the conference room smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, the kind of space where every second felt like judgment. you stood at the front with your notes, heartbeat so loud you swore everyone could hear it. yet your voice never cracked, your slides landed perfectly, and when you looked up — you caught her watching.
ms medarda.
her red button up blouse hugged her big titties, tucked into a sharp black pencil skirt, gold buckle belt glinting beneath the fluorescent lights. her hands were folded in front of her, expression calm, unreadable, but her eyes — steady, dark and assessing — never left you.
the presentation ended to murmurs of approval, polite applause, handshakes. your team beamed at you, the senior exec nodded. “this projection secures us the contract. impressive.”
and then her voice, smooth, deep and resonant.
“better than expected.”
just four words, but you felt them in your bones.
hours later, when the office had thinned out to silence, an email popped up on your screen. ms medarda requests your presence in her office.
you nearly dropped your coffee.
you fixed your blouse, smoothed your pencil skirt, rehearsed half a dozen explanations for why you might be summoned. but when you stepped into her office, those words evaporated.
the blinds were only half drawn, city lights spilling stripes across the floor to ceiling windows. she sat behind her desk, red blouse glowing under the warm lamp, heels crossed, posture so regal it made your stomach tighten.
“close the door.”
you obeyed instantly.
“stand here.” she gestured to the front of her desk.
your heels clicked softly as you crossed the carpet, hands clasped in front of you like you were waiting for a grade.
she studied you for a long moment. the silence pressed down, the weight of her gaze pinning you in place.
“you exceeded my expectations today.” her tone was calm, deliberate. “the company stands to gain millions. and i reward excellence.”
your lips parted, confusion laced with heat. “ms medarda, i—”
she stood. tall, broad, the air around her shifting like gravity. she circled once, slow, the leather of her belt creaking faintly as she stopped behind you.
“first time presenting to the board?”
“y-yes, miss.”
her fingers brushed your wrist, featherlight, and then — metal clinked. she was unbuckling her belt.
“hands”
your breath caught, but you obeyed. she looped the belt around your wrists, cinching it snug but not cruel.
“miss medarda…?”
“shh. this isn’t punishment, dear,” she said low, close to your ear. “it’s control. because you’ll wriggle too much otherwise.”
you shivered.
she pressed you forward until your hips met the edge of her heavy mahogany desk. papers scattered as she bent you over, your cheek brushing cool polished wood.
“do you understand why you’re here?” she asked, sliding your skirt up over your ass, baring your thighs.
“t-to be rewarded?”
“good girl.”
her hand slid between your thighs, dragging your panties aside. two thick fingers eased inside without hesitation. your knees buckled, wrists straining against the belt as your body arched.
“o-oh f-miss what are you—”
but she ignored your whines, instead,“already so wet,” she murmured with approval. “you want this.”
she worked her fingers in and out, curling them just right, her palm grinding your clit. you moaned into the desk, body shaking, but the belt held your wrists in place.
“hush,” she warned smoothly. “anyone could walk by. if you want that promotion, you’ll learn to be quiet.”
her rhythm built, unrelenting, until your thighs trembled, pleasure building too fast. she knew exactly what she was doing.
when you came, it ripped through you sharp and overwhelming, your muffled cry lost against the desk. she didn’t stop. her fingers drove through every spasm, every wave, until you were gasping, tears prickling your eyes.
finally she pulled back, sliding her fingers out, dragging the wetness over your ass with a hum.
“messy already. and i haven’t even given you the real reward.”
you heard it before you saw it, the faint snap of leather as she set the strap on harness into place.
when she turned you to face her, your wrists still bound, your breath caught. thick, long, the fake cock jutted from the sleek black straps hugging her hips. she held your chin between two fingers, forcing you to look at her.
“on your knees.”
you dropped instantly, skirt tightening around your thighs as you knelt. she guided the tip against your lips, smearing your own slick there.
“open.”
you obeyed, mouth wrapping around it, sucking, your lipstick smearing faintly across the length. she didn’t thrust deep, not yet — she held the base and let you work, slow and eager, her belt tugging your wrists whenever you faltered.
“look at you,” she purred. “all that brilliance in the boardroom, and still on your knees for me.”
heat flooded through you. you moaned around the silicone, the sound vibrating up her cock.
after a few minutes she tugged you up, lips swollen, drool smeared on your chin. she bent you back over the desk, yanked your skirt and panties down in one smooth pull, and lined herself up.
the first push made you cry out loud. stretching, filling, your bound wrists clenching uselessly behind your back. she leaned over you, chest pressing your spine, whispering against your ear:
“breathe. you’ll take it all.”
inch by inch, she sank the strap into you until you were stuffed full, thighs quivering.
then she moved.
slow at first, rolling her hips with deliberate control, grinding you against the desk. every thrust dragged against your walls, hitting the spots that made you see stars. the wood beneath your cheek was slick with sweat, the sound of her cock plunging into you echoing in the quiet office.
you whimpered, squirming, and she tugged the belt holding your wrists.
“still now,” she growled softly. “don’t run from what you earned.”
her pace picked up, hips slamming into you harder, the desk groaning faintly under the impact. every thrust shoved you forward, papers scattering to the floor. your moans grew desperate, ragged, every muscle straining against the belt.
“so tight and warm,” she hissed, voice dark with hunger. “you were made for this desk, my dear. made to be under me.”
you came again with a cry you barely managed to muffle, body clenching hard around the strap. she fucked you through it ruthlessly, not slowing, pushing you into overstimulation until tears streaked down your face.
only then did she ease, pulling you upright, spinning you into her chair. she straddled your thighs over the leather, spreading you wide, cock still glistening as she slid back in with one brutal thrust.
the chair rocked under her weight. your bound wrists tugged against her belt while her mouth found your throat, your jaw, biting kisses that left you dizzy, and leaving her dark red lipstick marks all over.
“say it,” she ordered between thrusts.
“m-miss medardaaa!!”
“say who you belong to.”
“y-you! i belong to you miss ambessaaa medarda”
she smiled against your ear, thrusts driving deeper, harder, until you shattered again, boneless in her arms, your body trembling in her lap. she unbuckled the belt around your wrists, and rubbed the sore marks gently.
you collapsed against her chest, still shaking. she smoothed a hand over your hair, calm again, like nothing had happened.
“excellent performance today,” she murmured, tilting your chin up for one last kiss. “you’ll keep earning rewards like this.”
Summary: In 18th-century Calderuport, you were the mysterious daughter of the Calderu family: beautiful, brilliant, and just a little too obsessed with the dark arts. Under the watchful eye (and wandering hands) of local witch Agatha Harkness, you dabbled in forbidden rituals and very unladylike desires.
But when a jealous rival named Rio Vidal discovers the depth of your bond, she unleashes a cruel curse: turning you into a vampire and locking you away beneath the earth, ensuring Agatha believes you abandoned her.
Two centuries later, you escapes from your tomb unchanged, undead, and aching with two centuries of longing. You find 1972 Calderuport a very different place. His once-grand estate has fallen into ruin, and the dysfunctional remnants of your family have fared little better.
You’re undead, unbothered, and back to reclaim your estate, your family , and most importantly… your witch. Agatha isn’t ready. The family isn’t ready.
Prompt: Chasity & Bloodplay. Agatha x Rio x Reader. Warnings: Smut. Oral sex. Magic Au. Blood play if you squint. MDNI 18+.
Kinktober Day 7
The plan was simple.
One night apart.
One last breath before forever.
You’d practiced the speech all afternoon—reciting it like an incantation, pacing through the hallway with your fingers tracing invisible wards along the doorframes. Not because you didn’t know how to say it. But because they wouldn’t take it well.
The suite was glowing with pre-wedding chaos: silk ribbons on the armchair, lavender satchels of enchanted salts crowding the counters, Agatha’s gloves hovering midair like sentries, stitching themselves with invisible thread. Rio stood at the far window, shoulders sharp in the city’s dusklight, polishing one of her blades like it was a nervous tick instead of a divine artifact.
You stepped into the center of it all, barefoot and brave.
“I need to tell you something.”
They both turned at once. Rio’s eyes—ancient, endless, black as collapsing stars—narrowed. Agatha arched one delicately skeptical brow, mid-incantation, her lips still tinged with the wine-red of the glamour she’d been fussing over all evening.
“I’ve made a decision,” you said. “You’re not allowed to see me until I walk down the aisle tomorrow.”
A silence descended. Heavy. Comical.
Agatha let out a gasp so dramatic it might’ve reversed the tides. “You can’t be serious.”
Rio didn’t say a word. She just slowly—deliberately—tilted her head and arched an eyebrow, as if you’d just declared your intention to jump into a black hole with nothing but a scented candle and optimism.
You held your ground, hands clasped like a priestess reciting a sacred vow. “I’m completely serious. It’s tradition. It’s romantic. It’s—wedding lore.”
Agatha scoffed like you’d told her that gravity was optional. “Wedding lore?” she echoed, voice sharp enough to slice air. “Darling, you live with a chaos witch and Death incarnate, and you want to play by mortal superstition? What’s next? Releasing doves? Making flower crowns from rose quartz and Pinterest?”
“I’d wear a flower crown,” Rio offered blandly, gaze still locked on you.
“Thank you,” you said, pointing. “Which is exactly why I’m doing this. I want the moment to land. I want to see your faces when I walk down that aisle—only then. Not a second before.”
Agatha crossed her arms, utterly offended on a metaphysical level. “You saw my face this morning. And yesterday. And every day since you accidentally opened a summoning circle in the library and didn’t read the fine print.”
“That was a great day,” Rio murmured.
You smiled, soft and pointed. “Which is why I want to make tomorrow even better. This isn’t about rules. It’s about awe. Suspense. Magic.”
Rio turned toward you fully now, blade forgotten, her expression unreadable but electric. “You want me,” she said slowly, “to not touch you for the next twenty-four hours?”
“You do realize what I am, right?” she asked, voice like quiet thunder. “I am patience sharpened into form. The final breath of kings and comets. And even I think this is cruel.”
You shook your head, lifting your brows pointedly. “It’s not even twenty-four.”
She blinked, wary. “Excuse me?”
“It’s thirteen hours, Rio,” you said, dragging the words out gently, like you were explaining basic arithmetic to a sentient volcano. “Maybe thirteen and a half, depending on how long you two take.”
Agatha made a sound like a scoff wrapped in a laugh, one hand on her hip. “Oh, well that makes it perfectly reasonable. Only thirteen hours without contact. How humane.”
Rio’s eyes narrowed. “Is this,” she said, voice sharpening like the edge of a new moon, “why you haven’t let us touch you the last two days?”
You tried not to smile. Failed. The silence that followed your expression was palpable. Charged. Agatha tilted her head. Rio’s jaw ticked.
“You planned this,” Agatha accused.
You gave a tiny, reverent nod. Rio let out a slow breath through her nose, a movement so precise it could have parted dimensions. “You’ve been teasing us.”
You shrugged, biting your lower lip, unapologetic. “Suspense is a form of foreplay. You of all people should know that.”
That earned you a dangerous little glint in Rio’s cosmic eyes—a flash of something molten and black-hole deep, the kind of look that rearranged solar systems.
“Thirteen hours,” Agatha repeated, almost to herself. “It already feels like eternity.”
“Exactly,” you said, smiling now, soft and sincere. “I want to earn tomorrow. I want us all to walk into it trembling.”
Rio ran her tongue across her teeth, eyes still on you. She looked like she was memorizing every inch of your face, every shift in your stance, every flicker of want stitched under your skin. Not for survival. For reverence.
“I hope you know,” she said, low and warning, “you’re making very dangerous promises.”
“You’ll survive,” you said, then added with a wink, “You always do.”
Agatha made a strangled sound beside her. “That is not reassuring, love. That’s a death threat wrapped in a Hallmark card.”
Rio didn’t look away from you. Not once. Her voice, when it came again, was velvet and catastrophe. “I’m going to undo you tomorrow,” Rio murmured, voice dark and satin-smooth, like a promise poured from the edge of the void.
You inhaled slowly, heat rising to your cheeks—and not from shame. “That’s the idea,” you echoed, and then, with a wicked little grin tugging at the corner of your mouth, you added, “Think of it as… a sacred act of chastity.”
Agatha snorted. Actually snorted. Her head dropped back like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Oh, bold,” she drawled. “A bold moment to invoke chastity. With us. In this house.”
You made a show of placing a hand over your heart. “I’m merely invoking spiritual tradition. Restraint before indulgence. Holy pause. Anticipation.”
“Mm-hmm,” Agatha hummed, lifting one eyebrow. “So that’s what it’s called now.”
Rio leaned against the edge of the hearth, arms crossed, looking you over like you were already an unsolved riddle—and she was quite literally time with nowhere to be. “Sacred chastity,” she repeated, her voice almost a purr. “You know I’ve outlived empires who tried that.”
“And yet,” you said, backing away slowly, “not one of them was me.”
A pause.
And then Rio’s mouth curved. Not a full smile—she didn’t smile often—but something quieter. Something hungrier. Something ancient. “Point taken.”
Agatha crossed the room toward you like she might risk touching you just to make a point, but stopped short with visible effort. Her hand hovered near your arm, then pulled back like it had brushed live magic. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“You’re both so easy to tease,” you whispered, like a confession. “You’re agony in twin form. And it’s beautiful.”
For a moment, the room stilled.
Magic curled in the air like incense smoke—warm and silvery from Agatha’s warding candles, cool and mineral-sharp from the ambient shimmer that always followed in Rio’s wake. The wards on the windows pulsed faintly, responding to the thrum of your bond. The mirrors had all been veiled in linen, per Agatha’s nervous superstition. And time was doing that strange thing it always did around Rio: slowing, folding, breathing with you.
Thirteen hours. You could survive thirteen hours. Maybe.
You exhaled slowly and stepped back, eyes flicking between them. “Okay,” you said at last, voice gentle but resolute. “This is where we stop. No contact. No scrying. No astral projections. No smoke-formed love letters riding the breeze at dawn.”
Agatha tilted her head. “That was one time.”
You raised a hand. “And definitely no teleporting into my room to ‘check on the air quality’ or whatever excuse Agatha thinks up at 3AM.”
Agatha gasped like you’d accused her of murder. “How dare—”
Rio just smirked. “I give it six hours before she sends the cat in as a spy.”
“He’s emotionally attached to me,” Agatha sniffed. “It’s different.”
“Mm-hmm,” you said, already taking a few more steps back. “That’s why I’m not just locking my door tonight. I’m staying at the hotel.”
The reaction was immediate. Agatha’s mouth opened like she was about to protest on a cosmic level. Rio straightened, the temperature in the room dropping a fraction of a degree. “You’re… what?” Agatha asked, already fuming. “That’s outside our warded perimeter. That’s—”
“Neutral ground,” you cut in, calm but firm. “I reinforced the room myself. Triple-warded. Even cloaked the door with your binding salt, Agatha.”
“That was my salt,” she said, scandalized.
“Exactly,” you said with a grin.
Rio looked like she was trying not to combust. “So we don’t even get to feel you near us?”
You shook your head. “Not until I walk toward you.”
A pause. And then—softly, reverently— “When you look up, and I’m walking to you, I want your hearts to stop. Just for a second. I want the bond to ache from how long it had to wait.”
Agatha’s breath hitched like she’d been punched in the ribs by beauty itself. Rio, unmoving, exhaled like it hurt. “It already aches.”
You smiled, full and shining, and turned—slipping through the archway and closing the door behind you with a soft click. On the other side, you pressed your back to it, heart racing, fingers trembling against the wood.
Thirteen hours.
And behind that door?
Chaos. A soft thud. Possibly Agatha flinging herself onto the chaise again. A groan—low, ancient—definitely Rio muttering something blasphemous in a language that hadn’t existed for millennia. “I swear to every pantheon,” Agatha’s voice came through the wood, “if the officiant stutters tomorrow, I’m throwing a chair.”
“If she looks at us like that again,” Rio growled, “I’m collapsing the sky.”
You smiled, flushed and breathless.
And utterly certain—
This was going to be the longest, most beautiful night of your life. Thirteen hours. Tomorrow was going to be something holy. Tomorrow was going to be something holy.
And it would be worth every aching second of the wait.
Let the countdown begin.
--------------------
The hotel room was still dark when you opened your eyes.
Silk curtains stirred with the breeze—your own doing, a whispered charm to carry fresh air in without the chaos of the outside world. The room smelled of honeysuckle and lavender from the enchanted sachet Agatha had secretly tucked into your bag the night before. You’d found it just after midnight, nestled beside something else: a folded square of moon-pale parchment, and resting just above it, a delicate chain coiled in its own quiet gravity.
A small silver charm—round, simple, no bigger than a fingertip—hung from a white gold chain, cool to the touch. When you held it up, it caught the dim light and shimmered faintly with layered enchantments: one humming with Agatha’s warding signature, the other carved from something older, colder, unmistakably Rio.
Attached to it was a note, written in Agatha’s sharp, looping script. No salutation. No farewell. Just:
You are our miracle. Do not run from your own radiance.
Wear this. We are with you in every breath.
(P.S. I replaced the minibar wine with the good stuff. You’re welcome. P.S. We didn’t peek.)
You hadn’t touched the wine.
Instead, you’d spent the night barefoot on the balcony, wrapped in a hotel robe that smelled like starlight and safety, the chain warm now against your skin as if remembering the touch of the ones who gave it to you. You watched the stars rise like slow-burning promises and let yourself feel it all.
Letting the ache bloom.
Letting it stay.
And now—morning.
The bond thrummed.
Not loud. Not insistent. But there.
Like a heartbeat under the floorboards.
Like a thread of golden tension humming through your ribs.
A steady, shared pulse, drawn from the chain’s charm now resting just below the hollow of your throat.
They felt you. Somewhere across town, across veil and ward and vow—they knew.
You pressed your palm to your chest, fingers curling around the charm. They were waiting. And so were you.
----------
The wind outside had turned cool.
Not cold, but alive — crisp and whispering as it moved through the trees, carrying the smell of cedar and candle wax and something faintly electric. The sun hung low behind the ridge, a bleeding orange halo that bowed to the first rising moon, high and full above the gathered crowd. Even the heavens couldn’t seem to agree on who should have you first — day or night — so both had come to witness.
The aisle stretched before you like a living thing: petals scattered over moss, candles flickering along either side, the air thick with quiet magic. The wards pulsed faintly, their glow threading through the ceremony space — soft gold and violet, a promise of safety. Agatha had woven them herself, embedding her signature into the very air, ensuring that no ill will, no envy, no ghost of harm could cross the circle.
Inside it, there was only light.
Only love.
Chairs were filled with friends who had become family. Billy, in a navy suit with a tie he kept fiddling with, eyes already bright with excitement. Jen and Alice sitting hand-in-hand, whispering something that made them both beam through tears. Lillia, glowing in sunset gold, gave you the smallest nod — steady, knowing, proud.
You breathed it in.
And then your breath caught.
Because at the altar — waiting, watching, anchored — stood them.
Agatha was elegance incarnate.
A tailored, dark purple suit that almost appeared black, the jacket cut sharply at the shoulders but swept softly at the waist, tapering to long lines that made her look like the embodiment of midnight royalty. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt glowed faintly under the enchantment of moonlight, its open collar revealing a flash of the silver pendant she wore pressed close to her pulse. Her heels were high enough to click with power but quiet enough to remind anyone that grace could be lethal.
Her hair was down, cascading not in perfection — but in intimacy. A few strands moved with the wind and caught the light, soft as smoke.
Beside her, Rio was every kind of danger turned divine.
Her black suit was sculpted — cut — to her form, severe and stunning, with lapels that caught starlight and trousers that hung just so, perfectly pressed, perfectly hers. The white shirt beneath it was unbuttoned one notch too far to be proper and exactly right for the woman who wore it. Her tie hung undone, her collar open, the gesture lazy, magnetic, and wholly intentional.
She had dressed not for the world — but for you.For the only two people she wanted to be looked at by.
You.
And Agatha.
And gods, she was beautiful. Not in the human sense of the word — she was cosmic. The kind of beauty that rewrites how you perceive reality for a heartbeat. You could feel her power humming even now, barely held back, as if the universe itself was restraining her from crossing the aisle and claiming what was already hers.
The music began — soft, soul-woven strings blending into a hum of magic that made the air thicken with promise.
You touched the charm at your throat — warm, pulsing faintly against your skin. The tether to both of them. The heartbeat between.
And then you stepped forward.
The air changed.
The wards shivered.
Every sound seemed to bend inward, like the world was leaning close to listen.
You didn’t see anyone else. Didn’t hear the guests’ sighs or the quiet rustle of petals underfoot. Because your eyes found theirs — and that was it.
Agatha’s hand came to her mouth as if to stop a sob, her eyes shining bright as the moon overhead. Her other hand reached blindly for Rio’s.
Rio’s jaw flexed. Her fists unclenched, then clenched again, as if even standing still was agony. She didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. The smallest tremor passed through her shoulders — the kind that could have broken the stars.
And there it was — that moment you had dreamed into being.
The one you had planned and prayed for. The one that was worth every hour of waiting, every breath of restraint, every ache of wanting to touch and choosing not to.
The bond snapped tight — not painfully, but completely. Their hearts stopped. Time folded in on itself. The silence that followed was sacred.
Agatha’s eyes flooded. Rio’s gaze burned through you, stripped down to something wordless and infinite. You walked on, the train of your gown whispering across moss and candlelight, each step bringing the universe back into alignment.
By the time you reached them, the world was trembling. The wards pulsed. The moon itself seemed to hold its breath.
And when you finally stood before them — radiant, shaking, eyes wet — you saw it.
That same vow you had whispered into your own heart the night before.
The one they now returned in silence, in awe, in everything.
Forever.
------
Hours had passed since the ceremony, yet time hadn’t truly started again.
You still felt it — the echo of the vows in your chest, the warmth of their hands, the kiss that had sealed it all. The crowd had blurred into color and light, laughter spilling like champagne, but that moment had carved itself into you.
The officiant’s voice still rang soft in your ears: “Do you swear to honor the bond that began before time? To the mother, Maiden, and Crown, do you give yourself freely.”
And you had said yes — trembling, certain, radiant.
Agatha’s lips had found yours first — steady, reverent, full of old-soul grace and trembling devotion. Rio had followed in the same breath, one hand cupping your jaw, the other anchoring you against her chest as if she feared you might dissolve if she didn’t hold you there. Agatha leaned over to Rio, who kissed her lips with the fire of lifetimes lived and with the excitement of a new adventure.
When all three of you kissed, the bond flared.
Not showily, not loud — but deep. Warm. The kind of magic that tasted like salt and light and something older than air. Every candle flame flickered, then rose again in perfect unison. The guests had gasped softly — even those who didn’t know what they’d witnessed could feel it. You hadn’t just said I do. You had been woven into their gravity.
Now, an hour later, twilight had melted into night.
The courtyard was aglow with hundreds of floating lanterns drifting among the trees, soft music humming in the air, laughter spilling like warmth. The table was dressed in silver and lavender, plates still half-full, glasses glimmering. The smell of sugar and champagne lingered near the cake — a towering white confection traced with starlight runes that shimmered faintly with Rio’s cosmic energy.
You stood near it, bouquet long set aside, the charm at your throat pulsing faintly with every heartbeat. That was when you felt it — a cool hand sliding over your hip. You didn’t need to turn. You knew her. Rio’s touch was unmistakable — the quiet strength of eternity distilled into skin. Her presence curved around you like gravity, her breath a low hum just behind your ear.
Her voice was low, teasing. “You made it thirteen hours.”
Your laugh came out soft, unsteady. “Barely.”
Before you could say more, Agatha appeared on your other side, sweeping in like velvet and mischief. The scent of cedar and smoke clung to her — her suit jacket exchanged for a silk vest now, heels clicking softly against the stone. Her hand brushed the small of your back, fingers lingering just above the edge of your dress, tracing invisible wards into your skin.
“Barely,” Agatha echoed, lips curling. “I seem to recall someone trembling halfway through the first dance.”
Your cheeks flushed instantly — you could feel the warmth bloom up from your collarbone. Rio noticed, of course. She always did. Her thumb grazed your hipbone, just enough pressure to make you shiver. “Careful,” she murmured. “She turns the color of rose quartz when she’s caught. Or when she is barely hanging on.”
Agatha hummed approvingly. “My favorite shade.”
You turned your head slightly, trying — and failing — to look unimpressed. “You two realize there’s an entire wedding party watching us?”
Rio’s answer was a low smile. “Let them watch.”
Agatha picked up the silver knife from the table, the blade carved with sigils that shimmered faintly in the lanternlight. She passed it toward Rio, who turned it once in her hand, inspecting the reflection — your reflection — in its mirrored surface. Then, with ritualistic care, she handed it to you, her fingers brushing yours.
“Together,” Rio said quietly.
Agatha’s hand covered yours next, warm, steady, the weight of her rings pressing gently against your skin. “Always,” she whispered.
The crowd began to cheer softly, sensing the moment. Cameras flashed, laughter swelled, but all you saw were the two of them — Agatha’s storm-blue eyes bright with mischief and love, Rio’s obsidian gaze molten with something older, heavier, infinite.
You felt their magic intertwine again — Ivy and violet light twining up your arms, quiet and private, unseen by anyone else. The charm at your throat warmed in response, pulsing once like a heartbeat shared between three. You let out the slightest moan, Rio and Agatha smiling at the sound, knowing the pulsing at your neck was more than simple adoration.
You took a deep breath, hands trembling, cheeks still flushed. And together — you, Agatha, and Rio — pressed the blade through the first slice of cake. The wards shimmered faintly, the air sighing around you. Rio leaned close enough for only you to hear. “This,” she murmured, “is what the universe was waiting for.”
Agatha’s lips brushed the shell of your ear, her voice silk and smoke.
“Just wait until we have you to ourselves.”
And for the first time all day, you let yourself close your eyes — and feel everything.
----------------------
The night air followed you all the way to the house—cool, sweet, and threaded with the last notes of music from the reception. Lantern light still clung to your hair; the hem of your dress carried traces of candle wax and crushed petals. Agatha’s jacket hung from her shoulder, her heels dangling from two fingers. Rio walked ahead, her stride smooth and unhurried, her black suit jacket open now, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the shimmer of constellations traced across her collarbones.
When the front door came into view, Agatha reached for the key—but Rio caught her wrist, the movement effortless.
“I’ve got it,” she said.
Agatha arched a brow. “You’ve had it. Since we left.”
Rio turned to you, eyes bright in the porchlight, that sly curve at the corner of her mouth returning. “Tradition,” she said simply. “We’re doing tradition.”
Before either of you could protest, she swept you up into her arms—fluid, certain, not even a whisper of strain. The world tilted, stars and porchlight spinning together as she carried you forward.
“Rio,” you said through laughter, your hands instinctively looping around her neck. “You don’t have to—”
Her gaze flicked down to you, soft and unstoppable all at once. “I do. You said we were doing customs, remember? This one’s mine.”
Agatha sighed dramatically, but her smile betrayed her. “She’s been waiting all evening to justify carrying you somewhere. At least this time it’s through a door and not over a cliff.”
“That was a training exercise,” Rio said, deadpan, stepping over the threshold.
Agatha followed, muttering a spell that shut the door behind you. The wards hummed to life—a low, familiar vibration that filled the bones of the house. Candles flared in the entryway, one by one, their flames catching on air thick with enchantment and memory. The scent of cedar, lavender, and moonflower filled the space, wrapping around you like recognition.
Home.
Rio didn’t speak. Not right away.
The word had settled between the three of you like ash in still air—soft, final, reverent. Home.
Then, without asking, she lowered you gently to the floor. Her hands lingered—one at the base of your spine, the other trailing down your arm until her fingers curled around yours. Her touch wasn’t possessive. It was anchoring. A tether between worlds.
And then, without a word, she took a single step forward. And another. Walking you backward with slow, impossible purpose. Your heel met the wall. A breath caught in your chest. The entryway pulsed with candlelight. The house—the wards, the bond, the magic still echoing from the ceremony—all of it seemed to pause, to lean in.
Rio looked at you like she was still memorizing you. Not because she didn’t already know every line of your face, every nuance of your expressions—but because this was the first time she was seeing you as hers in every possible form. Legally. Magically. Universally.
She leaned in. No rush. No hesitation. Just inevitability. And when her lips finally found yours, it was not a kiss of restraint. It was everything she’d been holding back since you stepped into the aisle.
It was gravity undone.
Her hand pressed to the wall beside your head as her body leaned into yours, keeping you exactly where she wanted you—not to trap you, but to hold you like the world had turned upside down and you were the only thing keeping her steady.
The kiss was slow. Devouring. Sacred.
She tasted like star-metal and heat, like the kind of desire that had lived through centuries and still came back ravenous. Her other hand rose to your cheek, cupping it, thumb brushing your skin as if grounding herself in the heat of your blush.
Your hands rose instinctively—one slipping around her waist, the other resting over her heart, which beat low and steady, cosmic and unhurried, like it had waited eons for this moment and would still call it right on time.
You tilted your head, deepening the kiss just slightly, a soft hum catching in your throat. Rio groaned low against your lips, not from want—but from the unbearable relief of finally being allowed to touch you like this.
It wasn’t just intimacy.
It was reunion.
And claiming.
And worship.
When she finally pulled back—barely, just enough for air—you were breathless.
So was she.
Her voice, when it came, was low and intimate, pressed into the space between your lips and jaw.
“Still think thirteen hours was a good idea?”
You smiled, eyes fluttering open. “It was excruciating,” you whispered. “And it was perfect.”
Behind you, soft footsteps—bare, familiar. A flash of silver hair in the candlelight. Agatha, now barefoot and radiant, stepping forward with a warmth that felt like dusk, like hearthlight, like sanctuary. She came up behind Rio, wrapping her arms around both of you from the side. Her palm slipped onto the small of your back, anchoring the space between you, her lips brushing your temple.
“Can I have her back now?” Agatha murmured, not to interrupt—just to join.
Rio didn’t let go entirely. She simply shifted. Letting Agatha slide in. Letting the bond stretch and breathe and hold. And when Agatha kissed you, it was different. Not fire and gravity. But depth. Softness. Like exhaling into a familiar room after a long journey.
You melted. Completely. The wall at your back, one wife before you, the other beside you, magic woven between every inch of skin.
The air had shifted—warmer now, softer around the edges. The bond between the three of you pulsed low and steady, no longer stretched thin with waiting but loose, fluid, close.
Agatha’s lips brushed your cheek one final time before she leaned back, eyes gleaming with something softer than fire. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering just beneath your jaw, then slipping down to trace your collarbone through the delicate lace.
Her voice came like a spell spoken into dusk. “Fuck,” she said, her fingers curling lightly around your wrist, tugging you gently away from the wall. “Let’s move this to the room. We’ve worshiped in doorways long enough.”
Rio huffed a quiet laugh beside you, pressing one last kiss to your shoulder as she followed.
The walk from the entryway to your bedroom was brief, but charged—your dress whispering across the hardwood floor, Agatha’s hand brushing your lower back, Rio’s fingers barely grazing yours, as if none of you could bear to let go entirely. The candles lit themselves one by one as you passed, painting the walls with golden warmth. Somewhere behind you, the door sealed itself with a quiet sigh, locking out the rest of the world.
By the time you stepped into the room, it already felt different.
Softer. More alive. The air thick with your bond—something breathing, ancient, magnetic.
Rio moved first. Her jacket came off in a fluid motion—shoulders rolling, fabric sliding free. She didn’t drop it carelessly. She folded it, reverently, set it aside on the bench at the foot of the bed. Then her eyes found yours, and without speaking, she reached for you.
Her fingers slid up the back of your gown, seeking the first row of delicate fastenings. She moved with infinite care, like each clasp she opened was an act of devotion.
Agatha came around to your front, hands warm as they smoothed down the silk at your waist. She leaned in, lips brushing the tip of your nose, her breath catching as the fabric began to loosen around you.
“You wore this like it was conjured onto your body,” she murmured. “Like you were stitched into it by moonlight.”
“Like you knew how it would tease us,” Rio added from behind, her voice low, a hand grazing your bare shoulder as the dress began to slip.
You shivered—not from cold, but from being seen.
They undressed you slowly. Together. No urgency. No rush. Just soft touches. Buttons undone with whispered praise. Lace unhooked with steady fingers. They stripped you down not to take something from you, but to reveal what had always belonged to them.
And when the dress slipped from your body — silk sighing across your skin — it pooled at your feet, and you were left standing there in white lace.
Not delicate. Not innocent. Intentional.
A soft, structured bodice, boned just enough to hold its shape, sheer in places where the candlelight could slip through. Embroidered vines curled up along your ribs and over your hips, framing you like a relic, like a painting behind glass. The matching lace beneath—thin, sculpted, elegant—was every bit as ceremonial as the gown itself.
Rio inhaled sharply behind you. Agatha stilled entirely in front of you, her hands hovering near your waist as if she were afraid to touch too quickly.
“So,” Agatha murmured at last, her voice velvet and amused. “Sacred chastity, was it?”
You smiled, head tilting, pulse fluttering. “Tradition,” you echoed, the word low, breathless. “We were doing tradition.”
Rio’s voice came from behind you, deeper now, spun through with reverence and want. “You wore this… under that dress… through the whole ceremony?”
You nodded.
Agatha’s eyes darkened, lips parting like a spell just slipped free.
“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the curve of your side, light as wind. “You walked down the aisle dressed like a holy promise and a warning.”
Rio’s hands settled at your hips, grounding you, warming you. “She knew exactly what she was doing.”
And you had.
Because this wasn’t for show. This wasn’t for pictures or tradition or some neat bridal checklist.
This was the quiet counterspell to all those hours apart.
This was the answer to every look you hadn’t returned.
This was the soft weapon you’d carried into forever.
This was your gift to them. And now, finally, they were unwrapping it.
You stood between them, breath caught somewhere in your chest, wrapped in white lace and flickering candlelight—your pulse loud in your ears, your bond pulled tight as thread between stars.
Agatha was still in her suit, though she’d shed her heels—barefoot now, grounding herself, watching you like you were still walking down the aisle. Her jacket hung open slightly, undone from your hands moments ago, but still draped elegantly across her shoulders.
You turned to Rio first. Your hands moved slowly. You reached for her shirt buttons, brushing your fingers across the cool fabric one by one, then down her arms, slipping it from her shoulders in one slow, reverent movement. She let you do it. Let you undress her like a prayer.
The shirt dropped to the bench with a whisper. Then Rio turned. And reached for Agatha.
She stepped close—closer than before—and slid her hands beneath the edges of Agatha’s jacket. Her touch was slow, her fingers deliberate, brushing over the fabric as if she were memorizing it.
Agatha didn’t move. She stood tall, regal and still, until Rio pushed the jacket back and down, letting it fall from her arms along with her dress shirt. It landed in a soft heap, and Agatha breathed out, her chest rising slightly, eyes never leaving yours. Her mouth caught Agatha’s with a bite, causing a moan to break out of them both.
That moment could’ve lasted forever. But Rio broke it with just three words. “I’ve waited long enough,” she said, her voice quiet, low, sure.
And then she turned and kissed you again—this time without hesitation. Her mouth met yours in a press of hunger that had simmered all evening, hands rising to cup your face, then sliding lower—over your waist, your hips, over lace that still clung to your body like woven moonlight. She kissed you until the world narrowed to her breath, her warmth, her hands.
You barely noticed her shifting your weight—until your back met the mattress.
The bed, made hours ago with fresh linen and spell-bound sheets that stayed the perfect temperature, gave under you with a hush. Your legs curled instinctively as she leaned over you, eyes fixed, breath slowing.
She didn’t remove the lace.
Not yet.
She just looked at you—spread beneath her in soft white, eyes wide and lips kiss-bruised—and the reverence in her expression could have bent galaxies.
Behind her, Agatha moved—slow, silent—coming to the other side of the bed. Her fingers skimmed your ankle, then your calf, then your thigh as she knelt beside you, mouth near your ear.
“You’re luminous,” she whispered. “And entirely ours.”
Rio brushed a hand down your sternum, fingertips catching on the scalloped edge of the bodice. She bent low, placing a kiss just above your navel, and you gasped.
The bond pulsed—hot, steady, infinite.
“You wore this,” she murmured, “and walked past me like I didn’t already belong to you.”
You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move.
You couldn’t—not when Rio hovered above you, one hand pressed into the mattress beside your ribs, the other trailing lightly down the side of your torso, her fingers grazing the edge of the lace bodice like she was tracing a map only she could read. Her dark eyes were locked on yours, wide and unreadable, as though even she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to kiss you again or just stay suspended in the moment—memorizing it, committing every breath to memory.
And then Agatha’s touch slid up your calf, slow and sure.
You turned your head just in time for her to kiss you—deep and quiet, her hand smoothing up your thigh in a deliberate path. Her mouth was warm and practiced, lips coaxing yours open as if tasting a spell she’d waited years to recite.
Agatha pulled back barely an inch, her hair falling across her cheek as she studied you, thumb brushing your temple.
“You’ve always looked like this in my dreams,” she whispered. “But never once did you blush for me like you do now.”
You swallowed, breath catching.
Rio’s mouth dipped to your shoulder, her voice murmuring against your skin. “She doesn’t just blush,” she said, lips grazing your collarbone. “She’s shaking.”
A shiver went down your body. They were all around you now—Agatha at your side, her hands slow and warm on your legs; Rio above you, lowering herself down enough for her body to brush against yours, the heat between you like live flame under silk. “Can we take this off?” Agatha asked, voice lower now, her fingers ghosting over the hem of your bodice. “Or do we worship you like this just a little longer?”
You tried to speak. Only managed a nod. Rio smiled—low, knowing, and just a little breathless.
“She wanted suspense,” she said, glancing at Agatha. “She’ll get it.”
“You’re cruel,” you whispered, voice trembling.
Agatha leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, her lips barely grazing as she spoke.
“No, darling,” she murmured. “We’re carefully following tradition.”
You reached up for them—hands threading into Rio’s hair, pulling Agatha close by the nape. The three of you tangled together in a hush of movement, lips finding skin, breath catching on every sigh. The bond swelled between you, not in a surge—but like tidewater rising. Patient. Inescapable. All-encompassing.
Rio kissed you again—this time full, deep, drawn from the center of the universe.
Agatha kissed your wrist, then your chest, then leaned in to whisper against your neck: “We’ve waited a lifetime. Let us take our time.”
The lace still clung to you. Bare skin haloed in ivory—light catching in the embroidered vines that wrapped along your hips and ribs, trailing like soft spells down your thighs. It was ceremonial, still. Sacred. You hadn't just worn it. You'd carried it through hours of waiting, through a kiss beneath a setting sun, through the ache of patience. And now, laid bare before them, you could feel how it landed.
Agatha looked drunk on you. Not in a way that unmoored her—but like she was holding a cup of something ancient and warm she intended to sip all night. “You are… stunning,” she whispered, more breath than sound.
You didn’t realize you were trembling until Rio’s hand closed over your wrist. She didn’t tug or restrain—just held. The calloused pads of her fingers curled along the inside of your pulse, steady and anchoring. Her other hand found your waist, and Agatha’s mouth was suddenly at your throat again, warm and slow, like she was learning you in pieces.
The room was dim—warded to silence, time folded around the three of you like an old, favorite cloak. The bed beneath you gave slightly with each shift in weight, but nothing in you felt unmoored. Every breath seemed drawn from the same place. Every heartbeat echoed with theirs.
Agatha brushed your hair back from your face, thumb trailing along your cheekbone. “You’re safe,” she said quietly, as if reminding you. “You’re home.”
Rio exhaled against your skin. “We have you.”
They kissed you in turns—soft, reverent, a rhythm you were folded into like music. Mouths at your jaw, your collarbone, your shoulder. Hands guiding, then stilling, then smoothing back with a kind of awe that broke you open in the gentlest way.
It wasn’t about seduction. Not anymore. Not really. It was reverence.
Agatha pressed her hand to the center of your chest, palm warm and grounding. “You’re not just ours tonight,” she murmured, as her lips followed the curve of your throat. “You’re always ours now.”
Rio kissed the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thudded loudest. “And tonight,” she added, voice low and edged with wonder, “we get to show you how well we remember that.”
The weight of her gaze was almost too much to bear. Not demanding. Just present. Like she saw every version of you—past, present, fractured, healing—and welcomed them all inside her arms.
You were acutely aware of every point of contact. Agatha’s breath skimming your neck. Rio’s hand rising slowly beneath the hem of your lace, fingers splaying against your ribs. Each inch forward was offered, not taken. A question, not a claim.
“Still okay?” Agatha asked, her voice like smoke and honey.
You nodded, unable to speak. Then, barely a whisper: “Yes. Please.”
And the way they moved from there—slow, sure, protective—made you feel like something precious being unwrapped with care. Not fragile, but treasured. The three of you a constellation in motion: orbiting, collapsing, finding new gravity in every kiss and every breath.
You weren’t sure how long the moment stretched. Time had stopped behaving.
But eventually, it was Agatha who curled her body against your back, palm splayed low on your belly, voice a breath at your ear. “You’re glowing,”
You closed your eyes and let it carry you—all of it. The warmth. The weight. The quiet promise of what would come next. Agatha’s fingers slid beneath the edge of your lace, not hurried, just exploring—one knuckle at a time, learning the terrain of your waist as if it were sacred ground. Rio kissed the edge of your jaw, then lower, her mouth a whisper against your skin.
You breathed in sharply. Neither of them paused. They only pressed in closer.
Agatha’s teeth grazed the curve of your shoulder, not quite a bite—just enough to make your skin rise with awareness. “You taste like honey,” she murmured, voice thick with something ancient. Her tongue followed, slow and sure, a heat that coiled through you like a live wire.
You shivered, and Rio felt it—caught it, fed on it. Her lips dragged lower, tasting the hollow of your throat, the delicate ridge of your clavicle. “You always do this,” she said, voice rasping with delight. “Fall apart like it’s the first time.”
You tried to answer but only managed a broken breath. Rio smiled against your skin and nipped just beneath your ear. Agatha, behind you now, slipped the lace fully down, letting it pool around your hips. Her hands were steady—cradling, reverent. She kissed the back of your neck, the sharp place your spine met softness.
“You’re shaking,” Agatha said softly, a smile in her voice.
“You’re overwhelming,” you managed. Agatha turned, pressing your back fully against the sheets.
“Good,” Rio said.
Her hands were on your thighs, coaxing them open with nothing but pressure and patience. She looked up at you as if waiting for some unseen gate to open—and when it did, her hands gripped your hips and pulled.
Your gasp was ragged. Her mouth was heat and possession, tongue and lips working in slow, maddening reverence. She moaned into you like it fed her, like it was holy. And when she pulled back to breathe, it was only to whisper: “Ours. You’re ours.”
Agatha pressed forward, her body flush to your back, her mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around to palm your breast. “Let her taste you, love,” she breathed. “She’s wanted this all night. So have I.”
You reached for them blindly, fingers threading into Rio’s hair again, pulling her closer—and she went willingly, greedily, her mouth open against you, groaning as if you’d given her a miracle.
Agatha's breath was hot against your neck, the other hand still guiding your hips, holding you open, letting Rio devour you slowly. Carefully. Like she wanted to memorize every sound that spilled from your mouth.
You were undone. Held there in the cradle of them.
Rio hummed again, and it reverberated deep—through your core, through Agatha’s grip around your body. She lifted her head just slightly, lips shining, eyes burning with something too deep for language.
“You want to be claimed?” she asked, voice low, dragging the words like silk across your spine. “You already are.”
She went back in with no gentleness now, no apology—only a hunger that had been banked for hours, maybe days. You cried out, breath stuttering as her tongue slid firm and slow, again and again, working you open with devastating precision.
Agatha murmured something in a language older than fire. Her lips pressed to your temple, then your cheek, then your parted mouth. You let her kiss you breathless, let her taste your moans as Rio coaxed them loose one after the other.
You didn’t mean to sob—but it came anyway. A sound from deep in your chest.
It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t even release yet. It was too much. The reverence. The way they held you. The way Rio refused to let you drift too far from the edge. Each time your breath hitched, she pulled back. Dragged her mouth slowly over you like she was licking melted stars from your skin.
Agatha felt the tremble in your thighs and held tighter.
“Let go,” she said gently. “Don’t hold back for us.”
You tried. Gods, you tried. But Rio wasn’t done. She pressed her tongue deeper, flattening the motion just enough to send your head spinning. She groaned low into you, like you tasted like magic itself, and you shattered against her mouth, voice raw, body clenching. Agatha caught every aftershock in her hands.
Rio stayed there through it—her arms wrapped around your thighs, her lips never fully leaving your skin, as if your release had fed her something vital. As if she needed to drink you whole to be satisfied.
Only once you’d softened—body limp, heart thudding against Agatha’s palm—did Rio finally rise. She licked her lips and looked at you like you were an answered prayer.
Agatha kissed your temple again. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “So, so good for us.”
Rio leaned over your torso, hair falling wild around her face, and kissed your navel like it meant something sacred.
Then, her voice, still husky with pleasure and power:
“Now her,” she murmured to Agatha. “She’s waited long enough.”
Agatha smiled like a queen being invited to take her rightful throne.
“Lie back, little one,” she purred, brushing your hair from your face. “It’s my turn to taste our miracle.”
Agatha’s fingers lingered along your cheek, her thumb gliding just beneath your lower lip.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “Glowing. Ravished.” Her gaze flicked down to where Rio still knelt, chest rising like she’d run a race. “She always forgets to pace herself.”
Rio huffed out a half-laugh, half-growl, and dropped a kiss to your thigh before crawling up beside you, settling against the pillows. “Worth it,” she muttered, voice thick with satisfaction.
Agatha didn’t argue. She never had to.
Instead, she turned her full attention back to you.
You felt her shift—felt it ripple through the room like a ward being drawn. The air cooled, then thickened, until all you could do was breathe her in. Scorched honey. Lavender smoke. A hum beneath your skin that had your lungs forgetting how to work.
“Be still,” she said, voice soft but edged with command. “I want to take my time. Tradition, right?”
Her mouth found your throat first. Not desperate. Thorough. Her kisses weren’t frantic the way Rio’s had been—they tracked you. Charted you like territory she had already claimed but intended to map again for her own pleasure.
She pressed her lips to the side of your neck, then down to the delicate dip between your collarbones, anchoring herself there with a slow, warm exhale. Her breath alone was enough to raise goosebumps across your chest.
Rio shifted beside you, her fingers brushing your temple. “Breathe,” she said, voice low.
You nodded, but you were already gone.
Agatha’s hands moved with impossible precision. One cradled your breast, thumb teasing until your breath hitched again. The other slid lower, between your thighs, stroking over the places Rio had left slick and open. Her fingers moved in slow, confident circles, testing, coaxing, until she could feel you trembling again.
“Good,” she whispered. “Open for me, love. That’s it.”
You reached for her blindly—one hand tangling in the silk of her hair, the other pressing flat to her shoulder as if you could keep yourself grounded that way. But Agatha was already slipping down your body, dragging her mouth over your skin like a spell being cast with every inch of contact.
When she reached the soft space between your hips, she paused.
Then, deliberately: “Be still.”
And with no further warning, she licked a long, slow line through your center. Your spine arched off the bed. A sharp cry tore from your throat.
Agatha groaned in return—an ancient, guttural sound like she’d just tasted something long-awaited, something divine.
She didn’t rush. Gods, she didn’t need to.
She held you there—one hand planted on your thigh to keep you open, the other slipping beneath to press your hips into the mattress, holding you steady while her tongue worked with unbearable, elegant control. Every motion was honed. Exacting. Like she'd planned this. Rehearsed it. Dreamed it into being.
Rio watched from beside you, her hand cradling your face now. “She’s mean about it, isn’t she?” she murmured, lips brushing your brow. “Knows exactly what you need and refuses to give it all at once.”
You could only gasp, hips twitching as Agatha’s mouth dragged across your most sensitive skin again and again. She flattened her tongue, circled, flicked, sucked, then stilled—letting the absence of motion torment you even more.
“Please,” you begged, voice wrecked. “Agatha—”
She hummed, low and indulgent, lips pressing a kiss so tender it nearly broke you.
And then she devoured you in earnest.
Her tongue slid, her fingers pressed, and the room dissolved. You sobbed into Rio’s mouth, every muscle drawn tight, every sound raw and holy. The world narrowed to three things: Agatha’s mouth, Rio’s hand in your hair, and the tidal wave building again, no longer gentle. No longer slow.
You shattered around Agatha’s name, a litany on your tongue, a blessing spilled through your teeth. And even then—even then—she didn’t stop. She licked you through it. Slow. Possessive. Consuming every aftershock like she deserved them.
When she finally lifted her head, her lips were slick, her eyes heavy with power and pride. She crawled back up your body and kissed you—deep and unyielding—until you moaned again, tasting yourself on her tongue.
“I’ve had you a thousand times in my mind,” she said. “But nothing… nothing compares to having you undone beneath my mouth, being your wife.”
You whimpered, caught in her arms, body limp between them.
Rio chuckled softly. “She’s ruined,” she said, kissing your shoulder.
Agatha smiled against your skin. “Not ruined,” she corrected. “Readied.”
The air around you thickened—slowly, like the room was holding its breath. You could feel it: the shift in energy, the way magic began to curl around the edges of the moment, soft and electric. Rio’s hand smoothed up your spine as she sat back slightly, and Agatha kissed your cheek before pulling away just enough to meet your gaze.
“It’s time,” Agatha said. “If you still want it.”
You nodded, dazed but certain. “I do,” you whispered. “I want to be yours. Both of yours. Fully.”
They moved in tandem, like a practiced ritual—Rio rising behind you, her warmth still pressed along your back, while Agatha knelt before you, her hands steady, her expression alight with reverence. Between them, you felt suspended. Held in something sacred.
Agatha reached for the small vessel on the bedside table. It hadn’t been there before. You hadn’t seen anyone place it. But it pulsed with a muted glow—etched in runes that shimmered the color of candle smoke and old gold.
She uncorked it with a murmur you didn’t recognize. Magic stirred the moment the seal broke—soft and heady, a scent like rain on stone and something faintly citrus-warm. You breathed it in and felt your skin sing. You didn’t recognize the sigils etched into its surface, but the magic inside it hummed like something alive.
You felt Rio’s fingers at your neck, brushing your hair aside. Her touch wasn’t teasing anymore—it was reverent.
“This magic is old,” Agatha murmured. “It isn’t made of fire or blade. It’s made of choice. Of consent. Of willingness to be bound in heart, spirit, and soul.”
“To carry each other,” Rio added, voice low against your shoulder, “in light and shadow.”
Agatha uncorked the vessel.
The scent hit first—heady and warm. Sandalwood, citrus rind, crushed herbs, and something else… something electric. Not sharp, not burning—but present. Like a storm just off the edge of memory. Rio reached over, handing Agatha a blade you hadn’t noticed by the bed. Violet and Jade intertwined, their skin glowing with a gentle honey hue. Agatha moved it across her palm, never breaking her eye contact with you. She passed it over to Rio, who did the same. Agatha leaned over and kissed Rio, her teeth biting her bottom lip, making Rio moan. Agatha pulled back, running her hand over Rio’s, both of their palms moving over the vessel, their blood dropping in.
She dipped two fingers into the liquid—viscous, shimmering like molten starlight—and touched them to your sternum first.
“By this bond,” she said, pressing softly, “we recognize you.”
Rio followed, her fingers mirroring the gesture. “By this bond, we protect you. Through war and quiet.”
Agatha moved to your shoulder. “By this bond, we share our power.”
Rio leaned in again, whispering against your skin. “And our joy.”
You reached for the blade, gently moving it to your hand, but instead, moved it up close to your neck. Right where you loved for them to kiss and mark you. Where you knew they moaned your name while they fucked you. You moved the blade across your skin, Rio and Agatha watching with wide eyes clocking any pain you may have felt. They quickly touched your skin where the blood had started to come to the surface.
“This will leave a mark,” she said.
“Good,” you whispered.
She smiled, and Rio's arms tightened around you.
Agatha’s fingers moved in deliberate spirals, painting the magic into your skin—not just on the surface, but through it. The sigils weren’t written in language. They were written in intention. In belonging. The blessing sealed into the motion of her hand.
The moment her palm pressed flat over the mark, you felt it—heat, not pain, blooming outward in slow spirals. A vibration like song. Like the moment a spell took root.
“Say it,” she said.
You met her eyes. Found Rio’s reflection in them.
“I choose you,” you said, voice shaking. “I bind myself to you. In breath, in magic, in love. In all forms. In every world.
Agatha’s eyes fluttered closed. Rio kissed the space just above your heart.
“And we bind ourselves to you,” they answered, voices braided as one.
The mark flared hot beneath Agatha’s palm, then cooled just as suddenly.
The glow faded—but the sensation remained. A gentle thrum at the side of your throat. The magic settled there. Made a home of you.
Agatha leaned in and kissed the spot softly, sealing it. “It’s done,” she murmured. “You’re ours.”
Rio wrapped her arms around you from behind, holding you between them. “And we’re yours.”
You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.
You felt it—threaded through every nerve and heartbeat.
Not just a mark.
A tether.
A vow.
A truth written into skin where the world could see it.
You rested there, between them, and let the bond hold.
And for the first time, you felt not just loved…
But known.
Fully.
Eternally.
Home.
Morning came slow.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains in lazy beams, warming the sheets where they lay tangled around your legs. The room smelled of warding smoke and skin—of candle wax long extinguished and the faint copper-sweet trace of magic still suspended in the air. Everything felt quiet, but not empty. Never empty.
You stirred only slightly, reluctant to break the stillness.
Rio was behind you, one arm slung across your waist, the weight of it grounding. Her breath skimmed your neck in rhythmic pulses, steady and low. Agatha lay in front of you, nose tucked against your forehead, her hand curled over the place just above your hipbone like it belonged there.
And the bond—gods, the bond—hummed with your breathing.
It didn’t overwhelm. It didn’t demand.
It responded.
With every inhale, you felt it bloom inside your chest, soft and slow. With every exhale, it reached back—threading through you and into them, a silent call and answer. Like you were all still touching beneath the skin. Still moving together, even in sleep.
You shifted slightly. Not much. Just enough to feel the slick heat still lingering between your legs, the ache low in your belly that had been waiting.
And just like that, the bond thrummed harder.
Need stirred like a spark lit in your gut.
You didn’t mean to think it. Didn’t mean to want so loudly. But the thought rose anyway, fierce and clear—
I want them inside me again. Please. Please—
Agatha snickered.
You froze.
Her voice was still thick with sleep, but dripping with amusement. “Perk of the bond,” she murmured, eyes still half-lidded, lashes brushing your cheek as she leaned in, “is knowing exactly when our wife needs something.”
Rio growled low behind you, arm tightening like instinct. “You’re thinking that before breakfast?” she rasped against your shoulder.
You flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” Agatha said, and nipped at your lower lip. “And gods, aren’t we glad for it.”
Rio’s hand slid lower on your waist, fingers dipping just beneath the curve of your stomach. “You said again,” she said, voice darker now, amusement turning to heat. “Means you’re sore, but still hungry.”
Agatha grinned. “Insatiable. Absolutely ruined. I love her.”
“She’s perfect.”
You were caught—between fire and flame, want and worship.
And the bond pulsed once, hard, like it agreed.
Then Rio’s voice curled around your ear again, wry and velvet.
“Is this still that mortal idea of chastity, or are we off-book now?”
You choked on a laugh, breath catching between embarrassment and arousal.
Agatha groaned behind you. “Rio.”
Rio shrugged, completely unrepentant, her fingers now drawing slow, lazy circles against your abdomen. “What? I’m just saying—if last night was about tradition, this morning should be about interpretation.”
Agatha bit your shoulder gently, dragging her teeth just enough to make you gasp. “She’s impossible,” she muttered.
“She’s right here,” Rio said, licking your earlobe. “And so is our very eager, very sweet wife, who clearly needs both of us.”
You tried to speak, but the bond flared again—picking up your want like a tuning fork and singing it back to them.
Agatha’s laugh was low and wicked. “Well,” she said, pushing the sheet off your hips, “we did say the bond would wake with you.”
“And she’s practically vibrating,” Rio murmured, slipping her hand lower. “How very traditional.”
You scoffed, trying for dignity and failing. “I’m over thirty for fucks sake.”
That earned a sharp bark of laughter from Rio, who buried her face into your neck with a grin. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, voice shaking. “You just said that like it’s impressive.”
Agatha practically purred behind you. “Our young wife, talking like she’s ancient.”
“I watched the Spice Girl movie in the theater!” you protested.
“Yes, and I had already warned you it was a mistake,” Agatha said, kissing behind your ear. “You still watched it.”
Rio’s laugh vibrated through your spine. “Sporty Spice still your queer awakening or did last night…” You blushed at the comment, “Gods, you’re adorable.” She huffed.
“And doomed,” Agatha added sweetly. “You’ve just told your very old, very powerful wives that you’re young and full of energy.”
“She was already vibrating,” Rio said again, licking her lips like she meant to prove it.
You groaned and covered your face with your hands. “This is bullying.”
“This is foreplay,” Agatha corrected, already easing your legs apart beneath the sheets.
“And tradition,” Rio added smugly, settling between your thighs. “Now be good. Let your elders take care of you.”
Summary: The Wild West/Brothel AU no one asked for.
Words: 3148
Warnings: Smut, language, oral sex (A receiving), fingering (A receiving), uh... yeah, good luck.
A/N: Might make a part two. Might not. I dunno, man.
-X-
The sun hung low, bleeding its last light over the horizon, painting the desert in shades of reds and oranges that bled together. Crow’s End was the kind of town that never quite shook the dust from its bones. The main street was a crooked spine of saloons, boarding houses, a church that leaned slightly to the left, and the sheriff’s office settled like an old dog at the end of the road. Horses shifted in their tethers, tails swishing against flies, while women in bright dresses leaned from balconies, their laughter spilling down from their perches as you rode through the small town.
Just outside of the main road sat a well-kept, two-story building that was easily the most polished building you’d seen in weeks. The soft glow of oil lamps flickered through lace-curtained windows, the exterior of the building painted a soft lavender. You knew it was a brothel beneath the frills and glamour but you were a sucker for pretty things and even prettier company.
When you walked inside, the air was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and the sultry hum of piano keys. Girls moved through the parlor like brightly colored birds in cinched corsets, their laughter rehearsed but not fake. It was clear they’d been doing this long enough to know how to play the game.
Your eyes lingered on a few of the passing women, brow arching slightly as your gaze lingered on the skirts of their outfits, before lifting upward towards the second floor. There, leaning against the balcony, was a woman that honestly managed to take your breath away. Older than the rest, her hair was swept up into a careful twist, her black silk dress clinging in a way that made your throat dry, the collar cut low enough to entice with a corset that looked both fantastic and… oddly uncomfortable.
You didn’t know her—not yet, anyways—but everyone in Crow’s End was very familiar with the house mother of The Thistle House. Agatha Harkness, the woman who owned the house, ran the brothel, but never bedded a single man who passed through her doors. The locals and passer-throughs joked she must have thought she was too good for anyone. That she must have thought owning a whorehouse meant she didn’t have to do it herself.
The truth, though? It was a little more complicated than that.
Your gaze left Agatha as a busty brunette sidled up to you, her hand drifting lazily over your dust-covered vest. “Howdy, ma’am,” you greeted softly, staring at her exploring digits, eyes briefly flickering to the ample cleavage, before glancing up at her face.
Her hand lingered a little too long on the cotton, fingers plucking almost playfully at the top button. Her head tilted, a teasing smile tugging at wine-red lips.
“Well, aren’t you a cool drink of water,” she purred, fingers sliding down the line of your vest. “You look like you’ve come a long way, cowboy.”
From the top of the staircase, Agatha’s eyes narrowed just slightly. Wanda wasn’t meant to be forward without permission, not with new blood, and certainly not with you. She began her descent, each step careful, her blue gaze never wavering from the scene lingering near the bar.
Wanda leaned closer, scent of rosewater and whiskey curling in your nose. “What are you lookin’ for tonight?” she asked, voice low and inviting as her fingers toyed with the edge of your collar.
Your mouth opened, a sly little response on your tongue along the lines of, “maybe you,” lingering at the tip, but a sharp tone cut you off before you could say a word.
“Miss Maximoff,” the woman you’d seen on the balcony murmured as she stepped behind your temporary companion. “Don’t you have a table waiting?”
Wanda froze for half a beat, then forced a little laugh, glancing over her shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled reluctantly, her hand finally slipping away from your chest. She gave you a last once-over, biting her lip with a grin that promised she’d be back later if given half a chance, before sauntering off toward a waiting card game.
You swallowed dryly, tipping your hat. “Evenin’, ma’am. I’m—”
“I know who you are, outlaw. I’ve seen your wanted picture on the post office wall for weeks.” She smiled knowingly, arching a brow. “Welcome to The Thistle House. I’m Agatha Harkness. Proprietor, house mother, occasional nightmare for Sheriff Ross.”
Cheeks flushing, you tilted your head almost shyly. “I ain’t tryin’ to cause harm or nothin’… I was just ridin’ through.”
“Mm,” she hummed, letting her eyes travel over you like she was appraising a horse she might want to buy, or a knife she’d like to keep tucked in her garter.
Her fingers brushed the brim of your hat as if to lower it back down. “I don’t imagine you’re here to pray with the preacher either, sweetheart,” she mused, smirking. “Men who walk in through my door usually are lookin’ for trouble. But you…” Her gaze dragged up your frame, then locked into your eyes. “You’re not like them, are you?”
Agatha stepped closer, close enough that her skirts brushed against your thigh. “So tell me… what is it you are tryin’ to cause?”
You smiled crookedly. “Well, I came in for a drink and maybe some company this evenin’, if uh… you have a girl who doesn’t mind… entertainin’ an outlaw… and a woman…”
The hopeful edge in your crooked smile did something to her belly, softening her for the briefest heartbeat, though she buried it quickly.
“A drink,” she repeated, vaguely reminding you of a cat circling its prey. “That much is easy. But company…” She let the word trail, savoring it, her gaze never leaving your face. “Company’s a trickier thing, darling. My girls aren’t used to outlaws of your particular… persuasion. They’ll entertain you, darlin’… but they wouldn’t savor such interestin’ company the way it deserves.”
She plucked a glass of bourbon from a tray carried by one of the girls and pressed it into your hand herself, fingers lingering against yours just long enough to leave a trace of warmth. Then she tilted her head, studying you like she wanted to pry open every secret you carried.
“But I certainly would,” she continued, nodding towards the glass in your hand. “Drink up, outlaw. Then you’re mine for the evenin’.”
You didn’t even think about it, tipping the glass back and draining it in a single swallow. The glass hit the bar with a sharp clink, and by then Agatha was already turning away, leaving you to trail after her like a pirate wrapped up in a siren’s song. Men stared openly, jealous or confused or a combination of both, while the girls whispered behind their hands, their painted mouths curling into little knowing smiles. Wanda pouted from her perch on a gambler’s lap, her eyes following you with both curiosity and envy.
Her chamber door shut behind you with a firm click, muting the piano and the laughter below. The air here was different—heavier, scented with lavender oil and the faint hints of candle wax. Pristine velvet curtains softened the edges of the lamplight, throwing gold and shadow across a bed dressed in deep purple sheets.
Agatha leaned against the door for a moment, her hand still resting on the knob as though she were savoring the silence. “Good girl,” she murmured, approval rolling off her tongue like the whiskey poured slow downstairs.
She stepped toward you, thumb hooking just under your jaw, tilting your face up to hers as she gripped your hat and threw it aside, daringly. “C’mon, outlaw… don’t disappoint me now.”
One hand fell possessively to her hip, gripping tightly, while the other slipped to the nape of her neck as you dragged her into a deep, hungry kiss. Her lips met yours with a sharp inhale and she melted against you in an instant, like a woman starved who had finally found her feast. She tasted of expensive bourbon, the feeling of her mouth against yours leaving your head spinning.
When she broke the kiss, it was only to let her lips hover just above yours, her breath ragged, eyes burning bright in the lamplight. “Kissin’ you is what I imagine kissin’ the Devil is like,” she rasped.
Her hand dropped lower, down your spine, fingertips dragging hard enough to make your body shiver—
And with a sudden shove she pushed you back. Not harsh, but with the authority of a woman who knew the kind of power she held over you. You hit the bed with the backs of your knees, the sheets cool beneath you as she advanced, eyes locked on you like prey already caught.
Agatha untied the ribbon at her throat, letting it slip loose with practiced ease. “Now,” she drawled, undoing the first button of her dress with careful, deliberate fingers, “I don’t share. Which means tonight—” She let the fabric gape open just enough to show pale skin and the swell of her breasts beneath a black corset. Her smile turned sharp. “—you’re mine.”
“Fuckin’ hell… you’re gorgeous,” you breathed, fingers digging into the sheets as you watched each new inch of skin being revealed.
Agatha’s laugh was soft and sultry, sinking into your brain like the claws of a beast you never wanted to part with.
“Language, outlaw,” she teased, her voice husky, though the flush rising high in her cheeks betrayed how your words warmed her belly. She stepped closer until her knees brushed yours where you sat on the edge of the bed. Her fingers caught your chin between them, tilting your face up so she could study you in return, her eyes glittering with wicked delight.
“Gorgeous, am I?” she murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching as if she were suppressing a smile. “All these years of men slobbering their praises, and not one of them ever made me believe it. Then you walk in here and I’m tempted to drop this dress on the floor.”
Her corset creaked softly as she bent, bringing her lips just to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “You’ll get to see all of me tonight, sweetheart. Piece by piece. But I’ll decide how fast the layers come off.”
With that, she straightened, undoing another button with unhurried precision. The fabric slipped, showing more pale décolletage and the delicate swells of her breasts beneath her corset. Her hand ghosted down your chest, fingers pausing at the curve of your belt buckle before retreating.
Agatha’s smile was taunting as she stepped back, letting you drink in the sight of her loosening the dress, but never quite letting it fall. “Now,” she murmured, the tips of her fingers lingering at the few buttons still held together, “tell me again. Tell me what you see when you look at me, outlaw.”
“I see a woman I wanna devour with my hands… my mouth…” you groaned, barely managing to keep your hands trapped so you wouldn’t just reach out and grope her like an adolescent boy—
Well, not yet anyways.
The sight of you holding yourself back—tall, strong, raw with want and yet forcing yourself to be patient—lit something hot in her veins.
“My, my,” she whispered, sliding the last of the buttons open so her dress sloughed from her shoulders, pooling in a black heap at her feet. She stood before you in corset and stockings, her curves cinched and lifted, her pale skin flushed faintly pink where need had risen to the surface. Her eyes gleamed as she placed a hand on your chest, right over your racing heartbeat, pressing just enough to remind you she was in charge here.
“You sit there,” she ordered softly, her tone brokering no room for argument. “Hands to yourself. I want to feel your eyes on me before I let you feel your hands on me.”
She turned slowly, giving you the sweep of her figure—her back arched just enough to show the curve of her ass beneath the tight fabric of her corset, garters taut against her thighs. Her fingers traced down the front of her bodice, slipping beneath the laces, tugging them loose one by one.
Glancing over her shoulder, she caught your hungry stare and smiled, a dark, satisfied smile. “Devour me with your eyes first, outlaw. Let them linger everywhere you ache to touch. Let me feel the heat of it.”
She faced you again, tugging the corset open just enough to let her breasts spill free, nipples hardening in the cool air. She cupped one in her hand, thumb circling lazily, and tilted her head back with a soft sigh meant to drive you wild.
“Do you have any idea,” she breathed, voice shaking ever so slightly as she indulged in her own tease, “how long it’s been since I wanted someone like this?”
Her gaze snapped back to yours, sharp and commanding, even through the rush of arousal. “Tell me—what would you do first? My throat, my breasts, my thighs? Where would you lay that filthy mouth of yours?”
“Your throat first… taste every inch of your skin before I wrapped my lips around your pretty pink nipple… twistin’ the other with my fingers… until I sank to my knees in front of you…” you practically panted, gaze never faltering from the way her fingers tweaked and tortured pebbled flesh.
A shudder rippled through her body at the words and she closed the distance, forcing your knees apart as she slotted herself between them, one hand in your hair as she yanked your head back, the other gripping your jaw.
“You’d worship me that way?” she asked, voice husky, her thumb stroking the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, the pad of it brushing your lower lip. “Cover me in kisses, leave me trembling before you ever even put your mouth where I ache?”
Then she pulled back, eyes gleaming, chest rising and falling fast against the loosened corset.
“Then prove it,” she said, releasing your hair only to push your shoulders lightly, coaxing you down off the bed, down onto your knees. “Now.”
You slipped to your knees without hesitation, hands flying up to grip her thighs. There was something truly obscene in the knowledge that you were so desperate for this woman that you hadn’t even attempted to strip off your own clothes.
“Fuck,” you whispered, leaning in to mouth at the damp fabric covering her mound.
Her fingers curled hard into your hair, nails grazing your scalp, not quite pushing you in but holding you there, her body trembling ever so slightly against your grip.
“Christ…” she hissed through clenched teeth, her head tipping back until her dark hair spilled loose from its pins, falling in waves around her flushed face. She rocked forward instinctively, just enough to grind the heat of herself against your mouth through the wet cloth. The feeling of it, of your lips pressing through the material, drew a low moan from her throat that she didn’t bother hiding.
She tugged the hem of her underthings aside with one shaking hand, exposing slick heat to the air, the fabric clinging between her folds for a moment before peeling away. Her eyes snapped down to meet yours, glassy and blazing, her voice edged with desperation.
“Don’t tease me, outlaw,” she growled, hips jerking forward, “put that mouth on me and devour like you promised.”
The words had barely left her lips before you surged forward, your tongue demanding and hungry as you licked wantonly through her folds. Your hands trailed to the back of her thighs before gliding upward, gripping the generous curve of her ass, tugging her closer.
“God… yes,” she gasped, her voice ragged as a raw, broken moan escaped. Her thighs trembled against your shoulders, and she spread herself wider for you, unabashed and desperate. The scent of her flooded your senses, coating your mouth as you ate her out with reckless abandon.
Her body rocked with your rhythm, grinding down, chasing the relentless stroke of your tongue. “So greedy,” she choked, blue eyes fluttering shut as her head fell back, her legs threatening to give, knees nearly buckling.
For a split second, she regretted letting you eat her out while she was standing, if only because she’d hate to embarrass herself by falling on her face—or even onto yours—but the thought disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived.
Her hand tangled in your hair, gripping painfully tight. “Finger me,” she demanded, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Make me come on your fucking face.”
You didn’t dare deny her command, one hand slipping down from her ass to her drenched cunt. The room was filled with a guttural moan that tore from her chest as your fingers slammed into her. She clutched at you like she might tear your hair out by the roots, her hips snapping forward, greedy, feral, grinding against you.
“Holy fuck!” Her walls clenched hard around your fingers, sucking you deeper, slick gushing down your hand as you fucked her in time with your tongue lapping at her clit.
“Yes—there—don’t you fucking stop,” she panted, eyes glassy, tears threatening to spill from the sheer force of sensation.
Your jaw ached, knees throbbing as they bit into the floor but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Fingers working with a single-minded focus, lips sealing around her clit and suckling, you were so lost in the woman towering over you.
Her climax tore through her, body seizing, cunt clenching around your fingers in wet, violent spasms as she screamed your name hoarsely—shamelessly—for the whole damn brothel to hear.
You moaned into her cunt, tongue working her through every aftershock until she was tugging you back. “Goddamn you—” she gasped, voice wrecked and trembling, “—greedy fucking thing…”
She finally sagged forward, thighs shaking so hard you had to tighten your grip on her ass to keep her from collapsing entirely. Her hand slipped from your hair to your cheek, trembling as it cupped your face, smearing her wetness across your skin. She tilted your head back so you’d look at her, her thumb stroking over your mouth, gathering the mix of her release and your spit before pressing it back between your lips.
“Don’t waste a single taste,” she whispered. “You belong to me now, outlaw.”
Her legs finally gave, and she laughed as she eased down with you, straddling your thighs on the carpet. She kissed you hard, desperate, tongue plunging into your mouth to taste herself on you, moaning into the mess you’d both made.
You’d come for a night… but somewhere, deep in your mind, you knew you’d be staying much, much longer.
warnings: ambessa x sevika ;; strap use ;; dom!ambessa ;; sub!sevika ;; size kink ;; degradation ;; overstimulation ;; crying…
_
Sevika’s back slammed against the mattress, her breath knocked out of her lungs before she could protest. Ambessa didn’t give her the chance anyway — one hand pinning Sevika’s wrists above her head like they weighed nothing, the other guiding the thick, dark red strap between her legs.
“Look at you,” Ambessa rumbled, voice like steel dragged across stone. “Big, mean woman can’t even open her legs wide enough, hm?”
Sevika grit her teeth, biting back a sound as the blunt head pressed insistently against her entrance. It was massive — so much bigger than anything she’d taken — and her body clenched up reflexively, traitorously.
“mmh fuck!” Sevika growled, twisting her hips, but Ambessa only pushed harder, a cruel smirk tugging at her lips.
“Already crying for me and I’ve barely started.” Ambessa leaned down, her breath hot against Sevika’s ear as the strap stretched her inch by agonizing inch. “Pathetic. You talk like a brute, but your cunt says otherwise.”
Sevika gasped, her jaw going slack as the first few inches slid inside. Her walls fluttered helplessly around the intrusion, her thighs trembling with the effort to keep still under Ambessa’s grip.
“That’s it,” Ambessa cooed mockingly, rolling her hips just enough to make Sevika hiss. “Take it slow. Can’t believe you’re this tight, didn’t think anyone had ruined you yet. Should’ve known you’d save it for me.”
Sevika groaned, the sound broken and guttural, her head tilting back into the sheets. Every push forced her to stretch around the thick length, pain tangled with dizzying heat.
Ambessa dragged her tongue along Sevika’s throat, biting down hard enough to leave marks. “Relax, or I’ll split you open whether you’re ready or not.”
It took minutes, endless minutes, of grinding, shallow thrusts, Ambessa’s hips relentless as she worked Sevika open. By the time the strap bottomed out, Sevika’s eyes were glassy, sweat slicking her temples, chest heaving like she’d run miles.
Ambessa pulled back just to slam forward again, the wet slap obscene. Sevika cried out, the sound strangled, and Ambessa chuckled darkly.
“Good girl,” she purred, though the words were coated in venom. “Finally taking me like you should. Listen to yourself, whimpering and clenching, pfft, your cunt was made for this cock.”
Her pace quickened, brutal and merciless now that Sevika’s body had given way. Every thrust punched needy sounds out of Sevika’s throat, and Ambessa drank them in, her hand still crushing her wrists down against the mattress.
“Thought you were tough, Sevika,” Ambessa sneered, pounding into her until the bedframe rattled. “But you’re just a tight little hole for me to ruin.”
Sevika’s growls dissolved into moans, choked and helpless, as her body betrayed her completely, arching up, begging silently for more even as she shook apart beneath Ambessa’s strength.
Sevika shattered with a guttural moan, her body snapping taut under Ambessa’s hold. Her orgasm hit her like a lightning strike, dragging every muscle tight as her cunt convulsed wildly around the strap, clenching down like it never wanted to let go.
Ambessa only laughed low in her chest, hips never slowing. “Already? That’s all it takes to make you cum? Pathetic.”
Sevika bucked hard and desperate, trying to twist away as the aftershocks wracked her, but Ambessa pinned her down harder, slamming into her with ruthless precision. Slick squelched with every thrust, obscene and loud, Sevika’s body soaking the sheets beneath them.
“I—fuck I can’t! ” Sevika’s voice cracked, the words ripped from her throat as her legs trembled uncontrollably. She tried to snap them shut, but Ambessa’s broad frame pried them wide open, grinding the strap in deep, brutal strokes.
“Yes, you can, you’re a big girl aren’t you? prove it,” Ambessa growled, teeth grazing Sevika’s ear. “you’ll take it until I say you’re done.”
The harness ground deliciously against Ambessa’s own clit with every brutal thrust, the thick base of the strap dragging over her swollen flesh. She let out a deep, guttural groan of her own, the sound vibrating against Sevika’s skin. “Fuck, your tight little cunt is going to make me cum.”
Sevika cried out again, her voice raw, her whole body shaking from overstimulation. Every nerve lit up painfully sweet, her clit throbbing, her walls fluttering violently around the relentless stretch. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, her head thrashing back and forth against the pillow.
Ambessa bit down hard on her shoulder, muffling her own growl as the coil inside her snapped. Her hips stuttered, pressing deep as she ground down hard, riding the wave while the strap milked Sevika’s spasming cunt. The sight, the sounds, the sheer ruin on Sevika’s face, pushed her over the edge until she came with a violent shudder, grinding against the harness with feral desperation.
Sevika sobbed through another forced climax, her body wrung dry and then set aflame again, clenching wildly around the unyielding strap.
“Stop fuck, Ambessa! I can’t —” she rasped, nails digging into the sheets, her voice barely coherent. Her hips kept jerking, twitching away, but Ambessa only held her still, fucking her through every aftershock until Sevika’s words dissolved into broken, strangled cries.
“Look at you,” Ambessa panted, finally easing up only to rut slower, deeper, making Sevika sob. “Squirming, begging…but your cunt won’t let me go. Greedy little thing.”
Sevika could only whimper, body wrecked, twitching beneath the weight of Ambessa’s dominance — completely undone, taken apart, and left gasping for air as Ambessa pressed deep, savoring the way she clenched helplessly even as she begged for it to stop.
۶ৎ you tell yourself you’ll leave one day. but then she shows up at 2am, dripping rainwater, kissing you like she hasn’t breathed in weeks — and you’re hers all over again.
۶ৎ she knows you’ll come back. and maybe that’s the cruelest thing. she doesn’t beg, doesn’t plead, she just waits. and you always crawl back into her arms, no matter how much it hurts.
۶ৎ she doesn’t reassure you when you spiral. if you ask, “do you even care about me?” she’ll stare for a long moment and say something like, “don’t be foolish.” but never give you a straight answer.
۶ৎ sometimes she’ll whisper things that hurt. “do you really think I’d choose you over my empire?” while her fingers are knuckle deep inside you.
۶ৎ her pace is merciless. ambessa fucks you like you’re her property, not her lover. teeth on your neck, bruises on your thighs, nails digging into your hips.
۶ৎ orgasm control is her favorite. she’ll edge you until you’re crying, then laugh softly in your ear, “didn’t i tell you patience is a virtue?”
۶ৎ absolutely a size kink situation. she loves how much bigger and stronger she is than you, how easily she can fold you up or pin your wrists with one hand.
۶ৎ drags her teeth down your throat until you’re arching up, begging. sometimes bites hard enough to make you gasp — then licks the mark after, smug.
۶ৎ growls when you scratch her back or bite her shoulder, like you woke something primal.
۶ৎ she lives for the sight of you crying from pleasure. “pretty tears… my sweet little mess.”
۶ৎ ambessa forgets dates, not because she doesn’t care, but because her world is always at war. you tell yourself you understand, but it still stings when she misses your birthday dinner.
۶ৎ jealousy sex is her specialty. if she even thinks you were too friendly with someone, she’ll have you bent over the nearest surface, fucking you until your legs give out. all teeth, bruises, and a low growl in your ear, “mine. you hear me? mine.”
۶ৎ she likes to drag it out when she’s mad at you — makes you wait naked on the bed while she takes her time undressing, smoking, watching you squirm. when she finally touches you, it’s overwhelming.
۶ৎ spits in your mouth just to see the dazed look in your eyes afterward.
۶ৎ ambessa hates when you cry during fights. not because she doesn’t care — but because it makes her feel weak, and she refuses to feel that. so she’ll cross her arms, stone faced, while you sob in front of her
۶ৎ sometimes after a fight, she drags you to bed without apology — fucking you hard, pinning you down, until your crying blends with pleasure. she calls it “reminding you who you belong to.”
۶ৎ when you see her flirting, smiling at someone else, it wrecks you. you try to stay composed, but tears burn your eyes. when you confront her, voice shaking, she just chuckles. “look at you, ready to cry over me. adorable.”
۶ৎ your anger never lands — you scream, shove at her chest, and she doesn’t even move. her silence makes you cry harder, because she won’t fight back.
۶ৎ angry sex? oh she lives for it. you’re crying, yelling, hitting her chest, and she just spins you around, bends you over the table, fucking you rough until the anger bleeds into moans.
۶ৎ ambessa sometimes toys with the idea of marking you permanently. not just bruises that fade, but scars that stay. the thought makes her shiver.
she’ll drag the tip of the blade over your skin slowly, whispering, “what if i carve my name here? so no one forgets who you belong to.”
most of the time, it’s teasing, just enough to make you tremble and cry. but sometimes she looks serious. and that’s when your stomach drops.
she adores your fear — the way your tears double when you whisper, “please don’t.” it’s intoxicating to her.
۶ৎ one night, she pushes it too far. the knife presses harder, sharp enough to sting, and you snap.
you shove at her chest, voice breaking “no! stop, i don’t want this!” the tears are hot, ugly, and desperate.
ambessa freezes, blade still in hand. her eyes darken, not with guilt, but with something unreadable. disappointment? hunger? restraint?
the silence after you say no is crushing. she steps back, sets the knife aside, and mutters, “…then don’t tempt me like that again.” no apology. just a warning.
۶ৎ you’re sobbing after catching her with someone else, hands shaking as you ask if she’s cheating. she smirks, amused. “you think i want them when i have this?” her hand cups between your thighs, and you gasp, shame burning through the tears. “see? overreacting again. pathetic.”
۶ৎ ambessa hates herself for making you cry sometimes. she’ll pace the room while you’re crumpled on the bed, hands in her hair, muttering under her breath in her native tongue. but when she turns back, all you get is: “stop crying. you know i don’t mean it.”
۶ৎ she’s aware she’s toxic. painfully aware. but in her mind, it’s better to keep you tangled up in her arms, hurting and happy, than risk losing you by changing.
warnings: men dni… slow burn ;; brat taming ;; lingerie shopping ;; power play ;; mommy kink ;; age gap ;; possessiveness ;; light degradation ;; praise ;; double attention ;; punishment;; overstim ;; maybe a lil sub!sevika? ;; spanking
summary: you are spoiled by not one, but two sugar mommies—Ambessa and Sevika. When Ambessa sends Sevika on a simple errand to take reader lingerie shopping, Sevika insists on a private little fashion show in the fitting room, and the sight of you in lace nearly pushes her over the edge. but Sevika doesn’t settle for quickies in cramped stalls. when you arrive home, Ambessa is already waiting. she’s furious you’re late, scolding Sevika like a disobedient subordinate, but fury quickly melts into hunger, and suddenly you are caught between two powerful, possessive mommies who can’t seem to keep their hands off you… are you going to survive this night?
Victoria’s Secret smelled faintly of vanilla and pink perfume, the kind that clung too sweetly to the air. Every rack sparkled with satin and lace, reds and blacks and pale pinks that caught the light in ribbons. You trailed after Sevika, fingers brushing over hangers, pretending you were the one making decisions when really… she was the one steering you through the store like she owned it.
Technically, this was Ambessa’s order. Just a few bras and panties. Simple. Elegant. But Sevika didn’t know the meaning of simple when it came to you.
“Try this one.” Her voice was low, even in public, always that gravel that made people pay attention. She plucked a black lace set off the rack, barely glancing at the price tag before shoving it into your arms. Then another, wine red with tiny satin bows. Then a sheer pastel pink number, almost too delicate to touch.
She scanned the racks with her silver eyes like a wolf picking out prey, sharp and decisive. Nothing you touched escaped her notice, if your fingers lingered too long on something, it was suddenly yours.
“Ambessa said lace,” Sevika murmured, tone half mocking, half indulgent, “so lace it is. Hold onto those. No dropping anything.”
Your arms were overflowing with literally half the stores lingerie before you’d even realised it.
You tugged at her sleeve, trying to whine a little, trying to play the brat you knew she secretly loved. “Vikaaa…I don’t need this much,”
Her gaze slid down to you, unamused. “You’ll wear what we buy.” She adjusted the straps on her prosthetic arm, unbothered, and nodded toward the fitting rooms. “Now go try them on. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
The attendant didn’t even question it— of course she didn’t. Sevika’s presence commanded the kind of authority that made people step aside without argument. Soon enough you were pushed into a plush little changing room, velvet curtains swishing closed behind you, Sevika leaning against the wall like she owned the whole damn place.
“Show me.” She didn’t sit. She didn’t move. She just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for you to peel your clothes off and put yourself on display under the dim golden lights.
Each set was worse than the last, worse in the way it made her jaw tighten, worse in the way her gaze dragged over you. Black lace clinging to your hips. Red satin lifting your breasts just enough to make them spill. The pale pink number that looked like sugar spun into lingerie, almost too sweet on your body.
You shifted under her stare, heat curling in your stomach. “We’re supposed to just buy them, not…”
Her smirk was slow, dangerous. “You think I’m going to spend money on something I haven’t seen you in first?”
Her eye darkened when you turned, letting her see the back of the thong, how thin the straps looked against your skin. She sucked in a quiet breath, almost sharp, before clearing her throat and muttering something under her breath—something about not wasting lace like that in a fitting room.
No, Sevika had standards.
And by the time she finally gathered the pile of lingerie again, handing you your clothes like she hadn’t been one second away from ruining you against the wall, your head was spinning.
“Get dressed,” she said simply, voice rougher than before. “We’ll take all of it.”
You tried not to stumble when Sevika shoved the bundle of new lace into the attendant’s arms, her voice firm as she said, “We’ll take them all.” No hesitation, no flinch at the total when the cashier rang everything up— just a card slipped across the counter, black and heavy, the kind people recognised on sight.
You clutched the glossy pink bags as you left the store, each one stuffed with tissue paper and ribbons. They rustled in your grip like trophies. Sevika walked at your side, broad shoulders cutting through the crowd, her hand occasionally resting against the small of your back when someone got too close.
The mall lights shimmered above, glass skylights letting in the last of the afternoon sun. You could feel Sevika’s gaze still on you, even when she was silent, like she hadn’t stopped replaying the image of you in that sheer pink set.
“You were stalling,” she said at last, voice low enough that only you heard.
You blinked up at her. “What?”
“In the fitting room.” Her lips curled, faintly amused. “Took your sweet time bending over, turning around…don’t think I didn’t notice, baby”
Your face burned hot. “I wasn’t..”
She leaned down, her breath brushing your ear as you walked. “Brats get punished when we get home.”
You nearly tripped over your own feet.
By the time you reached the car, your arms were full of bags. Sevika opened the door for you, gentle in that brusque, possessive way, and slid into the driver’s seat once you were inside. She didn’t start the engine immediately. Instead, her flesh hand draped over the steering wheel, her metal one resting between her thighs, knuckles tapping against denim as if she were holding herself back.
Her eye flicked to you, and the corner of her mouth tugged up.
“You’re lucky Ambessa’s waiting,” she murmured. “Otherwise I’d remind you exactly why I don’t do quickies in fitting rooms.”
Sevika finally started the car, pulling out of the mall’s parking lot with steady control, one hand always ready to settle on your thigh when you shifted too much.
The drive home felt like it stretched foreverr,tension thick in the air, every stoplight another chance to catch Sevika watching you from the corner of her eye.
By the time the car rolled into the driveway, the house already glowing with light inside, your stomach was knotted with nerves. Because Ambessa’s car was parked there. Because she was already home.
And Sevika only muttered, “Shit,” under her breath, before killing the engine.
The front door clicked open before you or Sevika could even knock.
Ambessa stood there, framed in warm golden light from the house behind her. Her arms were crossed, muscles flexing beneath her silk blouse, and her jaw was set tight. The look she gave you first was soft— just a flicker, her eyes sweeping over you to make sure you were safe. Then it snapped to Sevika, sharp as a blade.
“You’re late.”
Her voice was low, steady, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip. She didn’t need to shout. Every syllable carried weight.
Sevika exhaled through her nose, shifting the bags on her arm. “Traffic.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Ambessa’s gaze cut to the heap of glossy pink shopping bags, her brow lifting. “I told you lace sets. One, maybe two. What is this?”
She stepped aside to let you in, hand brushing your back as you passed her—a wordless reminder that you weren’t the one in trouble. The door shut with a heavy click behind you, and the air inside the house felt thicker, richer, like the walls themselves soaked up the tension.
Sevika set the bags on the marble console table, leaning against it like she needed the support. “She liked them,” she said simply, jerking her chin toward you. “So I bought them.”
Ambessa’s earrings glinted as she tilted her head, incredulous. “You think this is about what she likes? Or about you parading her around the store like a doll for your own entertainment?”
You opened your mouth, “I—”
“Not you, little one.” Ambessa’s eyes flicked to you briefly, soft again, before locking back onto Sevika. “You’ll speak when spoken to.”
The heat in your cheeks spread down your throat. You sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, lingerie bags stacked high on the table like evidence.
Ambessa stalked closer to Sevika, her heels clicking against the marble, until she stood toe to toe with her. Despite Sevika’s broad frame and casual lean, she looked smaller under Ambessa’s glare.
“I give simple instructions,” Ambessa said, each word sharp as glass. “And what do you do? You drag her through half the store, make her try on everything like some showroom mannequin, and come home late, covered in temptation you couldn’t control.”
Her hand rose, fingers pinching Sevika’s chin to force her head up. Sevika’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t resist.
“You’re reckless,” Ambessa murmured, voice low enough that it hummed against the silence. “And when you’re reckless, she pays for it.”
Sevika’s eye flicked sideways, to you. For the first time that night, her lips pressed into something that looked like guilt.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Ambessa demanded, not letting her chin go.
“…I overdid it,” Sevika muttered finally.
“You overdid it,” Ambessa echoed, releasing her. “And now you’ll be punished for it.”
The words hung in the air, thick and final. Sevika straightened her shoulders, jaw flexing, but she didn’t argue. She wouldn’t.
Ambessa turned to you then, and her whole demeanor softened. She smoothed a hand down your arm, eyes warming. “Go upstairs, sweetheart. Leave the bags here. Sevika and I need a word.”
Your stomach fluttered, but you obeyed. As you padded up the grand staircase, you couldn’t help glancing back—Ambessa standing tall, Sevika braced against the table, every line of her body tense.
The last thing you heard before turning the corner was Ambessa’s voice, rich and commanding:
“On your knees.”
You weren’t supposed to linger in the stairs. Ambessa had told you to go upstairs, directly upstairs. but girl, when she said ‘on your knees’ to sevika? You couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to watch.
The crack in the bannister gave you just enough of a view into the living room below.
Sevika was on her knees. You’d never seen her like that before— shoulders hunched slightly, hands resting on her thighs, head bowed like she was a soldier waiting for orders. The sight alone made your breath catch.
Ambessa circled her slowly, arms folded behind her back, her presence commanding the entire space. “Do you understand the depth of your mistake?”
Sevika’s jaw clenched. “Yes, miss.”
“You thought you could indulge yourself. Parade her, feed your appetite until you were ready to break.” Ambessa leaned down, close enough to whisper into Sevika’s ear, but her tone still cut through the room. “that isn’t control. That’s greed, and greed must be punished.”
Sevika didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. But her fists tightened on her knees.
Ambessa straightened, moving toward the shopping bags piled high on the console table. Her fingers sifted through the tissue paper until she plucked one out, the pink lace set. The one that had nearly unraveled Sevika in the fitting room.
“This one,” Ambessa said, holding it up to the light. “your favourite, wasn’t it?”
Sevika’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “…Yes.”
“Then you’ll watch her wear it.” Ambessa’s voice was smooth, cruel in its calm. “And you’ll keep your hands to yourself while I take what you can’t control.”
For the first time, Sevika’s composure cracked, her eye flicked upward, desperate, conflicted. “Ambessa!”
“Quiet.” Ambessa’s command rang through the room, sharp as a whip. “You’ll sit. You’ll watch. And you’ll learn what it means to restrain yourself.”
Your heart pounded as you pressed closer to the railing, eyes wide. The image burned itself into your mind, Sevika kneeling, Ambessa towering over her with that tiny set of lace dangling from her fingers, promising a punishment that made your pulse race.
Ambessa turned slightly, and for a terrifying second, you thought she’d seen you watching. Her gaze slid up toward the staircase— then she smirked, low and knowing.
“Sweetheart,” she called, her voice carrying easily. “Come back down. We’ve chosen your outfit for the evening.”
Your breath caught. And Sevika’s head snapped up, her eye locking onto the stairs where you stood frozen.
Your feet felt heavy as you descended the stairs, every step clicking too loud in the silence. Ambessa stood at the base, tall and imposing, the pink lace set draped loosely over her palm like a delicate weapon.
“Come here,” Her voice softened only for you, but the edge of command never faded.
You obeyed, padding across the cool marble floor until you stood between the two women. Sevika hadn’t moved from her knees, her shoulders were rigid, jaw tight, her gaze following you like a starving wolf chained too close to a feast.
Ambessa held the lingerie up, brushing the soft fabric against your cheek. “This one made her lose her composure, did it not?” She glanced down at Sevika. “Tell her.”
Sevika’s throat worked. “…Yes.” Her voice was low, rougher than usual. “That’s the one.”
Ambessa hummed. “Good.” Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up. “You’ll wear it for me.”
Your pulse thrummed as she led you toward the chaise near the window, the city skyline glittering beyond the glass. Ambessa’s hands were steady, practiced, as she peeled your clothes away piece by piece— never rushed, always deliberate, like she was unwrapping something precious.
Behind her, Sevika shifted just slightly, the leather of her prosthetic groaning faintly as her fists clenched. Ambessa didn’t miss it.
“Eyes on her,” Ambessa ordered without looking back. “You don’t blink. You don’t look away. This is your punishment, Sevika.”
The straps of the lace bra slid over your shoulders, Ambessa’s large hands adjusting them until they sat perfectly against your skin. The fabric was sheer, barely covering you, the cups cut just enough to tease. Then came the panties, thin straps hugging your hips, lace sitting snug against your heat. Ambessa smoothed her palm over your stomach after sliding them into place, possessive, claiming.
“Turn,” she said, guiding you to face Sevika.
Heat flooded your face as Sevika’s eye dragged over you, slow, hungry and pained. She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling like she was fighting to breathe.
Ambessa’s lips curved. “Look at her, Sevika. Look at what you wanted so badly you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” She leaned down, her mouth brushing against your ear as her voice dropped to a dark whisper. “And now look at what you can’t touch.”
Sevika’s fingers twitched against her thighs, the faintest sound of her teeth grinding.
Ambessa sank onto the chaise, pulling you effortlessly into her lap. The sudden shift made you gasp, your thighs draped over her, the lace riding higher as her large hands splayed across your waist.
“You see how sweet she looks like this?” Ambessa’s tone was low, taunting, directed entirely at Sevika as she kissed the side of your neck, slow and indulgent. “She belongs here. Spoiled, dressed in lace, mine to enjoy at my leisure.”
You trembled, torn between burying your face in Ambessa’s shoulder and daring to glance at Sevika— her eye burning, fixed on you, so much want it nearly ached to look at her.
Ambessa’s hand trailed lower, fingers brushing the band of your panties. She didn’t slip inside yet— no, she lingered, teasing, showing restraint Sevika clearly lacked.
“You’ll sit there,” Ambessa said firmly, eyes snapping back to Sevika. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, your hands in your lap, and you’ll learn. If you can’t control yourself in public, then you’ll watch me do what you couldn’t.”
Sevika’s breathing was uneven, heavy, but she didn’t move. Her jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.
Ambessa smiled against your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. Her voice rumbled low, rich with promise,
“Now, sweetheart, let’s give her a show.”
Ambessa shifted you easily in her lap, her strength undeniable as she manoeuvred you forward onto the chaise. The cushions dipped under your knees, your palms pressed to the velvet, and she tugged your hips back until you were arched just how she wanted.
The lace panties didn’t last long— Ambessa hooked a thick finger under the band and snapped them down to your thighs, baring you. The cool air made you jolt, but her warm hand smoothed over your ass immediately, kneading the flesh as if to calm you and claim you in the same motion.
“Look at her,” Ambessa said again, her voice a velvet whip. You glanced over your shoulder, breathless, only to find Sevika still kneeling, her eye wide, her jaw tight. Her fists were braced on her thighs like she was holding herself back from tearing the room apart.
Ambessa spread you with one hand, the other guiding the head of her strap into place. Thick, heavy, already slick with lube. She pressed forward slowly at first, letting the tip breach you before she slid in deep, inch by inch, until you were gasping into the cushions.
“Ah! Ambessa!”
“Shh.” Her palm smoothed down your spine, pushing your arch deeper. “Take it, sweetheart. you were made for this.”
The stretch burned sweet, filling you until your eyes watered, until your legs trembled. And then she moved— long, powerful strokes that forced tiny whimpers out of you with every thrust.
You buried your face in the velvet, teeth sinking into the cushion, but Ambessa wasn’t having that. She fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head up.
“Keep your face where she can see it.”
Your eyes blurred as you blinked toward Sevika, cheeks hot, mouth open in helpless gasps. And Sevika… she looked wrecked. She’d seen you needy before, bratty before, but this, your eyes crossing as Ambessa hit that spot again and again, drool threatening to slip down your chin, she’d never seen you like this.
Her hand twitched toward her lap, tugging at her belt, desperate.
“Don’t.” Ambessa’s command cracked through the air, and Sevika froze like she’d been struck.
“Please,” Sevika rasped, her voice breaking for once, raw with need.
Ambessa’s thrusts never faltered, steady and brutal, filling you so deep you swore you could feel it in your throat. “You’ll keep those hands right where they are,” she said coldly, glaring down at Sevika. “You don’t get to touch what’s mine. Not her, not yourself.”
A strangled noise tore from Sevika’s throat, half frustration, half agony.
Your body jolted under another sharp thrust, vision tilting, the chandelier above blurring as your eyes rolled back. Heat flooded you, thighs quivering, your voice breaking into moans that didn’t sound like words anymore.
“Good girl,” Ambessa purred into your ear, her grip on your hips tightening. “Take it. Let her see who fucks you properly.”
You were gone, your mouth hanging open, drool falling down to your tits, your eyes crossing with each punishing snap of Ambessa’s hips.
And Sevika… Sevika had never looked so undone. Staring at you like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to beg, cry, or rip the whole room apart.
Ambessa leaned closer, her voice a growl that vibrated against your skin.
“Look at her, Sevika. Look at the face you’ll never see her make for you.”
Your moan broke high and wrecked, your nails clawing at the velvet as Ambessa drove you into the cushions.
And Sevika could do nothing— nothing but watch you unravel.
Ambessa’s thrusts slowed suddenly, her hips grinding deep before she stilled inside you. The sound of her phone buzzing against the console table cut through the heavy air. She cursed under her breath, pulling out with one last slow drag that made your thighs shake.
Sevika’s head snapped up, chest heaving, like she thought maybe, just maybe, Ambessa was done with you and she’d get her turn. But Ambessa strode over to the table, snatching the phone, her expression hardening the moment she read the name on the screen.
“If this were anyone else…” she muttered darkly, thumb hovering over the red decline button. The phone buzzed again. She exhaled sharply, frustrated, then looked at you. Her tone softened, barely. “Stay put, sweetheart. I’ll be back.”
Her heels clicked against the marble as she crossed the living room and climbed the staircase, her voice already slipping into polished authority as she answered, “Yes, of course. I’ve been expecting your call…”
You sat there trembling, knees still pressed into the velvet, lace askew, your body buzzing with need and emptiness. Your gaze flicked toward Sevika.
And god, she looked feral.
The instant Ambessa disappeared upstairs, Sevika rose from her knees like a wolf unleashed.
“Sevika!” you started, weak, but she was already on you.
Her hand fisted in the lace still clinging to your body, tugging you upright before shoving you back down against the chaise, caging you in. Her breath was hot against your ear, her voice ragged from restraint snapping at last.
“You think I was gonna sit there and watch her wreck you like that?”
Her thigh shoved between yours, her prosthetic hand gripping the armrest so hard it creaked. She didn’t even give you time to answer—her mouth crushed against yours, desperate, messy, teeth clashing, her tongue demanding entrance like she’d die if she didn’t taste you now.
You gasped, hands clutching at her shoulders, overwhelmed by the sheer force of her hunger.
Her lips dragged down your throat, biting, sucking, marking, all the control she’d held spilling out in a frenzy. “Mine,” she growled against your skin. “You’re mine.”
Sevika didn’t drag you anywhere. She didn’t even think about it, didn’t care about Ambessa stomping back down mid-call. She shoved you into the velvet, climbing over you with that wild hunger in her eye, like she was finally tasting freedom after weeks in chains.
Her mouth was everywhere— sloppy kisses down your neck, teeth scraping at your collarbone, tongue laving over the lace still clinging half cocked on your breasts. She bit down on the delicate fabric until it tore, growling when it gave way.
“Been sittin’ on my knees like a fucking dog while she—” Her voice broke into a guttural noise as her hand shoved between your thighs, rough fingers parting you, finding how wet you still were from Ambessa’s use. “fuck. You’re dripping. All over the damn couch, huh? For her?”
You gasped, arching into her touch, eyes rolling back. “S-Sevika, please!”
Her mouth caught yours again, swallowing your words, her tongue messy and greedy. Her fingers worked you open fast, stretching you with no patience left, her metal hand braced beside your head like she needed to anchor herself before she lost it completely.
When she pulled back, her lips were slick, her chest heaving. She stared down at you— your flushed face, the lace still hanging crooked on your body— and she broke.
“Gonna fuck you so hard you forget her name.”
She fumbled at her belt, yanking down her jeans just enough to free her strap. She didn’t even line it up gently, just pressed forward in one rough, hungry thrust that had you crying out loud, nails clawing at the cushions.
“Fuck! Sevika!” your voice cracked, your body arching, eyes squeezing shut.
“Open your eyes, beautiful, ” Sevika snapped, her hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze back up. “look at me when I fuck you.”
Her hips pounded into you, deep and frantic, every thrust a mix of fury and relief. The sound of skin and lace slapping filled the air, lewd and unrelenting. She bent over you, forehead pressing to yours, her teeth gritted.
“Wanted this since the damn fitting room,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “Had to sit there, had to watch, you think I can stand that shit? Seeing you spread out, drooling on her cock, making faces you never—”
Your eyes crossed on the next thrust, your mouth falling open in a choked moan.
Sevika froze for half a heartbeat, staring at you, and then her hips slammed harder, desperate to chase that look. “Oh fuck yeaah, that’s it. That’s the face. Mine. All fucking mine.”
You clung to her, your whole body shuddering, pleasure coiling sharp and dizzying inside you. And for once, it wasn’t Ambessa controlling the pace, drawing things out. It was Sevika— losing herself in you, taking everything she’d been denied, and giving you the best fuck of her life in return.
Your body broke before you could even warn her. Pleasure crashed into you like a wave, ripping through your chest, down your stomach, between your thighs. You screamed her name, eyes rolling back, legs spasming around her hips.
But Sevika didn’t stop.
If anything, the way your cunt clenched around her strap only made her fuck you harder, faster, her grunts ragged in your ear.
“Yeahyeah, give it to me,” she growled, sweat dripping down her temple. Her metal arm locked you in place, fingers digging into your waist while her other hand forced your jaw up so she could watch your face. “Look at you. Creaming all over me, shaking like a good little slut.”
Your nails raked down her back, your thighs trembling violently, but she just kept slamming into you, deep and punishing.
“S-stop!” you hiccupped, tears streaking your temples as your body convulsed. “Sevika, I-ahhh, c-can’t!”
“Yes you can.” Her lips brushed against your ear, hot and desperate. “You will. You owe me every goddamn orgasm she wrung outta you in front of me.”
Your body spasmed again, pleasure so sharp it burned. Your eyes crossed, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as another orgasm ripped through you, wetter, messier, leaving you twitching beneath her.
Sevika’s eyes widened as she watched you unravel— watched you sobbing and writhing under her, your hole clenching so tight it nearly pulled the strap off. She swore under her breath, pounding into you harder, like she couldn’t get enough.
“Oh fuck, baby,” she groaned, her forehead pressing to yours. “Never seen you like this, never… god, you’re gon' kill me.”
Your sobs turned to whimpers, your voice breaking as you clung to her broad shoulders, body arching helplessly against every relentless thrust. She was obsessed now, obsessed with the sight of you fucked so dumb, eyes glassy, drool slipping down your chin.
Her hand slid between your bodies, rough fingers circling your overstimulated clit, and you screamed, full-bodied, thrashing beneath her.
“Thaat’s it,” Sevika rasped, breathless. “Cry for me. Scream f'me. I’ll give you the best fuck of your life if it kills me.”
You came again, violently, your whole body shaking like it couldn’t handle another second, your voice cracking into hoarse moans that sounded nothing like words anymore.
And Sevika still didn’t stop.
The sound of her boots hitting the first step back down froze you in place.
Your whole body jolted, but Sevika didn’t stop. Her hips were still driving into you, frantic, greedy, desperate to wring one more orgasm out of your spent body. Your voice was breaking in gasps, in sobs, your thighs trembling around her waist— when the shadow fell across you both.
You barely managed to turn your head toward the stairs.
Ambessa stood there, phone still in her hand, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching. The low light from the chandelier caught the sharp edges of her scowl, her eyes glowing like coals as they locked on the sight of you, bent under Sevika, drooling, moaning, body a mess of sweat and tears, Sevika fucking you like she’d starve without you.
The phone clicked shut.
Silence.
Even Sevika stilled, breath ragged, strap buried deep inside you as if she could hide the evidence. But the slick noises between your bodies had already given you away, the soaked lingerie Ambessa had dressed you in clinging to your chest, straps fallen down your shoulders.
“...What,” Ambessa’s voice rumbled, low and dangerous, “the hell is this?”
You whimpered, trembling, your brain still mush, unable to even form a defense. Sevika, to her credit, lifted her chin like she was ready to take the bullet, but her arm still held you tight, betraying just how unwilling she was to let you go.
Ambessa took another slow step down the staircase. Her eyes flicked from your ruined face, to the strap still inside you, back to Sevika’s defiant glare. Her lip curled.
“You disobeyed me.”
The weight of her fury hit the room like a stormfront.
stepdad!sevika’s first time taking care of 5 year old!reader // fluff
Your mama just married Sevika, your brand new stepdad, and today is the first time she’s left you alone with her. At first you’re shy and a little scared of this big, serious woman… but by the end of the day, with Spongebob on the tv, popsicles in hand, and a blanket fort glowing in the living room, you realise maybe she’s not so scary after all.
guys, i’m not shipping them together or anything, it’s purely innocent and fluffy
this is the first time i’m writing 1st person perspective on tumblr.. idk is this okay??
Mommy said she was going out tonight. She said Sevika was gonna take care of me. I don’t know if I like that. Sevika is… big. Really big. She has a robot arm and a serious face and she doesn’t smile a lot. She looks like she could pick me up with one hand and throw me in the sky. I don’t want to be thrown in the sky!
When Mommy leaves, the door goes click. Then it’s just me and Sevika. She stands in the living room, and I hide behind the couch a little. She blinks at me. I blink at her.
“…Hi,” she says.
I don’t answer. My tummy feels funny.
Then she looks at the TV. “You watchin’ this sponge guy?”
“It’s spongebob,” I whisper.
“…Right. spongebob.” She sits down. The couch goes creak creak because she’s heavy, and she pats the cushion next to her. I wait. Then I climb up. Not too close. Just a little bit.
We watch spongebob. She doesn’t laugh at the same parts I do. But when Patrick falls down and says “I’m okay,” I laugh so hard I almost spill my juice, and I see Sevika’s mouth twitch like maybe she wants to laugh too.
After a while, the ice cream truck comes outside. I hear the song. DUN DUN DUN DUNDUN DUNNN. My eyes get big. “Popsicles!”
Sevika raises her eyebrow. “This late?”
I nod fast. “spongebob popsicles! Please please please please please!!”
She sighs like she’s mad, but then she stands up and gets her wallet. We go outside together. The man in the truck gives me a yellow spongebob with gumball eyes. Sevika gets one too, even though she says she doesn’t eat kid food. She takes one bite and makes a face. “This thing tastes like frozen sugar glue.”
I giggle so much I almost drop mine. “That’s the best part!”
When it gets dark, Sevika helps me drag all the blankets and pillows into the living room. “What are we doing?” she asks.
“Fort!” I say. “You have to help. You’re tall.”
She shakes her head, but she listens. She holds the blanket high with her robot arm and tucks it over the chairs. We crawl inside. It’s dark but cozy. I bring my flashlight, and Sevika actually fits, even though her knees stick out.
We eat the rest of our popsicles inside and watch spongebob on the little tv through the blankets. My eyes start to close, but I don’t want to miss anything.
Sevika notices. She puts the empty popsicle stick down and lets me curl up next to her. She smells like smoke and soap. Not scary anymore. Warm. Safe.
“Not so bad, huh?” she whispers.
I shake my head sleepily. “You’re… okay.”
She chuckles. Her chest rumbles like a truck engine. “Thanks, kid.”
Hiii could I request Sevika x reader but reader says safe word during freaky time because Sevika started getting a little too rough and reader already has struggled with sexual trauma and it made reader freak out ? Like everything was going good but maybe Sevika started getting rough with choking or maybe spanking and reader just freaks out and yells the safe word. Sevika feels guilty after because that’s literally her baby and she never wants to hurt reader.
Everything had been fine at first. Wayy better than fine, even. Sevika had you spread out beneath her, her mouth on your skin, her weight keeping you grounded. She knew exactly how to draw those trembling sounds out of you, that low rumble of her chest turning your nerves molten.
You trusted her. You really did. That was why you’d given her your safe word in the first place— just in case. Sevika was very strong, and sometimes she got carried away, but she always made sure to check in with you.
Tonight though, something slipped.
Her hand wrapped around your throat, firm and commanding. Normally you liked it, that pressure, that reminder that she could hold you down and keep you safe in her own rough way. But when her grip tightened a little too far, a little too fast, it was like your body stopped listening to the present.
Your chest went tight, panic clawing its way up your throat. Old memories flickered where they weren’t welcome, making your heart pound in terror instead of excitement.
You couldn’t breathe,
“R-Red! Red!” Your voice cracked, raw and panicked as you forced the word out.
Sevika froze instantly. The change in her was immediate, like icewater doused over fire. Her hand vanished from your throat, her weight shifting off you as she pulled back, eyes wide, lips parting like she wasn’t sure if she should speak or just stay quiet.
“Baby, fuck, baby I’m sorry.” Her voice broke in a way you’d never heard before, rough with panic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t realise —”
You scrambled upright, pulling the sheets to your chest as your breath came in uneven gasps. Sevika’s hands hovered in the air, not touching, like she was afraid she might make it worse if she laid a finger on you.
“Hey. Look at me. You’re safe. You’re here, with me.” Her voice softened, but her eyes were stormy with guilt.
It took a moment, but you forced yourself to meet her gaze. She looked wrecked. Not just concerned, but gutted— like she’d just watched herself hurt the person she swore she’d protect above anyone else.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, even though you had nothing to be sorry for.
“No. Don’t-don’t you dare apologise.” Sevika shook her head hard, reaching for you but pausing, her hand trembling in the space between you. “That’s what the safe word’s for, sweetheart. You did exactly right.”
Your throat burned, tears pricking hot at the corners of your eyes. “I just… I couldn’t. I thought I’d be okay but then —”
“I know.” Her voice cracked, low and careful as she finally eased close enough to wrap her arms around you. She moved slow, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, she gathered you to her chest, her warmth swallowing you up. “I pushed too far. That’s on me. You don’t ever have to explain. You just say the word, and I stop. Always.”
You pressed your face against her, trembling. She smelled like smoke and leather and home. Her metal arm rubbed slow, steady circles on your back, the motion oddly soothing.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. Never. You’re my everything. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
It wasn’t just words— Sevika meant it with every ounce of herself. You could hear it in her tone, could feel it in the way she held you like you were the only fragile thing in her rough, jagged world.
Sevika didn’t just stop when you said the word. She stayed. She held you, rocked you, whispered how much she loved you until your heartbeat calmed against hers.
Later, she kissed your forehead and muttered, almost shamefully, “We don’t have to do anything like that again. Not unless you want it. I just want you. However you’ll have me.”
And for the first time since the memories had flared, you felt safe enough to breathe again.
