.
“Please what?”
“We can talk!” I pleaded.
“I wanna hear you scream.” And with that she started carving into my abdomen.
The pain wasn’t unbearable but the fact that I knew what she was doing made it sting more. And the fact that I couldn’t decide whether I hated her for it or wanted to let her fuck me senseless made it worse.
Rio’s love was chaotic and a force. She couldn’t love small, it was all big emotions. Once she had you, you were hers. I knew that walking into this, I wanted this.
“You look so pretty sweet baby.” She cooed running her finger through my blood and sucking it off. “I’d take a bigger taste but we can’t heal that up, now can we?”
“I hate you!” I hissed.
“Good I love when we hate fuck.” Her smirk had yet to leave her face and moved into my neck sucking and licking.
“You can’t just break in here and use me like the Rio!”
“Says who? Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She pull my pants down, momentarily releasing the vines around my ankle to pull them off. I used the to my advantage and kneed her straight in the nose.
The vines were pinning my legs back against the wall before I could kick anymore and a hard slap landed across my cheek.
“I’m gonna make you cry harder for that, bitch.” Rio hissed, smirk finally gone.
Her dagger cut my panties off and she groaned.
“Missed this pretty cunt.” She kneeled on the ground and dove right in.
“FUCK YOU!” I squealed.
She ate me out like a woman starved. I’d forgotten how good she could make me feel. Her tongue fucking and licking every spot just right.
I came all over her face panting and cursing. Her smirk covered in my juices as smiled up.
“One of many.” Was all she said before her pants were gone and I realized what she meant. She’d used her magic to shift herself into a throbbing member.
“Rio!” I whined trying to buck my hips.
“Can’t wait to have you screaming on my cock.” She growled the vines extending my lower half towards her and she again she wasted no time sinking her thick member in to me.
“Yeah-fuck!” I gasped feeling her stretch me out. Months of shitty toys never enough to match her stretch.
She didn’t hesitate to set a brutal pace, skin slapping harshly against each other.
“So good! So fucking good daddy!” I sobbed.
“Yeah? How good, tell me!”
“So fucking good! Can’t ever fuck myself the way you do daddy! Fuck’s me so well!” I whined head falling back against the wall as she drilled into me.
“Not enough to keep you from running huh?” Her hand started rubbing my clit furiously, pulling me to the edge closer.
“Gonna fill you up so full! Fucking slut! Thinking you can hid from me.” She hissed into my ear biting my neck, definitely drawing blood. “Gonna breed you so deep.” Her hips faltered as I felt her warm liquid coating my walls.
“Gonna cum daddy!” I screamed.
My scream died in my throat as she pulled out leaving my high to die on the edge.
“No! No no!” I cried.
“Gonna make you work real hard for that my slut.” She smirked kissing me hard. I could taste myself on her.
You shift and Rio grabs your shoulder a tad too hard.
“You don’t want to know what happens next?”
Your stomach feels really warm, strangely hot, and something is making your underwear stick to you.
“Rio?” You aren’t sure what your question is.
“Don’t you want to finish the movie? I was so excited to show it to you.”
“Baby somethings wrong.”
“You are spoiling it for our protagonist Rosemary, but then you get the gist don’t you?” She asks and your limbs feel heavy.
“Rio?” You ask again, and you feel dumb. Something is obvious and you can’t put your finger on it. But you try and stretch your neck.
“It starts with burning sensation, that hot sensation….It’ll get unbearable. Here take off your layers.” She helps you take off your light cardigan, and then your base shirt, and now you are in only your sports bra.
And you want to cover yourself, show some modesty, you have never been this naked in front of anyone, much less Rio.
“I know it’s hard right, because it seems wrong, but something in your body says it’s right. It’s funny.”
“Funny,” you question and look around for that water she spoke of earlier, not seeing it. Realizing you should have said yes.
“I thought you’d have worn it, your false god. The cross, I was sure good catholic girls always wore them.” Rio tells you and then she presses forward and kisses you hard, knocking you off balance so you fall back onto the sofa.
Warning: Prompt - Blindfolds + Chastity + Bloodplay / Medusa Au / Blindfolded bc powers / {Rio & Reader} / Aggie is in it a lot but it's mostly rio/reader/ Medusa's Kid Reader Au / Snake as hair / Trust is Earned / Reader sleeps in a cage so...Darkfic / Face Riding / Free Use / Oral Sex / Blood kink / Snake Bites / Rio is making the potion to make Nicky in the backround / Agatha wants Reader / Tenderness and Stockholm Syndrome Mixed / Creature Fic / Teasing / Uncomfy Kink / Sexual Taunting / NON CON / 18+
☞🎃☜
“Is that a person you have under there? Or are you just happy to see me?” Agatha Harkness asks Death. As Rio slices into her palm for the potion, they are working on.
You’d laugh if you thought it was funny, but as you’d been blindfolded for the last 700-ish years. You found that humor wasn’t something easy to access in the recesses of your mind any longer. The sound of blood hitting a vile is heightened in your blind state.
“Not for you, Sweetheart, not a toy.” Rio dismisses as she’s concentrating.
“Tell that to that gorgeous body, you really aren’t going to let me sneak a peak?” Agatha hops off the stool and stalks towards your cage. You feel a sudden need to scratch anxiously at your metal-chained ankle.
“You do and you’ll be stuck here for longer than you want.” Rio warns though she doesn’t sound like she herself believes you’d do it.
“My love, you’ll have to be more direct, I’m afraid your wit is lost in this moment.” The unsuspecting lover investigates.
“The blindfolded soul over there is none of then the love child of Athena and the unforgettable Medusa.”
Your heart aches at the sound of your dead parent, and the goddess who called you bastard.
“I thought the lore was Poseidon, no?” Agatha’s question is quieter, like she’s being careful. Which was a joke, if she was being kind she wouldn’t ask it.
“Don’t believe every story,” Rio chuffed and then seemed to go back to tinkering.
“So similar eyes then?” The witch asks completely fascinated.
“Similar serpent hair too, that’s why the current blindfold and bag over the head. One of them tried to bite me this morning on feeding.” Rio says, her tone sounds closer to entertained than irritated.
“So….Can they not speak? No tongue?” Agatha moves away from your cage, her foot fall is quieter than Rio’s. Like she’s better at hiding, you muse what her parents must have been like, to teach her to hide this way.
“They can, the real question you want to know is does their forked tongue feel good inbewteen your folds, and the answer is yes.” Rio’s voice dropped a few octaves and you smirked in the dark of your confinement.
A slap could be heard, similar to the thud of the back of the skull, probably a joke not taken with such jest. This witch was bold, hitting Death like she was a common man.
“The demigod has ears, right? Perhaps if you were kinder to your pets they would please you and not bite you.”
“You are so young, tell me that again in a century, let’s see if you feel that way still, my love. Siphoning off witches, you are one to talk.” Rio’s tone tells you she thinks it’s all humorous.
“I’m not saying free the beast, I’m saying you catch far more interesting creatures with honey.” Agatha’s footsteps move towards you again.
“Now here I always thought they were speaking of bees.”
“What can I say? I’m a covenless witch,” The witch cackles and you gulp, the small sound bringing the pair to the realization. Perhaps you weren’t ignoring their discussion.
“Not easy to read your pet.” Agatha’s quizical nature should be easy to manipulate, but you find that running away isn’t even a thought you entertain anylonger. Who has successfully run away from Death?
“Exactly Agatha, my pet. Not yours, and you’ll get a nosebleed trying that hard. They’re sinfully delicious and devious for a reason. My forked tongue friend over there is in time out for a good reason. And you are just human enough that it wouldn’t take much.”
“I’m a witch.”
“A think you never let me forget.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” Agatha flirts effortlessly, and you think she must be a beauty to get away with such a mischievous nature.
“What? Forked tongue friends don’t make sex toys?”
“No, the thing about the nosebleed. It might come in handy some day, now move. I want an introduction.” The sound of Agatha hitting Rio’s hands can be heard, and you wonder who is really in charge of this romance.
“This isn’t high court, go hit the bars yourself. And do me a favor, don’t make me clean up your mess when this goes wrong.” Death sounds closer to an old calloused thing now.
“Who knew Lady Muerte was such a buzzkill?” The young witch teased but her voice was closer again, and her steps were soft but sure.
You wanted to know what she looked like, but would never raise the binding, never look at her.
“You must be listening, you don’t take me as a simple minded little thing.” Agatha must mean it as a compliment but your leg twitches at the idea of you being simple.
Death scoffed in enjoyment of a game yet to be set up, no pieces out, yet she was enthused to see two of her pets playing, wondering who would win.
You licked your dry cracked lips taking a shaky breath you spoke, unsure of the last time you did that.
“Could we begin this trial with a bit of water for the defendant?” You counter and hear a shuffle, but once again wait until metal of the bar is lifted to your amazement.
“I didn’t say you could go inside!”
“Hush, you jealous thing, you would think you were the first monster a woman ever loved.”
“Well, I sort of am.” Rio countered, but Agatha found your weak hand and guided it to a glass.
“You have a blindfold under this I suppose?”
“Yes, witchling.”
Agatha took off the bag and your long snakes didn’t hiss at the change of light. And the witch must have liked it, from the slight noise of appreciation. As her palm caressed the crown of your head, one of your many snakes pushed into her hand like a puppy would it’s master.
As her free hand gave you a wooden cup with water.
“I don’t think I like this.” Rio yells and you wonder if she believes you’ll hurt the witch.
“Why are you so afraid of me showing this demigod kindness?” Agatha says over her shoulder. But keeps touching you.
“Not your pet, not a demigod, and oh yeah not your pet. Not sure If I said that enough yet, let me say it once more not your pet Agatha!” Rio got more enraged and this made both of you confused.
“And here I believed it was my attention you were possessive of.” Agatha sounded far more intrigued than hurt.
“You don’t know how hard it was to catch it.”Death admits and you find a bit of enjoyment at the truth of her words. Agatha doesn’t ask, though, instead using this moment as a chance to scold her lover.
“They are not a sex toy, they’re a soul who you’ve confined to a cage. What is your name?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you mumble, and Agtha makes a defiant noise in Death’s direction.
You chug the last of the water and set down the cup blindly. Agatha seems sure that you are harmless, as she lets her hand leave your body. To go and give Rio a piece of her mind, leaving the cage door open. Yet you don’t make an escape, leaning back and sighing glad to have a drink.
“And I bet you’ve never asked you bad boy! You must take better care of your pets. Honestly, you should be in this cage instead.”
“You both would like that too much.” Rio sneers, properly ashamed and unable to say it.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, I’ll wash you, is that alright?” Agatha says her voice coming louder as she re-enters the cage, but waits for you this time, your consent.
You wonder how this will play out, but your achy bones would love the warmth. You decide it has nothing to do with Agatha; it was merely a manipulation of good fortune, nothing more. So you carefully nod once.
And Rio only grows more frustrated as Agatha takes you out of the cage, guiding you down a hall to a bathtub. She’s tender, not trying to hurt you. But she washes you with care like a mother would a child.
“Why do you do this for me, witchling? You upset your lover for no reason.” You really weren’t sure of her motives here.
But as Agatha took a basin of warm bath water and washed your sore back, you could not help but let out a content sigh.
“Perhaps I brought you in here to have my wicked way with you.” She says but her voice isn’t the same, and you don’t fall for her bait. As Agatha sets down the container and brings out a comb and some more soap to lather your chest.
“You would have done that already.” You push back, not really sure if that was true. Perhaps the witch wanted you sparkling clean before she rode your face like Rio does.
“Maybe a bit of kindness sparks friendship. And Rio just hasn’t learned that yet.” Agatha says so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Or it could be that I know what it feels like to be forgotten.”
Agatha rinses over your shoulders again, and you can’t leave this feeling that something terrible will come of this good deed, and it was only a matter of time. Still you did not fear for yourself, so you ask the real question.
“What do you want from Death?”
“Interesting.” Agatha answers right away and scrubs again at your skin.
“What?” You don’t jerk away from her touch as she carefully washes your injured snake’s cut.
“How you defend your monster just as I do. Maybe that makes more sense to you than?.”
“I don’t follow.” A snake bends and it’s tongue drinks at the moisture on your shoulder, your beauties are as thirst as you.
“Why, I intend to defend you as well.”
The words stick in your throat like tar and you can’t say anything for the rest of the bath. Agatha doesn’t work fast, she’s methodical and gentle. And it pains you how her touch seems to bring you peace.
Hours later, when the witch is gone and you return to your cell and cot. Rio re-enters like a beast bent on bloodlust.
Rio punishes you for Agatha’s attention.
Using her vines to strap you against the bars of the cage or your cot.
Keeping your eyes bound, she’d disrobe and ride your face, waiting for your forked tongue to slip inside of her.
“That’s my whore. Nothing more than my pleasure doll. You lick me so good, I’ll feed you if you can make me cum. Can you do that? Can you behave for me beast?” Rio would say and she’d hold your nose and sit harder, making you writhe underneath her if you didn’t fuck her just right.
Your mouth was for her use only.
And your pleasure was never mentioned; your pussy was saved for a day when Rio would take it. Until then, your forked tongue lifted her tanned clit hood, before pushing against the bundle of nerves. When Rio would start to hump out of rhythm, it was your cue to push inside of her, as deep as possible.
Rio had grown to enjoy when your tendrils of hair, those ghastly snakes would bite at her thighs.
Pooling bits of deaths blood, she’d heal just as fast, and more fangs would enter her hip, her thighs, just under her knee.
Rio loved the pain, loved the feeling of her blood collecting and then another serpent breaking skin once more.
You were fluent in Deaths dance with cunnilingus.
Earning you the reward of Death ejaculating all over your nose, mouth, and chin. Not exactly the ambrosia that the gods promised their children.
But you had to admit, Death tasted deep and earthy, something so sinful that it made you ache. Licking up the mess after Rio would allow you this moment to clean her, but her hands never touched your body, a clear example of her power.
This happened at least twice a day, even with her new Witch toy.
Agatha made a visit every day, her new obsession for killing withces more than just her lust for more magic. But an excuse to have a little fun with her lover, and it seemed as though a perfect excuse to come and see you. And in the autum she came bearing gifts.
“What is that?” Rio’s disdain for whatever it was, was clear without you needing to see a thing. Your ears picked up her objection to the offending offering.
“An apple silly, are you the one who’s eyes are shut?” Agatha flirts and you wish you could gag. But Rio took away such a delightful muscle.
“You are giving it gifts?” Rio would take to calling you ‘it’ from time to time to make her own guilt lessen. You didn’t mind, you felt more and more like a thing on her shelf these days.
“Do you give them gifts after you make them please you?” Agatha pushed only to be given a non answer;
“Don’t get attached.” Rio muttered as though you were a stray.
“You are not the boss of me.” The witch reminded the dark entity.
“I am the boss of them.” Death ruled, though her audience didn’t seem to care.
“Hmm, you should ask our serpent which master they favor?” Agatha had that tone, the one you knew to be lust now.
A glass broke, something that shouldn’t have. And Death had lost her patience.
“Agatha give the apple, take your ingredients and get out!” The extra boom in Rio’s voice came from some deep casm of magic, and the walls vibrated.
Then nothing. Quiet stilled the room.
“Rio?” Agatha asked far softer then before.
You sorta wished you could see this, a witch bringing such a cosmic creature to bend with the tilt of her finger.
Athenea would be proud, your asshole of a parent would have said something stupid about how love is always the answer. And that true love could cure anything. Even stop time or mend a monster.
What a bitch.
Time ticked on, but you heard Agatha breathing, knew they weren’t done with this conversation. Yet the silence kept drumming on, like the little soldier on a hill with his sticks marching into battle with his virginity and rosary beads.
You waited for a bloody crescendo, a climax of carnage, or even a final kiss of forgiveness.
You waited for time to decide, and fate to take.
Death didn’t respond, didn’t budge.
Whatever transpired between them was delicate, a fondling of lovers….until it wasn’t.
Until it turned to what it always did, thrusting and dirty talk. Sweat and the smell of sex and release. And then it got erotically violent, as you were the unconsenting voyuer to their scene.
“Your pet wants a lick, I bet I can still taste the cum down their chin!” Agatha would antagonize.
“If you don’t cum on me soon, I’ll put you in there with the snake. Let them lick you until you become unconscious!” Rio would blankly threaten, as least you assumed. As you were used in their sex talk, for hours and hours. It would have brought a mortal to agony. That much sexual tension, that much desire just through the bars.
You simply lay in your cage, taking slow breaths, and thinking of a different time, a different place. Conducting symphonies in the corners of your mind palace.
It wasn’t until an hour or so later you were jolted from slumber by fingers tapping the cage.
“May I come in?” A sex strained voice greeted you with all the smells. Agatha was a sinful aroma. More decadent then any sweets or fruit she’d steal away for you. But you were not their lover, you were in a cage. And you’d like to remind them both of that fact.
“I am but a creature, I have no rights, and therefor no concerns with consent.” You resentfully tell the witch. Who lets out a disappointed noise, that’s when you hear the apple roll to your foot. You don’t reach for it, and Agatha walks away.
You tune out their argument as they had so many these days, and you were quickly becoming a favorite topic during them.
Your finger reached out to the right of your temple, a small snake of yours had been injured by another, and you’d been concerned about it, slowly your thumb rubbed the top of his head. A sweet spot on this cold reptile.
The night came and the autumn chill was lessa reminder of time, Rio opened a window near your cage one evening and you sighed.
“I never asked if you liked it cold or hot?”
You hesitated not understand at first that Death was speaking to you. So she continued anxiously now.
“I mean you have snakes but that doesn’t help me to know if you like it hot or cold…snakes like both. Just depends on the snake….Ive come to realize there’s much I never asked you.”
You let the silence sit a little longer than necessary. But you hadn’t held Death's conversation like this in such a long time.
“Cold is good, I like the sound of the rain at night.”
“I think I…I may owe you an apology.”
“Why? Because a witch lover has asked it?” You sneer in revolution.
“No, because I grew angry when you did not return my affection. I wanted…well.. Zeus had Cerberus…Dionysus befriended lions…”
“So you kept me instead of befriending a raven or taming a goat?” Your lip curls at the grotesque notion.
“No, no, well I just wanted company…I suppose.”
“And now you have it.” It comes out far more jealous then you intent it to.
“Yes?” The hope in Rio’s voice is lost on you.
“Harkness seems a bright witch.” You continue on, trying to sound happy for Death.
“No, I mean yes she is, but no that’s not what I’m saying.” Rio stumbles around in her thoughts and you don’t really get where she’s misunderstanding or you are.
“What is it you want?”
“Your loyalty.” It comes out too quick to be a lie. Too honest maybe, and you’d rather that.
“You bound me to a cage and ride my tongue. You’ve given a gentle touch or any freedom to roam. And now you speak of loyalty?” You scoff and sneer at the words. And Rio has the nerve to sulk; you can’t see it but her breathing says enough.
“I -
“And what of me Death?”
“What-“
“Did I not have hopes and dreams some centuries ago?
“You may have forgotten but it was I who worshiped nightly at an altar for you. I read the spell, chanted, gave blood from a dagger so that I could visit you. When Athena found out her bastard of a child longed for the darkest form she beheaded one of my snakes. There was a time I would have begged to serve at your side, why did you never even ask it?” You speak in fury, your lungs burn and the night is quiet.
“I did not realize I need only to ask..I have a black heart you see..” Rio whispers and you lay back down and turn your back to her.
“I hope your black heart and witch are adequate for your needs.”
Rio doesn’t speak to you that night; she slides your meal inside and you do not touch it. She sits at the end of your cage in a wooden chair and watches for any sign of your mood to shift. But you only lay, unable to weep.
Rio takes an apple and her dagger and carves the skin off. She makes a long curve, you can tell from the sound of it not hitting the cold ground. And then Death slices into it and puts it into a bowl, before sliding it into your cell once more.
You don’t bite.
So Rio sighs, seeming at a loss with you.
But then she sits up quickly and unlatches the cage. Grabbing you from behind, you twist away but she’s not letting up.
“VIDAL RELEASE ME! I WILL NOT LICK YOU!”
“Relax, I’ve got a treat for you.”
You doubt it but you don’t have much of a choice as the sound of her dagger slicing into the floor makes you weary. Rio sliced not through the cobblestones but through the world. And as you were shoved into said hole, you had not expected to come out the other side and be this wet.
But rain poured hard against your skin, and you let out a happy shriek.
“You like the rain, right?”
You don’t answer, excited to feel the cool wet against your skin.
“I trust you, I hurt you, and I don’t deserve your loyalty. But I’ll give you mine.” Death spoke these words for the first time in her long existence, and you flinch as your blindfold is lifted.
Your eyes are closed tight, and you don’t know what she’s doing.
“Open them.”
“I can’t.I-”
“You can’t hurt me, remember? It’s okay.”
It was true, Rio had blindfolded you at your own request. You’d been tired of turning people into stone like your late parent. And she tried to tell you even in captivity that Death doesn’t turn to stone. But you had been adamant. And Rio had never before seen your eyes open. And you in turn didn’t know what she looked like.
It was all new, trust and sight wrapped in one.
“But-” You stammer a little, lost at the invitation.
“You can, look at the night.” Rio reminds you, more than tells you, and it’s gentle and kind and your eyes slowly open for the first time in over 700 years.
It takes longer than it should for your eyes to adjust. But Rio parts the clouds for you, so that it’s raining but you can see it, see the moon for the first time in forever.
The moon is bright and full and you are sure nothing has ever been more gorgeous. Until your eyes catch sight of Death. Not sure how you expected Death to look, but seeing Rio.
You had never dared to imagine her to be this breathtaking. The gentle curve of her cheeks, the gap in her teeth. The soulful way in which her gaze held you. The light that seemed to shine in Death.
Much like this moon in the sky full of void, of unknown.
Your bottom lip quaked; you’d not expected to feel this way.
And this time tears do fall. You panic at the sensation.
“Catch them!”You sob, knowing from your mother they shouldn’t be wasted on something as trivial as you own emotions.
“No,” Rio shakes her head, and you can’t believe it.
“They’re valuable!” You say like she’s forgotten, like Death is a sentimental halfwit.
“Not as valuable as this moment. I know it doesn’t fix what I’ve done…but I don’t want to hold you prisoner anymore. If you wish to go, I’ll not stop you. Though we must find a home for you that isn’t near mortals.” Rio joked, thinking of all of the souls she’d have trapped in your stone.
“I’ll stay, if you…If you let me out of the cage.” You say quickly, unsure of where this answer was coming from. It seemed Vidal didn’t believe it either.
“You want to stay?” Her hesitancy sounds more like ‘do you have stockholm syndrome’ but Death doesn’t voice that.
“I want to stay.” You challenge, not sure what life without your captor….your only friend even looked like anymore.
“Death’s doorstep is not favored by most.” Rio reminds you grimly.
“I’m cold blooded.” You say like that closes the case.
You stay with Death.
For the majority of the time you kept the blindfold off, unless Rio informed you Agatha was to visit. You didn’t realize the house was so vast. Reminding you of of some gothic castle. It took you almost a month to learn each room, and you had fun using your eyes again. Stealing a piece of charcoal you doodled on the fireplace floor, and Rio was fast in supplying you some real art tools.
You were endlessly grateful, and spent most days by Rio’s side in the garden or in her greenhouse, drawing as she worked on her secret projects.
Rio no longer used you for pleasure, and that was something you weren’t sure how you felt…
Agatha must be helping her now, as she frequented Rio’s home. Your intentions were to leave them be, in their nauseatingly infatuated state. Or at least you attempted to, but you found they didn’t leave you alone….not ever.
“Don’t you two have some romping in the bedroom to do or kissing under a tree or whatever pleasure of the flesh they do this century?” You quip uncomfortably as Agatha has you sitting between her legs, her hands busy feeding your snakes. She’d already, like a child would, gone through all of your drawings without asking. Trying to get you to draw her something, and you’d refused and snatched the parchement back. Agatha didn’t take offense, as she never did your grumpy moods.
And as she tended to your snakes, they seemed far more infatuated with her than happy with you most of the time now.
“So you believe that if I mix two strains of what was it again?” Rio mused her books open as you three sat in her greenhouse. It had been vacant until Agatha sniffed you out, but you were never able to scurry away from them long.
“It’ll be a deadly plant, but it was made from the blood of gods. It’s not someting you can make with a witch and a bastard pet. You need real god blood.” You rub your forehead annoyed, the silk binding over your eyes doing wonders against your sore skin. No longer rough material to hide your eyes.
You think for a second that Rio needs this ancient thing for…mating? No that was ridiculous.
“You are a god!” Agatha reminded you like you had just needed some self love all this time. And you sigh and try to collect yourself.
“Not in the ways it counts, now don’t you two have somewhere else you could flirt and finger each other?”
From teh sounds of it, Rio sets down her utensils to regale you with a story, and you already know it won’t be good.
“Not finginering - Agatha has recently been using a smooth wooden phallic like object to pretend it’s you in her ass as I play with her pusssy, actually.” Rio states like it isn’t dirty and you know they must see you blushing.
“You’ve been in chastity so long, do you remember what release even feels like my little snake?” Agatha whispers in your ear and the snakes nuzzle against her cheek and you take this moment to jump out of your seat. Sketchbook and graphite in hand you make your leave as fast as possible. Blush building on your skin to uncomfortable heights.
“Where are you going?” Rio’s been exceptionally great about giving you full access to her home. But she got frightened if you left a room still, wanting to give you everything but afraid you would not return.
“Wherever you two aren’t playing Eve and Lilith!” You shout and stomp out of the greenhouse.
“Baby Basilisk don’t go! Come back!” Agatha begs but you round the spiral staircase and flea their games. Hands touching surfaces as you stumble now at not seeing a thing.
This continues for some time, their game of cat and mouse. Trying to embarrass you and flirt and then you running away. Until one day it’s just you and Rio by the large ancient tree in her garden and she asks.
“Do you not like Agatha?”
You bristle instantly at the very notion.
“How could you say such a thing? Have I been rude?”
“So you do like Agatha?”
You stop for a second, wondering if this was a trick question of jealousy.
“I enjoy her company, she’s a smart witch. I am still your pet though.” You say gently and Rio brushes the dirt off her hands and thinks for a moment.
“Why do you run from our advances?”
“I always figured your prodding was a way to make me run away, a sort of game you two delighted in?”
“Aren’t you curious why I had to please me all those years and did not take?”
“I can’t say - while my mouth was busy- I ever thought about it.”
You regard Death who appears self concious as she puts out the herbs on the table in the yard.
“This was foolish, forget I said a thing.” Death shrugs her demeanor shifting to regret.
“Rio, why?” You close your project to really study her. It’s easier with the use of your eyes.
Rio balls her fists and sets them on the flat surface, and she seems to be struggling with a thought.
“I was trying to drive you to madness.”
Crickets chirp in the yard before the stupid comment really sinks in.
“Thank you?” Your face morphed to pain and Rio speaks again.
“No, I mean I wanted…I want you to give yourself freely. I hoped you would ask.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
A beat again, and you look down at your barfeet in the dirt.
“All those centuries of chastity….and all I had to do was ask?”
The moment stretches and then you break out into the hardest laugh gripping your sides. And Rio is stuck for a moment before your laughter becomes too infectious and Death giggles alongside you.
“You mean to tell me I’ve been deprived of orgasms for 700 years running and you and a witch have been flirting with me this whole time to make love to me?” You giggle at the end losing your breath and Rio nods and laughs harder with you.
After your chuckles subside you look up into the sky and see even in the autum night, a yellow twinge to your luna. The stars are sparkling like they too can’t be ignored. You can’t hide your excitement. You turn to Rio and beam.
“Call the witch, let’s play under the moon.”
Kinktober2025MasterList | AO3 | @agnes-strap is my personal + Edits & Moodboards | Tip Jar💰- If you want to buy me a Witches Brew | Story MoodBoard
Reader is being initiated into the coven as a familiar. Obviously the initiation ritual is an orgy.
Notes: no gendered terms for reader, reader has a cunt, sexy telepathy shenanigans, getting fucked dumb.
You were on the ground, stretched out across a large rug with a pentacle on it. Your head, arms, and legs finding a spot in each of the 5 points. By the end of the night, you would officially be a part of the coven.
Alice was caressing your right leg. Rio was kissing the inner thigh of your left. Lilia was also on your left, kissing your knuckles and holding your hand. Jen took your fingers into her mouth and you did your best not to squirm.
And at your head, of course, was Agatha. Your head was in her lap as she gazed down at you. Her blue eyes boring into you. You tried to look away but she wouldn’t let you. Her hands now gently held you.
“It’s time to initiate our new member,” she said.
And that’s all it took for Rio’s hands to find the buckle of your belt, undoing it slowly, then unbuttoning your pants.
Alice smiled at you softly. “It’s gonna be okay.” She assured you.
“This off too,” Agatha said while tugging at your shirt. Lilia and Jen guided you to sit up and gently pulled your shirt over your head. Agatha bit her lip at the sight of your bare back and grazed over your skin with her nails. Lilia and Jen moved to grab at your chest and stomach.
“You’re doing really well, little one.” Lilia whispered to you.
“You are indeed,” Agatha agreed. She threaded her fingers in the back of your hair and pulled you so that your neck was extended over her shoulder. You let out a small whimper. “Really, really well. Just relax. Just give in.”
Jen was kissing your neck now. Rio was yanking your pants and underwear off of you.
“She’s so eager to taste you,” Agatha husked in your ear.
“As long as she can remember to share,” Lilia said. Her soft hands explored your skin, occasionally scratching you lightly.
Alice was leaving little love bites on your thigh as Rio inhaled your scent.
You couldn’t stop from squirming. Agatha’s arms wrapped around you, pinning yours to your side. “Poor baby, I know you’re so overwhelmed aren’t you?”
Jen kissed your cheek, then your lips. Lilia’s found their way to the side of your neck. Rio licked slowly along your slit until she reached your clit. You moaned and squirmed again, but not in an effort to get away.
“You’re gonna make such a good familiar, a good little pet for us.” Jen said when she finally broke the kiss.
“My turn,” Lilia said before you could get a word in. Lilia was gentler but no less passionate. You could now feel two mouths on your cunt.
“Good pet, just give yourself over. Let yourself feel. I’ll be right back,darling.” Agatha left you with a kiss on the cheek.
You felt someone pushing their fingers into your cunt.
“Fuck you’re so wet,” you heard Alice say with awe.
“You taste so fucking good,” Rio groaned.
“I think it’s time to rotate,” said Jen.
“Fine,” Rio huffed, “but only because it means I can kiss them.”
Jen straddled one of your thighs while Rio pulled you in for a deep kiss. Lilia rubbed up and down your slit, just teasing you.
“My turn,” Alice said, turning your face towards hers.
“Are we having fun?” Agatha called out as she sauntered back over. She was sporting a leather harness, and quite a large purple strap.
You couldn’t respond as Alice was cradling your head and kissing you tenderly. She let you set the pace as you cautiously explored her mouth with your tongue.
“I think everyone’s having a good time,” Rio said with a grin.
“Good, good, think they’re ready?” Agatha asked.
Lilia slipped two fingers into you with ease, “Oh I think so. They’re dripping.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Agatha came to face you. Jen and Lilia holding your legs apart. Alice kissed your cheek and rubbed up and down your arm.
Rio couldn’t wait to see you take Agatha’s cock. Or her own for that matter. Or Alice’s. Or Jen’s or Lilia’s. “We’re going to fucking wreck you, pet.”
“But not in a way you won’t recover from.” Alice reassured you.
“That’s right.” Agatha said as you were laid back. She started rubbing her cock against your slit and clit. “You can fall apart for us. Let us in. And then we’ll put you back together. That’s how this works.”
The other women caressed you all over one last time before letting Agatha have all of your attention.
“You haven’t said much during all of this dear. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you replied. Still in a bit of a daze.
Agatha chuckled at how far you had already fallen. “I’m so glad to hear that pet. Get ready to feel even better. Just relax. And let me in, let all of us in.” Agatha said, finally pushing her tip into your entrance.
You heard a chorus of whispers echoing in your head. The gentle command of
“Let us in” being repeated by the voice of every one of your coven members.
Agatha gently pushed you down and worked more of her length into you. She smiled at the gasp you let out as she started to stretch you out.
“There we go. Nice and full. Your hole is nice and full of Me. And your head is full of hour voices. No room for you to overthink…or think at all.” She said with a chuckle.
You looked up at her, mouth hanging open, any response you could have formed wiped from your brain as Agatha slowly thrusted her cock in and out of you.
“Good pet.” You heard Lilia whisper in your mind.
Jen’s voice followed. “Look at them, taking it so well.”
“Fuck.” Alice said simply
“I don’t know who I’m more jealous of,” said Rio.
“We’ve all been so excited to claim you, pet,” Agatha said, hovering right above you. She moaned as you squeezed around her.
You started squirming, not sure what to do with yourself when you were feeling so good. Agatha pinned your wrists down by your head.
“It’s okay. I got you. Let yourself feel. Feel how connected we are right now. Feel how deep I am inside of you.”
You looked up at her, trying to form a response.
“Sh sh sh, why are you still trying to think? There’s no need for that right now. Just surrender to it baby, surrender to me, surrender to us.”
You closed your eyes and let Agatha have her way with you. Taking deep breaths as pleasure started to coil tighter and tighter inside of you.
“Such a good pet, getting close aren’t you? Can you open your eyes for us? Can you look at me while you cum?”
You opened them and found Agatha gazing down at you fondly, a hand came to caress your cheek.
“You look good like this, superstar. I would love to watch you like this all night, have you totally fucked out underneath me. But I can’t wear you out too much before everyone’s had their fill can I? Oh but you’re getting close aren’t you? That’s okay sweetheart, you can let go.”
A chorus of whispers in your mind also encouraged you to cum. You could let go. And they would be there. They would push you farther, but they’d take good care of you after. And with that, your orgasm shook through you, pulling a primal sound out of your mouth.
“Good, good pet. You rest for a moment, but we’re far from done for the night.” Agatha chuckled. She pulled out of you, and you saw Rio fasten a green dildo to her hips.
Reader is being initiated into the coven as a familiar. Obviously the initiation ritual is an orgy.
Notes: no gendered terms for reader, reader has a cunt, sexy telepathy shenanigans, getting fucked dumb.
You were on the ground, stretched out across a large rug with a pentacle on it. Your head, arms, and legs finding a spot in each of the 5 points. By the end of the night, you would officially be a part of the coven.
Alice was caressing your right leg. Rio was kissing the inner thigh of your left. Lilia was also on your left, kissing your knuckles and holding your hand. Jen took your fingers into her mouth and you did your best not to squirm.
And at your head, of course, was Agatha. Your head was in her lap as she gazed down at you. Her blue eyes boring into you. You tried to look away but she wouldn’t let you. Her hands now gently held you.
“It’s time to initiate our new member,” she said.
And that’s all it took for Rio’s hands to find the buckle of your belt, undoing it slowly, then unbuttoning your pants.
Alice smiled at you softly. “It’s gonna be okay.” She assured you.
“This off too,” Agatha said while tugging at your shirt. Lilia and Jen guided you to sit up and gently pulled your shirt over your head. Agatha bit her lip at the sight of your bare back and grazed over your skin with her nails. Lilia and Jen moved to grab at your chest and stomach.
“You’re doing really well, little one.” Lilia whispered to you.
“You are indeed,” Agatha agreed. She threaded her fingers in the back of your hair and pulled you so that your neck was extended over her shoulder. You let out a small whimper. “Really, really well. Just relax. Just give in.”
Jen was kissing your neck now. Rio was yanking your pants and underwear off of you.
“She’s so eager to taste you,” Agatha husked in your ear.
“As long as she can remember to share,” Lilia said. Her soft hands explored your skin, occasionally scratching you lightly.
Alice was leaving little love bites on your thigh as Rio inhaled your scent.
You couldn’t stop from squirming. Agatha’s arms wrapped around you, pinning yours to your side. “Poor baby, I know you’re so overwhelmed aren’t you?”
Jen kissed your cheek, then your lips. Lilia’s found their way to the side of your neck. Rio licked slowly along your slit until she reached your clit. You moaned and squirmed again, but not in an effort to get away.
“You’re gonna make such a good familiar, a good little pet for us.” Jen said when she finally broke the kiss.
“My turn,” Lilia said before you could get a word in. Lilia was gentler but no less passionate. You could now feel two mouths on your cunt.
“Good pet, just give yourself over. Let yourself feel. I’ll be right back,darling.” Agatha left you with a kiss on the cheek.
You felt someone pushing their fingers into your cunt.
“Fuck you’re so wet,” you heard Alice say with awe.
“You taste so fucking good,” Rio groaned.
“I think it’s time to rotate,” said Jen.
“Fine,” Rio huffed, “but only because it means I can kiss them.”
Jen straddled one of your thighs while Rio pulled you in for a deep kiss. Lilia rubbed up and down your slit, just teasing you.
“My turn,” Alice said, turning your face towards hers.
“Are we having fun?” Agatha called out as she sauntered back over. She was sporting a leather harness, and quite a large purple strap.
You couldn’t respond as Alice was cradling your head and kissing you tenderly. She let you set the pace as you cautiously explored her mouth with your tongue.
“I think everyone’s having a good time,” Rio said with a grin.
“Good, good, think they’re ready?” Agatha asked.
Lilia slipped two fingers into you with ease, “Oh I think so. They’re dripping.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Agatha came to face you. Jen and Lilia holding your legs apart. Alice kissed your cheek and rubbed up and down your arm.
Rio couldn’t wait to see you take Agatha’s cock. Or her own for that matter. Or Alice’s. Or Jen’s or Lilia’s. “We’re going to fucking wreck you, pet.”
“But not in a way you won’t recover from.” Alice reassured you.
“That’s right.” Agatha said as you were laid back. She started rubbing her cock against your slit and clit. “You can fall apart for us. Let us in. And then we’ll put you back together. That’s how this works.”
The other women caressed you all over one last time before letting Agatha have all of your attention.
“You haven’t said much during all of this dear. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you replied. Still in a bit of a daze.
Agatha chuckled at how far you had already fallen. “I’m so glad to hear that pet. Get ready to feel even better. Just relax. And let me in, let all of us in.” Agatha said, finally pushing her tip into your entrance.
You heard a chorus of whispers echoing in your head. The gentle command of
“Let us in” being repeated by the voice of every one of your coven members.
Agatha gently pushed you down and worked more of her length into you. She smiled at the gasp you let out as she started to stretch you out.
“There we go. Nice and full. Your hole is nice and full of Me. And your head is full of hour voices. No room for you to overthink…or think at all.” She said with a chuckle.
You looked up at her, mouth hanging open, any response you could have formed wiped from your brain as Agatha slowly thrusted her cock in and out of you.
“Good pet.” You heard Lilia whisper in your mind.
Jen’s voice followed. “Look at them, taking it so well.”
“Fuck.” Alice said simply
“I don’t know who I’m more jealous of,” said Rio.
“We’ve all been so excited to claim you, pet,” Agatha said, hovering right above you. She moaned as you squeezed around her.
You started squirming, not sure what to do with yourself when you were feeling so good. Agatha pinned your wrists down by your head.
“It’s okay. I got you. Let yourself feel. Feel how connected we are right now. Feel how deep I am inside of you.”
You looked up at her, trying to form a response.
“Sh sh sh, why are you still trying to think? There’s no need for that right now. Just surrender to it baby, surrender to me, surrender to us.”
You closed your eyes and let Agatha have her way with you. Taking deep breaths as pleasure started to coil tighter and tighter inside of you.
“Such a good pet, getting close aren’t you? Can you open your eyes for us? Can you look at me while you cum?”
You opened them and found Agatha gazing down at you fondly, a hand came to caress your cheek.
“You look good like this, superstar. I would love to watch you like this all night, have you totally fucked out underneath me. But I can’t wear you out too much before everyone’s had their fill can I? Oh but you’re getting close aren’t you? That’s okay sweetheart, you can let go.”
A chorus of whispers in your mind also encouraged you to cum. You could let go. And they would be there. They would push you farther, but they’d take good care of you after. And with that, your orgasm shook through you, pulling a primal sound out of your mouth.
“Good, good pet. You rest for a moment, but we’re far from done for the night.” Agatha chuckled. She pulled out of you, and you saw Rio fasten a green dildo to her hips.
For kinktober, would you do rimming with dom Butch Rio? Just the idea of reader being all shy and Rio being teasing is 🫠
kinktober masterlist | leave a tip 💜
word count: 717
notes/warnings: smut (18+), dom!rio, sub!reader, reader has a pussy (no pronouns used, one use of 'good girl'), rio referred to as "sir", rimming, brief degradation, squirting
"C'mon, sweetheart. Get on your knees for me."
You obey Rio immediately, dropping to your knees in front of her. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing her white tank top and cargo pants and the socks that you gifted her that have little flower patterns on them. By contrast, you're completely bare. You can already feel slick coating your thighs just from the little bit of groping and kissing that happened when Rio got home from work.
She still smells like grass and sweat. You lean forward and nuzzle against her knee.
"You're being a good girl today, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
Rio rewards your obedience by unbuttoning her pants and shimmying them down her thighs. They pool at her ankles and she kicks them off along with her boxers and socks. You lick your lips, your eyes zeroed in on where her shirt has ridden up to reveal her happy trail. You follow that path down to the apex of her thighs, mouth watering at the sight and smell of her. Rio smirks at your expression. She loves watching you watch her.
"See something you like?" Rio reaches between her thighs, and her fingers push through her thick bush to spread her pussy. Her clit peeks out from her folds. You can't help yourself, forgetting that you're supposed to wait for her instructions. Rio's hand stops you as you lean forward and try to lick her. "Ah, no no. Don't be greedy."
"Please. Wanna taste you."
"You wanna taste me, huh?" Rio's eyes darken as she gets an idea. She shifts on the bed, moving so her ass is hanging off a bit and leaning back. Your breathing picks up as you realize what she wants from you. "You can taste my ass if you're so eager."
You scoot closer, your breath hot against her. Rio's pussy is in full view at this angle, but that's not your goal now. You kiss her thighs before letting your tongue flick over her asshole. She huffs.
"I know you can do better than that," Rio growls. She tangles one hand in your hair and pulls you hard against her. You stick out your tongue and start lapping at her eagerly, moaning softly at her musky taste. "That's a good slut. I know how much you love eating my ass, don't know why you act all shy about it."
Even with part of your face obscured, Rio can see how flustered you get at her words. Her cunt clenches around nothing. Now that you're licking her in earnest, she releases your head and uses that hand to start fingering herself instead. You can feel her hand occasionally bump against your forehead. Rio's juices drip down from her pussy, mixing with your saliva as it slides down her crack.
Wet noises fill the room, a combination of your licking and slurping and Rio's fingers pistoning in and out of her cunt. You spread her open a little more with your fingers and push your tongue against her pucker with more pressure. A high pitched noise rips from her throat, so you repeat the movements. Her tight hole gives way enough that you're able to thrust the tip of your tongue in. Rio's legs are hiked over your shoulders now, her heels digging into your back as she ruts against your face.
"Fuck, do that again! Yes, baby, so good for me. Get that little tongue in there," Rio pants, and you can tell she's close. You press your lips around her hole and alternate between thrusts of your tongue and sucking motions. She's fucking herself so fast now, her hand hitting you with every thrust, but neither of you care.
Rio throws her head back, her mouth falling open as a moan that you're worried the neighbors will hear falls from her lips. You moan against her as you feel her cum squirt against your face. Your own breathing is heavy as you pull back. Rio flops down against the bed, her fingers remaining between her legs but they're still now.
"You okay?" You giggle at her boneless state. She hums.
"Oh, more than okay. Give me two minutes, and then come sit on my face so I can show you exactly how good that felt."
PAIRING(s): Empress!Agatha Harkness x Concubine!Reader x Concubine!Rio Vidal
SUMMARY(s): A commoner is taken by the Empress to be her concubine. Now, she must survive the Empress’s obsession, palace politics, and a jealous rival.
WARNING(s): Dark Themes (As always 🤭), Nsfw, Non-Con, Kidnapping, Threesome...
A/N: The art is AI made and loving it. Sadly, they can never make Agatha's face resemble Kathryn's 🥺
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You were born in the cradle of the mountains — a village so small it barely had a name, tucked between rivers and fog-kissed pines. It was quiet. Honest. The kind of place where the days bled into each other in soft hues, where no one ever looked too closely and time moved like honey.
You were the daughter of a painter — your father, gentle and worn, who rarely spoke to others but painted the world like it was still worth worshipping. His canvases lined your cottage, but it was your face that lived in all of them. You were his muse. His greatest masterpiece.
He painted you at sunrise, laughing barefoot by the brook. He painted you asleep in the field, cheeks kissed by clover. But one painting… one he never showed you… was done in secret. You never even knew it left the cottage.
It was the painting that destroyed your life.
🕯️
Far away, in the obsidian halls of the Imperial Palace, Empress Agatha Harkness stared at the canvas with unblinking hunger.
It had been brought to her by a traveling collector — a fool, really, peddling mountain works to a monarch who hated sentiment. But the moment she saw it… she stopped breathing.
The girl in the painting had eyes like dusk. Skin like moon-pale silk. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, as if whispering a secret just out of reach. There was something innocent, unknowable, almost holy about her beauty — and that infuriated the Empress.
No one should look like that. Not in her world. Not without belonging to her.
She dismissed the collector with a wave of her hand.
And then, with a voice like death made velvet, she said:
“Burn the village. Bring me the girl.”
🔥
The fire came at night.
You had been sleeping, limbs tangled in linen, lulled by the hum of crickets. Then came the screaming. The smoke.
You ran barefoot into the chaos, the sky above painted orange with flame. Homes crackled and groaned. Neighbors cried out. Soldiers in blackened armor marched through the village like wolves through a flock.
They did not speak. They only searched.
And when their captain laid eyes on you — pale from the smoke, nightgown clinging to your body, eyes wide with terror — he knelt. Kneeling.
You were taken.
A cloth soaked in perfume was pressed to your face.
Darkness took you before you could even cry.
🐍
You awoke on silk.
Naked beneath crimson sheets. Your wrists, sore. Your hair, washed. A strange perfume coated your skin, too rich and heavy, like jasmine rotting in the heat.
A pair of handmaidens loomed at your bedside. They did not speak. They only dressed you in layers of gossamer and gold, corseting your waist, oiling your lips, adorning your throat with jewels heavy as chains.
You tried to speak, to scream, but they said only one thing:
“The Empress is waiting.”
🕊️
The throne room was a cathedral of decadence. Gold arches. Black marble floors. Curtains as red as spilled blood.
At the end of the hall sat the Empress.
Agatha Harkness.
She lounged on a throne made of obsidian and bone, dressed in a robe the color of spilled ink. Her lips were wine-dark, her gaze feline — narrowed and amused, like a predator enjoying the taste of its next meal.
When you were brought before her, you trembled.
She didn’t blink.
Instead, she rose. Slow. Calculated. A goddess made flesh — but cruel, and too aware of her beauty.
She circled you like a storm, fingers ghosting over your bare shoulders, your cheek. You flinched.
And she smiled.
“You're even more divine than your portrait,” she murmured, voice laced with hunger. “But the eyes… ah, they don’t do you justice.”
You opened your mouth to speak — to beg, to ask why — but she placed a gloved finger against your lips.
“Shh,” she cooed. “Pretty things don’t need to speak. They only need to please.”
🩸
That night, she did not take you to her chambers.
She placed you in the Velvet Wing — her personal harem.
There were dozens of women draped on lounges and cushions, laughing with kohl-lined eyes and slow tongues, dressed in silks that clung like second skin. Perfume hung heavy in the air, mixed with sweat and wine and lust.
They looked at you like a rabbit dropped into a pit of snakes.
And among them sat her.
Rio Vidal.
Slender. Sharp. Beautiful in the way that kills — all cheekbones and poison. She had eyes like a dagger unsheathed, and they locked onto you with immediate disdain.
She stood, crossing the velvet lounge barefoot, her hips swaying.
“So,” she purred, circling you the same way Agatha had, but with venom instead of hunger. “You're the little painting.”
You said nothing.
She grabbed your chin. Dug her nails in.
“I was her favorite,” she whispered. “Until you.”
A beat. A warning.
“Stay out of my way… or I’ll make sure you’re nothing but paint on the floor.”
The others laughed.
But all you could feel was the fire still clinging to your lungs.
You had been stolen.
And now… you were trapped.
But the worst part?
From the shadows, watching with a wolf’s grin — Agatha Harkness.
Amused. Possessive. Patient.
Her next play already planned.
And you…
You were already hers.
The palace was built for gods and monsters. You were neither.
And yet, from the moment the Empress laid eyes on you, you were treated like something divine — and punished for it all the same.
The golden doors of her empire closed behind you like the jaws of some ancient beast. You were stripped, bathed, perfumed, and dressed not in rags, not in mourning — but in silk. You tried not to scream when they washed soot and blood from your skin. Tried not to cry when they combed your hair with fingers too gentle to match the world you'd just lost.
The harem was not a dungeon. It was worse.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Soft cushions, pale marble, translucent drapes that danced like spirits. There was laughter from the women who had long since surrendered themselves to the Empress — women who would die for a glance, a kiss, a night. They whispered about you behind lacquered fans and bitter smiles. You were the disruption. You were the reason she didn’t visit them anymore.
You were the new obsession.
❖
The first to approach you was Rio Vidal.
You’d heard the name before the woman herself. It came laced in silk and venom. Whispers that she’d once slit a girl’s throat in the rose gardens just for laughing too loud in the Empress’s direction.
She was taller than you. Elegant. Her robes draped like water over her bronze skin, her black hair pinned with silver combs sharp enough to kill.
“New toy,” she purred, leaning close enough for you to smell the sweet venom of her perfume. “Do you know what happens to things the Empress loves?”
You kept your eyes low. You’d learned submission could be armor.
“She ruins them,” Rio whispered. “Or I do.”
Then she cupped your chin, hard, tilting your face up. Her touch was not affectionate — it was cruel, possessive, curious.
“She won’t keep you. She never does. But you’ll bleed before she lets you go.”
You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your throat was tight. But in Rio’s gaze… something flickered. Hunger. Confusion. Rage. Then — curiosity again.
She let you go. "I'll be seeing you soon, pretty thing."
And she left.
❖
That night, you were dressed like a bride.
You didn’t even fight the handmaidens anymore. What was the use? They silenced your questions with sweet smiles and cooed assurances.
“Such a lucky girl,” they said. “The Empress hasn’t touched anyone in months.”
You were poured into a sheer nightdress, embroidered with black roses and nothing else. Your skin glowed beneath it, bare and vulnerable. They braided silver into your hair. Rubbed oil into your thighs. Kissed your shoulders before they left you alone in the dark, on silken sheets that smelled like spice and fire.
Your heart beat like a war drum. You waited. And then—
She came.
Like a shadow with a crown.
Agatha Harkness. Empress. Sorceress. Monster.
Her robes shimmered black-blue, her eyes twin embers. She didn’t speak at first — just stood at the foot of your bed, watching you. Devouring you.
“I waited,” she murmured. “I waited to see if your beauty would fade outside that painting. But it doesn’t, little dove. It only deepens.”
You sat up, trembling, fists curled in the sheets. “Why me?”
Agatha smiled — slowly. “Because I saw heaven in you. And hell wants its due.”
She moved like smoke, slipping onto the bed beside you, fingers trailing over your collarbone. “Do you want to be mine?” she asked.
You didn’t answer.
So she didn’t wait.
Agatha kissed you like a curse. Her lips stole the breath from your lungs. Her hands slipped beneath your nightdress, fingers cool and smooth, tracing every inch of you like scripture. You gasped — a sound caught between protest and surrender — and that only excited her more.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Let me worship you.”
She kissed down your throat, your chest, her mouth greedy and reverent all at once. Her teeth grazed your nipple, sucking until you arched into her. You whimpered — humiliated by how wet you already were.
“My poor little thing,” she cooed. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Her fingers slid lower, parting your thighs with obscene ease. You tried to close them — she slapped them open, softly but firm, and pinned them with her own leg.
“Mine now,” she growled.
Her fingers found your heat — teasing, testing, dipping in just enough to make your hips jerk. She chuckled darkly. “Already dripping for me?”
She went slow at first — one finger, then two — pumping them inside you while her mouth bruised your neck. She dragged her tongue across your skin like she wanted to devour it.
“Say my name,” she breathed, curling her fingers. You gasped, back arching, her palm rubbing that aching spot above your slit as her fingers stroked deep.
You said it.
Not in defiance. Not in prayer. But in desperation.
“Agatha.”
She moaned.
Then her thumb circled your clit, fast, perfect, relentless — and the tension broke with a sob. You came with her name on your lips, legs trembling, slick coating her hand. She didn’t stop. She liked the way you cried.
She kissed you as you came down — possessive, tongue deep in your mouth, her hand still stroking you lazily.
And then she whispered into your ear, voice silk and steel:
“Now you understand. You’ll never belong to anyone else.”
You were shaking.
And you believed her.
You hadn’t slept since the Empress claimed you.
Not really.
Your body ached with a strange, lingering heat — her touch still seared between your thighs, her voice coiled in your ear like a wicked lullaby. The marble floors of the palace were cold, but her bed had been fire. And even now, as you sat quietly in the private wing of the harem, wrapped in silk robes and silence, that heat wouldn’t leave.
It had settled into your bones like a fever.
You tried to keep your head down, avoid the watchful stares of the other concubines, but it was impossible. You were new. You were chosen. And worst of all — you were hers.
You didn’t even see Rio Vidal approach.
The favorite.
The one whose name was whispered like a warning.
“I should rip out your tongue,” Rio murmured behind you, voice like velvet stretched over a knife. You froze. She stepped into view, clad in obsidian silks, every curve a weapon. Her dark hair was pinned back, neck exposed like a blade’s edge.
“I heard her last night,” she continued, circling you slowly. “The noises you made. The way she… devoured you.”
You swallowed hard, heart thudding.
“Are you proud of yourself, little songbird?”
You shook your head. “No. I didn’t ask—”
Her hand struck fast — a sharp, stinging slap across your cheek that left your skin burning.
“Don’t lie,” Rio hissed. “She branded you. You moaned for her. Now you think you’re her favorite?”
“I don’t think anything—”
“You don’t have to think. That’s the problem.”
She shoved you back against a silk-draped pillar, pinning you by the throat, her lips a breath away from yours. Her eyes were fire — not just rage, but something far more dangerous.
Desire.
“She doesn’t love you. She obsesses. And when she’s done? When she breaks you?” Her hand slid down, curling under your robe. “You’ll be meat. A toy.”
Your gasp caught in your throat as her fingers traced your thigh — not lovingly, not gently, but with possessive cruelty.
“You want to survive here?” she whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Learn how to please us both.”
You whimpered — but it was unclear whether in fear or something darker. Your knees shook.
“I hate you,” Rio murmured, dragging her nails lightly down your belly. “But gods help me… I want to ruin you too.”
She kissed you then — deep, devouring, hungry with resentment. Her tongue was demanding, tasting what the Empress had marked. Her thigh wedged between yours, forcing you open. Your breath hitched.
“Do you like this?” she sneered, pulling your robe apart. “Being used by the woman you replaced?”
Her fingers sank lower, slicking through the evidence of your shame. “Yes, you do. You’re pathetic.”
She pressed you harder into the pillar and forced your body to respond, dragging moans from your throat you hated yourself for. Her rhythm was punishing, her grip bruising, but your traitorous hips moved with hers.
“You’re going to beg for me now,” she growled. “Just like you begged for her.”
You didn’t want to — but when she bit your shoulder, possessive and raw, and her fingers curled inside you with expert cruelty — the whimper escaped. A moan. A plea.
And she smiled like she had won.
The moment shattered.
A sharp knock echoed through the harem halls, followed by a chilling voice:
“Bring her,” said the Empress’s steward. “She is to perform before the court.”
Rio froze.
Her lips curled into a cruel grin. “Oh… she wants to show you off.”
You stood at the center of the great hall, the court gathered like vultures in gold and shadow. Candles lit every edge, casting the obsidian floor in dancing flame. Music played — slow, haunting — and all eyes were on you.
You were dressed in nothing but sheer silk and gold cuffs. A veil hung across your lips, but your body was bare. Marked.
Agatha sat upon her throne, watching — hungry.
“Dance for me,” she purred. “Let them all see who you belong to.”
You obeyed.
Every step was a humiliation, but also a seduction. Your body swayed to the haunting rhythm, hips rolling, arms arched. You felt eyes devour you — but none more than hers.
When you turned, she was already standing.
The dance stopped.
She descended from her throne like a goddess of ruin and took your face in her hands.
“Mine,” she growled — and kissed you before the entire court.
As the crowd erupted into whispers and delight, you saw Rio across the chamber, eyes burning.
Not with hatred now — but obsession.
You had survived… but only barely.
And both monsters wanted you.
That night, you were not taken back to the harem.
You were led down a different corridor — deeper, darker, away from the perfume-soaked chambers of silk and rivalry. The guards did not speak. The torches burned blue. Your robe clung to your damp skin, still warm from the humiliating dance Agatha had demanded. The gold cuffs around your wrists chafed slightly, but you didn’t dare ask for them to be removed.
Not when you knew where they were taking you.
Not when she was waiting.
The throne room had vanished behind you. And in its place loomed the private chambers of the Empress.
Heavy carved doors opened with a groan — and the scent of myrrh, spice, and something darker greeted you like a kiss.
She was already inside, seated by the fire, a goblet of red wine in hand. Her hair was loose now, cascading over her shoulders in waves. The crown was gone. In its place was something more terrifying.
Desire.
She rose slowly. Her silk robe fell open slightly with each step. You caught glimpses of her skin, her curves, the lean muscle beneath her elegance. And her eyes — gods, her eyes — drank you in like a starving creature finding its final meal.
“My jewel,” she murmured, stepping into your space. “Do you know what you did to me today?”
You shook your head.
She took your chin between her fingers. “You made me hungry.”
She stripped you bare like she owned you. Every layer peeled back revealed the marks already left by her and Rio — bruises, love bites, scratches. She admired them like they were art.
“I like what she did to you,” Agatha whispered, brushing her thumb across your neck where Rio’s teeth had sunk in. “She’s vicious. But she doesn’t understand you the way I do.”
You said nothing.
She kissed you then, slowly — not a devouring kiss this time, but a claiming one. Deep, slow, possessive.
Her mouth moved to your throat.
Your chest.
Your stomach.
Until she was kneeling.
“I will feast,” she whispered, “until you forget every name but mine.”
She kept her promise.
She dragged you onto the bed like a sacrifice, parted your thighs, and worshiped you with the kind of reverence that bordered on madness. Her mouth was merciless. Her tongue, her fingers — they worked in tandem, drawing you to the edge again and again only to stop, to deny, to own.
“Say it,” she demanded.
“I—”
“Say it.”
“…Yours.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours.”
Only then did she let you fall over the edge.
And then again. And again. Until your body was limp, your voice hoarse, your thighs trembling from overuse.
But she wasn’t done.
She rose above you like a beast in heat, pulled your wrists up, and bound them to the bedposts with soft black silk.
Then she mounted you.
And it was slow — achingly slow — the kind of rhythm that drove you mad. Her hands roamed your body, her hips grinding just enough to tease, just enough to torment. Your eyes rolled back.
“You don’t understand what you are to me,” she whispered, her voice breaking with need. “I watched you long before you ever stepped into my court.”
Your eyes snapped open.
“I had your portrait commissioned from a dream,” she whispered, rocking against you with more force now. “And when I finally found you — real, breathing, perfect — I killed for you.”
You gasped, heart slamming in your chest.
“I burned villages to get you,” she hissed into your neck. “I razed the coast.”
Every thrust now was brutal. Unrelenting. Possession.
“You were never free,” she snarled. “Not from the moment you were born.”
You shattered beneath her — not just from the pleasure, but from the terrifying truth.
She didn’t just love you.
She owned your fate.
You lay in her bed, limp, body marked from head to toe. Her scent clung to you like smoke. Your wrists were raw. Her breath was still warm on your neck.
And then came another presence.
You barely registered the door creaking open. A shadow slipped in.
Rio.
She stared at your ruined body on Agatha’s bed. Her lips parted. Her eyes went glassy.
“You… let her break you,” she whispered.
“She belongs to me,” Agatha said, from the shadows.
But Rio didn’t leave.
She approached.
Touched your ankle. Then your thigh.
And the Empress watched.
You were too weak to protest.
Too broken to stop what came next.
The moon was blood-washed over the palace when Rio Vidal struck.
You had sensed her growing bolder — the way her stares lingered too long, the cruel way she’d toyed with the concubines who whispered your name in admiration. But nothing prepared you for the shadowed hand that clamped over your mouth that night, dragging you from your silken bed while the Empress slept.
“Shh,” Rio breathed against your ear, her voice laced with equal parts venom and desperation. “Don’t scream. I’m not going to kill you. Not yet.”
The cold air in the servant tunnels bit your skin. She led you quickly, a dagger at your spine, pressing her body close.
“You ruined everything,” she hissed. “She doesn’t even look at me anymore. But I’ll make her look. I’ll make her beg.”
You stumbled into a hidden wing of the palace — forgotten, rotting, and strangely… reverent. Rio shoved open heavy wooden doors, and what you saw inside stole the air from your lungs.
Portraits. Paintings. Statues.
All of you.
You as a child, face half-finished. You cloaked in bridal white, your eyes hollow and downcast. You naked and bound, mouth open in a silent cry.
“She's been watching you since before you even knew her name,” Rio spat. “Your village? That wasn’t chance. She hunted you.”
On the far wall, an altar stood — obsidian and candlelit, velvet draped, bearing a crown of thorns and a vial of your blood. Your dress from your first night in the harem had been preserved there like a relic.
Your legs trembled.
Rio turned to you now, the dagger lowered, her expression fractured — torn between hatred and hunger. “I wanted to kill you,” she whispered. “I should have. But now… I think I understand why she’s obsessed.”
She cupped your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, forcing it open.
“She carved you into her bones,” Rio murmured. “Now I want to taste what drove her mad.”
Before you could protest, her lips crashed into yours — bruising and hot. Her fingers curled into your hair, pulling you close as her tongue swept over yours with punishing force. You tried to shove her, but her body pinned yours to the altar, the cool stone shocking against your back as she yanked your nightdress down.
“You’ll beg for her,” she growled, kissing down your throat. “But tonight, you’ll moan for me first.”
Her mouth closed over your breast, hot and possessive, while her fingers found your thigh, parting it with no patience. The danger of it, the madness swirling in her every move, set your blood alight with panic — and something darker.
But then—
A roar tore through the chamber.
“ENOUGH.”
The doors blasted open. Agatha Harkness strode in, her obsidian gown flowing like smoke, her eyes incandescent with rage. One hand was outstretched, pulsing with black fire.
“Get away from what’s mine.”
Rio’s smirk didn’t fade. She turned her head slowly, dragging her tongue along your throat like a final act of defiance. “She’ll never just be yours again.”
Agatha’s power slammed her against the wall — but not to kill. No. She didn’t want death. She wanted punishment.
And you? You were trembling on the altar, eyes wild, chest heaving — marked by both their touches.
Agatha approached, eyes locked on yours. “My little jewel,” she cooed. “Did she hurt you?”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
“She wanted to taste you?” Agatha leaned down, her mouth brushing yours. “Then she’ll watch as I devour you whole.”
The magic pulsing in the air pinned you down, but this time, it was not cold. It was molten — burning. Agatha’s fingers slipped between your thighs with possessive certainty, and her mouth followed quickly after, devouring you like a starved beast.
You cried out — whether from fear, pleasure, or the overwhelming weight of both, you weren’t sure.
Rio moaned from where she was bound against the wall, eyes glassy. “You want me to watch?” she whispered. “Then make me jealous.”
Agatha’s grin was feral. “On your knees, Rio.”
The concubine obeyed.
Soon, both women knelt before you.
Agatha took your mouth with a kiss that swallowed your soul, her fingers now inside you, curling, commanding. Rio’s hands slid behind you, gripping your hips, her lips trailing fire along your spine as her voice purred, “Tell us who you belong to.”
You didn’t answer.
So they both made you.
Agatha lifted you into her lap, grinding your soaked core against her thigh while Rio knelt between your legs, tongue teasing, taunting, flicking over the place Agatha had left wet and trembling. You were nothing but limbs and gasps and sweat, caught between devotion and rivalry — prey to twin obsessions that fed off each other.
“Mine,” Agatha growled, biting your neck.
“Ours,” Rio hissed, licking a stripe up your thigh.
Your scream shattered the silence — your release crashing into you as Agatha wrapped her arms around you, claiming you from behind while Rio kissed you through the aftershock.
The altar had become a throne.
You were the offering.
And they would never let you go.
It is said the palace fell into silence after the Empress chose her favorite.
The old noise of politics and courtly intrigue dulled, swallowed by something heavier, hungrier. A sacred hush that rippled outward like blood into water — the kind that precedes worship or madness.
And at the center of it, she sat.
You.
Draped in crimson silk and heavy gold, your body marked by hands that owned you — one cruel and cold, the other desperate and trembling. The throne beside Agatha’s was not meant for a consort. It was a pedestal. A gilded cage. You looked like a queen, but you were something far more dangerous: a holy thing, possessed and preserved like an offering made of flesh.
Your eyes no longer wandered toward escape.
Why would they?
When the very air you breathed was drenched in their obsession.
Agatha's gaze devoured you.
Each day began with her mouth on your skin — reverent and ruinous, her tongue tracing the bruises she left the night before, lips murmuring vows too obscene for the priests to hear. Her love was not kind. It was monstrous, patient only in how slowly she undressed you, worshipped you, wrecked you.
“You were made for this,” she whispered once, her fingers sliding deep into you beneath the silks during a public audience. “Made for me. Let them see what I’ve claimed.”
And you did. You let them all see.
The generals, the concubines, the nobles. You cried out like a creature being sanctified, shaking on her lap as her fingers curled just right, her smile crueler than ever.
Rio knelt. Always.
Where once she had plotted your death, now she kissed the ground you walked on. The madness that bloomed in her when Agatha forgot her… had twisted. She no longer wanted to destroy you.
She wanted to belong to you.
“Please,” she whispered at your door one night, her hands bloodied from a concubine she’d slaughtered in jealousy. “Let me serve you. Let me love you the way she does. I can’t— I need to—”
You should’ve turned her away.
But instead, you pulled her in.
That night, the three of you met again beneath the black velvet of the Empress’s bed, bodies tangled like thorns.
Agatha gripped your wrists as Rio licked between your thighs. You sobbed as they took you, no longer knowing where one mouth ended and the other began. Your voice broke on Agatha’s name, and Rio cried against your stomach, lost in her need to prove herself.
It was grotesque.
It was divine.
They took you until dawn. Until your body could no longer hold the pleasure without pain, until your mind frayed into something ruined and beautiful.
Now, you sit beside the Empress on her throne.
You no longer flinch when Agatha’s fingers dig into your hip possessively. You no longer fear Rio’s jealous glances. You smile when they fight over you. You part your legs when Agatha commands. You run your fingers through Rio’s hair when she begs for your forgiveness.
You wear devotion like a second skin.
And though your father’s painting once captured your innocence, a new portrait hangs in the royal gallery now — one where your eyes gleam like flame, your lips parted in rapture, your throat bruised, your crown of thorns bleeding just slightly onto your gown.
You are no longer the stolen girl.
You are the beloved curse of an empire.
And if this palace ever burns…
…it will burn in your name.
_-_-_-_
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